live, he finally decided.
From the middle
seat, Mr. Blue led the team in a final check of the weapons — flechette
shotguns, crossbows, traditional handguns, flash-bangs — while Vinicius
relayed his final commands to the other vehicles. They had called up all
available satellite imagery when planning the raid an hour ago, both overhead
and low horizon angles, and were confident they had identified the proper
entrance points and escape routes. They had found some building layouts on the
web from when the facilities were under construction and were still for sale,
giving them a basic read on the floor plan. It seemed doable, much easier than
the assault on the Open Sky headquarters had been.
Even so,
Vinicius reflected on the risks he was taking on this expedition of
acquisition. In building his organization he had often taken risks, some of
which could be classified as skating on the verge recklessness. All of his
moves had been bold and direct, of course, as businesses such as his could not
survive indecision and weakness.
Reckless. The word echoed in his mind. He did not like the
thought of being reckless. Recklessness was unprofessional. Amateurish.
No, he was not
reckless, he decided. He was building an empire. And an empire needs an emperor
who is not afraid to take risks.
****
Angie 6 decided
that the men's red eyes — some sort of ocular hyper-rosacea? — were
the creepiest part about them. Even though they were well-restrained and
completely in her power, it was hard to look them in the eyes and conduct a
proper interrogation.
She hated to
admit it, but the creepy red eyes were throwing her off.
She was also
restless. She was eager to get these men back to Open Sky headquarters in New
Mexico territory, where they would be much more secure. But time was crucial if
they were to extract information and gather up the others who might be nearby,
so they had been directed to this location by Mr. Rohm himself. Forward
Aeronautics was an affiliated company, and was a convenient temporary base to
draw out as much information as possible, as quickly as possible. It was a
Sunday as well, which simplified her task somewhat, as the usual scrum of
employees would not be wandering the halls.
So far, the information
gathering was going well enough. Two of the men were not talking. But
apparently, one of the three red men was not mixed up with the others. He
appeared genuinely ignorant as to why he was being held and, when separated
from the others, had talked a little bit about his compatriots before going
silent.
From him they
learned the names of the three men. He also told her the two less talkative red
men had some sort of business relationship with a group of Brazilians, which
was interesting. She had sent regular brief reports to Mr. Rohm as they
uncovered bits of information.
She asked him
more about his skin and learned a great deal about the man's personal
background and condition. She had, of course, done some quick research once Rix
had linked to her with the image of the three red men, and so had learned the
basic story of the failed Peruvian steroid and its brutal side effects. It was
astonishing, really. Men. They'll put anything in their bodies.
Using Open Sky's
private network she had accessed some South American news clips from shortly
after the steroid came to light, a couple medical reports of the victims, and
even watched a few minutes of one of the Modified Fighting Organization vids.
These Fightin' Mads appeared to have their own little subculture, although
there were few enough of them. Most estimates put the number of red men at less
than 50. Oddly enough, no actual samples of the steroid itself seemed to exist,
and its creator had turned up dead in Lima a few years ago. Peruvian Numero Dos was considered a tragic failure, but no one had been
able to break it down and explain with precision where the mistakes had been
made.
She sighed. I
really am going to have to make a better effort
From the middle
seat, Mr. Blue led the team in a final check of the weapons — flechette
shotguns, crossbows, traditional handguns, flash-bangs — while Vinicius
relayed his final commands to the other vehicles. They had called up all
available satellite imagery when planning the raid an hour ago, both overhead
and low horizon angles, and were confident they had identified the proper
entrance points and escape routes. They had found some building layouts on the
web from when the facilities were under construction and were still for sale,
giving them a basic read on the floor plan. It seemed doable, much easier than
the assault on the Open Sky headquarters had been.
Even so,
Vinicius reflected on the risks he was taking on this expedition of
acquisition. In building his organization he had often taken risks, some of
which could be classified as skating on the verge recklessness. All of his
moves had been bold and direct, of course, as businesses such as his could not
survive indecision and weakness.
Reckless. The word echoed in his mind. He did not like the
thought of being reckless. Recklessness was unprofessional. Amateurish.
No, he was not
reckless, he decided. He was building an empire. And an empire needs an emperor
who is not afraid to take risks.
****
Angie 6 decided
that the men's red eyes — some sort of ocular hyper-rosacea? — were
the creepiest part about them. Even though they were well-restrained and
completely in her power, it was hard to look them in the eyes and conduct a
proper interrogation.
She hated to
admit it, but the creepy red eyes were throwing her off.
She was also
restless. She was eager to get these men back to Open Sky headquarters in New
Mexico territory, where they would be much more secure. But time was crucial if
they were to extract information and gather up the others who might be nearby,
so they had been directed to this location by Mr. Rohm himself. Forward
Aeronautics was an affiliated company, and was a convenient temporary base to
draw out as much information as possible, as quickly as possible. It was a
Sunday as well, which simplified her task somewhat, as the usual scrum of
employees would not be wandering the halls.
So far, the information
gathering was going well enough. Two of the men were not talking. But
apparently, one of the three red men was not mixed up with the others. He
appeared genuinely ignorant as to why he was being held and, when separated
from the others, had talked a little bit about his compatriots before going
silent.
From him they
learned the names of the three men. He also told her the two less talkative red
men had some sort of business relationship with a group of Brazilians, which
was interesting. She had sent regular brief reports to Mr. Rohm as they
uncovered bits of information.
She asked him
more about his skin and learned a great deal about the man's personal
background and condition. She had, of course, done some quick research once Rix
had linked to her with the image of the three red men, and so had learned the
basic story of the failed Peruvian steroid and its brutal side effects. It was
astonishing, really. Men. They'll put anything in their bodies.
Using Open Sky's
private network she had accessed some South American news clips from shortly
after the steroid came to light, a couple medical reports of the victims, and
even watched a few minutes of one of the Modified Fighting Organization vids.
These Fightin' Mads appeared to have their own little subculture, although
there were few enough of them. Most estimates put the number of red men at less
than 50. Oddly enough, no actual samples of the steroid itself seemed to exist,
and its creator had turned up dead in Lima a few years ago. Peruvian Numero Dos was considered a tragic failure, but no one had been
able to break it down and explain with precision where the mistakes had been
made.
She sighed. I
really am going to have to make a better effort
Similar Books
