Rogue(36)

Randall apparently really wanted his target. There must be a time limit, which was useful information and bore more research. We finally had enough data to zero in on a cheap apartment block. About 1100 local, we identified which unit. It was the one with all the cops outside.

That suggested to me that he wasn’t here, and this was a setup. If I knew I was being tracked, I’d have left a lot of false trails. One very clear trail was a trap. They didn’t know who they were dealing with, and they were between me and him.

I gestured. Silver was already parking as I did so. I climbed out, put on my public spook façade and checked for the right ID. I sought the largest gathering of uniforms, blocking the walkways from the adjoining park.

I strode up quickly, pushed politely through the gawkers and slowed as I approached, stepped over the official tape, picked one sergeant out by eye and said, “I need to talk to the scene commander.”

“That’s nice. Just move outside the cordon, please, and—”

Cops really piss me off. They need to stick to serving and protecting and not trying to be epic heroes.

I interrupted him by grabbing his arm and shoved an ID in his face. I deliberately didn’t raise my voice, just spoke clearly. “I am Captain Anders. I have pursued that suspect from outsystem, and I have important information about him. I need to speak to the scene commander.”

“Okay, sir. Please come with me.” He pointed at the two approaching officers and then at the cordon. “Jasta, Lanning, take over here.” They looked surprised, but diverted from slamming me to cordon control. The sergeant seemed very embarrassed, but realized his best bet was to bump me up higher. Good enough.

We walked over to the commander at a near trot. Others had seen our interaction, and followed me suspiciously. I eyed him as we approached. Gray, slightly overweight but with good tone. He seemed competent and not too standoffish or grandstandish, if that’s a word.

As I approached, he said, “Chief Malcolm. District Seven. You are?”

“Captain Anders. Appointed by the Freehold Council.”

He looked at my ID at length. It was good. Silver had copied it with a real diplomatic blank. Officially, the military doesn’t get those, for this exact reason—accusations of espionage. In actuality, Operatives steal them, use them for patterns, and destroy them.

He said, “Interesting. I didn’t know they did that.”

“Not often, no. This merits it, though.”

“Very well. So who is he?”

“He’s one of our Blazer troops, or used to be. He’s had some mental trouble. Aftereffects of the War. He’s very dangerous, but I can talk to him. We served together. I can get him out without violence to anyone, if I can see him. If you go in, it’s going to be messy and there are going to be multiple casualties.”

Actually, I was going to fucking kill him and make any excuse, or not make any excuse, as needed. I liked having the dialog, though. This could work.

Malcolm gave me this squint that foreshadowed a negative. Dammit.

First, he wanted to believe he could control this situation. Second, he didn’t like intruders, and I don’t blame him. Third, there was the political issue of him letting an outsider resolve it. Fourth, he didn’t know me, or what my actual credentials were. Fifth, I just might be a distraction or accomplice.

“Then you can remain here, and talk to him after we bring him out.”

There was absolutely no argument I could offer under the circumstances, and fighting him wouldn’t help. Well, I could probably distract them enough to keep them alive, but then Randall would escape, and we’d start over.

I just nodded, because I wasn’t going to try to speak.

“We’ll be fine,” he assured me in a deep, confident voice. “My team has the latest training and equipment. One traumatized veteran is no problem.”

I stood back, and hoped for an opening where I could inject some reason and wisdom. The problem is, a lot of these units like to kick in doors. Everyone wants to do their job, but these are people who have a bit of an ego trip. Sometimes, a lot of one.

They had a murderer, an assassin, so they were going to wade in and bring him out, hold him up as an object lesson.

I, of course, have developed a theory about object lessons . . .

The team looked competent and fit. I had no doubt under any normal circumstances they’d do a vidworthy job, from the flash bang to the hauling of the subdued perp.

That’s the second problem. They come in en masse, with lots of noise and firepower, and maintain the upper hand. That’s great on whacked-out druggies, middle-age money handlers, disturbed abusers and ganger kids. They were up against a professional, trained to do the same thing they were about to attempt, and do it better. If I could actually tell them who I was, as I’d led a raid to rescue their Princess, now Queen, some years before . . . But there was no time, and the lives of a few cops wasn’t important in the big picture. I had to keep my cover.