Op File Treason Read online

  “Back to the visitor who upset you,” Diosa inquired. “Who is he and what did he want?”

  “Jordy Katrijn, Chairman of the Board for Katrijn Industries,” Spencer stated. “He wants to buy the family out and level the lodge.”

  Diosa stiffened at the mention of Katrijn Industries. She’d tracked an arms shipper who worked for Katrijn. But, the Galactic Council Intelligent Inquiries Agency couldn’t make a connection back to the Chairman even though the seller had used a Katrijn warehouse.

  “What did you tell him?” asked Diosa.

  “Same as the last time he asked and the times before that,” Spencer assured her. “The Tygo Family Hunting and Fishing Lodge is not for sale.”

  ***

  Diosa sat and talked with Spencer late into the night. Before she went up to her room, she ventured outside to see the stars over the lake. Off to the left, two outbuildings and a woodshed glowed in the moonlight.

  Was she like Rufus Tygo, Diosa wondered, unable to adjust to civilian life after war? Looking across the water, she watched the moon and stars reflecting off the surface of the lake. No answer came to her as she hadn’t spent any time in a city or a populated area to test the idea. She’d only experienced the isolation of the lodge and the surrounding mountains. It was peaceful here and, like Rufus must have felt, the area offered physical challenges along with a comfortable insulation from mobs of people.

  As she did in times of contemplation, Diosa lifted the goggle and allowed stimuli to reach the sensors in her right eye. While her brain didn’t fully understand the inputs, she’d learned the difference between ultrasonic and infrasound above and below her natural hearing range. Closing her left eye, she rotated her head tracking the sources of soundwaves in the night.

  A low moaning cry, off to her left near the woodshed was answered by another cry announcing the presence of small furry animals. Whether mice, rats or some other field creature, the calls in ultrasound could only be heard by her sensor but not by her ears.

  Soft sounds, as if fingertips were rubbing together next to her ear, came from behind her. Opening her left eye and glancing back towards the porch light, Diosa’s eye followed big moths as they swarmed the illumination. Last night, she’d studied the sound and realized the ultrasound emitted from the moth’s wingtips rubbing together.

  Then screeches carried to her sensor in cascading waves. The source flashed overhead, followed by other night flyers. Squinting, Diosa caught the shape of bats against the night sky. As they hunted, their sonar echoed back from objects. Weariness flushed through her limbs and she turned to head back inside. Two steps and, before she put the goggle back over her eye, the screeches changed. Now they were less pulsing and more manic. Apparently, a large moving form caused the bats to increase the volume and intensity of their ultrasonic calls.

  ***

  As the sun rose over the lake, the sharp axe head descended, splitting the log and sticking momentarily in the chopping block.

  “Guest are usually discouraged from doing actual work,” Spencer advised as he stepped from the woodshed. He held two cups of coffee and handed one to Diosa. “But you’ve done it every morning you’ve been here so you get a dispensation from management. As well as a thank you.”

  Leaving the ax imbedded in the block, Diosa took the mug and inquired, “Where did you come from?”

  “There’s a tunnel with root and wine alcoves. It runs from the basement under the kitchen to the woodshed,” Spencer replied as he lifted the strap of a bag off his shoulder.

  “Let me guess,” offered Diosa. “Rufus wanted an escape tunnel?”

  “And you’d be correct,” confirmed Spencer holding out the bag. “I noticed you aren’t truly enjoying the fishing experience. And seem to have no interest in small game hunting. There’s no season on rabbits or squirrels.”

  “It’s not that they’re small. It’s just I’ve made friends among the little ones,” admitted Diosa.

  “Rufus never shot them either. And he’d only take a deer for food,” Spencer said making the retired Master Sergeant jerk back from the similarities. “But you like to hike so I thought you might enjoy a different experience.”

  Diosa took the bag and unzipped it.

  “That’s a telescopic lens and a new digital camera,” he explained. “Now when you hike in the mountains, you can capture the scenery and keep the pictures as mementoes.”

  “That’s very thoughtful. Thank you,” Diosa acknowledged. “I’ve almost finished this section of logs.”

  “Then I better get breakfast started,” Spencer said as he walked towards the lodge, “You really don’t have to chop wood.”

  But his guest wasn’t listening. She’d set the camera down and was in full swing with the ax.

  ***

  Diosa Alberich finished the climb up the lower rise of the mountain with a sprint to the high plateau. Her sudden arrival startled a doe and her fawn. The pair bounded off to the west so Diosa changed direction and followed. An hour later, between the treetops of the forest on the lower slope, she spotted a slate roof with parapets. It was so out of place in the woodland setting, she zoomed in and snapped a few pictures. Continuing westward and out of curiosity, she refrained from taking incomplete shots until she got closer to the estate.

  A scramble up an oak tree gave her a perch with a clear view. Far below, a stone mansion occupied the center of a manicured lawn. Who spends Pesetas to grow and trim a lawn when nature filled the ground with wild greenery?

  A high wall surrounded the estate. Diosa snapped pictures and studied the house through the telescopic lens. A short while later, she grew bored with the ostentatious display of wealth and began to pull the lens and camera away from her left eye. But a person she recognized walked into the last shot. Diosa followed him as he strolled through a gate and moved along the outside of the wall.

  He’d changed from the finely tailored suit to brown camouflaged utilities with the trousers bloused over combat boots. A short-barreled machine gun hung under his arm. And the large pistol on his hip was now visible. Refocusing, Diosa followed him as the bodyguard inspected the ground around the base of the wall. At the southern end, he strolled away from the wall. At first, she assumed he was wandering aimlessly until he reached down and tugged at something. Three hard tugs later, he released whatever he’d grabbed and, then he paced purposefully heading towards the east.

  It wasn’t the direction he walked, it was the even ground under his feet. While the foliage appeared to be natural, the steady gait on what should have been uneven ground revealed the presence of prior construction. It appeared to be a solid base under about five centimeters of soil. Then, he stopped and Diosa’s blood ran cold when he reached down and tugged at another hidden item.

  The retired Master Sergeant’s training included preparing landing zones for Medical Boats. Jordy Katrijn’s bodyguard had paced off the standard military distance for a Medical Boat or, in heavy gravity, an LZ for a Combat Shuttle filled with combat units. The bodyguard had paced off the distance plus a few meters but, it was unmistakable, the Katrijn estate had a big military landing pad. Then, Diosa unscrewed the lens and packed it and the camera in the case. Letting her imagination roam, she visualized the surrounding terrain.

  Far up the mountain, the river valley elevated westward to high mountain peaks. Downstream, the closest population center was beyond the valley at about thirty-two kilometers. An armed force could hide in or hold the valley against a much larger force trying to dislodge them. And, with the isolation of the valley, flights could bring in more units unobserved.

  Plucking the camera from the bag, she scrolled back until she found the roof and corner parapet pictures. It wouldn’t be hard to imagine placing landing lights on the odd building elements and, if the bodyguard was checking the security of ground lighting, then the landing strip could accommodate vessels around the clock.

  Maybe she was paranoid or searching for a mission. Diosa wasn’t sure as she climbed down to
the ground and began retracing her path eastward.

  Chapter - 3 Negotiations Terminated

  As they did the night before, Master Sergeant Alberich and Spenser Tygo ate dinner together. Diosa didn’t mention her suspicions or observations about the Katrijn estate. After a pleasant evening, she went outside and sensed the night creatures before turning in.

  Diosa tossed and turned. Thoughts of Rufus Tygo and his inabilities to cope with civilian life, the intensity of Jordy Katrijn’s bodyguard, and worries about a future career drifted through her mind. In the early morning hours, she glanced at the clock. It displayed zero two thirty hours. With sleep evading her, Diosa pulled the goggle and sensed the soundwaves coming from the partially open window.

  The bats pinged in the night as steadily as a summer rain. Then, they became frantic. Wondering if deer were passing the lodge along the shore of the lake, Diosa rolled out of bed, slipped on a pair of jeans and a red and gray flannel shirt.

  The deck created by the roof of the lower porch would give her a great view of the animals. Out of fear she might wake Spencer by walking down the hallway to the access door, she decided to simply step through her window and onto the deck.

  Both feet were in her hiking boots when the sound of shattering glass carried to her from downstairs. She snapped the goggle in place to cut down on stimuli and began tying the laces. Then a shot rang out and more glass broke. Quickly, she finished with the laces, ran to the door and pulled it open.

  Flames flickered at the top of the staircase and she could feel the heat. Spinning around she raced back to her room and towards the window. Just before stepping in front of it, her training as a corridor assaulter took over. Never expose yourself before you’re ready to commit was drilled into every Striker. Heeding the lesson, she stepped to the side of the frame and reached out with one arm to raise the window. As soon as it moved, a bullet cracked a pane in the upper section. She pulled her arm back. No sound of the gun shot reached her and that, plus the situation, gave her three pieces of information.

  The gunman on the lake side had a silencer on his weapon meaning he was a professional. There were at least two shooters, one in front and another in the back targeting her. And, they planned on no one surviving the fire. Diosa needed one more piece of information.

  Reaching out again, she slammed the window open. A bullet shattered another of the top panes. The shooter was firing from the shoreline of the lake. If he had waded out further, he’d have a firing solution on the entire frame. As it was, his angle and sights were cut by the overhang of the porch. Just how low on the window could he sight, she didn’t know. But armed with the knowledge that she had three options, escape, get shot and die, or burned to death, she committed.

  Diving through the window, the full length of Diosa’s body slammed onto the deck. A quick push with her arms sent her rolling back against the log siding of the lodge. In the dark, she listened for shouts warning of her escape. Not sure if the shooter was repositioning for another shot, she began low crawling along the deck. As she moved, her spine tingled expecting a bullet’s impact at any second.

  Then the lethargy she experienced on the hospital deck and the feeling of listlessness she felt since coming to the mountains vanished. And Master Sergeant Diosa Alberich realized she hadn’t felt this alive since the action on Command Station. Reaching back further to her memories of the tension and danger on the tramp steamer brought a smile to her lips. Suddenly, her future, if she lived, became clear.

  Halfway down the side of the lodge, she raised up from the deck and looked at the shoreline. One man with a rifle stood almost in profile. He’d fixated on one target, her window. Diosa took back one of her earlier thoughts, he wasn’t a professional.

  Once at the corner of the lodge and judging herself to be nearing the extent of the gunman’s peripheral vision, she left the protection of the log siding and crawled to the edge of the deck. Rolling onto her back, Diosa scooted until her head and shoulders hung in the air. Then, she threw her legs up and over her head. Flipping over as she fell, she landed with one leg back and both knees bent in a sprinter’s stance. Again, no warning shouts or rifle shots greeted her.

  She could see another gunman standing in the back of the guest parking lot. He seemed to be watching the front of the lodge and not the side. She crept forward keeping her head below the level of the porch until she reached steps. Remaining in the low profile, she rushed up the steps, across the porch, and burst through the kitchen door.

  ***

  Smoke from the dining room and the great room beyond the kitchen boiled in the air. Diosa reached to her hip for a rebreather mask. In space, everyone carried an air supply for low flow areas. But she wasn’t on a ship or a station. She settled for grabbing one of Ethel’s dish towels, soaking it under the faucet before wrapping the wet cloth around her face. Her left eye watered and couldn’t see anything. Slipping off the goggle, Diosa focused the sensor on the smoke and objects hidden by the thick gray mist.

  Her mind sought to make sense of the input. Soon images appeared in the smoke as the sensor gathered the light scattered by the smoke and her brain began to recognize objects. Diosa moved from the kitchen through the dining room to the great room. Flames climbed from the stairway up the walls to the ceiling. On the far side of the long room, fire encircled the door to Spencer’s work area. If he was injured in his office, there was no way to get to him.

  The odd thing was the fire wasn’t spreading as fast as she would have thought. It seemed the attackers had only thrown two fire bombs and trusted they would be enough to burn a wooden lodge. Bent over, Diosa searched the floor for Spencer. A glance at the massive fireplace showed smoke pooling at the hearth. It being off season, the manager had the flue closed. Without ventilation from the chimney, and the sealing around the doors and windows, the fire was oxygen starved. But the retardation of the fire couldn’t last much longer.

  Spencer waved an arm. Whether to attract Diosa’s attention or in an attempt to wave the smoke away didn’t matter. The retired Striker noticed the movement and rushed to him.

  Unfortunately, she raised up as she ran. Somehow, the shooters outside noticed her crossing the room. Glass exploded as round after round shot out the panes in the windows letting in oxygen. The flames roared and flashed across the high ceiling. Then, with more intensity, they raced down consuming the walls.

  Diosa caught Spencer by his ankles and pulled him through the heat. Folding in just behind his head, the flames spread across the floor, racing towards the manager and his rescuer. With additional oxygen feeding the flames, the old log construction flashed over. The first floor of the lodge became an inferno.

  They made it to kitchen but Diosa saw a wall of fire rolling towards them. Reaching out, she snatched open the door to the basement and still holding Spencer by the ankles, she launched herself through the doorway and down the stairs.

  ***

  Diosa inhaled clean air but smoke and the crackle of burning wood came down the steep steps. She sprinted up, grabbed the door and pulled it closed. Without light from the flames, her visibility dropped to zero. After months of turning her head to point the sensors in her right eye towards stimuli, Diosa rotated her face as she descended the steps. A breeze came from off to her left. She located the still form of Spencer as she passed by the injured man. On the back wall of the basement, she felt around and found a door. Air flowed around the old frame as the support beams over her head began to glow red around the joints. Opening the door would allow oxygen to flow under the burning lodge and, like bellows on a forge, it would feed and intensify the flames.

  “I am sorry,” Diosa said as she grabbed Spencer’s arm and a leg. She pulled the arm until his upper body rose from the floor of the basement. Then the former Striker rolled her shoulders into his chest and jerked him onto her shoulders. He moaned and she assured him. “Pain is a sign that you’re alive.”

  She lifted the latch and pulled on the door to Rufus’ tunnel. Wind
slammed into her as the flames consumed the oxygen and pulled more from the underground source. Overhead, the glowing joints sprouted flames and smoke began filling the basement.

  “Hold on Mr. Spencer,” Diosa informed him. “We’re almost out.”

  Not bothering to close the door, retired Master Sergeant Alberich held Spencer in place with one hand while feeling for the tunnel’s wall with the other. Five meters in, Spencer stiffened and moaned out instructions.

  “On the left is a lantern and a medical kit,” he managed to say before going limp.

  A flat wooden bench took up the back section of an alcove and she rolled Spencer off her shoulders and onto the surface. Reaching up, she walked her fingers along a shelf until they touched a lantern and a large box of wooden matches.

  “You’ll live,” Diosa assured the man as she peeled back his shirt. A bullet hole bubbled blood from an area low on his rib cage. There was no exit hole. Listening, she heard raspy, irregular breathing and recognized it as a sucking chest wound. On the shelf, she pulled down a mason jar, unscrewed the cap and popped out the lid. She placed the lid over the wound and used duct tape to secure it over the hole. Immediately, his breathing, while still rough, evened out. “I’m going to go and check on our visitors.”

  “Not safe,” Spencer choked out.

  “I imagine what Rufus Tygo would say if he was here,” Diosa announced looking at the unfinished concrete of the tunnel’s walls. “When you’ve faced evil and know it exists, nowhere is safe. I’ll be back.”

  Unencumbered, Diosa moved through the tunnel using matches to light the way. At a set of steps, she blew out the match and climbed. Emerging in a narrow space, she located a door and eased it open. Moonlight and illumination from the burning lodge lit up cords of wood stacked around the shed. Creeping to the front, she gazed out.

  The gunman still stood watching the window of her room. As she suspected, his angle was low and only the top panes were visible to him. Diosa needed to eliminate the threat of the gunmen before she could evacuate Spencer. As she analyzed the situation and planned her attack, the man reached up to his ear, nodded and jogged along the lake staying back from the heat radiating off the burning lodge. Diosa crouched and ran after him.