The Orion Conspiracy (Max Mars Book 1) Page 8

  That drew the attention of several more goons who were at various locations in the loft, defending the office. A flurry of plasma bolts streaked in Max’s direction.

  Max ducked behind a cargo container as the brilliant bolts erupted all around her. One of them pierced the corner of the container, blasting clear through the material and exiting inches from Max's shoulder. She could feel the searing heat from the energy blast.

  If Duke was anywhere in this warehouse, it was going to be in the relative safety of his office. To bring him in, Max was going to have to get past his goons on the second level. But getting up the stairs was going to be a challenge. It was wide open and exposed. She’d be an easy target.

  21

  Plasma bolts streaked at Max. She was taking fire from multiple positions on the second level, as well as taking fire from down the aisle. She lobbed a smoke canister down the aisle and tossed another one onto the second deck. They both exploded in rapid succession one after the other.

  Thunk.

  Thunk.

  White smoke billowed out, filling the compartment with a milky haze. It was impossible to see anything. Plasma bolts sliced through the fog haphazardly.

  Max ran for the stairs. Plasma projectiles whizzed past her. Luck would be the determining factor if she survived. Max activated the thermal imaging in her tactical contact lenses. It allowed her to visualize her opponents through the haze. She unleashed a torrent of weapons fire at the goon squad, peppering them with blistering bolts of energy. She had machine-like precision. Within the span of a few seconds, all of Duke’s men protecting the office were flat on the deck.

  Max crept toward the office entrance.

  A plasma bolt sliced through the thick fog. One of the downed goons still had some life in him and had managed to squeeze off a round. It slammed into Max’s weapon, splintering it into blistering hot shards of metal and composite material. The impact knocked the weapon from her hand, and the twisted metal remains clattered across the deck. Max jerked her hand away, stinging from the heat and the force of the impact. Tiny pieces of scalding debris pelted her in the face. She slammed her eyelids shut and recoiled, trying to protect herself. Small bits of metal bore into her skin, searing her flesh.

  Max clenched her jaw, flush with the spike of pain. Adrenaline surged, and her pulse pounded in her ears. She was able to stifle the agony and put it in that special place. She was furious. Another flurry of plasma bolts streaked toward her from the downed thug.

  Max dove to the deck, tumbling out of the way. She looked like an Olympic gymnast doing a floor exercise, evading the glowing bolts of plasma zipping all around her. She moved with grace and perfection across the deck, somersaulting over the body of another goon, snatching his weapon in the process. In a fluid motion she returned fire, finishing off her assailant. His body went limp, and the plasma bolts stopped flowing in her direction.

  Max was pissed. Her face was still bruised and sore from the night before. She hadn't fully healed yet, despite her advanced regenerative capability. The bones in her hand ached, though the swelling had mostly gone down. But now she had bits of metal in her cheek, and she was going to have to pick them out one by one later. Streaks of blood trickled down her face. All that time she spent doing her makeup this morning gone to shit. Falsely accused, beat up, and shot at. She was definitely going to make Joe Duke pay for all of this.

  Max stormed toward the office and unleashed a torrent of plasma blasts at the hatch. But they seemed to have little effect, except for some minor pitting and carbon scoring. Joe Duke's office was armor plated. It was going to take more than a plasma rifle to penetrate the composite materials.

  The rest of the OPD tactical squad advanced and met Max at the office.

  Reese gave her a sharp look. "So much for staying in the rear."

  "You weren’t making progress. Somebody had to do something."

  Reese frowned, but he knew he couldn't argue. "Somebody, cut through this hatch!”

  One of the officers put a plasma torch to the composite material, but it wasn't cutting through. Much to his dismay, the material heated to a glowing red, then faded the instant the plasma torch moved away. Within a few seconds, it was cool to the touch. "This thing is thermally shielded, sir. We're not cutting through it. At least, not with this."

  The hatch was made out of the same material as re-entry tiles on spacecraft. It was going to take a hell of a lot more than a handheld plasma torch to burn through.

  Reese's face tensed, and he marched toward the hatch. He banged on it a few times. "Listen up, Duke. I know you're in there, and we’re coming through this hatch, one way or another. Why don't you do us all a favor and open up. I can't be responsible for what happens to you if we have to bust through this damn thing. Tensions are high and trigger fingers are itchy."

  There was no response.

  A few moments later, a voice called back through the hatch. "Duke says he'll come out on one condition."

  "I don't think you're in any position to negotiate," Reese said.

  "You think your bogus warrant is going to hold up in court?"

  "I think Judge Abernathy will stand behind his warrant."

  There was a long silence.

  "What's the condition?" Reese asked.

  "You grant Duke full immunity from prosecution."

  Reese laughed his ass off. "That's a good one. You should write jokes for a living."

  There was another long silence.

  "You can't stay in there forever, Reese said. “And I'm not going anywhere. You can't wait me out."

  "Immunity," the voice said.

  "Looks like we’re gonna do this the hard way." Reese backed away from the door, and addressed the tactical officers. “Get me a technical bot. Let's see if we can bypass this door."

  The officer called headquarters and requested a tech bot. In the meantime, Reese pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, slid one out, put the filter between his lips, and pulled the cigarette from the pack. He fumbled through his pockets for a laser lighter. He clicked it a few times but he couldn't get it to strike up. He aimed his plasma pistol at one of the corpses of Duke’s thugs and blasted off a round. Then he pressed the smoldering barrel to the cigarette. The heat from the barrel turned the tobacco a glowing orange. The cherry lit up as Reese took a deep drag. He filled his lungs, and a wave of soothing calm washed over his face. He exhaled a thick cloud of smoke into the already hazy atmosphere.

  "Those things will kill you, you know?" Max said.

  "In this line of work? I'm dead long before this thing gets me."

  It was an antiquated habit, but some people still couldn't kick it. Reese wasn't about to let his coffee, or his cigarettes, go. They were two things that got him through the tedious day. There were plenty of medical advancements that could combat cancer. But sometimes, some people still just got unlucky.

  Reese's mobile rang. The vibration buzzed his pocket. He pulled the thin piece of smart glass out, swiped the display, and held it to his ear. "This is Detective Reese."

  "This is Edward R. Maybach. Mr. Duke’s attorney. Looking over the warrant, I've noticed an error."

  The momentary calm that occupied Reese's face vanished, and the muscles in his jaw began to tense once again. "What kind of error?"

  22

  “I'm sorry, but Duke is not getting off on a technicality,” Reese said.

  “I'm afraid he is," Mr. Maybach said. "It appears that whoever filled out the warrant put the wrong date. It's not valid until tomorrow. I suggest you and your people leave the premises immediately."

  "Not going to happen. If you think you can invalidate the warrant, you'll have to go through the court system. In the meantime, your client is spending the night in jail."

  “That is only making the situation worse for you. As it stands, you are looking at several wrongful death suits. My client tells me your tactical team has taken out at least 10 of his men. When the dust settles on this little incident, if yo
u are not behind bars yourself, you will certainly be looking for a new job."

  Reese's face flushed red, and the veins in his neck bulged. “Well, in the meantime I'm still in charge, and I’m gonna take your scumbag client in. So, you can either tell him to come out peacefully, or we will break through. And with tensions as high as they are, I think it's best for your client if he comes out peacefully."

  "Is that a threat?"

  “I’m just trying to ensure the safety of everyone involved."

  “I’ll speak with my client." Maybach hung up.

  The tech bots showed up and began working on overriding the locking mechanism. But a voice inside the office called through the hatch, “Okay. We’re coming out. Don't shoot."

  Reese motioned to the tech bots to step away from the hatch. What remained of the tactical squad kept their weapons in the firing position, ready to incinerate Duke and his comrade at the slightest provocation.

  The locking mechanism unlatched, and the hatch slid open. Duke's associate stood in the portal with his hands in the air. He was a scruffy guy that hadn’t shaved in a few days, and had shaggy brown hair. He was wearing a Hawaiian T-shirt with a white tank top underneath. He had this retro vibe going on, cultivating a 300-year-old clothing style.

  Reese's face crinkled up. He hated these retro-chic wannabes. “Come out slowly. Keep your hands where I can see’em.”

  The man moved slowly, keeping a wary eye on the tactical squad.

  "Turn around and place your hands against the bulkhead!”

  The man complied, and an officer quickly cuffed him.

  Duke sat behind a desk in his office, smoking a cigar. He looked as cool as a cucumber. He wore a finely tailored Zangari suit. The couture garment was handcrafted, made from rare fibers sourced from Theta Reticuli. It cost more than Reese made in a year. Duke had stark white hair and a square jaw. He had seen just about everything the galaxy had to offer, and nothing fazed him.

  Duke took another puff on his cigar, and the cherry glowed red.

  Reese leaned in and whispered to Dylan. “I’d like have a few words with him in private before we officially book him. See what I can get out of him. I have a feeling that lawyer of his is going to cut our interview short as soon as we get down to the station."

  Dylan shrugged. “It's your show."

  Reese stepped into the office. A tactical officer followed behind him and closed the hatch. What was going to happen in there was anyone's guess.

  "No, don't get up,” Reese said to Duke as he stepped into the office. “Stay seated. I just want to talk for a few minutes before I take you in."

  "Have a seat,” Duke replied. “Make yourself at home.”

  Reese took a seat in the chair across the desk from Duke. The tactical officer stayed at the hatch and kept his rifled aimed over Reese’s shoulder at Duke.

  "Can I offer you a cigar?” Duke asked. “They’re all the way from Revnava.”

  "No, thank you."

  The two men stared at each other for a moment—Duke with his hands still in the air. “You boys really fucked this one up, didn't you?"

  “Keep your mouth shut, unless I ask you a question," Reese said.

  “Whatever you say, Boss." Duke had a cocksure grin. He just knew he was going to walk away from this whole thing without so much as a citation. And that fact was eating at Reese.

  “Lets talk about Chace Carter.”

  “Who?”

  “Don't play games with me."

  “I want my attorney present during questioning."

  “We’re just talking. I haven't arrested you yet.”

  “Go ahead. Cuff me. Bring me in. We both know I'm going to walk. If you’re not going to arrest me, I suggest you fuck off and get out of here."

  “I suppose you have a pistol in one of those desk drawers?”

  Duke nodded.

  “Why don't you show it to me?”

  “You're welcome to look for yourself." Duke smiled. He wasn't going to play Reese's game.

  “Do me a favor," Reese asked. "Place your palms atop the desk. Slowly.”

  Duke’s eyes narrowed at him, skeptically. But he complied. "When I think about all the inept, incompetent police officers, you are always at the top of my list, Detective.”

  "Thank you. I'm flattered."

  "You have no idea just how bad you've fucked yourself."

  "We'll see, won’t we?”

  Reese set his pistol on the desk in between Duke's hands. He spun the grip around to face Duke. All it would take was a millisecond and the weapon would be in Duke's palm. Another fraction of a second to pull the trigger, and Reese would be dead.

  Duke's eyes flicked to the pistol, then back to Reese. His eyes surveyed the tactical officer by the hatch—the barrel of his weapon staring Duke in the face. “Do you really think I’m that fucking stupid?”

  “I don't know, you look pretty stupid to me."

  The muscles in Duke's jaw twitched. But he didn't make a move for the pistol. Under normal circumstances, Duke wouldn't suffer insults. So much as a sideways glance could get you killed.

  "You know, that was a real shame about Eddie."

  At the mere mention of his name, Duke's face tightened even further.

  "He was such a young kid. Had a full life ahead of him. It was really tragic what happened."

  "You think you can get me all riled up talking about my little brother?"

  "I'm not trying to get you riled up. I didn't realize it was such a touchy subject for you." Reese knew damn good and well how touchy it was.

  Duke said nothing.

  "I bet you'd like to get your hands on the guy who killed Eddie, wouldn't you?"

  “I get my hands on the guy who killed Eddie, then you'll have something to arrest me for.”

  “That's good.” Reese leaned in and whispered across the desk, “Because you're looking at him."

  23

  Duke's face boiled with rage. The veins in his forehead bulged. It was easy to see that he wanted to grab the pistol and rattle off several shots into Reese. But Duke didn't get to be a criminal overlord without willpower and discipline. If Duke so much as flinched, the officer by the hatch would blast a hole in his head.

  "You know what I think?” Duke said. “I think you're full of shit. I think you're making up a story so I'll go for the gun, then you've got an excuse to shoot.”

  "I wouldn't make up a story about something like that. I just feel like you deserve to know the truth," Reese said with mock sincerity. "You need to know the intimate details of how he died. Because it wasn’t quick. I must have beaten him for hours, trying to get information out of him. But you'd be proud to know, he wouldn't talk."

  Duke was getting so angry that he began to sweat. Small beads of perspiration formed on his forehead and cheeks. His lip twitched, and his hands developed a small tremor as he fought the urge to take action.

  “I’ve found that one of the most effective interrogation techniques is the simplest. I just take a hammer and smash it against a person's fingernail as hard as I can. It's excruciating. It's not life-threatening, but it throbs and aches with unbearable pain. Research shows that the fingertips are one of the most sensitive areas of the human body. I’ve found that if you inflict that kind of pain right up front, people start wondering how much worse it's going to get. Your imagination runs wild and you envision all kinds of horrid scenarios. I mean, this was just fingertips, what happens when this guy works his way to my eyes? What happens when he cracks my kneecaps? How much worse is it going to get?"

  Duke looked like he was about to explode.

  "You know I got through all 10 of his fingers and he didn't say a word. You should have seen him. He was crying and begging for me to stop. I almost felt sorry for him. Almost. But that didn't keep me from breaking both of his kneecaps. I've never seen anybody take that much pain. But after all that, not a word. So what was I going to do? I couldn't bring him down to the station and arrest him in that condition. These
kinds of torture tactics are illegal. I couldn't just let him go. He might have filed charges against me. That would have been a bad career move. So I had to put him in an airlock and spaced him. You know what happens to the body when exposed to the vacuum of space? Don't worry. That was probably the least painful part of the whole ordeal. And it didn't last long."

  Duke's eyes blazed into Reese.

  "You know, I think about him often. Every time I look out there at the cosmos I think of Eddie drifting along for all eternity among the flickering stars. If he would have given up information about you, I would have let him go."

  Duke's eyes brimmed, partly from sadness, partly from anger. His lips snarled like an angry beast—he was a wolf poised to leap across the desk and rip Reese’s throat out with his teeth.

  For an instant, Reese thought Duke was going to crack and reach for the gun. But the ruthless criminal took a deep breath and composed himself.

  “You’re lying.”

  “Am I?” Now it was Reese that had the cocksure grin. He dug into his pocket and pulled out a ring. He tossed it onto the desk. It spun a few times before it came to a stop.

  Duke's eyes flared at the site. He recognized the ring all too well. It was Eddie's. Duke had one just like it that he wore on his pinky finger. It was a symbol of their unbreakable brotherhood. Duke glanced from Eddie's ring to his own. Duke clenched his jaw, the boiling rage under his reddened face about to erupt. This was the tipping point.

  Duked lunged for the pistol, but before he could get a shot off, the officer by the hatch put two blistering plasma bolts into Duke—one in his chest, and one in his head.

  Duke’s body fell back against the chair.

  "Well, my work here is done," Reese said, pleased with himself. He grabbed his pistol that had fallen from Duke's hands. He holstered it, then winked at the tactical officer. "Self-defense. It had to be done.”

  24

  "You people are absolute morons," the man in the Hawaiian shirt exclaimed. He was livid. He paced around Reese’s office without restraints. "I've been working undercover for over a year and a half. I finally get close to Duke, and you guys come in and pull this shit.”