Kris Longknife: Audacious Part 46

56.

The emergency lights in the stairwell had been a casualty of the fight here. Kris found herself searching for a foothold among the dead bodies and failing.

Jack brought up his flashlight without being asked.

The defenders above had put up quite a fight.

Kris made her way carefully, avoiding the bodies, going from one patch of damp blood to the next open bit of gore. Behind her the others followed in her tracks.

She reached the ground floor and peeked out over the sights of her rifle.

The butcher bill for tonight was going to be huge.

These people must have been mowed down early in the attack. Many of them appeared to be security types taking a break, or actual government workers who'd picked a bad night to work late. Grant hadn't considered these folks important enough to keep alive.

"Nelly, where's that jammer?" Kris bit out "Not on this floor."

"Is there a bas.e.m.e.nt or sub-bas.e.m.e.nt?" Kris asked over her shoulder.

"There's a door here, in the back of the stairwell," a kid's voice called.

"Don't touch it," the demolition tech called.

Too late.

The explosion was subdued, but the boy's scream was harsh on the taut nerves left by this evening.

Kris and the Marines got back to the stairwell to find two boys bleeding. One badly.

Jack stripped off the boy's belt and made a tourniquet for the shattered arm. Another Marine cut strips from the boy's s.h.i.+rt and used it to bandage his chest.

The demolition expert ran his fingers around the door. It was still solidly closed.

"Why don't you wait outside?" he suggested to Kris and the rest.

n.o.body argued with him.

A long moment later there was a click, and the sergeant said, "The door's open. You all stay here while I check out the stairs."

Kris felt guilty, but she stayed put.

"Do you need some light," Bronc said, eyeing the darkness yawning from the newly opened stairwell.

"Don't mind if you do," the expert said, "but you stay well behind me and don't touch anything you don't have to."

Bronc followed the sergeant, one hand holding a light, the other hand in his pocket.

The other kids and the Marines moved as far from the door as they could.

"It's clear to the next landing" came a full minute later. "Stay to the center of the stairs and don't touch the walls."

They followed, Jack first, Kris second, the remaining three kids coming up the rear.

"Is it on this level?" Kris asked Nelly.

"It is at the other end of the building, the north end, and I think it is a floor lower. Or maybe the floor angles down. I do not know, Kris."

"There's more stairs here. Give me a second to check them," the sergeant said, and moved off, with Bronc two steps behind him.

Kris glanced up. There were emergency lights in the corners. Tiny red lights flashed, testimony that they worked, just turned off. She announced that.

"Yeah, I noticed that, too," the sergeant drawled back. "I didn't really want to see what happened if I turned them back on. Do you?"

Kris agreed to the dark.

A moment later they were descending to the next level.

Emergency lights were on here, making this concrete sub-bas.e.m.e.nt seem almost cheerful after the rest of the evening.

There also were no bodies. No wreckage from the fight. Here was a simple, functional area where workers did what needed to be done to make the rest of the place work.

It seemed almost painfully normal.

"The jamming is coming from the far end of the hallway," Nelly announced.

The sergeant led off, carefully doing his job. The rest followed in his footsteps.

It seemed easy.

Right up to the discovery of the jammer.

It was in a squat black box, sitting on a table, with antenna leads connecting it to pipes and power lines.

The sergeant studied it and shook his head.

"How much do you want this thing?"

"I'd like to take it home for study. It's the only thing that's managed to jam my computer's net," Kris said.

"The only thing," Nelly added for emphasis.

"But right now we need to turn it off. Kill this jamming and get some ambulances in here," Kris added.

"This baby looks to me to be rigged to explode. Say twelve different ways to Sunday. It is not meant to be turned off," the sergeant said, shaking his head.

"You need some explosives?" Jack asked. "Penny gave me her last grenade."

"That and some wire."

"Here's some wire," a kid said.

"Don't touch it!" came from half a dozen others.

"I wasn't going to," the kid answered.

"Smart kid, you're learning," the sergeant said, pulling off his belt and beginning to unwind a long filament from it.

The others backed out of the room. The sergeant did, too, a half minute later, the end of the string in his hand.

"I don't know what's going to happen when I yank on that grenade. They could have put a small charge in that jammer, but...so far...they ain't done nothing small.

"What do you say that the rest of you mosey on down to the other stairwell. I don't think we're going to bring the whole dang building down on us." He glanced back in the room. "I don't think."

Kris and the others moved down the hall. "Nelly, could you drop off some nanos. Something to activate once the jammer goes down."

"I am doing that, Kris."

Kris and her team reached the possible safety of the distant stairwell and she waved back at the technician.

He almost closed the door to the jammer's room, stepped back across the hall, held up three, then two, then one finger.

Then yanked.

He started jogging toward them as Kris counted, "Four, three, two, one."

The grenade went off.

A second, louder explosion followed a moment later, blowing out the door to the room that had held the jammer.

"Something is going on down the hall," Nelly shouted.

The sergeant took off at a flat-out sprint.

And the north end of the corridor exploded into a roiling ball of flame, reaching out to engulf him.

The Marine reached the hall that led off to the northern stairwell. He threw himself into it.

Kris and the rest of her team fell back into their own stairwell and slammed the metal fire door shut.

A half second later, the door blew open swinging around to bash Bronc and the kid standing beside him.

Overpressure knocked Kris against the stairwell, popped her ears, and left her with an overwhelming need to yawn.

Around her, Jack and the other Marines, black as witches' hearts since Nelly turned on their camouflage, went back to wearing red and blues, their faces brown, pink, or black as they'd been born.

And Kris found herself in a gray dress.

"I am no longer jammed," Nelly announced. "But your protective coloring controls are all dead."

"I think that's okay," Kris said. "Commander Tordon, can you hear me?"

"Loud and clear. What's been keeping you, dearie?"

"This and that. And some of the other. Listen, we've had a really b.l.o.o.d.y situation here. We've got a major medical incident on our hands and require maximum medical a.s.sistance. Where is it?"

"I don't know, Kris. The rest of this burg ain't exactly been sleeping. Your friend Martinez and his Fraternal Order of Proud Caballeros managed to hold the warehouse that I have such fond memories of. The streets over there are covered with the bodies of optimistic gangers who weren't as good as they thought they were. But it wasn't easy. Martinez was talking about his stand at the Alamo."

Kris did not remark at the historical reference. It was a different planet and if the words worked, fine.

"Anyway," Gramma Ruth went on, "Martinez and some of his crew took off a couple of minutes ago to help you. Let me patch him through to you."

The sergeant rejoined Kris. He signaled that he could not hear a thing. His eyes were bloodshot, and burst blood vessels showed on his face, but he seemed about as chipper as someone in his profession could be who had faced the monster in its lair and lived to tell the story.

Carefully, Kris and company worked their way back up the stairs.

And Martinez came on the net.

"Where are you?" Kris demanded.

"I'm stopped at a roadblock."

"Well blow the dang thing."

"It's not their roadblock, Your Highness, it's our roadblock. Some of my brother cops seem more interested in keeping the media reporters out of there than in letting the ambulances in."

"Oh my" was about all Kris could muster.

And as she arrived at the main floor, who should she meet coming down from the upper floors, but the third vice president. His tie was c.o.c.keyed, and his s.h.i.+rt's b.u.t.tons were now done in the wrong order. And the gorgeous blonde following him had a very proud grin on her face.

"We spent the entire attack hiding under a table," the third vice president said, with almost enough conviction to persuade a four-year-old.

Kris knew, even as she did it, that she'd be in deep trouble for this. But it didn't keep her from reaching into her totally wrecked hairdo and pulling out her automatic.

Then she jammed it under the jaw of Eden's third vice president.

"What do you want to bet me that your Inspector Johnson is commanding the roadblock up the road from here?"

"Of course he is." It was the wrong answer for this politician.

Kris grabbed the man by his tie and hauled him out of the stairwell. She aimed his head so he got a good look at the slaughter yard that the main hall had become.