CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

The sodium vapor lamps on the buildings cast a harsh, flat light. Trapped in their glare, various big and small objects sent their shadows stretching deep into the surrounding night. Light and dark made two separate worlds.

Sam crouched in the darkness, staring with trepidation at the pools of light. Once he had lived in the other world where light represented safety. How many times had he shaken his head dolefully at the predations of the terrorists and criminals who disrupted safe, corporate life.. Now he was a part of the other world, the land of shadows that survived on corporate leavings or what could be taken from the corporation’s arrogant waste. Once he had been secure in his armor of scientific rationality, believing that if magic were not a sham, some obscure physical or biological principle could explain it away. Now others were telling him that he was a magician, just as did his own weird experiences. The notion still frightened him, but seemed to beckon and fascinate as well.

The allure and alarm of magic were akin to what he felt toward Sally. Last night she had shown him uses of magic he could never have imagined, and his heart raced at the sudden memory. Sally was unlike any woman he had ever known. She was as beautiful, vibrant, and exciting as she was terrifying.

What had he gotten into?

The United Oil dockyard, a part of his mind reminded him sardonically. Here, in the shadow of one of the many squat mushroom shapes that made up the tank farm. Now, waiting for Ghost Who Walks Inside to return from his reconnaissance. Everything was quiet and had been ever since they’d crossed the perimeter fence. Sam didn’t know whether to be relieved at fully passing the outer security or worried that United Oil’s security teams lay in wait for them, laughing at the foolish confidence of the intruders.

Dodger had been certain he had nullified the perimeter security. It was easy, he said when he giving them the go-ahead over a telecom on the street outside. He sounded so confident, which was all well and good for him. He was not going inside physically with Sam and Ghost.

Once inside, the job got tougher. United Oil’s site security strategy did not emphasize an impenetrable perimeter. Instead, it concentrated security assets in the buildings themselves. Each structure had its own level of countermeasures, the extent and complexity varying according to the value of the contents of the structure and the ease with which an intruder might affect or remove those contents. Dodger was expecting difficulties in slipping past the Intrusion Countermeasures of the target building. They were counting on him to take control of the alarms, but they wouldn’t know if he had succeeded until the moment they tried to enter the building. They had been unable to agree on a form of signal that would not alert United Oil security. Once inside the building, they could communicate relatively safely through the site’s computer system. But by then, Ghost and Sam would have set off any still functional alarms as they crossed the building’s security barrier.

Sam knew that Dodger was good at this sort of thing, but he couldn’t relax. He wiped his sweaty palms against the rough fabric of his dark coveralls.

The target building stood on the other side of the vehicle park, its face no different from the other warehouses in the row. With its weathered brick, dirty glass, and rusted window screening, the only distinguishing features were the faded numerals of its building number. No sign proclaimed it as the security field office.

They expected its physical security measures to be light, but the plans they got from Cog showed an alarm at every entrance but one. That door could be opened freely at any time of day or night without sounding an alarm. The door was the connector between a fenced enclosure running the length of the building’s southern side and a series of pens inside the building’s walls. Those pens were the nests for the company’s cockatrices, terrifying paranimals that could calcify flesh with a touch.

Sam thought about trying an astral walk to see how many cockatrices there were and to make sure they were all outside, but he dreaded what might happen if any were not. In the narrow confines of the nesting pens, the paranimals would have all the advantages. The men would be crowding one another, the distances would be too short for effective gunfire, and the beasts were very fast.

Staring at the door, Sam stayed where he was, firmly in the grip of his mundane senses. Sally had warned him that the creatures could see astral presences and could affect his astral body as fatally as his flesh body. Maybe she had just been trying to scare him out of doing the run, but if Sally spoke true, the creatures presented an even greater menace to his astral self than to his physical being. He had learned that the astral body was somehow a reflection of a person’s essence. Could a person’s essence be other than his soul? If one of those things touched him during astral projection, what would happen to his soul?

Ghost was suddenly at Sam’s side, almost startling a yelp from him. The Indian waited a few seconds while Sam’s breathing returned to normal, then tugged on his arm.

“Let’s go. The roving patrol just started their round. Won’t be back here for another ten.”

They moved quickly and quietly across the lot, keeping to the cover of the vehicles. They stopped downwind, several meters from the fenced area. Sam licked his lips, tasting the greasy, ashy flavor of the face-darkening make-up he wore to eliminate reflections. “Maybe you should do the shooting.”

“Your gun, your run.” Ghost’s face was unreadable. “You shoot.”

“Right.” Resigned, Sam reached into the pouch at his belt and removed a magazine. Fumbling a little in the dark, he ejected the clip in his pistol and replaced it with the one from his pouch. He was careful to slip the currently unwanted clip into a pocket.

“Got the right one, Paleface?”

“Should be,” Sam whispered in annoyance. If the Indian was expecting Sam to do it, he could at least have the decency to expect he’d do it right. “You’re the one with the cybereyes. Couldn’t you read the label?”

“Thirty-two cee-cee’s of Somulin cut with ten grains of Alpha-dexoryladrin,” Ghost recited. “Make sure you put the other clip back in before we run into any guards. Any Human that takes that dosage ain’t going to see morning.”

“I know, I know.” The Indian was treating him like a child. “You want to get touched by one of those things?”

The Indian’s gap-toothed, crooked smile glinted in a fugitive beam of light. “You think they’re fast enough to touch a ghost?”

“I don’t know. You want to find out that they can by getting stoned the hard way?”

“No,” Ghost said seriously.

“Right.” Sam was satisfied that he had scored a point. “I’ll change magazines when we’re through the pens.”

Gun ready, Sam took aim at the nearest sleeping cockatrice, which looked like no more than a dark mound. The pistol bucked a little in his hand, accompanying the soft huff of the shell’s compressed air propulsion. The target’s feathers quivered slightly before the mound resumed its previous slight, measured motion.

“Think I got it?”

“If you’d only nicked it, it would be screaming bloody hell. Either it’s sleeping or you missed completely.” Ghost paused. “We’ll find out once we’re inside. Dart the rest.”

The Narcoject Lethe huffed four more times, spitting its tranquillizer darts at four more cockatrices. Sam changed clips and fired five more rounds. Another clip change was required before he darted the final two. Each hit had as little obvious effect as the first.

“All of them?”

“Far as I can see.”

“Let’s go,” Ghost said, leading the way.

The gate had a simple keypad lock, but it might be more than enough to delay them until the patrol showed up. Ghost attached an unscrambler to the lock. The box hummed and digits flashed across its screen. In just under two minutes, the numbers locked into a match for the combination, and the bolt snicked open. They heard a loud guffaw as one of the guards responded to a companion’s joke.

With discovery marching toward them, they entered the enclosure. Sam was afraid that one or more of the beasts would leap up and charge them, but nothing moved. The pen was rank with a musty smell that vaguely reminded him of the feathered serpent Tessien, but less savory. Sam wondered if the odor was the feathers, the scales, the combination, or just the smell of magic. One by one, he gathered up his darts with a three-pronged gripper, careful not to let his skin actually touch any part of the beasts. The task should not have been difficult, but his fear, heightened by the approach of the security patrol, made him fumble-fingered. He didn’t want to leave empty darts lying about the enclosure as evidence that the cockatrices’ sleep had been enforced.

The last dart recovered, he joined Ghost at the passage into the nesting area. The Indian’s left hand held an Ingram smartgun and his right rested against the swinging door. With a nod to Sam, he pushed it, holding it open as he listened. Ghost motioned Sam forward with his head and let Sam take the weight of the door. The Indian moved into the deep darkness of the pens.

Sam waited at the door, his starlight goggles unable to penetrate the gloom of the deeply recessed parts of the nesting area. Light from beyond silhouetted Ghost moving carefully across the area, heading for the transparent wall that separated the nests from the handlers’ area. A rustle in the darkness made Sam shudder. At least one cockatrice was inside with them. Ghost heard it too, and swiveled to face the explosion of feathers and scaly fury that launched itself at him.

Standing in the doorway, unwilling to tangle with the beast and even more unwilling to abandon Ghost, Sam watched as the Indian dodged the first attack. The creature landed on two strong, heavily taloned legs and turned swiftly. Its beaked head searched for the man who had invaded its nest. It stalked forward, hissing and lashing its tail. Ghost circled warily, trying to keep enough room to maneuver. His second Ingram was in his other hand; he held both weapons out in front of him but didn’t shoot.

The noise, Sam realized, would give them away. Sam raised his own weapon, but could not find a clear shot as the cockatrice rushed Ghost and they began a whirling dance of strike and counter. Parrying with his weapons and dodging the paranimal’s attacks by sheer speed, the samurai was being forced deeper into the nest, further into the darkness and away from the clear area in the center. Sooner or later, he would falter or slip.

Knowing that hitting Ghost could be lethal, Sam fired the Lethe, but the two combatants continued their frenetic action. He had only two more shots in the clip and the guards were getting closer. Sam fired again. The cockatrice leapt high, striking out at Ghost with its tail. The samurai ducked underneath and dove back toward the open center of the chamber. The creature landed heavily, almost falling. It turned and took a step toward Ghost before collapsing in a heap to the floor.

Sam slipped fully into the pen and let the door swing down. He leaned against the wall, breathing deeply. They had come near disaster; he could see his first dart embedded in Ghost’s belt.

As Sam’s breathing slowed, he heard the guard patrol pass by outside. They gave no indication that they were aware of the intruders as they tramped on to the next part of their sweep. It would be another half-hour before the guards returned to the building.

Though Sam and Ghost were within the walls of the security building, they were still isolated from the rest of the structure. From their position inside the nesting area, they could see the staging area where the cockatrice handlers kept their rigid leashes, thick, insulated gloves, and control prods. A closed door promised access to the rest of the building. Their access to the handlers’ area was blocked by a sealed access port, its lock unreachable through the transparent plastic. Unless Dodger had made it through the system, this was as far as they could go.

Ghost nudged Sam and pointed at a security camera turning their way. The lens rotated as it focused on them, a mechanical eye squinting to see more clearly. Were they hosed? The lock unbolted, giving him his answer. Dodger had made it through to take control of the building’s security systems. Ghost waved to the camera and the ready light blinked three times in the agreed-upon signal. Before Sam registered the third blink, Ghost was halfway to the door. Sam followed, fumbling with the magazine of his Lethe.

They walked the corridor cautiously, knowing a few people were still in the building. As long as Dodger was on overwatch, they would set off no alarms, but they did not want to meet up with any United Oil personnel. They headed for the day offices, avoiding the main monitor room, the barracks wing, and the ready room. Ghost stopped short at the open door to the reception area, then jumped swiftly across the opening and motioned for Sam to move up and peer in.

The light spilling from the doorway was not a forgotten lamp, as he had hoped. A man was working at a terminal in the reception area, effectively blocking access to the inner offices. The man’s short-sleeved shirt was not the severe military cut of a security personnel uniform, so he was probably just a clerk trying to score points by working overtime.

Ghost tapped his Ingram with his finger, pointing at Sam, then at the man. Sam shook his head. An interruption might set off an alarm, especially if the man was networking interactively. Dodger wouldn’t be able to filter out the reactions of anyone in communication with this man. Sam pointed at Ghost and the man before crossing his own wrists in front of him. Ghost nodded in understanding and stole into the room.

A reflection on the computer screen must have betrayed the Indian’s approach. The man started to turn just as Ghost gripped the chair and pulled him away from the keyboard. Throwing himself forward, the man lunged for the jacket draped on the desk. Ghost was faster. The Indian’s left-hand Ingram slammed the corporate’s hand into the holstered gun that lay hidden in the folds of the garment and held it there. The barrel of Ghost’s other Ingram forced the man’s chin upward.

“Bad night to work late, Mr. Suit,” he said.

The man glared at him.

“You want to get hurt, make a move. Cooperate and everybody will be happy. You, me, even United Oil . After all, they won’t have an expensive rug cleaning bill or employee replacement search.”

The man said nothing, but he spread wide the fingers of his trapped hand and relaxed the muscles of his arm. Ghost let him straighten and back away from the desk.

Sam entered the room, closing the door before crossing to look at the terminal screen. “You’ve got a pretty high clearance.” Sam tapped the I.D. recall and read their captive’s name. “Mr. Fuhito. You will pardon us if we take advantage of your position in the system.”

Fuhito found his voice. “You will not get away with this. Do you know who is director of our company’s security forces?”

Ghost grinned and stepped close to Fuhito again, placing the muzzle of his right-hand Ingram smartgun level with the man’s eye. “Great big Dragon by the name of Haesslich. And we’d be very impressed if he were here. But he’s not. It’s just you and us, so maybe you’ll think about your future and cooperate.”

“I will not compromise my employer.”

“You don’t have to, Mr. Fuhito.” Sam looked into the lens of the room’s security camera. “Dodger, can you slip through into this access port?”

The monitor under the camera had been displaying a peaceful view of the vehicle park, but suddenly blanked. Words formed on the darkened screen. “Nay. Locked too tight. Grab what you can from there.”

“Right.” Sam retrieved the chair and sat down at the keyboard. Fuhito had not been jacked in, which was just as well. A manual access to the Matrix was acceptable; it was slower, but less painful than decking. If the trip out was as tense as the trip in, he would need all his wits about him. The headache he would get from jacking in would be a liability.

He was about to trash the file Fuhito had been working on when he noticed a familiar name, Andrew A. Wilson. Scanning the file with sudden interest, Sam’s surprise grew as he read. The document was a plan for a hostile extraction of Wilson by special operatives of United Oil. The source of the extraction order was not listed, but Sam knew that only higher authorities could approve such actions. Those same authorities would know if Wilson was already working for United Oil’s interests. And if he were, any extraction would not be hostile. If Drake was with United Oil, his arrangement with Wilson was unknown to his superiors. Was Drake a rogue then? Or was he unconnected to United Oil, and their trip here useless?

The answer might lie in the database. Sam closed the file and ran a search for references to Drake, Hart, or Tessien. He came up empty. Fingers poised on the keys, he tried to think what to do next.

“You are searching for information on Katherine Hart,” Fuhito said. He must have been able to see the screen from where he stood. Sam swiveled the chair to face him.

“That’s right. We want to know who she works for, among other things. She’s involved in something we want to stop. Can you help us?”

Fuhito drew himself up, obviously having made a hard decision. “I will tell you who they work for.”

“I thought you wouldn’t compromise your company,” Ghost said.

“I will not. The Elf bitch and her worm work for Haesslich directly. They are under his personal contract.”

“By the worm, you mean Tessien?”

Fuhito nodded.

“Why are you telling us this?” Sam asked.

“Hart is a worse threat to United Oil security than you two. The Dragon gives secrets to her, a money-grubbing mercenary of flickering loyalty. Her presence is an affront to our security organization, an insult to the company.”

“Why don’t you tell your bosses?” Sam asked. Fuhito maintained a sullen silence. Either he had done so and been ignored, or he was afraid to. “All right, then. What about Jarlath Drake?”

“I know nothing about any Jarlath Drake. Is he another of Haesslich’s adventurers?”

“We ask the questions, chummer,” Ghost warned.

Fuhito turned on him with sudden heat. “I must know about this Drake. You will tell me if he is a threat to United Oil security.”

Ghost laughed softly. “Take it easy, tiger. The only threat you have to worry about right now is us.”

Snorting, Fuhito replied, “You are no threat. You will not leave the grounds alive.”

Ghost holstered one of his guns and stepped up to Fuhito, passing an open hand across the man’s face. Locks of hair drifted toward the floor. The Indian’s fingertips came to rest lightly on the man’s neck, marking the course of his jugular vein. Sam could see Fuhito pale and his eyes go wide with fear. Ghost’s smile was tight and hard; not a tooth showed.

“Ever try to kill a ghost?”

The tableau broke as the security monitor beeped, and the words “Time, time, time,” marched across the screen. Ghost stepped away from the shaking Fuhito and moved to the door. Sam stood up, took out his gun, and pointed the Lethe at the United Oil man.

“It’s been enlightening, Mr. Fuhito, but it’s past your bedtime,” he said, pulling slowly on the trigger. The dart struck home and Fuhito jerked, his expression flickering from surprise to contempt as he slumped. Ghost caught him before he hit the floor. The two runners arranged Fuhito at the desk, draped to appear as though he had fallen. By the time they closed the door, the knowbot monitoring the length of inactivity on secure files had blanked the screen, logging Fuhito out.

As they hurried down the corridor back to the pens, Ghost whispered, “I think you’ve lost your invisibility. He’ll spill to Haesslich in the morning.”

“I disagree. I saw enough of his kind in Japan when I was with Renraku. They’re loyal to the company, but also concerned about personal honor.” They were into the vehicle park before Sam had a chance to say more. “Mr. Fuhito is actually Major Fuhito, Haesslich’s second-in-command of security,” he said. “Being caught by a couple of runners who slipped in and out of his domain without setting off a single alarm will shame him deeply. I called him mister instead of by rank, so he’d think we didn’t know who he was. He may take that to mean we won’t say anything about who we caught. If none of us talks, tonight never happened. His kind find it real easy to take that line.

“Fuhito must be ambitious, which is why he works late at night. He wants to move up in the world, but he wants his world orderly. Haesslich and his personal agents are a troublesome headache to him, too random and unpredictable. Such wild cards are disturbing to a man like Fuhito. He wants them gone from his world, and that’s a service we might provide in a number of ways. Whether we eliminate Haesslich’s agents, expose them, or simply foul up their plans, we embarrass Haesslich.

“The Major will be looking for a way to use the Dragon’s embarrassment to his own advantage. If Drake is involved with Wilson and Haesslich and the big boys of United Oil know nothing about that, I think the Major may get what he’s hoping for. If Haesslich’s private operatives mess up a United Oil operation by compromising a lucrative acquisition like Wilson, the Dragon will not earn points with United Oil executives. With Haesslich’s stock going down, Fuhito’s goes up. We, working to expose Drake’s operation, will do some of the Major’s work for him, making it easier for him to take Haesslich’s job. No, Mister Fuhito will be very quiet about his night visitors.

“At least now we know that we can hunt down Drake without worrying about getting on the wrong side of United Oil.” Sam looked around. “Now, how do we get out of here?”

“Null perspiration, paleface. Just follow me.”