It's hot. Very hot. Even while wearing the Maltech Body Armor that had some temperature control to help regulate your body heat, you still feel the sun beating down on you. Maybe it's psychological. Something about being in India, in the summer, in grasslands and desert areas, just makes you feel hot all the time.
My platoon is in some town twenty miles east from the border with Pakistan. We had been ordered in to help evacuate the town after a Pakistani artillery strike hit the town. My squad started at the south and we are working our way north towards the center of town. The other two squads are coming in from the north and east.
All around us you can see the destruction the artillery strike left behind. There were buildings that had once stood a few stories tall that were now piles of rubble. Burning cars were everywhere, many of them thrown all around from the explosions like toy cars in a child's bedroom. The air was thick with the acrid smoke of still-burning fuel.
My squad is moving carefully up one of the main streets of the town, our eyes and rifles scanning any standing buildings or vantage points that could be used as an ambush point. We reach an intersection and stop to make sure the way is clear before continuing on our way, crossing the street in pairs. As we reach the next corner, which had a building that still had two stories left standing with the rest collapsed inwards, I hear a voice in my helmet. I don't need to consult the alert on my Heads Up Display to identify the speaker as Lance Corporal Daniels.
“Sarge, I think I heard something.”
I give the squad the signal to halt. “What did you hear Daniels?”
“It sounded almost like a child crying. It was very faint, though, so I'm not sure. I think it was coming from this rubble.”
My squad groups up to surround the building and I appoint 3 other people to go in with me and Daniels to do a quick search. The rest of the squad stays out to guard us. The first obstacle is the rubble itself. It takes a few moments to find a safe way into the middle of the collapsed building. Daniels finds a hole in what was left of the west wall that enables us to climb through. I look around, scanning the surroundings. Much of the building had caved in from an explosion, but where we stood was a small section where the stairs had held up and left a slightly clear space. We make our way carefully through the mess of stone and steel, trying not to move too much and make the rest of the structure fall down around us.
Daniels alerts me that he heard the sound again, coming from a pile of debris. We carefully surround the mound of rubble and keep our senses alert for any trouble- it wouldn't be the first time a trap was laid out disguised as a person in need. Daniels and I start picking through the scrap, cautiously moving every bit of rock and steel beam so that nothing collapses. As we work, the cries get louder and the translator in my helmet shows me that the person is pleading for help.
After a few minutes of painstakingly slow work, we uncover a space and find a young girl in the middle of the clutter crying and begging for help. The girl looks to be about five or six years old, is very thin, and has long hair that is dirty and tangled from her time stuck in the rubble. Lying next to her, trapped under more fragments of stone and brick, is the body of an older woman, presumably her mother. When the girl looks up and sees me and Daniels, she starts screaming.
“It's okay, calm down,” I say to her in a voice that comes out sounding robotic as my helmet translates from English to Hindi. Despite me trying to calm her, the girl keeps screaming, and it takes me a moment to realize that standing there in my uniform with my helmet on probably looks very scary to the little girl. I take my helmet off and smile down at her, trying to tell her that we are going to help her.
The rest of my people work to free the young girl and her mother from the rubble. We have to work slowly, like a game of Jenga, removing bits and pieces in such a way as to keep the pile from falling in on itself. Eventually we clear enough to pull the little girl and her mother out. Daniels, who also knows first aid, examines the child and finds that, besides the bruising and effects of the lack of nutrition, she seems to be okay. The mother, on the other hand, is not so lucky. Daniels looks at me and shakes his head, giving me a quiet indication that the woman is dead.
I pull out a canteen of water and hand it to the girl. We watch as she slowly drinks the water, some of it spilling out down her chin. After she drinks her fill, I have one of my squad talk to her to find out what happened. She tells us that her name is Amita and that she and her mother became trapped when the building was hit by a bomb two days ago. They were trying to run out of the building when it collapsed around them.
“What about your daddy? Was he here too?” I ask.
“”No. My papa went to work and didn't come back. I don't know where he is,” she replied, her voice quaking and tears filling her eyes.
I kneel down in front of her. “Don't worry, we'll get you somewhere safe.” I hold out my hand towards Amita and she takes it, allowing me to lead her out. Another of my squad mates delicately picks up the mother and carries her out with us. We meet up with the rest of the squad and I quickly bring them up to speed as to what happened, and let them know that we will be leading Amita to safety.
After regrouping, we continue heading north, going slowly and listening out for any other people who may be in trouble, or trouble that may be waiting for us. Using the well-practiced eye movements for commands, I bring up the map on my HUD and see that the other squads are already in place around the town square. I open up a communications link to our lieutenant.
“Lieutenant English, sir?”
“Yes, Sergeant?”
“My squad is in place on the south side of the square, sir. We picked up two extras, one alive, one not.”
“I understand, Sergeant. The transport VTOL is on its way, ETA about eight minutes.”
We hunker down and wait for our ride out of town to arrive. About a minute before it's supposed to touch down, I hear the tell-tale whine of the VTOL's engines. I watch as it comes in from the east, skimming over the rooftops, its wide, vaguely whale-shaped body being propelled by the two turbofans on both sides of the aircraft. The Goose is about one hundred yards out when all of a sudden a streak of fire comes seemingly out of nowhere and slams into the left turbofan of the VTOL. It begins spinning out of control, smoke trailing from where the rocket took out the engine. I look on in horror as the Goose loses altitude and spins our way.
“Get to cover!” I pick Amita up in my arms and run around to duck behind an abandoned car, the closest thing to protection I could find. I look up and see the aircraft careen towards us, hitting the top of the roof of the building on the corner, sending chunks of rock flying through the air. A big hunk of stone falls through the air towards me and Amita. I put my arms around her and push her to the ground to provide protection. I hear a crash right behind me and then everything goes black.
***
I woke up with a start and quickly sit up in the bed, my heart pounding in my chest. I looked around, a bit disoriented. It took me a moment to realize that I was in Montana's apartment. A sliver of light is coming in from the hallway, and falls across the bed. I can see Montana in the light- the smooth skin of her upper back that is uncovered by the sheet, and the sensual contours of her body that is made even more alluring by the way the sheet seems to cling to her body. I sat there in the bed, a grin on my face as my eyes traced along her body.
I looked at the bedside clock and saw that it was 5:30 am. I decided to get up and get started with my day. I walked out the bedroom and into the bathroom. I splashed some cold water on my face and looked in the mirror. I rubbed the black sledgehammer tattoo on my right arm, the dream once again flashing through my mind. I went back into the bedroom and threw on some sweatpants and a sweatshirt. As usual for my runs, I only took my knife along for protection.
My morning run didn't take that long, and I saw the same people I usually see- the young blonde trophy wife who stays in shape to please her husband, the middle-aged lawyer who runs because his midsection is getting wider, a couple of police officers who are doing it for their jobs, and even a some college kids who do it for health and fun. I recognize all of these people in passing, and greet them with a smile and a nod.
By the time I get back upstairs, it's just after 6 and Montana is just getting out of bed. I watch as she walks down the hallway out the bedroom, barefoot and wearing an oversized t-shirt that comes down to her thighs, her eyes barely open and her hair still a little messy. I give her a kiss on the cheek and go into the bedroom to take off my sweats and take a hot shower.
The steam and heat of the shower help calm me down and loosen my muscles ofter the run. It also gives me time to go over the little bit of information I have on the Jaime case. I know it's not much at the moment, but sometimes going over it helps me see things that I may have overlooked before.
I get out the shower and the smell of bacon and eggs wafts in from the kitchen, making my mouth water. I quickly get dressed and head into the kitchen. Montana has a plate waiting for me at the table. I grab a glass of orange juice to go with the food and sit down to enjoy the meal. I turn the TV on to the early morning news to see what's going on around the world. I see that's it's the same stuff- dirty politics, countries threatening war, and crazy people running around scaring others. As much as I don't like hearing about it, it's stuff like this that also keeps my bills paid.
After eating, I put the dishes in the washer and kiss Montana goodbye.
“I'll call you later,” I say as I fasten my holsters and put my guns in their place.
“Stay safe out there cowboy.”
“You know I don't go out looking for trouble. He just seems to like harassing me,” I respond with a smirk.
“Yeah, but you don't have to keep playing games with him when he shows up.”
“But then what kind of fun would I have?”
“The kind that involves me,” she says, flashing me her mischievous smile.
I'm on my way downstairs to my car when I get a call from Grant.
“What's up Hunter? Got something for me?”
“You know it, Duke. I ran down the guy in the holo. His name is Maksim Kozlov. He came over from Russia in '28 and has been mostly under the radar.”
Something in Grant's tone let me know that there was more to the story. “What else did you uncover?”
“Well, here's where the problem might be,” Grant said, hesitating. “His sponsor for a visa, and the reason why he's even been on the radar that little bit, is his cousin, Semyon Kozlov.”
It took a moment before a bell went off in my head. “Wait, Semyon Kozlov? THE Semyon Kozlov?”
“Yes, the same one who is allegedly the king of Brighton Beach.”
“Shit,” I said with a sigh. “You were right about that being a problem.”
“Exactly. If he is doing anything dirty, chances are Semyon knows about it and is covering it up. And even if he doesn't know, he might not appreciate you going after his family.”
“Yeah, but there's a girl out there who might be in trouble because of this Maksim guy, and I'm getting paid to find out what happened. If Semyon is involved, I'm just gonna have to deal with it,” I said, with determination in my voice.
“Okay, but be careful. I'll send the info to your phone. You know where to find me if you need anything.”
“Yeah, I do. Thanks, Hunter. I'll let you know what happens,” I say before hanging up. Thirty seconds later, my phone chimed to let me know the data from Grant had been received. I took a look at it and saw that Kozlov lived out in Brighton Beach. I brought up a map of the area and saw that he lived on a street that ended a couple of blocks away at the actual beach. I knew that because of the location of his house and it's proximity to the beach, he and his neighbors enjoyed a certain amount of privacy and seclusion. I also knew that any car that wasn't known to the people who lived there would be immediately noticed, so that limited my choices for how to go in and spy on Kozlov.
I put in a holocall to the office and D picked up on the third ring. I could see that this time she was wearing a deep-purple colored shirt and black pants. Her hair was a plum color to match the shirt.
“D, it's seven in the morning and you're at the office. Don't you ever sleep?”
“You know that's a silly question, Trace,” she replied, keeping her voice monotone.
I gently shook my head. “Anyway, what time is that guy you mentioned yesterday coming in for his appointment?”
“He said he would be here at ten.”
I took a moment to think about the time and distance, and knew that there wouldn't really be enough time to head out to Kozlov's for surveillance and still come back to meet this man, so I decided to wait until after the meeting to go out to Brooklyn.
“Okay, I'll be up there shortly.”
“And I'll be right here in my usual spot,” she said with a smile. I ended the call and made my way out the building.
I hopped in the car and made the quick drive downtown to the office. I walked in and saw D at her desk. She looked up from whatever she was working on at her computer and graced me with a wide yet forced grin.
“Had a good night?” she asked as soon as I walked in.
“Yeah, as a matter of fact, I did,” I responded, smiling.
“And how's Montana?”
“She's good, thank you for asking,” I said, with an air of fanciness. I walked into my office, took off my jacket and holsters, and sat down at my desk. After turning on my computer, I bought up a satellite image of Kozlov's neighborhood to get a more detailed look at what I had to deal with. I spent the time going over the image and planning different ways of surveillance until the comm on my desk chimed. It was D, telling me that the appointment had arrived, and fifteen minutes early. I gave myself a few seconds to compose myself before telling her to let him in.
The door opened and in walked a middle-aged man. He was kinda tall, maybe about 6'3” or 6'4”, and had a stocky build. He was fair-skinned with a round face, attentive brown eyes, and his hair in a buzz cut that still showed the beginnings of a receding hair line. The guy was dressed casually, in brown slacks and a simple yellow shirt.
I stood up to greet him. “Good morning, I'm Trace.”
“Brian Fuente,” he said, shaking my hand.
“Please, have a seat Mr. Fuente,” I responded, gesturing to the chair on the other side of the desk. “So what can I do for you Mr. Fuente?” I asked after we both sat down.
“Well, Mr. Trace, I came here because I heard that you are sort of, well, like a fixer or something. You know, you can help people with their problems.” His nervousness was evident in his voice.
“Some problems are easier to solve than others,” I said with a chuckle. I find that humor is a good way of helping potential clients relax in front of me.
“Well, I don't know how easy my problem will be to get rid of.”
“Just tell me what happened, and we'll go from there.”
Mr. Fuente began to tell me about the situation he was in. He and his brother Reynaldo were owners of a store in the Bronx. The community they worked and lived in was patrolled by a private security force. One night, Brian and his brother stumbled upon a drug deal going down between some of the security officers and a local gang. Both the gang and the officers saw them and Reynaldo wound up in the hospital with serious injuries. Brian went into hiding before coming to see me.
“Mr. Fuente, I can help you with this. It may take a little time, but you're gonna be in good hands. As a matter of fact, let me make a phone call right now.”
I turned on the holophone on my desk and dialed a number I knew by heart. The person on the other end picked up and, after taking a moment to recognize me, smiled wide and said with a heavy Jamaican accent, “Hello Brother Trace!”
“Hi Reverend Dixon. How you doing this morning?”
“God blessed me with another day to do his good work, so that's all I can ask for.”
I gestured to Brian. “Reverend Dixon, this is Brian Fuente. Brian, this is Reverend Clebert Dixon, the pastor of Voice of God Church in Harlem,” I said by way of introductions.
“Reverend Dixon, Mr. Fuente here is in some trouble, and I would greatly appreciate it if you could do me a favor and hide him for a little bit until I help him with his problem.”
“Brother Trace, after all you've done for me and my members, it would be no problem.”
“Thank you, Pastor,” I said before hanging up the call.
I looked up at Brian and explained why I made that call. “A few years ago, Reverend Dixon got into some trouble with a real mean group of people down in Miami. I helped him get out of it and establish the church. Ever since then, if I need a favor like this, he's usually willing to help me out.” Brian nodded in acknowledgment.
I gave Brian the address to the church and told him to go there as soon as possible. “Reverend Dixon is a good guy. He'll take care of you until this is all sorted out.”
Brian got up and we shook hands again. After escorting him out the office, I went back and put on my holsters and jacket. I told D I was leaving and then went to drive to my apartment to get some equipment I would need before driving out to Brooklyn.
