8. Ambush
Back on the road, about an hour later, Cortin spotted a rider coming in their direction. He was apparently daydreaming, because it was a few seconds before he saw the group—and when he did, he reined around and galloped back the way he'd come.
Cortin stopped, frowning, and motioned Odeon to join her. Most people didn't like getting too close to prisoner escorts, no, but leaving at a gallop was a rather extreme reaction. Not necessarily a guilty reaction, and not one she would normally be justified in having him pursued or shot for … but it bothered her. When Odeon reined in beside her, she said, "I don't like the looks of that. It could mean nothing, but it could also mean trouble. Patrol formation, I think, with you at point; as Tracker, you've got the best chance of spotting trouble before it spots you."
"Right. And I'd recommend Tony as rear guard; he's the closest we have to a second Tracker."
"Agreed." As he rode ahead, Cortin dropped back to the main group, briefed them, and sent Degas to the rear. This wasn't good ambush country—the woods were open, with the road avoiding rough terrain wherever possible—and they'd be in secure territory when they got within an hour's ride of the retreat; even when the Royal Family was elsewhere, there were security and housekeeping staffs in residence.
When they moved out again, she stayed with the group, all of them alert for unusual movements or sounds. Cortin found herself half-hoping for action, though she also wanted to make it through without having any of her people hurt or killed.
Odeon moved forward cautiously. He agreed with Joanie: even though someone fleeing a prisoner escort didn't necessarily mean trouble, it was a good idea to take a few simple precautions. He studied the other's tracks when he got to them, but they told him nothing he didn't already know. The man had been riding at a walk, and had suddenly turned, galloping away. If it was because of normal apprehension, fine, and no real problem even if he was a wanted criminal; he'd cause them no trouble, and he'd be caught eventually if he kept reacting that way. The problem would arise if he were point man for a group of Brothers or other terrorists—not likely this close to a royal residence, but certainly a possibility.
He wasn't kept in suspense long; within five minutes, he heard a group of riders ahead. They were making no effort to be silent, which didn't prove anything one way or the other; either they were innocent, or they were pretending to be innocent to get close to the Enforcement group. The woods were open enough there was no point in leaving the road to try to eavesdrop on them; if he were close enough to understand words, he'd be close enough to see. So, keeping his hand close to his pistol, he rode forward.
His appearance clearly startled them, enough to get an honest reaction; half of the fifteen or so went for their weapons. He drew and fired at the same time he was turning his horse and urging it to a gallop. Leaning low over the horse's withers, he continued to fire, and was both surprised and gratified to hear a cry of pain mixed with the return fire; it was damn near impossible to hit anything from the back of a running horse even if you tried to aim.
Cortin heard the shots, then rapidly-approaching hoofbeats. So did the rest, and there was no need to give orders; all had been in similar situations often enough to know precisely what to do. By the time Odeon came in sight, Chang and the prisoner were far enough off to the side to be out of the firefight, and the rest were behind good-sized trees. This wasn't exactly what Cortin had had in mind, wanting action—it was more like the kneeling-behind-a-barrier segment of a firing range exercise—but it would do.
When Odeon passed their positions, the team opened fire. Cortin hit two, someone else hit two more, and the terrorists turned into a milling, cursing mob whose return fire was sporadic and poorly aimed. Cortin smiled, continuing to aim and fire as coolly as if she were on the target range. She had no more hits, but others did; three more terrorists fell, and the rest fled, demoralized.
She stood, brushing off her trousers, then reloaded and holstered her pistol. "Anyone hurt?" she called.
"Nope."
"Fine here."
"Nicked by a chunk of flying bark, nothing serious."
"We are unhurt."
Hoofbeats from the rear brought them alert again, but it was Degas galloping up, his gun drawn. He holstered it as he pulled his horse to a stop, looking disappointed. "I missed all the fun, huh?"
"I'm afraid so," Cortin said, smiling. "Bad guys zero, good guys seven."
"Eight," Odeon said. "I hit one when they started chasing me. I don't know if he's dead or just wounded, though."
Chang had come up and started checking the casualties; now she
reported. "Six dead, Captain, the other critically wounded."
"Can he be questioned?"
Chang frowned. "Perhaps, if you hurry. He is conscious, but will probably not survive more than a few minutes."
"I'll hurry—which one?"
"Over here." Chang led the way, kneeling beside the terrorist and doing what she could to keep him alive for Cortin's questions.
Cortin knelt on the man's other side, pulling her gloves off. "My medic says you only have a few minutes to live. If you've got any desire to make your peace with God, now's the time to do it." That didn't seem a very promising tactic, but it was obvious he wouldn't live long enough for her usual methods.
"You're … Cortin?" The man coughed, blood speckling his lips.
"Yes." Maybe her reputation would be a help—except that he didn't seem as much afraid as hopeful.
"Now I know … why th' Raidmaster's … afraid of you." The man seized her bare hand. "Protect me from him … you're a priest … I'll tell you all I can."
"You'll be as safe from him as you are from me, in a few minutes."
"No!" The man struggled to sit up, gasping in pain. "That's no help—I need … th' Sacraments."
Much as she wanted to, Cortin couldn't refuse; this was why Strike Force Inquisitors were required to be priests. She got her stole out of her pocket, calling for Odeon to bring her saddlebags, then kissed the stole and put it on. "I'm ready."
The man's Confession was hurried, missing details he must know he didn't have time for, but to Cortin's surprise it was an honest effort; he actually did regret what he'd done. Imminent-death repentance wasn't as good as trying to live a decent, useful life, but if God found it acceptable she had to. She gave him Absolution and Communion, less disturbed by that than she'd expected—though it still wasn't an experience she cared to repeat.
When he'd swallowed the Host, the Brother sank back. "Thanks … didn't know how much I'd missed it … once you've taken the oath … he doesn't let you know." His eyes closed, and Cortin didn't need Chang's murmur to tell her he was almost gone. When he spoke again, his voice was little more than a whisper. "He's right to be … afraid of you. So afraid … you're to be … left alone. It's the nun … Piety's top of the … wipe list … more ways than one …" He tried to laugh, choked instead. "You'll need 'em both … t' beat him." That was all he could manage; with a sigh, he died.
Cortin gave him a final blessing, then resumed her gloves, put away her stole, and wrote a note that this one required burial in holy ground. She pinned it to his shirt, then rose and looked around.
The Service horses were still there, obedient to their dropped reins, but only two of the others' had stayed—not enough to transport seven or eight bodies. "Check them for ID, then get them off the road and cover them. We can inform the residence's security people, and they can send someone out. We'll take the horses along, though; they're royal property now, and they need looked after."
"Right." Odeon took charge, helping pull bodies off the road and search them, while Cortin collected the horses and mounted. None of them expected terrorists to be carrying identification, so there was no disappointment when they didn't find any. Half an hour after the attack, they were ready to go again, but as Cortin was taking a final look at the blanket-covered bodies, she got an idea, reached back into her saddlebag for one of her spare gloves, then tossed it on one of the bodies. "Whoever finds these plaguers won't know what that means until later," she said, "but Team Azrael has claimed its first victory, and it won't be our last. They'll learn."
The repentant Brother hadn't told her much, Cortin thought as they rode, but the little he had said was disturbing. Shannon, so afraid of her—why?—that he'd put her off limits. That didn't make sense; logically, he should be doing his utmost to kill her. Instead, it was Piety—and what did that 'in more ways than one' mean?—at the top of their wipe list. Which also made no sense.
"Unless Shannon knows something we don't," Odeon said, riding up beside her.
"You reading minds now?"
"Hardly—but what else would you be thinking about, after what he said?"
"True." Cortin gave him a sidelong glance. "So what possible knowledge would have that effect? Put an Inquisitor off limits, and target a medic? The only thing she and I have in common is that we were both his victims."
"Surviving female victims," Odeon said. "Both associated with Enforcement, and now both, not just one, religious." He frowned. "If Shannon's who—or what—Sis thinks, and Tony won't dispute, God won't let him operate unopposed for long. Though it may seem like forever to us, depending on when he started. If it's recently, there won't be a whole lot we can accomplish, though of course we'll have to try to fight him—but if it's near the end of his allotted free time, it means the Protector's about to appear. With him afraid of you and targeting Sis, I'd say the latter's more likely, and with you two playing important parts. Maybe his heralds, maybe part of the staff the prophecies say he may have if Shayan's strong enough to make him need one, there's not enough information to say—but whichever, if I'm right, you and she are the two most important people in the Systems right now."
Cortin tried to laugh at that conceit, but she couldn't. Mike had an uncomfortable habit of being right, especially in this sort of thing. On the other hand—"That's one possibility, I suppose. You have to admit, though, it doesn't sound too plausible: that two women Shannon's already defeated should be much of a danger to him."
Odeon frowned. "I agree. Still, it's the least unreasonable thing I can think of, assuming he is Shayan."
"Which I doubt, in spite of Sis' conviction. But we do have to assume a worst-case scenario, which means we turn around right now and spread the alarm." Cortin started to rein her horse around.
"No!" Odeon exclaimed, shocking them both with the intensity of his refusal.
"Why not?" Cortin should have been angry at his insubordination; instead, she was curious. "You have a hunch about it?"
"Stronger than a hunch," Odeon said, frowning. "It feels like something vital now, not just a nice idea." He shook his head. "I don't have any hard evidence, Joanie, but I think Team Azrael's been chosen—maybe even designed—to take on Shannon. We've got things to do before we're ready, though. Things we've got to do alone, or with very few and very carefully chosen people to help. And this is one of those things."
"You make it sound like we're puppets."
"No!" Again, Odeon's intensity startled both of them. "Compulsion is Shannon's way, not God's. He'll guide and help us as long as we're willing to accept His backing, but He won't go beyond that unless we specifically ask Him to." He managed a grin. "Which I did, back at the White Fathers' monastery. And I think He just took me up on it, because I'd never argue a lawful order on my own."
"I know—I think that's what shocked me most," Cortin said. "But … Mike, you're scaring me. Sure, Azrael's good—we picked the best. And he was telling the truth when he said Shannon was afraid of me, though I can't imagine why, if he is Shayan. Dear God, Mike, we're only human!"
"Humans have been known to work wonders, with God's help," Odeon pointed out. "Though I have to admit I'm not too thrilled about going up against His Infernal Majesty myself."
"But we both will if we have to. We all will." Cortin shuddered. "And we'd better be in a state of grace when we do, because we're not going to have much of a chance of coming out alive." She took a deep breath, exhaled slowly. "But that's a good idea any time, and I'd rather think Shannon's just a particularly nasty human. Under Shayan's influence, of course, but not supernatural himself."
"So would I. God willing, that's how it'll work out."
It was still a couple of hours before dark when they got to the retreat's main guard post. Cortin was surprised when a lieutenant emerged to check their identification and authorization, until he told her that Crown Prince Edward and Princess Ursula were in residence, and went on, "Colonel Bradford and Inquisitor-Major Illyanov are in Their Highness' party, and asked whoever met you to extend their regards. They would like to see you when you get a chance; they're billeted in the Manor, but we were told you and your team need privacy, so you're assigned a field-type shelter we use when there're too many security people here for normal quarters. I hope that'll be satisfactory."
"A shelter is fine, thanks," Cortin said. Better, in fact, than the Manor—for her, at least. Being loaned a corner of a royal retreat was an honor, but she was certain she'd be horribly uncomfortable in the actual presence of royalty. Seeing Illyanov and Bradford again would be nice, though—especially Ivan, and especially if the surgery worked, though she was reluctant to admit an Inquisitor had that kind of attraction for her. "I do need a couple of things, if they're possible?"
"My pleasure, Team-Leader. What can we do for you?"
"Take care of these spare horses, and see about picking up and identifying some bodies." Cortin gave him a brief explanation, and a description of the location.
"I know where you mean," the Lieutenant said. "I'll be happy to see to both. Is there anything else?"
"No, except where this shelter is." She paused, realizing she was forgetting something. "Lieutenant Bain plans to conduct an interrogation of our prisoner, probably within the next couple of days. We certainly don't want to disturb Their Highnesses, though; is there someplace remote we can use?"
"The shelter is about a kilometer from the Manor, Captain; standard procedures will be fine." The Lieutenant turned back to the guardhouse and called inside; seconds later, a sergeant emerged. "Sergeant Halvorsen will guide you, then take the spare horses to the main stable. If you don't mind him using one of them?"
"Of course not. Glad to meet you, Sergeant."
"My pleasure, ma'am." Halvorsen saluted; when she returned it, he mounted one of the spare horses and led them another half-dozen kilometers, past immaculate lawns and formal gardens, to a shelter that looked odd because it was covered in multi-colored climbing roses. "Here you are, Captain," he said with a smile. "Enjoy your stay."
"Thank you, Sergeant." Cortin dismounted as he left, leading her horse into the shelter's stable. She needed help unsaddling—her back wouldn't let her do it by herself any longer—but once that was done, she was able to care for and feed Rainbow alone. She wouldn't mind having the gelding as a permanent mount as long as she was stationed at Middletown; he did have a smooth gait, even though she couldn't appreciate it properly any longer, and he was beautifully responsive to reins, knees, or voice. Once the Strike Force was activated, maybe she would lay claim to him.
When they got into the shelter proper, Degas began fixing supper. That, like clean-up, was normally done by turns, but he'd volunteered for the job—he claimed in self-defense—any time they were in the field. No one argued, after Pritchett had challenged him to show why; he could do wonders with shelter rations, and was the only human Cortin knew who could actually make trail rations into something you didn't mind eating.
A knock on the door brought them all alert, though none were anticipating trouble here; as Cortin had half expected, what they got was company for supper, in the persons of Bradford and Illyanov. She was glad to see them, and even more pleased that they settled into the team's non-regulation informality as if it were a group of Inquisitors like the one at the Eagle's Nest.
She saw Bradford's look of pleased surprise at her men's gloves, and his slow smile of approval. "I see Team Azrael has decided on a trademark. Did you by any chance leave a glove with the remains of your attackers?"
Not at all surprised that they'd heard the story so quickly, Cortin nodded. "Yes—it seemed like a good idea. Shouldn't we have?"
"That's your option, as Team-Leader. Leaving a token that way will gain your team a reputation, which can be helpful at times—but it'll also make you targets. So I'm leaving the choice, as I said, to the Team-Leaders."
"We'll talk about it, then," Cortin said, a bit disturbed. "Personal notoriety for Inquisitor Azrael will be useful—but I've discovered I'm no longer one of the Brothers' targets, though Lieutenant Chang is at the top of their list. I will not turn the rest of my team into special targets without their consent."
Bradford looked incredulous. "You're not a target? I find that hard to believe."
"One of the Brother casualties lived long enough to talk." She explained, including Chang's conviction about Shannon's identity—leaving out only Degas' youthful indiscretion—watching the Colonel's face.
After a brief silence, Bradford nodded. "I've heard similar opinions, though I'm not sure I believe them either. In that case, your team may choose."
"Anyone else with an Inquisitor's badge is automatically at the top of the Brothers' target list," Bain pointed out. "Me, I'll take any advantage I can get to balance that. Though if we keep on at this rate, we may all go broke buying gloves."
"Requisition them as team equipment," Bradford said. "Team Flame has already put one in for candles."
"I like the idea," Odeon said thoughtfully. "Anyone on a Strike Team, not just the Inquisitors, is going to be a prime target as soon as we go public. So I agree with Dave—we might as well take the advantages with the dangers."
"I didn't join Special Ops or the Strike Force for safety and security," Degas agreed. "I'm for it."
"Same here," "And I also," came simultaneously from Pritchett and Chang.
"I'd say that settles that," Cortin said, gratified. "Shall we eat, gentles?"
That suggestion got hearty approval, and the men served themselves while Cortin gave her mug of broth a disgruntled look.
"Looking forward to some solid food?" Bradford asked, grinning. "Oh, I've cleared Ivan for this experiment, since I could see how close you two got while he was training you."
"Um." Cortin looked from him to Illyanov, whose attempt at an innocent look might possibly have fooled a two-year-old, then back. So Ivan wanted in too, did he? Well, she certainly didn't have any objection! "Yes, I am," she said. "Right now, I'm not sure whether I'm looking forward more to that, or to being able to have sex again. I suppose I'll find out when I'm able to have both."
That got chuckles, and Chang smiled. "I will make sure you are nourished well enough that you can make your choice without concern for your strength."
Cortin bowed in her direction. "Thanks, Sis. That should make it fair enough … as long as I'm not asked to choose between a chocolate eclair and one of you ready for action. In that case, I'd probably try for both at once."
"No chocolate eclairs, then," Odeon said promptly. "The other I won't promise."
Cortin almost choked on her broth, but managed to bring herself under control. "I wouldn't put it past any of you gentlemen, and I can't think of anything nicer to wake up to—but any sedative strong enough to knock me out under algetin won't leave me able to do any of us much good for … how long, Sis? About a day?"
"Considerably less than that, I should say," Chang replied. "I will discontinue the algetin only when I am convinced you are completely healed, and the sedative I will use will fade into a natural sleep. When you wake from that, you should be fully recovered and capable of any exertions you care to make."
"Better than I thought, then. When do you plan to operate?"
"Tomorrow morning," Bradford answered for the medic. "I've had what would be the armory in a real shelter set up for the operation. You should be on your feet again within a week."