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CARLOS LAY prone on the hill overlooking Redglove’s mountain stronghold. He made a small adjustment on his vid-nocs to pick up noises around his focus area. He hadn’t brought any spares with him, but he was unsurprised when Randal and Devon pulled their own out of the side storage panels on their sleds. Probably what Randal had picked up from the Black Templars.
The younger men had taken positions at an angle to his so that they got a slightly different view of the house and grounds.
Redglove hadn’t given in to the urge to attract attention by building something fancy—the structure was a simple log cabin although built in the popular octagon shape, with large windows on every side. An extended porch ran around the outside. The grounds had been cleared off to make it difficult to not be seen approaching by any occupants of the house.
‘He’s got security cams all over the area below us,’ Devon texted them. ‘It’s probably the same surrounding the house.’
‘Can you disable them?’ Randal texted back.
‘I think so, give me a few minutes,’ Carlos waited in silence, continually scanning the area.
‘Got ‘em! I took all of them down, so he won’t know where we’re coming from.’
Carlos stood up. “Remember,” he said through his helmet mic, “This is my fight. Don’t interfere unless he has more men hidden inside.”
“Of course,” Randal agreed, and Devon nodded. Both younger men understood the need for Carlos to personally avenge the attack on his daughter.
Even with the security cams turned off, Carlos knew there was a chance Redglove would spot them when they crossed the cleared area and take a shot at them. He and the two men behind him hugged the trees and bushes surrounding the house.
They took the last few steps to the porch in a rush. Carlos carefully peeked over the floor of the porch, scanning with his com for life signs. He didn’t find anyone close, so he stood up and leaped across the porch, coming up hard against the timbered structure. There was a door next to him. He pushed gently and it swung open. As it did so, a pulse bolt screamed through it, crossing the cleared area and hitting a large tree. There was a flash of light as the tree caught fire.
Carlos tucked and rolled in the door, coming up on one knee behind an overstuffed sofa. Redglove’s next plasma bolt obliterated the couch, leaving a scorched spot on the hardwood floor. By this time, Carlos had got his foe’s direction and he fired back. Redglove was using a commercial grade pistol, which while powerful at close range, was no match for the military style issue Carlos was using.
The powerful bolt of plasma destroyed the door and part of the wall Redglove had been using for cover, but Redglove had already moved on.
It had been several years since Carlos had followed an armed criminal into a structure, but he knew he needed to move after he fired a shot because the other man would aim his weapon at where Carlos had been standing.
Crouching, he made his way into the other room. Redglove had taken refuge in the dining room. There was a crash and the tinkle of broken dishes when he accidentally knocked into a tall Credenza.
Carlos fired a shot in front of the cabinet and heard Redglove cry out. He was still able to run, although he had dropped his pistol. Carlos had clipped him in the shoulder.
Carlos followed the trail of blood, methodically checking each room as he passed. He found Redglove crouched against the far wall.
Carlos could see the blaster burn mark on the porch through the open door. Randal stood about twenty feet away with a raised gun, Apparently Redglove had attempted to run out the door and Randal had fired in front of him to keep him inside the house.
Redglove looked up at Carlos with a snarl of pain. He had been a handsome man: Tall, with even white teeth, his features just avoided being pretty and he was known for his charming smile. His long brown curls were usually carefully styled. Now his hair was a tangled, sweat-streaked mess. His doublet was dirty, and the white shirt he wore under it was torn in several places. In one hand, he clutched his poniard.
Contemptuously, Carlos kicked it out of his hand.
“You’re an Officer of The Court Santana,” Redglove gasped out, “You can’t just kill me.”
“You kidnap my little girl and try to turn her into one of your whores, and you think I won’t Kill you?” Carlos demanded.
“There are witnesses—” Redglove gasped put. “You’ll go to jail—”
He stopped, staring in shock. Randal had mounted the steps to the porch. He was wearing a Black Templar helmet and carrying a helmet with the faceplate covered.
“No,” Redglove whispered just before he passed out.
“The Templars would really like to interrogate him,” Randal said, waiting for Carlos to decide.
“Why not?” Carlos said. “Just as long as he is disposed of afterwards.”
“That can probably be arranged,” Randal said, flipping Redglove over on his belly and securing his hands behind him with no regard for the pain it might cause him. To Carlos’s surprise, Randal also produced a blacked-out helmet which he put over Redglove’s head.
“I’ve heard about those, but I’ve never seen one before,” Devon said. “It’s a blackout helmet isn’t it?”
“That’s right,” Randal agreed. “We don’t want him to know where we’re taking him or who will be interrogating him.”
“How are you going to get him to Templar headquarters?” Devon asked.
“He can ride in the cargo section of my sled,” Carlos offered.
As Randal had predicted, Guillaume Peele was delighted with their ‘catch’. A tall, slim man with greying hair, he had once been a big name on the stage, and still did a small amount of acting whenever the mood suited him.
“Good job,” Mr. Langston, very good. I’ll begin the interrogation shortly; will you be staying to watch?”
“Not this time, I’m afraid; we have some anxious ladies waiting for us to return. Perhaps another time?”
“Oh, yes, there will be plenty of opportunities. I imagine the head of the Red Conclave has much to tell us.”
He went away whistling a merry tune.
Carlos rolled his eyes. “That’s your boss?”
Randal grinned, “He sure is.”
