In the back of the house on the second story I saw an office that was set up like a hunting lodge, lots of taxidermied animal heads on the wood-paneled walls. Leather chairs. Six men sat around a table, playing cards. Half were wearing neat gray camo and the others were dressed in expensive clothes. The clean clothing, the cigars, the liquor in crystal glasses said these were the men I was looking for.
“Jolene, put up a pic of Deputy Darson.”
I opened my eyes to see a digital of the deputy on my faceplate.Gotcha, you piece of garbage.
“Darson is on premises, second story, rear of the building. Six men in one room. It has a view of the far side of the hill the house is perched on. He’s with the …” I stopped and started laughing.
“What?” Jagger demanded.
“You remember the intel that the president of the MS Angels went running from Warhammer? He’s here. Guess what, Jagger? You get to take out the OMW’s worst enemy, Rico “Three Fingers” Garcia Perez.”
Jagger said nothing.
“That means this cabin is more fortified than my sensors show,” Mateo said.
I sent Spy a message vision instructing her to find a way inside. “Let’s see where the prisoners are,” I whispered to the cat. Spy slithered to the ground and into the shadows. The black male cat followed. They slipped in through an open window.
Mateo said, “Got a glimpse of good shielding on Spy’s camera beneath the wallboard. Might be military stuff.”
Visions of the house showed filthy back rooms. The kitchen was a horror. A communal bathroom was unspeakable, and Spy let me know that humans were disgusting and needed to be taught how to use a litterbox.
Spy and the black cat slinked silently through the house, sniffing things I was glad I couldn’t smell. They glided up and down stairs, investigating rooms where they could, bypassing areas with too many people or too many closed doors.
“You getting this, Mateo?” I asked.
“Affirmative. Floor plans underway.”
I described what I had seen of the house from the cats’ vantages. On a small area of my faceplate, floor plans came into view. “Nice,” I said. “Mateo, points of entry?”
“We need to know where the two women in the front room end up when the shooting starts. See if the cats can find a secure position outside that room but with visual on the doors.”
“Okay.” I sent Spy a request while Mateo, the wartime CO, gave orders.
“We fire on three. Jagger, Cupcake. When I say the word, take out the armed guards in front and start picking off anyone who reaches for a weapon. Amos, get into position in back and eliminate the guard on the hillside. Jacopo, you say you can shoot. Take the guard on the left of the house. That’s a tricky shot. I’ve got the heavy weapons. I’m set to take out the cannon and eradicate the garage doors, the front door, and, if the women are gone, the main front window.”
“Roger that,” we all said.
“Once the enemy combatants are down out front, Cupcake and Jacopo, you cover the outside and the driveway. Amos enters from the back, Jagger from the front door or window, whichever comes down first. Smith,” he said, meaning me, to keep my name from Jacopo, on the off-chance he didn’t already know it, “you go through the garage doors. Keep all positional monitors active so I can coordinate if needed.”
“Roger that,” Cupcake said.
“Send in the cats,” Mateo said.
“All cats go,” I whispered to Spy. “Find the prisoners. Disable their guards.”
I had a view of more cats leaping through the open window.
“OK. On three,” Mateo said. “One.”
I slammed down my face shield. Jolene shot me full of battle chemicals. My heart raced. Breathing deepened. My suit fed me higher oxygen levels.
“Two.”
I stood, activated the armor’s antirecoil and hardening features.
“Three.”
The barrage started.
