Op File Sanction Page 3

  Diosa groaned which brought a sympathetic pat on the shoulder from the entertainer and a knowing shake of her head.

  “Some men are just trouble,” the lady observed.

  “We aren’t married but he is my business partner,” Warlock assured her. “If he didn’t partake of your services, where did he go?”

  “He asked about the grittiest, no limit poker game in the district,” the entertainer replied while pointing to the south. “I told him the poker parlors were nice places to play. But he insisted he wanted something more exciting.”

  “That sounds like Walden,” Diosa sighed. “Where did you send him?”

  “Despite what the rubes think, the district has rules,” the entertainer said in her defense. “Most think our southern delights are walking on the wild side. Here away from the casinos with our dens of iniquity, the guests can safely indulge their urges and leave with everything intact.”

  Warlock developed a knot in the pit of her stomach as she considered where this might lead.

  “And where would one go and not leave with everything intact?” she questioned.

  “As you may have heard, the entertainment district was founded by mobsters,” the lady explained. “While most games have been legitimized, there are wealthy gamblers who want the real thing. Real danger, real thugs, and all or nothing games of chance. To the north, beyond the landing port, there is a group of old harbor warehouses. Your partner went there.”

  Warlock reversed course and headed back in the direction of the casinos and dining establishments. Although a solid pilot and stellar researcher, given too much idle time, Walden would find a pig sty where he could happily wallow in the muck. Apparently, his distorted compass managed to guide him to the lowest point in this sin-filled environment. For a moment, Diosa considered leaving and accepting a new researcher and pilot. Then, she remembered Poet’s insane diversion during their last mission. She continued shoving her way through the crowd towards the landing port.

  Chapter 3 – A Good Piece of Gear

  The guard took little convincing when Diosa informed him she was going to the warehouses. He waved her through the gate with a tip of his cap. It seemed the far northern end of the district wasn’t a secret, after all. At least that’s what she thought as she crossed the landing port.

  The port was crowded with land skimmers, gravity limos, a couple of space shuttles, and a helicopter. In the spotlights, she could see that all of them were new and shiny. This certainly wasn’t a parking lot for the local groceries-to-go or a shopping mall. Spying a lighted gate on the far side, Diosa angled for the entrance.

  “Ma’am. This is a restricted area,” the sentry informed her. She thought sentry rather than guard because the man held a carbine in his hands. And not in a lax manner but with the barrel aimed just off to her side. Close enough to swing on target and put her down. Plus, he wasn’t pleasant. “Leave now lady. I’m not going to tell you again.”

  “There must be some kind of mistake,” Diosa said in exasperation. Mimicking the entertainer, she fluttered her eyes brows, although the sentry couldn’t see the one under her eye patch, and she formed an O with her mouth. While stepping to within an arm’s reach of the weapon,” she explained. “I’m going to meet my husband. I am Mrs. Walden Geboren.”

  “Just a minute,” the sentry said as he stepped back and away from Diosa.

  Professionally, putting distance between himself and the subject while distracted was excellent security craft. However, his movement placed him out of view from the guard across the landing port. He bent his head to speak into a mic attached to his lapel. After a few words, he looked up at her.

  “You’re not on the guest list,” he announced. “And this isn’t a waiting area. Go back to the district.”

  “How is my lipstick?” whispered Diosa.

  The sentry leaned forward slightly and asked. “What did you say?”

  “My lipstick? How is my lipstick?” Diosa repeated as she reached into the pouch. “A girl can’t go around mussed.”

  Diosa with her hand seemly searching the pouch for the lipstick, half turned, and leaned forward as if the light over the gate could aid in her search. Seeing the pretty half blind woman acting ditzy, the sentry failed to notice the woman wasn’t wearing any color on her lips. He stood admiring her profile and marveling at the struggle to find a tube of lipstick.

  Sentry duty at a rarely used gate was boring until it wasn’t. The woman’s hand flashed out of the pouch. Soft snaps accompanied the baton as it expanded.

  Warlock wheeled the baton around and thrashed the sentry’s elbow. A head or a body shot would have been blocked by the rifle’s stock. But a blow to the elbow caused one hand to come off the trigger housing leaving the rifle dangling from his other hand. Instinctively, the sentry swung the rifle around to fend off another blow from the baton. It was a good move except Warlock cocked her leg and spun around delivering the toe of her boot to the ribs on the other side. The sentry folded over and the retired Marine brought the baton over and down on the sentry’s head, four times. Bludgeoned and bloody, the man crumbled to the ground.

  “Imagine that. I couldn’t find any lipstick,” Warlock commented as she grabbed his boots and slid his body off the walkway. “It probably would have been the wrong color for my complexion.”

  She picked up the carbine and ejected the magazine. After tapping the side on her wrist to be sure the rounds were seated, Diosa ejected the round in the chamber and inserted the magazine back into the rifle. Once the baton was collapsed and placed in her pouch, Warlock moved to a side door of the first warehouse.

  ***

  Using the rifle stock, she smashed the light over the door. Without the illumination highlighting her, Warlock eased the door open. Glancing in, she saw lights from a loading dock at the far end of the warehouse. A doorway to an internal building was visible in the light, as well as two armed guards patrolling the loading area.

  This was the oddest setup for a poker game she’d ever seen. In the Marine Corps, poker games broke out in the strangest places and at the weirdest times. If there was enough light to read the suits and a moment of spare time, someone would break out a deck, shuffle the cards, and draw players. Here in a dark warehouse with armed guards didn’t seem to be inviting for even the hardiest and wealthiest of thrill seekers.

  Taking advantage of the pallets of supplies on the warehouse floor, Warlock slipped inside and slinked forward. Three stacks later, faint sounds reached her. So far, she had used a civilian eye patch to draw as little attention as possible to the feature. If this situation escalated, she wanted the goggle. After peeling off the eye patch and exchanging it for the thicker goggle, Warlock slipped the secure band over her head. Then she stopped and let the sturdy eye cover rest on her forehead.

  Soundwaves of a machine carried across the warehouse floor, swish pause, swish pause, swish pause. Warlock couldn’t identify the rhythm. It might be she just didn’t recognize the type of machine. Or possibly, the sensor in her eye was distorting the soundwaves and her brain was misinterpreting the stimuli coursing through her mutated optic nerve. If this wasn’t a high stakes poker game, what was it? She needed to get closer to the internal building in order to find out.

  Warlock dropped the goggle over her right eye and moved laterally to the far end of the warehouse. At a corner where the back of the interior building met the wall of the warehouse, the former Striker extended her arms and placed one hand on the building and the other on a vertical support beam. Lifting her legs, she spread them and locked her boots on the beam and building. Once positioned, she moved her arms up, braced them in place, and again lifted her legs. Rock climbers called it stemming. Strikers called it the ticket. If a candidate couldn’t climb up two facing obstacles, they were ejected from the program and given a ticket back to their unit. Ten repetitions later, Warlock pushed off the beam and shifted her weight to the roof.

  ***

  Four large air vents ran down the le
ngth of the roof on the internal building. At the second one, Warlock lifted her goggle, pried the slats open, and peered down to the floor. The swish pause, swish pause, swish pause noise came stronger and she shifted, attempting to see the source. A man walked into view before passing from under the vent and out of the scene. He held a large sheet of paper up as if reading a newspaper. However, from the brief glimpse, it appeared he was examining something on the paper by holding a corner close to his eye. He was out of sight before Warlock could make sense of the action. She needed a different view, but from her location the last two vents were visible to the second guard on the loading dock.

  Diosa just wanted to collect Poet and get on with their mission. Rather than start a gunfight in the warehouse, she started to turn away and not bother with the last two vents.

  “Congratulations. You’ve won three million pesetas,” a woman announced. Then she called out an order. “Get this loaded.”

  The voice came from the building’s entrance near the loading dock. Warlock ducked behind the vent. She assumed the guard would turn towards the building at the command. Given the distance and the angle, he might spot the former Striker crouching behind the vent.

  “Yes, ma’am,” another voice responded. “Come on, give us a hand.”

  Warlock started to move away from the vent when the guard left his post. Someone had won big at poker which gave legitimacy to the theme of the northern area. Hopefully, Walden had won and would be easier to extract, she thought. Then, the retired Marine froze in mid-step.

  “What was the winning hand?” a man inquired. It wasn’t the question that jerked her to a stop. It was his accent. The Empress speech used by her commanders slurred and clipped Realm words. His accent identified him as an officer in the Constabulary. Suddenly, Warlock was interested in what the warehouse represented. The man ventured. “Maybe a straight flush?”

  “Too pat and flashy,” the woman suggested. “Talk about something daring but possible. An inside draw for a King-high straight flush would make a nice story. But who is going to question you?”

  “No one. When this is over, I want to tell tales about my adventures,” the enemy officer responded.

  The Galactic Council and the government of Planet Uno may turn a blind eye to the types of business in the entertainment district. But, Diosa was sure that fraternization with the enemy wasn’t on the list. Before she could choose a course of action, three electric carts started and drove away from the loading dock. Tossing aside her worries about being seen, Warlock rushed to the third vent and stooped to peer down.

  Her curiosity about the swish pause, swish pause noise was answered. A large sheet of paper vanished into a machine with a swish, there was a pause before it was ejected, and another sheet swished into the machine. The ejected sheet fluttered onto a stack of printed sheets marked with perfect rows of pesetas. The crimes committed in the north district had just compounded.

  Diosa’s current mission to locate and secure Poet took priority over the district’s issues. For a heartbeat, she thought about notifying Special Agent Eiko and letting him deal with the counterfeiting. But she couldn’t ignore the fraternization with a Constabulary officer. Seeing as the fake currency and the traitorous activity were tied together, she felt obligated to investigate before calling in the authorities. Eiko’s assistance would have to wait. First, she had to find her wayward pilot and get him online.

  Outside, the engine of a big helicopter rattled to full power. If anyone coming from the landing pad used the side gate, they were sure to notice the missing guard and sound an alarm. Warlock jogged to the rear of the warehouse and the corner she used to climb onto the building. Rather than climbing down, the Striker climbed up.

  ***

  The stars were out and Warlock marveled at seeing the celestial bodies from the center of the city. To the south, she noted the gaudy neon of the casinos and the duty-free shops. To the west, reflections of lights from office and residential buildings were distorted by boat traffic on the river. A few steps from where she emerged on the rooftop, a gap separated the two warehouses.

  About two and a half body lengths, Warlock thought as she ran and launched herself over the gap. It was an easy jump for a Striker. On the far side, she marched along the slightly inclined roof to a maintenance hatch. After disengaging a latch, she raised the cover and peered through the opening. She expected a catwalk or a ladder down to support beams. Instead of the utilitarian structure of a warehouse, she gazed down at a section of plush, floral carpeting. Getting down on her hands and knees, Warlock thrust her head through the frame.

  The area, or rather the corridor was empty of people. Glancing around, Diosa saw a well-appointed hallway with brass light fixtures hanging from textured walls. In one direction, she gazed upon a circular landing and banisters for a wide staircase. Elevator doors were visible next to the landing. Other than those breaks, the rest of the hall had widely spaced dark wood doors and frames. Obviously, they were entrances to large suites. Someone had converted the warehouse into a very nice hotel.

  A Bing sounded and drew Diosa’s attention to the elevator. Quickly, she reset the cover on the maintenance hatch leaving a sliver of an opening. Confirming her initial impression, a couple stepped from the lift followed by a bellman pushing a luggage cart. They passed under her and out of sight.

  “Sir. Room service is available twenty-four hours a day,” a voice informed the couple. “as are shuttle buses to the entertainment district.”

  “From your description, I didn’t expect this,” the woman exclaimed. After the sound of a door opening, she added. “It’s a lovely sitting room.”

  “What did you expect?” a man inquired. “A rustic apartment in a rundown slum?”

  “With you and your poker, I can never tell,” the woman said with a laugh.

  “Please. Enter and let me show you the features of our suites,” The bellman offered. “You’ll notice the entertainment center, the fully stocked bar and the…”

  The door shut cutting off the voices. Warlock lifted the cover enough to swing her legs over the lip and drop through the opening. She landed with bent legs on the floral carpet and skipped to the elevator. One side of the elevator was glass and she could see down onto a seating area accessed by a grand staircase. The other side was dark wood that matched the doorways to the suites. The retired Marine stepped into the elevator, leaned against the doors to keep them open, and while she waited, exchanged the goggle for the eye patch.

  ***

  The door to a suite opened and an empty luggage cart rolled into the hallway. Diosa pushed the button to close the elevator doors. When they were half shut, she punched the button for the third floor. The doors immediately opened and she stepped out to confront the bellman.

  “This is ridiculous,” Diosa complained as she dug through her pouch. “I’ve only been gone a few hours and Walden isn’t answering the phone.”

  “Ma’am. What seems to be the problem?” inquired the bellman.

  “My room key is missing,” Diosa explained while frantically searching the bag. “I can’t find my room key and Walden is off to lord knows where. Wait! No that’s not it. I must have left it in the suite.”

  “What’s the room number, ma’am?” he asked.

  Diosa canted her head and fixed her eye on the bellman. They stood like that until the man became uncomfortable and inquired. “What is your husband’s name, please.”

  “Geboren, Walden Geboren,” Diosa announced as if the man should already know. “Get the door open, please. Or call maintenance to clean the carpet, if you get my meaning.”

  “Yes ma’am,” the bellman said as he quickly walked down the hallway with Diosa right behind him.

  He opened the door to a suite and Diosa brushed by him shoving the door closed in his face. Some guests were demanding, the bellman thought as he strolled back to his luggage cart and the elevator. And cheap, not even the promise of a tip from the distressed woman.

  Warl
ock rested her back against the door and breathed a sigh of relief. Locating Walden’s room had been easy. With any luck, sobering him up and extracting her researcher would go as smoothly.

  ***

  The doorway to a restroom was on her left and to her right a closet with suits, shirts, and shoes. The open door revealed quality clothes that puzzled the retired Marine. They didn’t fit Walden’s style plus dress clothing were usually hung in a bedroom closet. At the end of the short entranceway, the room opened to a spacious sitting area.

  Offset lighting gave a muted feel to the room. In a corner, bottles of libations lined shelves over a bar counter. This must be heaven for Poet, she thought. Beside the stocked bar, a large entertainment screen covered most of one wall. The rest of the room had a cherry wood table with seating for four, end tables, two comfortable looking chairs, and a couch with a pair of feet hanging over the arm.

  She marched to the feet and located Walden Geboren sprawled on the sofa. One arm covered his eyes while the other was draped over the rest of his face. Surprisingly, there wasn’t a half-empty glass or bottle of alcohol anywhere near him. Glancing at the bar again to assure herself that her first impression was correct, Warlock confirmed the wide assortment of temptation on the shelves.

  Diosa wondered at the fresh smell, lack of discarded bottles, dirty glasses, and empty food containers. When she first met her researcher/pilot, he was wallowing in filth and using an out-call service for company. She stood peering down at Poet.

  “Just leave it,” Walden mumbled from under his arm.

  “Time to check out, Poet,” Diosa announced.

  Walden shot to a sitting position, swung his legs off the couch, and jumped to his feet.

  “Warlock! Lifetaker. Have you come to assassinate, slay, eliminate, and dispose of my wretched, worthless body in a shallow grave?” Walden blurted out.

  “Why would I do any of that?” questioned Diosa. “Although I will admit to being irritated at having to track you down. Saddle up, we have a mission.”