Anthology - SHADOWRUN - Spells and Chrome

The guard just stared at her.

"Tell him Dr. Sierra Madeira is here," she said. "He'll want to see me."

The guard didn't speak, but Mamba bet he was sending a message via his 'link. After a moment, he nodded to her, his expression slightly more polite. A clever, meta-human sized door swung open in the center of the vine-covered gate. The guard in front of it stepped to the side, and with a jerk of his head, motioned her through.

She went in.

The courtyard was laid out in muted red bricks, in a concentric circle around a large reflecting pool. Trees cast some shade, but there was little in the way of gardens or bushes. Nowhere to find cover, a portion of her mind observed. More armed guards, decked out in full security armor, stood around the courtyard. The mansion was set back, a square building that glowed white in the harsh sunlight. Windows glinted, like crystals, and the entire building was sparkling clean. That, more than the size of the building or the small army of men, spoke of real wealth in Lagos. A human man in dun-colored robes approached her, followed by two heavy-set orks in military grade armor.

"Dr. Madeira? If you'll please follow me," he said in English, then turned back towards the broad, double door of the mansion. She followed him up some shallow steps to the doors. Once she'd stepped through, the two orks slid the doors shut with a quiet click.

The man in the robes paused once they were inside the cool building. "I must ask you to relinquish any weapons," he said, politely. The two orks beside him gave unspoken force to his words.

Mamba slid out the plastic case from under her shirt, using very slow and deliberate motions.

"These aren't weapons," she said, flicking the case open. "But something I believe Lekan would like to see."

"If I may?" the man replied, holding out his hands. Mamba reluctantly handed over the case. She'd already lost the damn things once. Now, she was this close to finishing the job she'd given up as a lost cause. But she felt the press of time. Every minute that passed, Medjay would be closer to recovery. He was an able enough hacker, when he used those damn skillsofts. How long would it take him to track her down?

And why hadn't she thought of that when she had the opportunity to slit his throat? Why hadn't she at least left him tied up? She shied away from acknowledging the answer to that question.

The man in the robe took the case, then smiled and led her though the soaring three-story entrance hall, down a dimly lit hall, and into a richly appointed office.

A human male, with wrinkled black skin and a tight cap of snowy-white hair, sat behind a large, polished wood desk. He wore richly textured woven robes, in a variety of bright colors. Olabode Lekan looked every bit the distinguished statesman, and nothing like the warlord he really was.

Once Mamba was in the room, the man in the dun robes carefully handed Lekan the plastic case, then left, closing the doors behind him. The two orks remained in the room, standing at attention. Two more guards, trolls that Mamba could tell were cybered to the gills just by watching them twitch, stood behind Lekan.

Lekan opened the case without speaking to her. He raised one white eyebrow at the two ancient knives, then clicked the case closed and sat it on the desk in front of him. He looked Mamba over.

"Dr. Madeira has been reported missing by the Apep Consortium in Cairo," he began. His voice was rich and full, almost too robust for the small office; a voice meant to be giving speeches, not addressing low-life shadowrunners. "And at the same time, rumors are that an unnamed Apep dig site was hit by thieves. This, coupled with the fact that Dr. Madeira has no biological augmentations, certainly not to the level and quality of your own, presents an interesting mystery."

Mamba inclined her head. "I've been employed to bring those artifacts to Oni Adegoke," she said. "My employer heard about the Oni's upcoming auction, and wanted to-" she struggled to phrase it politely. "-to send a gesture of good-will."

Lekan tipped his head, considering her. Black Mamba wondered if he was using a spell, emotion-mapping software, or just his judgment. She hated losing control of a situation.

"I see you appear truthful," he said.

Mamba let out a breath.

"Very well. I'll accept this gift on behalf of the Oni. In exchange, I'd be happy to offer you a gift for your employer." The old man stood, more graceful than his age would lead her to believe, and went to a small safe at the back of the room. When he returned, he dropped a small stack of ivory disks on the desk. "Tokens," he said, gesturing to the disks. "Each one will admit one person to the auction. Your employer can contact me directly for more details, if he-or she-wishes." He said it with distaste. The message was clear; don't send any more shadowrunners.

Mamba picked up the small disks. There were five. She nodded to the old man, but he'd already dismissed her. Mamba bristled, but the odds were still against her… and she did have a job to finish.

She was escorted out of the mansion, back out to the street, the vine-covered gate closing behind her.

It'd been just over an hour since they'd left the Nubian in his room. He was probably awake by now. Or would be soon.

Mamba began walking back to where she left Pharisee.

"Everything's frosty," the technomancer said. "I watched through your AR glasses' camera. I can't believe we did it."

"Stop hacking my commlink," Mamba retorted. "And we still have to get these damn tokens back to our employer. Hell, we still have to get out of Lagos. Before Medjay catches us."

"Oh, is that his name?" Pharisee teased.

Mamba ignored her, her mind already calculating, planning the next move. She was in control again. Catch an okada to the mainland, and from there to the airport. Getting through Lagos without tangling with the Igbo-who were probably still out for her blood-would be challenging. Getting out of Lagos before Medjay found her would likely be even more impossible.

Without realizing it, as she walked down the manicured streets and back to the dangerous blight of the feral city, Black Mamba smiled. Out of civilization; back to her comfort zone.

And towards a good fight.

So far, William H. Keith has published over eighty novels, including military novels, geopolitical spy thrillers, and science fiction, writing under his name and several pseudonyms. As "H. Jay Riker" he wrote the long-running SEALs: The Warrior Breed. As "Ian Douglas," Keith wrote the Heritage, Legacy, and Inheritance military-SF series, following the exploits of the U.S. Marines into the far future. Most recently, he's been writing spy thrillers in collaboration with best-selling author Stephen Coonts. Bill currently lives and writes in the mountains of western Pennsylvania.

I have to say right up front that I didn't believe our Mr. Johnson. I mean, I've seen some freaked-out scat in my time, but this was just too hardwired weird for school.

"What?" I yelped at the guy. "You're doodoodling me, man, right?"

We were sitting in the High Tox, the bar I'd chosen for the face-to-face. I guess I yelped a bit too loud when I heard what the op was, because I noticed Tony surreptitiously reaching for the scattergun he kept behind the bar. I met his eye, shook my head a little, and he relaxed.

But it was good knowing I had back-up with this bozo. He just meatjackin' couldn't be cruising the Real!

"I'm very serious, Mister, er, Faceman," my contact said. "Roger Nakamura is supposedly paying forty million nuyen to Zayid if he can pull this off. My sponsors wish to intercept the… ah… package. At the source."

I leaned back in my chair and sipped my drink. A banzai boomer, neat, bitter, the way Tony knows I like it. I needed to think this through. The Johnson had to be scamming us, had to have an angle.