Shadow of Freedom

“I’ve been informed by President Lombroso that you’re not getting your air car, and you’re not getting out of that building, without handing Ms. Guernicke over to us unharmed,” Yardley said finally. “That’s not negotiable.”

“No, that’s not negotiable yet,” the strike leader corrected her. “And I didn’t expect it to be, either. But we’re not going anywhere, and you’re not moving anyone else into this building, until he’s had an opportunity to…rethink that position.”

“You think not?”

“Not unless you want to start getting bits and pieces of Trifecta’s senior management team back as greasy spots on the street.”

“You start throwing people out of windows, and I may just decide the only chance Ms. Guernicke has is for us to get in there before you throw her out one.”

“I’ll take my chances on that. Besides, what makes you think that’s the only string to our bow?”

“I know how many people got inside with you,” Yardley said. “That tower is lousy with security cameras, you know. I know about the people you’ve got covering your entry portal—and those tribarrels of theirs won’t do squat if I decide to send in the Scorpions, by the way—and I know how many people you’ve got covering the lift banks. I even know how many people got into Ms. Guernicke’s office with you…and that you lost somebody on the way in.”

“And are you getting very much information from them now?” the strike leader inquired in an interested tone.

He almost imagined he could hear her teeth grinding together in the silence from the other end.

“Yeah, we know about the cameras,” he went on after a moment and shrugged. “There was no way to take them out before we got inside, but you’re not seeing a damned thing from them now. Which means you don’t know whether we’ve pulled SAMS out of our van—or ATWs, for that matter—or not. You don’t even know if we’ve still got Guernicke in her office or staked out across the lift bank doors. Oh, and by the way, did you know Ms. Guernicke has the master codes to access all of the building’s surveillance and environmental control systems from her desk? She was kind enough to give them to us when we insisted. So if you want to try infiltrating SWAT teams into the building, you go right ahead.”

“Listen,” Yardley said, “I’m not going to send people up there after you—not yet. But I damned well am going to secure the lower floors of that tower.”

“You try to do that and someone’s going to get hurt,” the strike leader said flatly. He was watching the feed from the tower’s ground level security cameras as he spoke. At least two companies of the Presidential Guard were advancing across Trifecta Boulevard from the parking garage. “Even if you manage to get troops inside the tower, it’s not going to buy you any edge you don’t already have. But if they keep coming, you’re going to regret the attempt.”

“Are you threatening the hostages again?” Yardley laughed harshly. “You’re not going to kill Ms. Guernicke, or even any of the other management personnel with her, until you feel a hell of a lot more threatened than that! And if you do, you lose your bargaining chips, and we come straight in however hard and fast we have to.”

“Last warning,” the strike leader told her, still watching the advancing troops. “Call them off now.”

* * *

Yardley’s eyes narrowed. His voice was flat, unwavering. In fact, there was something almost like…satisfaction in it, and alarm bells sounded in the back of her brain. But she couldn’t back off. She had to shake his nerve, destroy his confidence that he was in control of the situation, calling the tune while she had no option but to dance to it. She had to assert her ability to control the situation, and so she simply sat back, folded her arms, and watched her command vehicle’s visual displays.

* * *

“Have it your way, General,” the strike leader said, and pressed a button.

* * *

The van which had parked so quickly at street level when Air Traffic Control ordered the local airspace cleared had been abandoned with unseemly haste. The driver hadn’t even wasted any time trying to straighten it out; she’d simply left it there, dumped across three parking slots with its nose pointing out across the street at a sharp angle. It was sloppy of her, no doubt, but other vehicles had been abandoned with equal haste.

There was, however, one difference between her van and any of those other vehicles, as the Presidential Guard discovered when it disappeared in a horrendous fireball.