Coffin Nails

Coffin Nails

Part One

2000 Hours Local. MSP, MN. May 15, 2046. Some parts of MSP really suck, and this would qualify nine out of ten times for that label. This stretch of Hiawatha on the lower level of Star City, below all the aerodyne-ways is a real den of vermin. South of Highway 94, and north of the Cross-Town, it is a dark, smoggy, garbage infested stretch of land that never sees the sun. I heard the last bird died in here ten years ago and they haven't heard a chirp since. That alone would make me defer on the job. That it was for a corporation like Ares is another. The only reason I was here is because an old buddy of mine, Staff Sergeant Mike "Duffy" Doal, was killed while on duty. We worked back in Arabia around '39, and we formed a bond that comes from relying on each other time and again in life and death situations. It was a good bond; we both lived to tell about it. Many of our enemies didn't. I can also say with a clean conscience that me being here had nothing to do with the six foot blond sitting in front of me. Likewise, her massive D-cup bossum, shapely hips, legs, and bodacious posterior never entered into the equation. Really!! Her name was Sharyn "Stiletto" Maxwell, and she had grown up on the Farm. The Farm is not just one place, but the Ares Corporate Campuses that blended a hospital, basic training, a day care, elementary school through a university, and a bordello. Sounds interesting don't it? Well, according to some of my friends that held deep dark secrets, Ares had been breeding stock since 1978. What stock you ask? Well, just the worlds best athletes, engineers, soldiers, warriors, and tacticians. The end result was that their employees had been in the company for generations. Sometimes without knowing it; Ares had a talent for playing matchmaker with people. They had gone public with this information just after the fall of the U.S.A. in 2018. Most soldiers in Ares were born and raised on The Farm, but some like me were brought in because we represented 'new blood'. Seven or eight (or more) Farms were in operation around the globe. In Seattle, which was the first base; in a small town in the Ukraine; in old Fort Bragg, Georgia; in the Mekong Delta in Vietnam; an Island off the coast of India was perhaps the most remote; outside Bonn, Germany; in Central Irag; and finally (as far as I knew) a sparsely populated stretch of the Andes Mountains in Peru. Perhaps I digress. Back to the point at hand. I looked over at my new partner as we stood outside the Archer-Danniels-Midland loading dock. We'd just come out of a briefing by the ADM Corporation Security Executive. "So Sharyn," I said somewhat clumisly, "besides the fact that you want my body, what's on your mind." She didn't really smile, it looked more like a grimace. "I think that VP of Security wouldn't know a good plan if it kicked his ass. What was Duffy thinking?" I couldn't understand it either, something had gotten in and eaten the faces off of all twelve ADM security troops, Duffy, and the twenty other personel at the lab here. Right as I was about to say something, Takashi walked up and said hi. As he introduced himself to Stiletto, I took the opportunity to steal a glance at her body and ponder what a God-fearing (or at least screaming) Christian I would have made her in years past. "Sorry to bring you back under terms like this Shark," Takashi's sudden inclusion of me in the conversation snapped my mind back to business. "Not a problem buddy," I said as I slapped him on the back. "I hope I can help." He knew Duffy and I were good pals and being reactivated was relatively rare. But what was a problem is that I didn't know what was being done at the ADM lab, and thus what Duffy had died for. If it were not a damn good reason, woe to ye that took his life. Doom on you, fucko. "Takashi," I said, "tell me about what ADM does here and why Ares was here." "Well, that is covered in a confidentiality agreement that Ares signed and all troops on site have no knowledge of the labs activities. Unfortunately that includes me." "But Shark," Stiletto piped in, "The reason I'm here is because my training includes Corporate Competitive Advantage Reduction." I smiled at that, she had a way with words. That meant she was a spy. "We'll just follow some of the operators home or to a watering hole and get it out of them. And no, not operators like you, but the kind that work on machines." "Alright," I said as she batted her huge eyelashes at me. Were I not so strong I'm sure I would crumble before her charms. "I'll make some phone calls, and Takashi, try to round up the scuttlebutt on what they do here. Ok?" Two yeses responded, then we separated to go about our business. "Shark, I'll call you when I get some subjects suitably liquored up and whistling my tune, to tell you what bar we're at." Stiletto made the inuendo pretty subtle, but not so sly I missed it.
"Sounds good," I called back from the other side of the Suburban. I didn't know what sort of hole I might be digging myself into.
2045. On 94 Westbound. I thought about the job and decided to call Spydr. "Spydr, what can you tell me about ADM Corp?" "Well, only rumors. What are you looking for?" After the few years we'd been friends it still amazed me what her voice did to me. I wonder if it's intentional? "Well, anything you can round up on their product at the Hiawatha Plant." "Who's footing the bill." "Big Brother," I said with a smile as I drove. I'd just taken the on ramp up to 394 Up-Road. "Be careful. Thirty are already dead." "Will do Sharky," she said and then hung up. She always hung up first. It only annoyed me when I still had stuff to say. I was west bound out to Minnetonka, just driving to be on the move, and switched phones. I called Zona. I heard the line open up and so started speaking. "Hey Babe, when was the last time you did an autopsy?" "Nice to see you too. Is this business or pleasure?" "Funny girl. Business." "I can do one anytime you want." "What about me?" I chuckled as I headed down the new Highway 100. "Same goes for you." "Great, I'll have the body dropped off by my old pal Tak, and then you can get to work. Sound ok?" "Sure. Later." I hung up, and switched phones again. This time I called Takashi. "Hey Robin, how goes it?" "Good Batman, where are you?" "I'm up in the bleachers and need a favor. Get one or two of the bodies and take them to BatGirl. Tell her everything." "Roger, over and out."
When we were on the job we generally spoke in cryptic code. Encryption could be broken, but this was at least secure for a day or two. By then though we'd switch codes. It had worked around the globe icing tangos, so it would most likely work here. In this instance, I was Batman, Zona was Batgirl, Raven was Alfred (ha ha ha), Kid Stealth was Mr. Freeze, Spydr was Cat Woman, Takashi was Robin, the Bat Cave was my apartment, and Raven's was the Mansion. It wasn't that creative, but it worked. We also tossed in our old baseball refrences, and a few other more modern comics refrences, but I won't elaborate on those for now.
2130. House of Usher. Lake and Ottawa. The small brownstone bar was the first floor of a two story building. The upstairs looked like it had some small apartment up there, and god knows I wouldn't want to live there. The first floor windows were barred on the outside, and filled with Neon beer advertisements on the inside. The surrounding buildings were built right up to it, and the street was a barely passable two lane. The ceiling over the road was about twenty feet up, and constituted the floor of a lower level to the grand vision that was Star City. A single steel door was the entrace on one side, but presumably there were exits in back. I walked in to find it full of the assorted bar flies and blue collar working sorts. Back in the far corner past the pool tables and dart boards I spotted Stiletto. She was the center of attention, with a crowd of ten brawny sorts standing around, competing for her gaze. The back corner held a wall mounted bar table with stools. She perched on one, crossing her legs to leave one dangling, thus exposing miles of leg.
I was then faced with how I should handle the situation. Marching in and posing as a suitor might scare off the one she was after. If I started a bar fight, which would be fun, I could end up hurting the person she was targeting. So, since this was her ball of yarn, I decided to make eye contact, and then have a seat at the bar. There, I'd wait for her to call on the inplant and let me know what to do.
0000. House of Usher. Lake and Ottawa. May 16. My implant rang, and suddenly I felt pretty foolish. Stiletto was seated across my lap, pouring a beer down my throat as we feasted on peanuts. I had to guzzle down the beer before I could answer the phone, and held up a hand to keep her from starting on the next beer. I heard Zona's voice and started to panic, but I quelled it and started speaking. "Hey Shark, how ya doing?" "Great. What have you got for me," I asked as I finished chewing the last few peanuts in my mouth. "Well first, you get into some weird shit. Second, their faces weren't clawed off. The damage was done from inisde. Other than that, I can't even say that missing their jaw, trachea, throat, and cheeks is what caused death. It is as if they choked to death." "What was the cause?" I asked genuinely perplexed and confused. She let out a long sigh, and I knew it as a sigh of defeat. "That's what really gets me. I don't have any idea. The toxicology, trace evidence, and latents searches all came back blank. Nothing killed them besides asphixiation." "Shee-it!" I hooted, "That's not exactly what I wanted to hear, but I'll make due. The lack of evidence is evidence enough. Thanks babe." "No prob. When you gonna be back?"
"As soon as I can. Trust me." I really did want to get back as soon as I could. Despite being around huge busted blonds, this job was really turning into a sour lemon. 0300. ADM Offices in Downtown Sait Paul. Takashi and I hooked up outside the offices, both of us parked on the street. I got out of my Suburban about the time he got out of his brand new GMV Wicked LS Electric. It was a sporty mid-sized four door sedan that was favored by intelligence services for one fad-reason or another. Much like the Crown Victoria back during the turn of the century. Walking towards him in the light evening rain (it could still rain, we weren't under a dome or in an Arch) I wondered what we were doing there besides him filling me in on the details he had uncovered. Unless of course there were no uncovered details or if he were going to do some mis-information. Tak stuck out his hand to shake mine. "Hey there," he said as he pumped it. "Find anything good?" I asked. He tipped back the old fedora he wore, and lit a cigarette. "Can't you wait just a second?" He pulled out a lighter, and snapped it twice in the rain before it took. "Do you get paid by the hour or what Shark?" His tone was pretty serious, but I knew he was joking. "Nah, I'm just the anxious sort." "Then you'll be disappointed about this. I couldn't find a damn thing, espically about what killed them, but I'm still looking. ADM has got this clamped down tight. They don't seem to understand that Ares just doesn't like to loose men." This I wondered about, because Ares had a going rate for suicide missions. It was a high rate, but customers bought the option and Ares sent teams on the missions. The term was one for a mission with high Difficulty Indexes, and low historical success ratings. It didn't mean teams didn't come back, but when they did it was a few men short and body parts short. After standing there for a second in silence I answered, "Well lets go get a burger then and plan on how to handle this whole mess. I'll call Stiletto and get her in on this too, maybe she found something." "Good, follow me," he said as he walked back to his car, opened the door, and tossed his partially smoked cigarette into the pubble, curb-side. I got in my car amid near red-line levels of paranoia and concern. I'd turned on my accelerated reflexes about twelve seconds ago and was now perspiring from the effort it took just to stand still. Tak only wore the hat before a shit-storm. Plus two of anything was our code for big trouble. Generally an ambush, sellout, or other deal. None materialized. What was up with that? Tak also didn't smoke, he could but didn't out of habit. Intel types need to be flexible, and if his cover needed to smoke, so did he. Coughing and turning grey wasn't the best way to hold up a cover. 0500. Champs, New Brighton (Star City). We'd been standing on the outside porch at Champs for about twenty minutes talking about our plan for tomorrow before we finished up, and then Takashi excused himself. Stiletto and I finished off our beers and then I payed the tab. "Where are you staying tonight Shark?" Stiletto asked as we stood up and headed for the door. "Well, I'm on the job so I'm not going home," I said matter-of-factly. We were out front before I answered because of the thundering rock music. She must have seen that as an invitation because she took two quick steps forward and put her mouth to mine in a sweet kiss. Her arms snaked around my midsection, and she squeezed herself to me. She was putty in my arms; or was it the other way around? That wasn't good. I had to stop. I pushed back from her. "Stiletto, God you're hot, but I can't." "Why the hell not? Shrapnel get the better part of you? Or you queer?" I laughed my big man laugh, and stared her down. She knew damn well it hadn't been blown off, she'd been rubbing up all over it while on my lap not six hours ago. "NDBBM." "What the hell? Is that VD?" She looked like she was going from amused (as I think she assumed I was playing hard to get) to pissed. "Nobody's Damn Business But Mine. Full stop, end of story." I looked at her and tried hard to keep my stone cold face on. I don't know if it worked. These types of situations are alot different from cowing the enemy into submission and bluffing past guards. She turned and headed out. Her hips swayed back and forth, while she made no atempt to hide her sensuality. I expected some sort of response but not exactly this. I turned, grabbed another beer, and slammed it down. Despite myself I'd broken out into a full blown nervouse sweat as soon as she walked out. The cold icy beverage tasted extra good, but then my implant rang. "Shark," Stiletto asked. "You never answered me. Where are you staying?" "Across the street at the Budget-coon." It was a sleezy little dive that rented out capsules or cacoons on a nightly basis. That one had exceptionally low rates because it was split a hundred other ways with all the cockroaches. "No surprises." I said, and hung up. Despite my instructions, she attempted to visit me that night. These places have a little video screen in the tube that views the lobby security monitors. That way you can know whose knocking before you open up. The down side is that once you purchase a room, you have basically free reign of the racks. (The tubes are arranged in racks, hence the expression.) So when I didn't answer to the calls, she just purchased a tube and headed up. I don't know what happened after that, but I would have loved to see the expression on her face once she hacked into the tube under my name. It was empty of course, I knew a spy like her wouldn't be stopped by either this places cheesy security or the key pads on the tubes. I keep a hacked tube here that renews on a daily basis until a randomly selected date next month. Then I change the name and it stays in that name until another random date next month. I did this because she would also hack into the computers and see which names were rented at either the exact same time as Mr. Sharkman, or close to it. She thought I would rent a tube earlier in the day, no doubt, and that tracking me down would be easy. I found this approach lazy at best, and most likely dangerous. But with her out of my hair (despite a massive hard on from her flirtations at the bar) I layed in the cacoon and tried to sort things out. Tak had informed me that ADM was in a contract with Ares that extended beyond Big Brother just providing technical and physical security personel. He said he'd found that Ares and ADM had entered into a joint R&D Project two months ago, with Ares providing much of the venture capital, as ADM had seen low profits the last two quarters and needed a partner (or wanted one) to reduce the risk of this project. He had also found out that The Fox had been strictly banned from memos and data wires of the most sensitive nature. He only knew this becuase William (The Fox's comm tech) didn't know all that was going on, but could see a certain amount of high-priority data flowing out of the ADM nodes at MSP and out the SatComm links from their building. What Stiletto had found was equally interesting. The Operators knew very little about exactly what they made, besides the fact they were cigarettes. No one delt with the organic chemists or biologists that were normally part of an ADM cigarette production line. No one knew the Operations manager, or lead scientist. They just recieved truckloads of soy and corn off of trucks from Shakopee. That these two products were being made into 'smokey treats' told us that they were synthetic cigarettes. But since none of the operators knew where any test data, design data, or process data were; this put us no closer to finding out why someone would kill the operators, and security personel. As my ponderings continued they drifted to non-work related topics. Zona formost amongst them, and the differences between her and Stiletto. All physical differences aside, the purely non-tangible were my focus until sleep arrived. Stiletto was a hunter, much like me, she went after what she wanted and took it as if it was hers in the first place. This 'I own the world' mindset is one that keeps you alive and gets you through the tough jobs. By owning everything, and taking what you wanted you always looked out for people to be on your stuff, wether they be toughs on YOUR street, or snipers in YOUR trees. It also fostered agression, brutal tactics; it wasn't other peoples stuff you were breaking, cuz you can always break your stuff. YOUR door when entering rooms, YOUR windows when rapelling, YOUR anything that anyone else had and was using without YOUR permission. It also took away your limits, and freed up your tactical situation. If you owned the world you could go anywhere, do anything, and never need to stop and ask for permission. Blow up bridgers, walls, dams, power lines, anything to get the mission done. This mindset was the hardest thing for me to abandon now that I wasn't a corporate operator anymore. But back to Zona and Stiletto. Both were very intelligent, and dare I say cunning (in refrence to Zona)? It was a man's world and both knew it, but they also both used it to their advantage. But what seperated them was their agression. Mainly that Zona has very few agressive bones in her body (not counting mine). Stiletto is almost 100% agressive. I'd been shown her file by Tak when I took on the job, and she's been to about half the classes I have. Which put her way out if front of any competition she might be seeing at Ares. Stiletto was the type of lady that you liked to be around because she was like you. She'd drink beer, get in fights, sit out in the cold surf waiting for the mark, climb up the outside of an archology, shoot, scoot, sneak and peek with anyone. She was one of the guys with the added benefit of having tits and an input (whereas the type that used men as an input just wanted tits on their backs). Zona was entirely the opposite. She was like many women, basically a healer and a nurturer. You wanted to be with her because she represented the pinacle of womanhood. Again, physical considerations aside (in a second) her body was more femanine than Stiletto's becuase she didn't use it like a man did. She wasn't good at running, climbing, or swimming because her body was enough different that those things didn't come to her naturally. But she did represent the social, common sense, stable personality that was a shelter in a very rough world. Her tenderness and gentleness were also markedly different from Stiletto in that she had any (actually vast quantities of both). Finally she wasn't agressive, which was attractive because it reminded me of what I fought for, so that not everyone would become like me; what was good in people; and the strength of the human spirit. Zona was soft and warm, Stiletto was cold and hard as nails. Sleep came somewhere around here. 0900. Budget-coon. Tube 314. My implant rang and reluctantly I left sleep's gentle fingers and answered the damnable radio call. Spydr's melodious voice soothed the savage beast in me as she appologized for any inconvience she had caused by calling early. She said she knew it was before noon, which was my standard wake time, but that this was important. "Shark, a source on the street, with big Corp contacts had done a job three months back for a Mr. Johnson. I found out the job had been a red herring, but NewsFAX reports the team had scrounged up indicated the real objective. Their's had been to destroy a pair of trucks in the outlands and take the digital navigation logs, as well as the shipping logs. The team assumed these would be used to undercut the competitors shipping costs or something to that effect." Her story started to get long and I felt sleep reaching out for me. "Stay with me now," she said. How the hell did she know that? "But in the back was a cryogenic tank. In it was the body of Doctor Mingus Control, a agricultural genetic engineer. Back in the 90's he invented Super-Corn(R). The NewsFAXs said he had been extracted from DOW Chemical the month before, with no sign of him leaving the Phoenix AZ archology. Since that Archology contains the whole city, they can lock it down solid. Despite that though, a good team could still get out. But the only really good way to get past scanners is refrigeration tanks and cold temperatures. Combined they shield or foul X-ray, Microwave, IR, and acoustic." I admit, now I was intrested. "Guess who has a cryogenic truck park at the Phoenix Arch?" "A few people and ADM I bet." "You are awake. Very good," she said in what could only be described as a motherly tone. "This could be coincidence, but ADM also offered to buy out Dr. Control three months before that, but DOW declined the offer. Our hacker friend found a suitable amount in an ADM slush fund, that would be capable of paying the amount the runners got to nab the frozen Doctor around that time, but that isn't conclusive. But what is pretty solid is that ADM has reported the vehicles 'Lost to Bandits', but the runners say they only took the equipment in the dash. You know me when it comes to lying, and they weren't. They said no hostile rounds fired. They just mono-wired the tires, then stunned the crews." Pause. "You know, the old lets-not-kill-anyone-if-we-can-help-it routine, as that will piss-off-the-big-mean-corporations." I couldn't tell if she was ripping on me in a fecicious way or what. "The hijacking was in Nebraska, but distance is no big thing for ADM, and I would rule out inter-company politics. The CEO Mark Charron is a real tyrant, he bashed in two heads with a ball bat at last years christmas party because they had used company resources to try and take each other out. His 'gestapo'-like security troops are nearly fanatical to him and enfore the industries most strict No-Internal-Competition dictates. It comes down to, it looks ADM blew up their own trucks to get the scientist they need for some project." "Damn," I huffed. "That's frickin' great. Helluva job. I owe you." "Yup, you do," she said and hung up, first as always. 1800. ADM Docks off of Hiawatha. The sun was barely headed down towards the horizon as I stood at the dock waiting. The docks are not the main docks anymore, they're the old decrepid ones on the lower, darker level of the city. These were on the west side of the grain towers, which now just barely poked their head into the lower levels of Star City. Those docks were set for Aerodyne heavy lift trucks and WIG-effect aircraft. These dirty, moss covered ones, were made for flatbeds, and grain haulers. I couldn't really see the sun, but I thought about it. It should have been visible, were it not for the five level Highway 55, and the surrounding buildings. My evening was lit by the false light of sodium bulbs and flourescents. I was now waiting back in the shadows for our new found friend to arrive. Takashi wasn't here, he was working with Stiletto on the source of the test material (soy and corn). This new friend wasn't one just yet, but he would be. Tak had recieved a phone call while in the ADM offices. It wasn't really for him, it was for one of the dead scientists at the lab. That didn't stop Takashi from answering. The voice on the other end, wanted a new batch of cigarettes like he'd been promised when he signed up for the test group. Takashi agreed to this meeting place, and then told me around one p.m. as I rolled into work. We were both surprised to have this bit of good luck. ADM hadn't told us that there was a control group outside the lab. Now we might be able to get down to business. I had with me three cartons of cigarettes that we'd delabeled and then repackaged to give these were the test smokes, even though they weren't. I didn't have to wait very long before my guy showed up. My new friend was only fifteen minutes late to the six o'clock meeting. He must have had some inkling that something was up because he brought a razorboy along with him. The razor carried an old IMI Desert Eagle, in what looked like .50 AE caliber. I was not very impressed. It was unprofessional, and stupid. Friend must have thought he was just going to rough up a scientist. As Friend approached, he spoke up in a loud voice, but not a shout. "Hey, who are you? and where is Doctor Hughes?" "Doctor Hughes will not be joining us anymore. I have taken over the project." I said this in a flat monotone voice, that was meant to intimidate. Neither could fully see me because of some shadows that hid me from the waist up. My back was to a loading dock door (that I knew I could run through if need be) and there were crates off to my left. The concrete I was on extended out about ten feet before it dropped to street level. This is where they stood, about forty feet off. The Razor would have to be a pretty good shot to hit me with that hand cannon. The trigger pull was awful, and the nose heaviness would complicate things. It may have been customized, but I considered that Hollywood gun beyond repair. "Well!" he stammered as he came closer, "He's the only one I'll be dealing with." "Not if you want your cigarettes, he won't be." Friend came closer and I examined him. He looked about sixteen to twenty, judging by the lack of facial hair on an otherwise dirty face that said he hadn't bathed in a couple days. He wore blue jeans and a navy colored work shirt with matching jacket that firmly planted him in the blue collar working class. His fingers were noticably large, and caked with black oil or grease. There was, not surprisingly, a pack of cigarettes in his right breast pocket and one smoking in his mouth. "You don't look much like a scientist," he said when he was at the foot of the stairs off to the right that came up from ground level. "How can I trust you?" he said after taking a long drag on his smoke. "You don't look very smart. I work for a corporation: you can't. But I do have your cigarettes and money." I smiled a wry evil grin as I said it, thoroughly amused with my little word game. "How much will it be this week?" "I think three cartons will hold me and two thousand Ebucks will do." He was at the top of the stairs and feeling pretty smug despite my insult. The look in the Razor's eyes were somewhere between drugged out and ultra-high. That worried me a little. But I felt luck that we'd repacked three cartons, just like he asked for. I stepped out of the shadows and they both got a good look at me. Friend stepped back, while the Razor's gun barrel started to waver. "Well, how about I pay you half in cred bills and give you all the packs now?" "Holy shit man! Who the hell are you?" as he breathed out some smoke my direction. "I've changed lines of work and now am in customer service." The Razor paled at that because some Corporations used Customer Service synonomously with assassination. Friend was none the wiser. I opened up my jacket on the left side, showed them my wallet, and then slowly withdrew it. I flipped out the ten hundred cred bills and held them out. Friend stepped forwards and took the cred, then asked, "Where are the smokes?" This time I opened up the right flap of my jacket and showed all three packs as well as the Ares Predator. I handed out all three cartons and he then withdrew. Then shit went down hill. "AH! MAN!! I know you," the Razor nearly shouted. Obviously the drugs were effecting his hearing. "You're that Sharkman dude! I totally got the drop on you!!" He smiled a terrible, huge, teethy grin of superiroity. True enough he did. All I could hope for was poor shooting on his part, and good armor for me. The Ares in a shoulder houlster was notoriously hard to draw, or at least slow. It would take me at least half a second to get it out. I also didn't have my accelerated reflexes on. So that much time was alot. "Now calm down there!" I said back. "I don't know you or what your beef with me is, but your boss has got what he wanted so just mosy on along." But he was having none of it, he took three steps closer, all the while keeping his gun on me. Then Friend spoke up, "Damnit Slick!" (Not a very good name), "put that down, we're headed out now!" "No way Frank, I've got a reputation to build!" As he said that I was really surprised to see a black haired noggen' pop up behind some crates on the far side of Slick. It was an old friend of mine. He stood, a knife in each hand, and executed a pair of quick throws in close succession, which left two hilts sticking out of Slick's neckline. Slick dropped to the ground with a loud thump and without a squeak. "OH SHIT!!!" Frank yelled. Since I now knew my new friends name I might as well use it. "I had nothing to do with that," he pleaded. Langrotti was walking up to the stairs which effectively cut off his means of escape, not that Frank could outrun my bullets or Langrotti's knives. "Please don't kill me!!" "I'm not going to kill you," I said drawing the Ares. "Langrotti, get that IMI POS and bring it over here." I looked down at Frank, "Now you put out that damn cigarette, don't you know they'll kill you?" I'd smoked in the past but had given it up upon Zona's request, and despite the mountains of second hand I breathed in at The Web, had quit smoking except for the occasional coffin nail I'd have with a beer. "Yeah tell me about it?" he asnwered sarcastically as he ground it under his foot. "No, you tell me about it." I leaned forward and put on my war face. "Who else is on the public test group? How long have you been smoking these? Who did you get them from? I want all of it, names addresses, cell numbers, and web presence if any." I turned on my recorder implant and over the next ten minutes he spilled his guts. His name was Frank Herberger and he worked in a machine shop. The names that he knew he gave us, no addresses (that shit is hard to remember) but he did know cell numbers. Frank also gave me his number. I gave him the smokes, after I got my money back and let him be on his way. Then I turned to Langrotti, who had been standing there the whole time, wordlessly stroping his knife on the leather wristband while I had interrogated Frank. Langrotti is a short Silician that is a master with the knife. I've never seen anyone as good as him fighting with a knife. He's only about five foot three, lean and wirey, but tough as nails and very quiet. Speaking wise, and in terms of stealth. He always made a good scout or point man. We'd met back in Africa during some corporate action where he had been a hire-on by Ares. We'd worked togther and become pretty good friends. After I called him yesterday I asked if he could meet me here as backup, I wanted him along because he was an outside voice. I'd found myself surrounded by Ares types, and that was coloring my thinking a tad bit. "Salute," Langrotti said as he walked up the stairs. He'd left the knives in Slick, but would get them later. Talking with me was more important than knives. "Greetings old friend, how have the years been?" "Sheety," he said in a definite Italian accent and grimaced. "But there is always plenty of work, and thus I am never short of money." His ferret like face glanced side to side in a darting motion, that showed how observant and paranoid he was. He was wearing black jeans and a brown, zipped up, aviators jacket. "Now, what is it you need?" 0300. Bedlam Apartments May 17. This place was a dump but we'd decided just after I got up to use it as a base of operations. It was away from ADM and Ares, which would give us a lot more operational security. These apartments used to be called Bedland apartments but a aspiring artist turned graffiti geek had thought otherwise. It also rented by the month, so we'd set up shop there. When Tak and I walked in, Stiletto was stretched out, seated on the floor with her long legs spread out around a ream of paperwork. "Good evening Shark," was all she said to either of us. Tak and I grabbed some old Chinese food take-out and sat at the table to eat and talk. During the duration of the day, we'd tracked down the five people that Frank Herberger had given us numbers to, using a reverse phone book. Tak had just finished taking the bodies to Zona for autopsies when he'd picked me up from a meeting with Langrotti, who I left to carry out other parts of the mission I could see in the woodwork. After we discussed stuff for a while he stood up and grabbed his coat. "I'm outa here. See you both in the morning. You know how to reach me," he said and then walked out. I followed him to bolt up the door, and then sat at the table again. Stiletto didn't even look up as I walked by which was good. I drew out my cell phone and dialed Spydr's number. "Hey, this is Shark. Regarding the business," I said as the line opened up to let her know not to identify herself. "I've got some more intel. Talk to Riley about the MO, but there might be a psychotic killer on the loose, or a very strange serial killer. If your contacts could turn up anything regarding a new psycho in town, it could really help me out." "Will do," she said and hung up first. Damn. As I set down the phone, I looked over at Stiletto without turning my head, doing the old visor trick. She turned her head up and looked over at me. "Are you looking at me?" "I am now," I said lying. "What part, you sly pooch?" Her question was in a coy voice as she changed her posture to show off her curves and lines a bit more. "That's an unprofessional question, which I will decline to answer." My court voice was in full effect, it was like I was saying 'I have no recollection of those events counselor.' "Then why don't you come over here and let me show you what I've found amidst this sea of paperwork." She switched back to her business voice, and a more professional posture, so I walked over and squated down on my haunches beside her. Looking over her shoulder I could see that these were shipping and recieving records. She looked up at me with a serious look, then began, "These are the records from ADM shipping and recieving. Don't ask how I got them. But on this page," she held up one and handed it to me, "line item 23 shows the receipt of 2200# of genegineered corn starch and line item 25 is modified soy protien flakes." She then picked up a stack about two hundred pages thick and set it on the top of my thigh. "That is a manual I DL'd on how to make synthetic cigarettes. Major components?" "Corn starch and soy protien flakes," I responded. "Johnny give this man his prize." She switched from a gameshow announcer voice to another variant of it. "You've won a roll in the hay!" she announced with a chuckle then continued in her normal voice. "You're right. But item 23 says gengineered corn starch. I don't know how this corn starch is different. All this," she said gensturing towards the stacks of papers, "has gotten me only this far." Stiletto looked up at me again with a expression somewhere between guilt and failure. "It's a start. Where are they getting all this product?" "These bills are from grain silo's in Shakopee down on Highway 13. It is offloaded into those by boat, truck or train." "Ok, well maybe it would be worth a visit down there to see what you could find?" "I can think of another trip that could be worth it," she wispered out in a sultry tone as she reached across her body and started to slider her hand up my thigh. OH CRUEL FATE!!! WHY DOST THOU MOCK ME!!! I thought as she ran her hand up the inside of my thigh. I set my hand on hers just as she was about to reach the package. This didn't stop her from masaging what she had her hand on. I turned my visor down towards her and said, "Not on the job, OK?" She lifted her hand up, took it back and drew her legs into a sitting position. "Fine," she said as she stood quickly. I thought the discussion was at an end but then she stepped behind me quickly. I suddenly got nervous at the prospect of a Vibro-knife in the back, but then felt her lean over and put her hands on my shoulders. "Will a back rub do instead?" "Yes," I said with a compromise in mind. "But all feet stay on the ground, and we both stay upright." I tiled my head back with a grin, so I could see her face just a little. "I think you're creative enough we could make that work, but OK." She went to work on my neck, then shoulders, then the base of my skull. I might have dozed a little, it had been a long hard day, but her fingers were like magic. About 85% of Zona's massage ability. I didn't say that, but I thought it. She had also aroused special intrest by parts of me, so I knew she was using her spy tricks on me. After about a fourty minute massage, she started the slapping that means it is about done, and in five more minutes she was. "Well, how was that?" she asked laying her hand on my now very relaxed shoulders. "Fantastic. Thankyou very much," I said as I cleared my throat. "I may be worth more than a pail of crap tomorrow." "How was it really?" she asked as one hand reached down between my legs to find out. I grabbed for her hand, but couldn't risk a collision to much. I also wasn't fast enough to keep her from finding out. This take-what-you-want-cuz-it-is-yours was going to far. Maybe this is how bar girls felt when we'd come into town on night passes back in the day? NAH! But before I could say anything, she rolled back away from me laughing. "Admit it Shark! You want it!" she said in a partially mocking/playful tone. "Not on the job. Got that?" I said, then coughed horribly for about ten seconds. It felt like I'd had something stuck in my throat all night, but this really hurt. "Goddamn," she said "What's ammater?" "I don't know," I said as I pulled my hand away from my mouth and saw blood. 1200 Ares Building, MSP. May 18. I woke up with a tube in my throat feeling like I was being assaulted by a vaccum cleaner many times throughout the next day. Stiletto had brought me here, and I remember passing out in the car, but after that it was blank. She and Tak stopped in to talk, but I couldn't. Not with this tube in my throat. I was using a white board instead of the Vocal Cords Mk.II. It was sucking out corn beatles by the handfull, which were hatching in my lungs the doctor said. Ares has some good Docs, so I felt about as secure as one can. But they said it would only stem the tide, and wasn't a cure. That, they could not come up with. Tak wrote: WANT TO CALL ZONA? Stiletto didn't give any response to Zona's name, hopefully because Takashi was just implying she was a doctor. I responded: NO ASS. HOW WILL I TALK TO HER? Tak said, "I could call?" Me: WHAT WOULD YOU TELL HER? Tak, "That we have a patient in a condition similar to your's." Me: THEN SEE WHAT SHE COMES UP WITH? "Righto!" Me: DO IT. I wrote and then smiled at him. After making the call and chatting with her for a good twenty minutes, he said he had something and went out to talk with the docs. When he came back two hours later, it was with my doctor. "Commander," he said (they insisted on using rank, the Docs were so damn formal), "we're going to disconnect your lungs and pump you oxygenated blood. Then we are going to flood your lungs with carbon dioxide. This will kill the larve and pupae, which we can then remove via photo tube surgery." WHAT ARE MY ODDS? "The simulation I ran gave this a 85% chance of success." His face looked bleak and non-commital. SO BETTER THAN AVERAGE? I wrote with a sharky grin. "Yes." LET'S DO IT. None of this by the way was revealed to Zona or Spydr. Not then anyways. 1900 Ares Building Sick Bay, MSP. When I woke up from the sedatives, I felt a million times better. I also saw a message from Zona and Spydr on my lap. I clicked open my cell implant, and dialed Zona's apartment. "Hey babe. Howya doing?" "Better now that you called. I haven't talked to you in two days." "Yeah but I brought you five dead bodies then." "Shark, it takes more than dead bodies to keep a girl around," she said with a little chuckle. "You didn't even bring them yourself. Robin did." "Where do facts belong in arguments with me??" She sighed a resigned, playful sigh, "On your side..." Pause. "Ass." I chuckled, "Well I'll make it up to you. Do you want to go to a pit fight or a tractor pull??" "Ass," was all she said. I knew she hated both. Imagine that? "I don't know how long this job will last, but probably another two weeks. I'll call again. Promise." "Ok. Love ya." "You too," I said, then hung up. I suddenly hoped for a dumb ass reason that Stiletto didn't have the room bugged. Ass. But now that I'd called Zona after my big lung-shut-off-ordeal, I decided to call Spydr and see what she had dug up. I dialed her and she picked up, "Greetings Muchacho!" "Hey you big lug." "How have you been?" I asked. "Good, how about you?" "I'm breathing on my own, so pretty good. What are you up to?" "Oh, just dishes, blah, blah, etc." Spydr is the only woman I know (besides Zona o/c) who can sound good saying blah, blah. But back on topic, "What I called about was to let you know that you can call off the dogs on the psycho search, we got the problem found. One more thing, see what you can come up with on any genetically engineered corn starch, that's what we're looking at." "Corn Starch killed people!, oh that's rich," she said enthusiastically. She then went on to tell me about some of the wackos she had talked to about the psycho/serial killer angle. Takashi walked in without knocking, shut the door, set a white noise generator on my bed table, and a vibratory jammer on the windows; all while I was talking to Spydr. He then faced me, looking a little haggared and worried, and took a manila folder out of his jacket. He held it up facing me. The cover was bordered in the red hatch pattern Ares used to denote 'Classified-Confidential' files. In big stenciled lettering it said 'GLOBE HICKOK ANALYSIS', which really meant nothing because Ares also named their projects with randomly assigned words. He was pointing at it frantically, and then making a #1 motion with his hands. I'd been blocking out Spydr's last few words, and just listening to the soothing tone of her voice. "Wait, hold on," I said interrupting. "Something big has come up here, I'll call you back." click HAHA!! I won this round!. Then I looked at Takashi, "What the hell is it?" "You are not going to believe this," he said tossing the folder to me. It landed with a big flop right on my lap in the hospital bed. I opened it up and started reading. The first couple pages were non-disclosure, top secret agreement, and other warning/threat pages. There was an Eyes-Only circulation list that I didn't see The Fox on. Then I got to the meat of it. I dove into the abstract which boiled down to: Smoking cigarettes is bad for your health. Most soldiers smoke cigarettes. That is bad for their health. Soldiers need good health for peak lethality. Ergo we need cigarettes that aren't bad for your health. Well whupty effin doo, I thought. No shit! Whatever limp dick, no load, pencil neck, asshole came up with this should get shot in the head. Glock, Glock! "Did Ares really generate this garbage?" Takashi nodded mournfully, "Yeah, CINC and General's Staff came up with it. That's on the next page." I flipped to it and sure enough there was General Westmourland's John Hancock. "Well give me wings and call me fly," I said. "What a effed up mess this is." I shook my head. "Guess what else," Tak asked. I shrugged my shoulders apathetically, it was shit like this that forced me out of the Dragoons. "I got this from my digital vidcam outside ADM." He handed me a picture. It was a b/w of an old guy with crazy hair in a rain coat. "Is this Doctor Control?" "How did you know that?" Tak asked. "I know these things," I said with my big sharky smile. "Well great work shit-lock homes. I suppose you also know he has recently joined the project as Head Gene Designer and Operations manager?" I shook my head. "Well he is, and keep reading that Ares report, it actually goes on to say that smoking is good because of the stimulant effects." "Great. I'm going to call The Fox on this one and see what he thinks we should do. Good work by the way, and play it extra-safe from here on in. We're on dangerous ground now." "Will do Shark, see ya round." Tak then trotted out, eyes peeled. 2330 Ares Building Sick Bay, MSP. My cell phone rang, which was a far to common occurance these days. I'd made the call to The Fox and set up a meeting through William for the day after tomorrow, the 20th. Who could this be? I wondered. I picked up the phone, "Sharkman." "Hey Sharky." It was Spydr. "Guess what I got for you?" she asked in a soft coo. I bet it wasn't sex. "And it's not what you're thinking." DAMN!! "I was down at $yberSpace, that Decker Bar, and met with a group of very anarchist hackers. They showed me a crop report and a hazerdous materials report only two days old by ADM. It has been wiped from their network by someone internally at ADM. Basically the gengineered corn had beatle eggs on it. After the growth cycles grew better corn, it also grew better beatles. The report says that anyone inhaling the corn smoke or pulverized dust will also inhale the beatle eggs. They say there is a risk of the eggs hatching in the inhalers lungs. This sounds like some dangerous shit, so you be careful. Got that?" "Ummm, I will. Oya, you betcha." I had used my southern minnesota accent right there. She chuckled a little, "Do you know where this stuff is being stored?" "Yeah I do, but I can't say it on a line like this. I also know what I'm going to do once I get there." I owned that grain silo.

Part Two 2100 Princeton MN, May 20. Without question my favorite part of the job is breaking things. It just seems like a quirk in human nature that it is neat to see things break, and even neater to break them. All of this neatness is multiplied ten fold when other peoples stuff is breaking. Example: when the ejecting bar on my HK 77D SAW MG breaks because the bolt expanded under the heat of prolonged firing and smashed it into a little metal abstract bit of art, that is neat. I'm amazed it would break. But it is ten times cooler when the other guys HK 77D breaks. Of course, the amount of coolness from the destruction of something increases proportionally with the value of what I'm effin up. So this job would get to be pretty dang cool. I'm no nautical engineer, but I figure grain freighter ships are pretty expensive. Easily in the hundred million ballpark. So destorying this would be cool. "Hey Tak," I asked, "Did the old man say how we had to blow it up?" That makes a difference in the coolness equation. Tak looked over at me from the passanger seat of the Arasaka Corp HMMWV2. Arasaka manufactured these using new advanced materials and stuff, but by and large it was still a hummer. "Yes, into very small pieces," he said with a grin I truly appreciated. That was the extent of the conversation as we drove up to the old gravel pit in Princeton. This area of the city was just out beyond the North Barrens, that expanding ring of urban cancer. Out here is where people went to run Black Ops. Tak had rounded up a school bus, an old pair of chevy pickups, and a UPS van. These would be our barracks, armory, and mess hall for the upcoming op. None of it was traceable to Ares, the shoes, boots, jackets, armor, web gear, boats, tents, and other sundry accessories. Oh, respirators; don't forget respirators. That went for our weapons too, old Colt Industries M31's with all the options: ZM stock, suppressor, tac sight, smart-gun links, laser pointers, reflex sights, grips, and hi-cap magazines. None of this was with us now, we were on a meeting with a snitch. An employee at ADM had been friends with Duffy, which I guess was the reason he took the job. This Takashi had scheduled after our video SATCOM meeting with The Fox. He was currently on campaign in the deserts of North Africa and couldn't break away to meet with little ole me. Takashi had told him the boat type, which was when he had decided to extend my contract. Originally I was just to find out what killed Duffy and the rest of the team. Which by the way I find incredibly wasteful. I don't care if the cigarettes feel like a week long tantric orgasm, they're not worth the lives of twenty trained solos. Twenty other peoples lives, yes; Solos no. Another reason not to work for a Corp. Back to the boats, it would be a Boston Shipyard Type 322 freighter. I'd worked with (on) these before in a campaign in the Med. Terrorists had taken a few hostage, and without fail me and the murderous marauders of the Tenth Dragoon and gone in and wiped them out to a man. So I was familiar with the physical reality of one. There is a lot to be said for that, some Solos or Operators get experience in virtual trainers or on computer sims or sensies. But none of those come out 100% accurate. Sims and VR being the worst, sensie being close, and rue the day when it IS 100% accurate. Scarry shit, if you ask me brother. So having worked on, in and over these boats before The Fox had tasked me with sending this one to the bottom with its load of gengineered corn and soy. Langrotti had already picked out a team of Solos and had them in isolation up in Duluth for the next two days. Tak and I would round up the last of the intel and then fly up there with Stiletto. My plan never had to be approved by anyone, and once it underwent slight modifications when reviewed by the team, it wouldn't go anywhere. Isolation was important, both physical and signal. We had to make sure that no one was tracking or emitting for any reason, we also had to make sure that no one talked to outsiders or those not on the team. Any of which could compromise the mission. The bulk of this was Takashi's job, but I helped out a little. 2300. It had gotten late by the time we reached the old gravel pit. About ten minutes back, we had slowed and dropped off Langrotti. He'd said even less on the trip than we had mostly because he was mad he had to come along. For one he was the only person I knew that liked isolation before a mission, he lived his whole life in isolation. Two, becuase he had to use a rifle tonight. He would be our backup in case things went sour at the meeting. He ran on ahead to get to the rim of the gravel pit and set up in overwatch. Tak and I would go it for the meeting. So now we sat around while he ran ahead. We gave him a good thirty minute head start on us, he was on foot after all, then I started the engine and we rolled out. 0000. May 21. The driveway down into the gravel pit was lined with bushes, mostly the little scrubby kind. The rim was probably three hundred yards across, and the base was about seventy to eighty feet deep. The walls were steep and sandy or sheer and rocky. Back from the edge about ten to thirty feet was a pretty good tree line and edge. The floor of the pit was irregular and was strewn with gravel, and piles of boulders. There were two driveways down, we took one. As we drove down to the bottom I saw a pair of headlights a couple hundred yards off over the ridge of the gravel pit. My night vision was extra sensitive by nature, and the thousands of candle power a headlight pumped out could be seen for miles. The short range was a function of the terrain, I just couldn't see a few miles because of all the hills and vegitation. But they were driving with their lights on, I was driving with mine off; I had night vision. I knew we had a few minutes before they got here. "Hey Tak, they're about ten inbound. I see their lights." He flipped down his goggles and scanned, "I got em, yeah. Good eyes." Then we were at the bottom and I parked the HMMWV. I left the motor running, and we both got out. I kept the HK PDW close to my body, and looked around. No sign of Langrotti, that was good, cuz I knew he'd be there. 0015. Time was clicking by slowly until their headlights crested the ridge. That blanked out my nightvision which pissed me off, but it automatically switched (and would continue to switch) according to the lighting conditions. I reached in the drivers door and flipped on our lights. Two could play this game. But the car driving up shut theirs off as it rolled down the drive. Damnit, I'm gonna look like an ass. I reached back in and shut mine off. By this time the car was fifty yards away and I heard Takashi supress and chuckle. I stepped away from the car window and looked at the incoming vehicle. Nightvision showed one occupant as clear as day. Thermal showed a very hot engine, cool brakes (they hadn't sped to get here), and a plume of exhaust in back. No extra riders I could see. Telescopic gave me a look at her face. Yup, a lady was driving out here, late at night all on her own. She was either tough or stupid. If she was a friend of Duffy's I bet the former. Her car came to a stop, and her door opened. Inside the cabin she flipped on a flashlight as it was a pretty dark night and got out. There was no doubt that she was a very pretty lady, tall, lean, and good looking in a very real way. No sculpt here. "Hello boys, hows the weather?" "Great for some stargazing," Tak answered. I assumed this was some cloak and dagger B.S. He walked forward and shook her hand, and I followed a few steps behind. They exchanged light pecks on the cheek in a light embrace, and were apparently somewhat close. Tak turned to face me and said, "Betty, let me introduce--" "The Commander," she interrupted. "Duffy has told me so much about you," she said with a smile. I hate it when my reputation preceedes me. "All of it good I hope," I growled in my best Old Man face that The Commander should have. "Lets get right to it, what have you got?" "I've got a recent blue print of the ship, her crew list, and the manifest for the next shipment. It will be going down the river the 24th and 25th. It will be arriving at the grainery in Shakopee at 0500 on the 26th. So you'll have all night to get it while it's on the Mississippi." She grinned a grin of pure satisfaction. "Thanks Betty," Tak said with a pat on the shoulder. He turned to look at me, "She's one of my better agents." Betty hit him half heartedly, "Best, you mean." Takashi shrugged. "Great," I said, "what do you want? Couldn't you just go through company channels?" I had an idea where this would be going, but wanted her to say it. I hated innuendo and implied verbal contracts. I also turned on my recorder implant. "Follow me," she asked while motioning to her trunk. When I got back there I pulled out the HK PDW just to disuade any funny business. She didn't seem bothered, or had planned for that. But when she opened it I saw a beautiful new HK 77D GPMG. The 77D is the new twenty-first century upgrade of the HK 21E and its variants and predecessors all the way back to the MG32. It was in an open plastic case, with the tripod beside it. Five two hundred round ammo drums were also in the trunk. There was also a black bag and a black suit case. "In the bag is assorted tools you may need: sand bags, tent stakes, wire cutters, saw, E-tool, and a folding chair. The suit case has the nice toys." She grabbed it and rested it flat on the trunk rim. Then she turned it towards me. "Go ahead." I reached for the clasps with a gloved hand and opened it. When I opened the cover, I had internal oxygen on. "Very nice," I said as I appraised a brand new Ares RASWAS (Remote Autonomous Sniper Weapons Aiming System). The case contained batteries (which were just dirt bike/offroad motorcycle batteries), servos, and actuators that mounted on the factory HK tripod for the HK77D. It also had the modem connection between the balistics controller computer on the tripod to the remote hand held unit. The hand held was a digital camera with aiming device, joystick, and modem connection to the computer. A phone line was used for security reasons on this urban version, and it was only a Mk. I, which didn't have the second joystick for walking the tripod around. But this would do. "Commander, I would like you to kill the man responsible for Duffy's death." "I will kill Doctor Control," I said in a slow deliberate voice. I appreciated the RASWAS, which Ares referred to as a Sniper Survival Tool. The advent of microwave bullet trackers made the sniper's job much more difficult. Finished, I shut the case and Tak helped me drag all of it to our HMMWV. Finally we went back to say goodbye to Betty and take all of the data she had. On the drive back Tak and I didn't say much until we were about to pick up Langrotti at the prearranged site. "Are you going to do it?" "Man to man: I was looking for an excuse. Professionally: you do not need to concern yourself with the goals of a mission that does not involve you." I grinned my big sharky smile and chuckled. "Greetings Seniores," Langrotti said. "The meeting went well. No?" he asked in a slight Italian accent. "Holy shit you're talkative!" I said. He smiled a rakish grin. "So tell me about the Solo's you've got for us up in Du-lute." I just love Minnesota accents. The brits ain't got nuthin' on us, oh yah. "First, the two Combat Deckers are 'Ether Oar' and 'ASCII'. Both are good. Ether Oar is the primary and Asskeytwo is the backup if he flatlines. Mostly they will be signals security and counter intelligence the day of the mission to make sure they don't have wind of us. "The Solos are a good bunch. The two scouts are long time independents. No corporate ties for three years each. Utah, is a Ute indian from," he smiled an insane Silician smile, "you guessed it, Utah. He's from the reservation after the 2030 split and has Crow, French, and Black blood in him. He can also track men over blacktop in a rainstorm. Next is growler, a street kid from New York that started as a cat burgler. Lots of cyber eyes for him, while Utah is all natural. "You said get two good demo me, but I got a guy and a gal. Otto is a German demolitions tech that worked on oil rigs in the North Atlantic before he joined the Corps of Engineers for one German Corp. Big strapping lug that likes to take things apart with explosives. Kyoto is a ex-Geisha from the Japanese home islands, but found that boring. So she gave up a good career I guess and started diving and demolishing oil rigs in the Guld of Mexico. She's a piece of work, I took her because she's good at underwater demo. "For the entry team I've got for balls over brains types that are agression hounds. They'll run through a wall if you tell them. Fingers is a weight-lifting girl from the L.A. Sprawl and ex-LAPD Corp. Manta is a bayou boy from Lousiana and grew up gang banging in the French Quarter, then he went Cop too. Both are pretty young, and just got off their teams. They are a concern of mine. Quimby is a New Zealand Special Forces guy, anti-terrorist. Ex-sheep hearder, which by the way is the most prolific profession on earth. Last is Argon, up from Texas just for this job. Easily the most crazy of the four, he's been shot one too many times, but is still very sound and he has no trouble carrying the Shield." The Shield is a wall shield made of Titanium. The lead man in a brick (or stack) carries it when rushing a building or a door down a hallway. It is heavy and needs two hands, so you can't carry a primary weapon unless it is on your back, and generally that is too much. "The other Solos are Bigs, a Arkansas boy; Toad, she's a horny little fuck from Madison; Zues is a old timer from the west side of MSP; and Vee Dub is a little Danish girl with an affinity for VW vehicles. "They are all in isolation now, but I don't anticipate any problems. I weeded those out in selection. They are doing PT now, and basic training: navigation, stealth, and room clearing now. No live weapons, just wood sticks per your orders." "Outstanding," I said with a big smile. "I'll be up there the twenty third for weapons and mission training." 0300. Duluth MN, May 23. I carried a trash can in one hand and a baton in the other as I walked over to the school bus. Opening the door, I started to bang on the can and shout, "Get out here! MOVE IT MOVE IT!! On the bounce!!!" A few muffled grunts and then the shuffling of feet greeted my ears. Ten seconds later all twelve were assembled in boots, tanks, and shorts. "I want to take you out on a twelve mile run, but we ain't got time for that shit. We've got thirty six hours until we head back to the burbs. Then it is ten hours to get in position, then two hours until Go. We start now and no one quits until then. Drug therapy will start now," I said as I walked down the ranks passing out Wide-Awake. "Get dressed and report to the HQ tent for Mission Briefing." The mission briefing was long and drawn out, lasting almost two hours. It does not bear repeating, as it included a bit of bickering and creative thinking input between all of us. I knew they were good because they asked questions and made comments. None were willing to just do what I said, I had to prove it to them. Sometimes that is tiring, but not with professionals. There was also never any comments of 'this can't be done' or 'this is too dangerous'. Each were in this for the rush, as Combat is the only full contact event where people are actively trying to shoot you. They also knew they could do anything if they just put their minds to it. Each began to take their parts of the mission and own it. They owned it like they owned their objective. All they had to do was go get it. Everyone knew they were better than the opposition, that they could go where they wanted and do what they wanted. Sure the opposition was good, nobody thought for a second they were fools or incompetent, they just knew they were better. They soaked up the operational data I gave them on working aboard a ship. They listened with rapt attention as Stiletto went over the objectives and secondary objectives. Tak kept a tight rein on things and coordinated with the Deckers. We spent hours running through the mission plan, then moved out to the field where we set up a mockup of the ship, and ran through it at full speed. It was made of tents and sheets, but it would work. During the heat of the day we drank water and prepared our gear. The weapons, our personal kit, and the demolitions. We also test fired everything once it was cleaned and reassembled. I took a personal intrest in every Solo and their gear. Most were in their early twenties, besides Zues, Otto, and Kyoto, so all were eager to learn and shared a feeling of arrogance and utter invincibility. They had all killed and seen people killed, but needles to say it had always been others so they felt it couldn't happen to them. It was a natural coping measure. But all of this was in preparation for the mission. We packed up and left for the Burbs at 1500 on May 24 via a chartered shuttle plane Tak had secured. Everyone was in mission clothes but wore over coats and robes to hide it. We would land at the field in Prior Lake around 1700, and then immeadietly depart by truck for the safe house. Tak would be with the trucks and Stiletto would be at the safe house. By 1900 we were settled into the safe house waiting for dark. The safe house was an old abandoned farm house on a slight hilltop on a roadside. It was decrepit and overgrown all around. Just our two vans and HMMWV were the only traffic it had seen in years. We parked in a barn to stay out of surveillances sight. We didn't know how much there would be, but it was a precaution. The two deckers were in and staying alert for signs of ADM to notice us. Now onto the exciting part. 0000 MSP, May 25. "Everyone in position?" I wispered to Utah who was behind me. He passed the word back. "How, second boat heap big ready," which was his ammusing way of saying that the second boat was also covered in their IR Camo netting. The plan as it stood was for us to take down the freighter underway. Both boats would approach from in its wake, and then use the titanum scaling ladders to board at the fan tail. Boat two would break into two teams with an additional person from boat one. Team White would go for the engine room, and Team Black would clear the crew quarters. Boat one would split also, sending Team Pink to the bridge, and Team Teal would stay on deck to clear and secure it. I was in boat one with Kyoto, Fingers, and Quimby. We would form Peam Pink. Utah and Langrotti were also in boat one and would be Team Teal. Toad would be our swap over into boat two. Boat two was everyone else. On Team Black Stiletto was team leader, with Argon, Zues, and Toad. Team White had Vee Dub as team leader with Growler, Manta, and Otto rounding her out. Everyone had on black sneak-suits with boots, web gear, and guns all strapped to us. Lots of flash bangs and restraint ties were also carried. We weren't going to wipe out the crew, in fact we wanted to kill as few as possible, which is what we would use our shock, noise, and arrogance to do. Each boat was under IR camo netting, and would stay under it until we caught up with the freighter. It would only be going about five knots, which meant we would overtake it at a good clip going ten knots. Barely enough to make our own wake. Utah and Growler manned the two periscopes which stuck up out of the camo netting and above the tall grass that grew on the bank of the Miss. They were watching for the freighter while the rest of us obeyed radio silence until I gave the hand signal. That signal wouldn't be until my feet were on the deck and I'd seen Stiletto do likewise. We were the last two people off of our respective boats, so everyone else would be on. Then the fun would start. For now we just waited. 0430 Mississippi, May 25. Utah tapped my shoulder three times and took his seat. That meant he saw it. He handed me the periscope which I angled upriver. Sure enough there it was. "Pass word to boat two," I whispered; they were in front of us. I examined the deck for guards, five I could see - all smoking. "Shark, they see it. Ready when you are." Utah smeared some more camo paint on, smiled and flipped down his goggles. "Charge actions, Boat to to start on my motor." Everyone charged their actions silently and flipped off the safties. Then word was passed up to boat two. I did some mental calculations on the current and the boats speed and then waited until the time was right to start the motor. A minute before it was time I yanked on the started cord. Nothing. How did I know this was going to happen? "Pass word to boat two, start motors. Head out." I then frantically tried to get the motor to start. After thrity seconds of toying around, it fired to life and the submerged exhaust and muffled motor could hardly be heard. I eased it out into the river, and everyone crouched as low as possible, with the camo net hanging over us like a sheet. The five minutes it took us to get upto and behind the freighter were nerve wracking. Once I was close to the hull, Langrotti yanked off the camo netting and began to bundle it. Quimby and Toad hefted up and unfolded the titanium ladder and hooked to the ships deck. Utah immeadietly began ascending it while Kyoto and fingers covered the railings. I struggled to keep our boat close, fighting its wake and boat two's wake. When Utah was up he crouched and waved his empty hand. Toad and Quimby both jumped on the ladder and climbed up simultaneously, while Langrotti stowed the netting, and Kyoto moved up to the ladder. I grabbed the tow cable and hooked it to my belt. It was six hundred feet of rope that would tow our raft behind the freighter. I had to get up the ladder before the slack ran out. I stole a glance over at boat two as Kyoto headed up the ladder with Fingers close behind. Boat two looked fine and Stiletto was holding about as good a position as I was. Then Langrotti and Fingers were up and I killed the throttle. The job of ditching the boat is not a good one. You need quick reflexes and a good jump. Generally a man is left behind or your hook up, but with as few people as we had, I couldn't spare a man (or woman). As it sputtered out, I was up on my feet and dashed to the front of the raft. I dropped the tow line in as neat a bundle as possible and jumped for the ladder, all without slowing down. I timed the jump so I was coming down and wouldn't thump into the boat too hard, not that they can hear it over the engines, but every bit helps. Then it was a mad climb up the ladder before I got yanked into the Miss. As I hopped over the rail and clipped the hook to the railing, I looked over and waited a good three seconds for Stiletto to do the same. She had cut it close. She clipped off, then made eye contact with me. I slapped my team and signaled to Stiletto. My radio came to life, "Check in." After everyone did, I waved them off. Team Pink and I headed for the bridge while Team Teal went around the other side of the super structure to watch the backdoor and clear the deck. Fingers, the ex-LAPD honey, body-builder headed up the stairs at a slow walk. Quimby was right behind her, he had flash bangs in both hands. I was after them watching up towards the bow of the ship, which left Kyoto to watch below and behind us. At the door we stacked up, Fingers put one hand on the door handle and her right kept the Carbine in the crook of her shoulder. Quimby tapped her shoulder and she opened the door, he pressed the triggers on the flash-bangs, and tossed them in. She trusted her cyber eyes to filter out the flash and her ears the bang, then she bust in shouting. "Down on the ground!! Get down." KRAK! I heard her butt smash a person with the carbine and Quimby was right there behind her as Kyoto and I were running to keep up. As soon as I was in I turned towards communication and the captains room. I stepped in the comm room, shot a radio operator with a shotgun, then emptied my magazine into the radio. "Get the hell down!! ON THE FLOOR!" I bellowed. Kyoto was right behind me and she shot each with a knock out from her pneuma-hypo. I watched the hall, and when she was done we started sweeping rooms. We made the first explosions because our objective was the furthest, exterior stairs are notoriously loud and we had to ascend slowly. I heard explosions in the engine room and below decks. We closed and dogged all entrances, including from below decks. "Teams, Team Pink. Each report." "Team White, engine room secure, Manta wounded. Shotgun. Over." "Team Black, crew taken down. Three dead. Rest ready to be brought up on deck. No friendlies. Over." "Team Teal," Langrotti said with obvious disdain in his voice, "Deck clear. Over." "Team Pink, White move wounded to the deck then the prisoners. Close and seal engine room from outside when done. Then begin placement." That would get Otto into action. "Report to Black when done. Copy." "I copy Pink," Vee Dub said in a husky manly voice. "Team Pink, Black round up any crew, set roving, bring captives to deck. Wait for White. Reports every one. Over." "I copy Pink," Stiletto purred. "Team Pink, Teal prepare to debark prisoners. One to stay on watch. Over." "Copy that Pink leader," Langrotti said. What follows was pretty normal. I sent Kyoto with Quimby down to the hold and with their respirators on, they placed charges, using small hand grenade size ones in each hold as dust-initiatior bombs. Then a larger ignitor would detonate the hold. Otto would be doing likewise in the engine room and down in the keel of the ship. He was using thermite in multiple places to burn large gaping holes in the hull that would send it straight to the bottom. 0530. In what seemed like an instant to me but could have been an eternity for our captives we were ready to go. They were ordered to climb down into the ships boats and load on their dead and wounded. One of our rafts was out abeam of them just in case. Once they were loaded Quimby and Langrotti took control of the boat, Lang watching them, and Quimby driving, while the rest of us boarded our rafts and shoved off. The fuses had been set with anti-tampering devices (motion sensors, pressure pads, and hidden triggers) and then set to one hour. That gave us time to get about seven miles away (15 knots - 1 knot current * 1/2 hour ~ 7 miles). Then the explosion went off, you felt the rumble in your trousers and the pit of your stomach like a 10,000 Watt subwoofer. Another mission gone off without a hitch. Everyone got paid, I got to blow the hell out of something, and only one of us got wounded. The ships crew was tied up to a bridge up river. We proceeded further upriver to another bridge where Tak was waiting with the deckers in three get-away vans. Sharky grin. 1500 hours. Hiawatha and 38th, ADM Grain Silos, May 29. The preceeding three days had been long and boring. Waiting for Doctor Control to walk out of the building might never happen. But according to what Betty told me, he would. I just had to wait. So here I sat in the tiny corner apartment waiting for my target to appear, one hundred yards away. I watched through my telescopic vision, and waited. Nothing has entered my mind for days, except the routine. Acquire, identify, verity, sight, engage, assessment, disengage. I broke each step down into sub steps and practiced them again and again in my mind. I'd been on Wide-Awake for the whole time and was gobbling down nerve relaxers so I could keep my hands steady. Then it happened. The Doctor walked out. I picked up the video camera and rested the recticle on my visor. The crosshairs appeared in front of my eyes, and targeting information was fed to me through my smart link. The four hundred round belt read positive, and an Armor Piercing round sat in the feed tray. I hit the cycle trigger and put in in battery. Then I judged the range to him using the optical range finder. I avoided laser or microwave because it could give me away. All of this I did in the time it took him to get four steps from the office door. About a third of the way to the limo. I saw his eyes and knew that I was killing some mother's son. He had long gray hair pulled back in a pony tail, and wore a finely tailored black three piece business suit. Two steps later, I was vaguely aware of a cadre of body guards, including a pair of hefty looking Solos surrounding him. The range looked to be about fourty yards so I lowered the sight a hair and held down the trigger. The HK 77D on a tripod that is hydraulically actuated, recoil dampened, and optically sighted is pretty damn accurate. About one minute of arc (MOA) or half as good as a precision sniper rifle, but at fourty yards it doesn't matter. One MOA means the bullet can be anywhere in a one inch radius circle at one hundred yards, or a ten inch circle at one thousand yards. This high degree of accuracy is factory standard becuase of the heavy barrel and the free floating nature of mount. Bullets began leaving the muzzle of the HK77D at a rate of 1200 per minute, which meant it would be empty in twenty seconds. Loaded with 7.62mm EE Caseless, it fired two armor-piercing, followed by two high explosive, followed by one incendiary tracer. I'd hand loaded the metal-desintegrating-link belt myself and then test fired it up at the gravel pit. The first round impacted the doctor high on his chest, and the next sheared off his face. The energy of the rounds hurled him into the metal siding of the building and his bodyguards tried to turn and shield him. But the rate of fire on the MG meant that in the half second it took them to turn, and another half second to dive on him, twenty rounds had already riddled him, or very close by. The explosive rounds saw to collateral damage and peppered the guards with schrapnel. As they tried to get close to him I kept the cross hairs on the doctors body, which was rapidly being shrounded in concrete dust and smoke. Three guards tried to dive on him and they were riddle full of holes for their bravery. In my peripheral vision I saw the two large Solo's going for grenade launchers. Smart boys, nothing says 'Back Off' like a grenade launcher. I traversed and walked a stream of bullets into each. They were spun around and dumped to the ground faster than I could say 'Ouch.' I worked the gun back to the Doctor's body and had to blast off the bodies of two guards trying to drag him to safety. With them down, I kept up the rate of fire into the corpse of the good doctor. Then the sight went blank. My chronograph said seven seconds had passed, and I snapped my head away from my camera sight. I focused on the building front and zoomed in with the telescopic. The second to last phase began then. Assessment. Large meaty chunks were all I could see of the doctor. Guards rushed out of the building to secure the area. Half looked out for more danger, the other half grabbed parts of whoever was lying around and ran inside. No one carried a piece bigger than a thigh. Others helped the wounded Solos and other guards. Satisfied with my work for the moment, I looked to the building front where I had hidden the HK 77D. A smoking, gaping hole had been opened up in the building and I saw a few flames. The last thing I did was activate the self destruct charges in the building, which wouldn't even drop it. I placed them to only destroy the equipment; I didn't want to flatten the neighborhood. Then I unhooked the camera sight from the phone line and shut it off. I tossed it in my backpack, grabbed the Ares Predator for security, and walked out. Goodbye Duffy.

Epilogue Memo Ares International. MEMO TO CINCARESHQ (Commander in Chief Ares International HQ - Miami FL) FROM CINCNASDBG (Commander in Chief North American Sales Division Business Generation) SENT 460526, 1843:07 GLOBE HICKOK ANALYSIS OPERATION STATUS: COMPLETE-SUCCESSFUL SUBJECT: OPERATIVE STILETTO SUCCEEDED IN RETRIEVING PRODUCT, PROCESS, AND RESEARCH DATA ON THE SUBJECT MATTER. OPERATIVE SHARKMAN WAS EFFECTIVE IN THE RETRIBUTIVE STRIKE AND PUSHING THROUGH TO COMPLETION THE OPERATION AFTER TAKING OWNERSHIP ON ACTION ITEMS GIVEN HIM AFTER THE MURDER OF HIS OLD COMRADE. MANIPULATION SUCCESSFUL. PASS THANKYOU ONTO PSYCH DIVISION. INCREASE GRADE OF SPECIEMAN SAMPLE ONE LEVEL POSITIVE. May 27 NewsFAX Article in the STAR TRIBUNE-PRESS-GAZETTE. AP HQ, New York. This morning representatives of Ares International and Archer-Daniels-Midland walked out of meetings at the Empire State Building Archology amidst trading of angry words and hot tempers. Both companies had been in litigation over new R&D material since the accidental explosion and destruction of an ADM freighter ship on the Mississippi, south of MSP in Northopolis. The event has been ruled an accident and the investigation closed, according to a source near the event. The blast which set the ship ablaze could be heard in the Burnsville Barrens, and lit the night sky for thirty miles around. Trees were destroyed along the coast of the Mighty Miss, for two miles in each direction. Numerous public safety groups are on the scene in MSP, preparing to take action against the irresponsible actions of ADM Shipping. The burning ship has still not been put out as of 8 a.m. this morning, over thirty six hours since the blaze began. Five firefighters from TTI have sustained smoke inhilation injuries, and one was rushed to the local hospital after sustaining third degree burns. ADM accused Ares of Sabatoge and Industrial Espionage, charges which Ares not suprisingly denies. ADM Representative Vice President Tony Schilling exploded during the meeting, shouting profanities and calling Ares "Jacquing Bastards." This is not the first time Ares has faced such charges, nor is it likely to be the last. Other Corporations to accuse Ares of skullduggery include Dow, 3M, Arasaka, GenTech, Federal Cartridge, SigArms Intl., and Fabrique National. Each entered into partnerships with Ares during financial hardships, only to have Ares Intl. renigg on the deal. Ares pointed to the poor performance of ADM stocks and commodities as the reason for their dissolution of the agreement. "The irrational behavior of their representative only shows what poor people they are to work with," said Ares Negotiator Ulysses Jordan. When either company was asked about aledged murders or deaths in MSP during the preceeding week, both declined to answer. On this one point they seem to agree. Similarly, no one was injured aboard the ship, as the entire crew was rescued after the blast in a rubber raft, half a mile south of the freighter. As ADM stock continues to fall, Ares stock has risen amid record sales in arms, corp-war channels on PPV, and security sales abroad. Ares has maintained a steady 15% yearly growth since going publice back in 2020. They are also soundly planted at number three on the Forbes Fortune Ten, of the ten most powerful megacorporations around the globe.

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