Lobo Malo - Chapter 3 - Into The Woods
The Theater
1734 EST
"State your business!" cried the sentry as Gregory approached the gate.
"I'm looking for Alani Kelso. She's a Division agent like me." Gregory held up his arm to show the watch to the sentry.
"Open up the gate!" A low growling sound echoed through the barricade as an electric winch pulled it to the side, opening a path into the settlement. Gregory slung his rifle and walked inside, hearing a second winch beginning to pull the barricade back into place. A passageway had been rigged with UV lights, unusually thoughtful for any civilian settlement outside of JTF bases, which made Gregory incredibly curious. He approached a woman at a desk on the far side of the UV array.
"Where can I find Alani Kelso?"
"I'm not sure," said the woman. "Your best bet would be to talk to Odessa. She'd know where Kelso's run off to."
"Thank you." Gregory moved on down an alleyway, seeing how construction scaffolding had been arranged into ascending ramps leading up to the roof of one of the buildings, and across the alleyway to the roof of the adjacent building. Making his way up, Gregory was struck by the potential of this settlement. It wasn't bustling, but there was definitely potential here. Just as clearly, the residents were working hard to realize that potential. He stopped at the top of the ramps, asking for directions to wherever Odessa was located. One of the residents pointed to what had probably been a maintenance office before the Dollar Flu. Thanking the resident, Gregory moved over to the office and knocked on the door.
"Who's that?" came a slightly slurred voice from the other side of the door.
"My name's Paxton Gregory. I'm an agent of the Strategic Homeland Division, Analytics Branch. I was sent here by Manny Ortega, looking for Alani Kelso. May I come in?"
There was dead silence for several seconds, then the sound of a deadbolt being thrown back and a drawbar being removed. "Come on in." Gregory did so, closing the door behind him.
Along one wall sat an Army issue single bed, a tattered American flag tacked up above it, a few pictures tacked over to the side. On the bed sat a woman in an olive green tank top and fatigue pants, the right leg below the knee clearly a prosthetic. Gregory noticed the redness in her eyes and wondered if it was because of the cheap whiskey sitting on the bedside table or something else.
"Odessa Sawyer," the woman said, introducing herself curtly. "So Manny sent me another damned hero, huh?" she asked truculently.
"No, ma'am. I try not to make the kind of mistakes that make heroes."
A scowl crossed Sawyer's face. "Don't 'ma'am' me. I work for a living."
Gregory nodded politely. "As I said, I'm looking for Alani Kelso. Do you know where I might find her?"
Sawyer's eyes began to tear up and she bit her lip. "She's out there somewhere. Said she was going to go find Eleanor, wouldn't stop till she brought her home. Kelso will do it, I know that, but I'm not a hundred percent certain she'll bring my girl home alive. Hell, last time I went out with Kelso, I lost half my leg. I know how crazy she is, and how stone cold she can be." Sawyer shuddered and looked at Gregory, a rainbow of pain in her eyes. "You want to get in good with me? You go track down Kelso, help her bring Eleanor home alive. I know you're Analytics, which means you generally have to be inside the barn to hit the broad side of it. But you're all I've got. Find her, and find Eleanor, and I'll owe you big." Sawyer reached over, picking up a half full tumbler of whiskey and knocking it back in a single gulp. "You want to maybe fatten that debt up, you can deal with the thief."
"What thief?" asked Gregory curiously.
"A few days ago, one of my patrols found some guy digging around near a Division gear cache. Now that could mean he's Division himself, or he tortured some poor bastard for the location and the right way to open the box. He had a watch on him, but since all the watches went dead, that don't mean a damned thing right now. So, my people figured he was a thief, brought him here. I haven't really been in the right frame of mind to deal with him. Been too worried about Eleanor." Sawyer looked at Gregory with bloodshot eyes. "He's your problem. You want to cut him loose, I won't argue. You want to shoot him in the head, I won't argue. Though you might want to put down some plastic." She reached for the bottle. "Cleaning brains off the walls is a copper plated *****."
Nodding, Gregory excused himself from Sawyer's room, then went over to one of the residents. "That guy they brought in the other day, where are they holding him?"
"Manager's office in the lounge across the way. Seemed like the best spot. We've got his gear behind the bar. We're waiting on Odessa to decide about him."
"Well, she seems to have nominated me for circuit judge. Take me to him. I'll have a little chat, see what the story is."
The resident led him across the scaffolding to the building where the lounge was located. Gregory figured this must have been a popular spot when the theater was operating, host to who knew how many cast parties and society galas. As it was, the neon signs were all off, only a few work lamps illuminating the vast space. Gregory found the manager's office, took the key off the nail next to the door, and opened it up.
Behind the desk sat a man who seemed to set off every mental alarm bell in Gregory's head. The man had the look of somebody who'd been used to living off the land for years before Green Poison, a windburned and weathered complexion which reminded Gregory of ancient tree stumps. His gunmetal gray eyes and craggy features gave the man a faintly feral cast, a wolf caged only because he hadn't decided it was time to eat the sheep yet. Even the simple haircut suggested to Gregory that this man was not to be trifled with. "Can I help you?" he asked in a velvety smooth baritone.
"Paxton Gregory, Strategic Homeland Division. And you are?"
"Lowell Ryckmen, Strategic Homeland Division. You're Analytics, aren't you?"
"Is it that obvious?"
Ryckmen shrugged his shoulders a little bit. "Yeah. I can tell you've seen the elephant. It doesn't seem to have thrown you too badly. But you haven't seen it nearly as often as me."
"Guessing you're Tactical."
"Yup. The Strategic guys all have that air of 'struggling to lift the canapes' about them," said Ryckmen with a savage grin. "So, Mr. Gregory, much as I hate repeating myself, can I help you?"
"Hopefully so. According to the report I was given, you were trying to pilfer a supply cache. Now, was it really pilfering, or were you authorized to utilize those materials?"
"That's a fair question. I'd like to think I wasn't stealing. But my status with the Division is a little...iffy right at the moment."
Gregory's eyebrow arched up sharply. "Are you a *******ed rogue?" he demanded.
"Hard to say. I can't exactly ask ISAC for my current status," Ryckmen said, holding up his dead watch before pointing at Gregory's. "And unfortunately for both of us, neither can you."
"Then I'd say it's incumbent upon you to make your explanation very enlightening. Because right now, the boss lady around here is torn between cutting you loose and shooting you dead, and she's giving me carte blanche to make the call."
"You are succinct, Mr. Gregory. I appreciate that more than you can ever truly know. I'll tell you what I can. The rest, you're going to have infer and deduce."
"What was your original duty posting?"
"New York City, second wave. I was on the island of Manhattan for about seven weeks, from December 10th until February 7th. I served under Faye Lau, interim commander of Strategic Homeland Division agents, following the assassination of Louis Chang by elements of the Last Man Battalion aided by a rogue agent by the name of Aaron Keener."
"Manhattan's supposed to be locked down. How'd you get out?"
"The same way Keener did." A look of grudging respect crossed Ryckmen's face. "Everybody was looking on top of the bridges and the surface of the water. Nobody was looking underneath either of them. He rigged up a tram sled to carry people and small cargoes underneath the Brooklyn Bridge while spreading disinformation suggesting he'd somehow compromised the quarantine being maintained by Coast Guard and Navy assets. He was underneath JTF's feet and above the squids' heads and nobody caught sight of him. Him or his hostage."
Gregory leaned back on the door frame. "What hostage?"
"A Russian scientist named Vitaly Tchernenko, an expert in infectious diseases and genetic engineering. As it turns out, he was also a colleague and close friend of Gordon Amherst, the man who created Green Poison. Incidentally, Amherst is dead. I found his body myself. His lab was pillaged by Keener, who has all of Amherst's notes, probably the most critical pieces of the equipment Amherst used to create the virus, and Tchernenko as technical assistance."
"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," whispered Gregory in horror. "If he's got all that..."
"You got it. And given the psychological profile I've built regarding Keener, it's only a matter of time before he starts cooking up something new."
"So you've been hunting Keener down this whole time?"
"Since just after New Year's Day. My partner and I were tracking him down together. Once we got out of Manhattan, we followed his trail to Philly. I don't know if he was on to us at that point, or if he was just being paranoid, but we got jumped around the west side of town. It was a little too neat for the local lunatics."
"I've been kinda heads-down most of the last seven months. How bad was Philadelphia?"
Ryckmen closed his eyes, breathing deeply, as if to calm himself down. "It's medieval. Anybody calling it the 'City of Brotherly Love' now is just indulging in sick humor, far as I'm concerned."
"What happened to your partner?"
"She survived, but there's levels of survival you have to be prepared to accept these days. In her case, she lost most of her left arm. After we got out of Philly, we headed towards Lancaster, came across a Mennonite community. They had a doctor close by, and he managed to keep Lena from getting gangrene. Small favors, I suppose. Far as I know, she's still recuperating. But she's never shooting again unless it's right handed. And she'll never go out in the field again when she's short an arm." There was a note of disappointment, almost sadness, in Ryckmen's voice. A feeling he'd witnessed a star athlete's illustrious career get cut short by a tragic injury.
"So you kept following the trail and it led you here?"
"Ehhh, sorta," said Ryckmen, wiggling his hand to indicate uncertainty. "He seemed to be heading down this way. D.C. has a lot to offer a budding megalomaniac with a genetic engineering set and a grudge against the government. But there's other possibilities. Langley, Fort Meade, Norfolk, all of those are equally worthwhile targets. At first, I thought the watch dying might be Keener's work, but that didn't make a lot of sense the more I considered it. He likes to think he's jerking us around by leaving breadcrumbs which ISAC can pick up. Killing ISAC, or even crippling it, would spoil all his fun. I'm not saying he'd never try to take out the system, but for right now, it's just too useful for him not to use it." Sighing, Ryckmen looked at Gregory. "I found the cache a few days ago. Since ISAC was down and I couldn't access the cache the normal way, I had to jimmy the lock. Which is where the locals found me. And that's the story to date."
Gregory stroked his chin, his brow furrowed deeply in thought. "Did Lau know you were going after Keener?"
"I'm guessing she was vaguely briefed. There was a guy back at the Base whom I informed about my intentions. Being the apple polishing twerp that he was, I'm sure he told Lau. She never cut off access to ISAC for me or Lena. But she didn't exactly go out of her way to steer supply drops to us, either."
"I can see why that might make you question your status," nodded Gregory. Dangerous as Ryckmen seemed to him, Gregory didn't believe the man was lying or prevaricating in any fashion. Ryckmen could probably move like a shadow and devise ambushes like a god of urban asymmetrical warfare. But in his communications, the way he spoke as much as his choice of words, there was an almost painful directness to him. He probably knew the meaning of the word "subtle," but wasn't in the habit of using subtlety in the field when he spoke. But perhaps the most compelling evidence was right here in the office. Gregory didn't doubt for an instant Ryckmen's ability to escape his confines. All things being equal, it wasn't terribly secure, and part of the training program back on the Ranch had covered improvised escape tools and techniques. He could have disappeared with nary a peep, or he could have killed every soul in this settlement without anybody noticing. But he'd stayed here, a model prisoner, to await his fate. Probably supremely confident in his eventual release.
"May I call you Lowell?" Gregory asked politely. When Ryckmen nodded, he continued. "I believe you. Until ISAC does get back up around here, I will provisionally accept your status as an agent in good standing. With that said, I'm afraid I need to request your assistance with the current situation. It's something which takes absolute precedence over any other considerations. Even hunting down Aaron Keener."
"You're here to fix the ISAC node and get the Division back online," said Ryckmen, clearly having put the pieces together while they were talking. "And since you're Analytics, you need some Tactical backup to ride shotgun with you and keep the bad guys off your back while you commune with the computers." A wintry smile grew on Ryckmen's face. "And since I seem to be the only gunslinger in town..."
"Not the only one. Just the only one I've got immediate access to at the moment. I won't lie to you, Lowell. I get the feeling we're going to be stuck here for a while trying to sort this mess out. But if I can get ISAC back on line, and if we can stabilize the situation around here, you'll at least have a secure area to resume your hunt from. Which is a damned sight better than risking your neck on another Philly scenario."
Ryckmen nodded in agreement. "I wish I could disagree with you, but you're right. And it's possible I might be able to secure additional assets to help hunt down Keener once we've got things settled down here. I can handle being alone for stretches of time, but it'd be good to have some company when I head out again."
"All right. Let's get your rig back to you and introduce you to the local potentate." Gregory led Ryckmen out of the office and over to the bar, pointing to the stack of equipment behind it. "I'll let the guards know you're on their side." Nodding, Ryckmen hopped the bar and slipped a tactical vest on as Gregory went over to the door and informed the sentry. Five minutes later, the two agents stepped out of the lounge and went back over the catwalk towards the office.
"I think you'll like Ms. Sawyer, but be careful what you say. She's not in a good place mentally right now. We're going to need to do a little rescue work to get in good with her." Gregory stopped as Ryckmen cocked his head at him.
"Sawyer? Not Odessa Sawyer, by chance?"
"Yeah," nodded Gregory, "you know her?"
"Well, what do you know," murmured Ryckmen, a touch of wonder creeping into his expression. "Oddball made it through." He shook his head for a moment, eyes locking on Gregory. "She and I went through the Ranch at the same time. I'd just finished my third tour with the 10th Mountain and they almost literally yanked her out of some job in Basra. She grew up in Baltimore. Not the nice part, from what I understand. Think they picked her because she brought a leavening of real world urban survival to the table. Was there a man there with her? Six three, broad as all damnation?" Gregory shook his head. "He might be somewhere else. Good guy. Let's go see her."
Gregory escorted Ryckmen to the office, then knocked twice before opening the door. "Ms. Sawyer," he began, "I'm pleased to report that the matter regarding your prisoner has been disposed of. By an odd stroke of coincidence, I've also enlisted additional help for my efforts to recover your daughter. And I seem to have found an old friend of yours. All in the same conversation." He stepped aside, allowing Ryckmen to step inside.
Ryckmen's smile dropped as he saw Sawyer's face. He came over to her, crouching down next to the bed. "Odessa," he said softly, eyes filled with concern.
"Lowell? Oh Jesus, Lowell!" Sawyer's eyes spilled over with tears and the two friends gripped each other tightly in a bear hug. For several moments, the leader of the Theater wept on the Tactical agent's shoulder, rocking slightly. When she pulled back, her face seemed to have changed dramatically to Gregory's eyes. Before, it had been a tightly restrained mask. Now, she looked more normal, albeit severely distressed.
"Good to see you, Oddball," Ryckmen said with a gentle smile. "Where's Dom? And Eleanor?"
"Dom's dead, Lowell. I was being called up, and he was here in D.C. trying to help get people out of their homes. Somebody shot him dead trying to help this little old couple to an evacuation point. And Eleanor, I don't know where she is!" Sawyer broke down again and Ryckmen pulled her close again, trying to soothe her.
"Odessa, you've got this Analytics puke looking for Eleanor, right?"
"Yeah," she half-whispered. "There's another agent, Alani Kelso, also looking for her. Kelso said she was going to check out the Grand Washington Hotel. It's kind of a forward base for the Hyenas."
"All right, then. We'll link up with Kelso, and the three of us will bring Eleanor home. Look me in the eyes, Odessa." Sawyer brought her head up, her eyes locking on Ryckmen's. "We will bring her home, safe and sound. You have my word on it. And I am a man of my word." Sawyer nodded slowly as Ryckmen brushed away a tear with his thumb. He stood up slowly and smiled at Sawyer. "Keep the home fires burning, Oddball." Turning to Gregory, his smile dropped. "Let's get moving."
The two agents made their back down to street level and out through a bus barricade. Ryckmen unslung his rifle, checking the chamber before putting it into a low carry position, Gregory walking alongside. Gregory had heard about Urban MDR rifles before, and was certainly familiar with their specs, but seeing one up close and in the hands of a Division agent was something special. But Ryckmen's expression gave the moment a distinctly chilly tinge. The Tactical agent looked to be absolutely focused, almost to the point of laser-like coherence.
"Gregory," Ryckmen growled.
"Yeah, Lowell?"
"I won't tell you to stay out of my way, because I'm going to need all the help I can get. But if you make a liar out of me in front of Odessa, you're only going to wish you were dead."