The Trojan Horse

Chapter Thirty-Five

Washington DC

USA, Day 66

The sunlight was creeping up over Washington as Jayne finished typing on the cheap laptop she’d picked up for bargain price. It had once been a top-of-the-range machine, but now it was nothing more than obsolete, even before the aliens had arrived with the promise of newer and better computers. The computer revolution had just kept moving forwards and the primitive junk left in its wake was simply thrown out to rot. Jayne had only had to pay twenty dollars for a machine that had once cost in excess of five hundred dollars.

She’d taken the precaution of ripping out the wireless section to ensure that it couldn’t accidentally log onto the internet. The aliens had actually improved the internet by establishing newer and better servers in Washington, boosting signals to an order of magnitude above humanity’s best equipment, but she knew better than to believe that it was a gift. They’d be able to monitor the internet through the equipment, reading every email and webpage that passed through one of their servers. And they might be able to track someone down by following their cell phones or anything else they might have on their person that logged onto the internet.

The story was the best thing she’d ever written, or so she told herself. All the evidence she’d stolen from her would-be Casanova had checked out, at least as far as she could tell. The files linked the aliens to a hundred different lobbyist organisations and a number of prominent politicians. And the most prominent of them was serving as the President of the United States. Jayne rubbed tired eyes and asked herself if she was really certain she wanted to upload the story. It would mark her out for death if the aliens caught up with her…

She shook her head. The aliens had already tried to kill her — and they would not relent just because she’d withheld a certain story. They’d probably expect that she’d flee from Washington, but that wouldn’t stop them hunting her down. Killing her before she had a chance to break the story would keep it buried forever, or at least long enough to ensure that it no longer mattered. If they’d been prepared to destroy an entire city to avenge the death of one of their people, they would certainly be willing to kill her to prevent her from blackening their name still further.

“No,” she told herself firmly. “The die has to be cast.”

Opening her suitcase, she produced her second computer. It had taken nearly an hour to set the program up the way she wanted it, but with the aliens in control of much of the internet there was no other choice. Humans tended to believe that the internet was nothing more than a vast mass of computers — and in one sense that was perfectly accurate — yet most messages and postings went through a series of servers. The alien-built servers would almost certainly hold her message while waiting for the aliens to check it for themselves, or simply wipe it from the system. They used a similar capability to eradicate junk mail, something that would have made them folk heroes if they hadn’t been trying to enslave the entire world.

Smiling at the thought, she pulled a USB stick from the first computer and jammed it into the second. The program she’d created went online at once, starting the long process of distributing the message to every underground forum and news hub she knew existed. It would be picked up and redistributed by other computer experts, who would alter the message slightly to prevent the aliens from tracking all copies down and eradicating it from the internet. And if the aliens did, by some dark miracle, succeed in wiping all copies off the known net, the copies she’d sent to hidden forums would survive and start being distributed again in a week. They’d have no way to block the message permanently.

Standing up, she picked up her bag and headed for the door. The money she’d taken from the oaf had bought her a reasonably good room, in a building that didn’t ask too many questions. She had actually booked in for three days, something that might keep them from recognising that she was gone until it was too late. They’d been paid in advance for the room, anyway, she reminded herself; a price that would have been outrageous in gentler times. There was no need to feel guilty over leaving them to explain themselves to the police or the aliens when they turned up — and they would. Jayne had no doubt of it.

She walked out of the elevator, nodded to the doorman, and strode out onto Washington’s streets. She didn’t look back.

Julius Davenant pursed his lips in annoyance when the call came through from his superiors. He’d been busy enjoying a nice period of R&R when they’d called him, but he knew better than to defy the aliens. Now he knew who he’d been working for, he knew that any failure to follow orders — or to fail in his task — would have serious consequences. And besides, the target was a young woman. He always enjoyed chasing and killing young women. It was just a shame that only a handful of assignments included that particular chore.

The message had told him her exact location — a motel called the Abbot Belfry, whatever the hell that was — but he knew better than to expect her to stay there. This wasn’t the days when bloggers hadn’t known that someone was tracking them down and killing anyone who was too outspokenly anti-alien; these days, they knew to run and hide as soon as they posted to the internet. It had, according to some of the forums he’d visited from time to time, improved the general tone of internet debates no end. Davenant just couldn’t see why anyone would bother getting worked up about what someone else said on the internet. It wasn’t that important or significant.

Standing just outside the motel, he mentally put himself into his target’s shoes. Where would she go? According to the briefing, she had had the sense not to go anywhere near her friends, family or people she might have known from the BAN. It was wise of her, as they were all being watched by remote bugs. He was still considering possible options when his cell phone rang again. The target had been spotted by a CCTV camera in a nearby eatery, the owner blissfully unaware that his security system had been hijacked by the aliens. She probably thought that she was safe.

Checking the gun and ID badge in his pocket, Davenant started to walk slowly towards the eatery. There’d be time to check it out carefully before he went into the place and finished off his target. And then he might even stop off for some lunch.

Jayne had been lucky to find the eatery. It seemed that one of the owner’s sons worked for the aliens — directly or indirectly, no one seemed to know — and he had the pull to organise delivery of fresh food and drink. Jayne polished off a plate of bacon, eggs and sausages, feeling slightly guilty as she finished eating and smacked her lips together. There were people in Washington who had never known a day’s hunger in their lives, but were starving now. A few more weeks of this and any will to resist the aliens would be broken.

Someone — she couldn’t remember who — had died because he’d had his back to the entrance and his enemy had shot him before he’d even realised that he was there. She hadn’t made that mistake. She’d taken a seat that allowed her to see whoever was coming into the building, long before they could hope to see her. Jayne was just on the verge of leaving when she saw someone approaching the door. Somehow — she wasn’t sure how — she knew that he was dangerous. Standing up, she headed for the toilets, silently praying that he wouldn’t recognise her from her back. She felt a tingle at the back of her neck as she heard the door opening behind her, but the blow she was half-expecting failed to materialise. Instead of going into the toilets — where she knew she could be trapped easily — she headed to the third door, which opened into the kitchen. A young man — barely old enough to shave — looked up at her in surprise. Customers were not supposed to enter the kitchen.

Jayne looked down at him, ensuring that she revealed enough cleavage to fluster anyone male. “Is there a second way out of here?”

The man — the boy — frowned. “I’m not supposed to…”

Jayne held out a ten dollar note, although there was no way of knowing precisely what it was worth at the moment. “My ex is behind me,” she lied smoothly. “I can’t let him see my face, or he’ll kick up a right fuss…”

Either the money or the sob story clinched it. “Just walk right out of there,” the boy said, pointing to a half-opened door in the far wall. “Turn left and you’ll come back to the street.”

“Thanks,” Jayne said. She passed him the note and hurried towards the door. It opened onto an alleyway, allowing her to slip past a pile of containers and rubbish bins. A small mob of cats were clawing at the bins, uncovering food that had been thrown out and been left to rot. Jayne shuddered as she passed the cats and kept moving. How long would it be before the citizens of Washington were scavenging in the waste bins for something to eat?

Pushing the thought aside, she started to run.

Davenant saw a woman leaving through the backdoor, but it took him a moment to realise that she was his target. The briefing hadn’t suggested any combat training skills — either military or civilian — yet she had been a reporter. Situational awareness would have been hammered into her head while she was being taught how to sniff out news — and, more importantly, who to avoid. And she’d grown up in an inner city, according to the briefing. She would know when to listen to her instincts.

Ignoring the waitress, he pushed forward and into the kitchen, glancing around quickly. A door was half-open on the far wall. There was no other place to hide. Starting forward, he was surprised when a pimply-faced kid got in the way, glaring up at him with mute defiance. Davenant didn’t have time to deal with him, or talk his way past. Instead, he slapped the kid’s face with the back of his hand and didn’t stop to watch the boy fall to the ground. The sound of someone screaming in pain — and someone else calling for the cops — came from behind him as he ran through the doorway and into an alley. His target was right at the far end. She glanced behind her, just once, but it was enough to realise that he was on her tail. Davenant’s powerful feet propelled him forward, one hand clawing at his pistol. The ID he’d been given would answer any questions anyone dared to ask.

Turning the corner, he saw the girl running as fast as she could. It was impressively fast, but Davenant had yet to see the person who could outrun a bullet. Targeting her legs, he fired two quick shots in succession. The woman crumpled to the ground.

Jayne didn’t register the shots. There was only a hammer blow that slammed into her legs, sending her flying forward, carried by her own momentum. She hit the ground, feeling something cracking under the impact. Pain surged through her body; it was a moment before she realised that she’d been shot, twice. Her body was a useless jangled mass, almost impossible to move. Blood was pooling all around her.

A strong arm rolled her over and she found herself looking up into the face of her killer. He was looking down at her, a cold dispassion on his face that she found infinitively more terrifying than anger or hatred. He’d killed her and yet he almost didn’t care. She was nothing to him. Something bubbled up in her mouth and she realised, with horror, that it was blood. Had one of the shots hit her somewhere else and she’d simply missed it in all the pain?

He stood over her, his gun pointed directly at her head. Jayne almost laughed, despite knowing that it was almost certainly the end. Did he really think she could still hurt him? Maybe a Special Forces soldier, like one of the ones she’d interviewed, could have kept going despite being so badly hurt. Jayne knew better than to think that she could even move. There was nothing she could do to escape. And no one, even on Washington’s streets, would be able to help her.

Oddly, she found that certain death boosted her determination. “You’re too late,” she said, half-choking on her own blood. Even shaping the words was difficult. “The world already knows what you did. It’s too late.”

Her killer looked down at her, and then his gun barked once. There was a brief moment of sound and lightning, and then nothing.

“Armed police! Drop the gun!”

Davenant swore under his breath. He hadn’t expected anyone to dare intervening, even if the policeman had been too late to save the bitch’s life. Maybe the Washington PD wasn’t as cowed as the aliens had promised, or maybe this one hadn’t realised that he was working directly for the aliens. And he had Davenant bang to rights. Sighing, Davenant let his pistol drop to the ground and raised his hands. There would be time to explain himself once he was no longer in danger.

“You’re making a mistake,” he said, calmly. “If you will allow me…”

“Lie down on the ground, spread your legs and arms,” the policeman snapped. Davenant complied, reluctantly. The policeman was on edge. That was clear from his voice alone. A single mistake could set him off. “Don’t even think about moving without permission.”

He stepped closer, looking down at Davenant. “Put your hands behind your back and cross your ankles,” he ordered. A moment later, Davenant was securely handcuffed and the policeman was searching him roughly, removing a set of weapons and tools that would have alarmed anyone. “Who the hell are you?”

“I’m a federal agent and that woman was a wanted fugitive,” Davenant said. “If you’ll check my ID…”

He felt a boot on the back of his neck. “Damn collaborators,” the policeman said. The pressure increased to the point where Davenant felt his neck beginning to break. “You’re all scrum.”

There was a terrifying crunching sound, somehow shatteringly loud inside his skull, and then Davenant fell into darkness. The last thing he felt was the policeman removing the cuffs and preparing to move his body. No one would realise what had happened until it was far too late.

The Colonel hadn’t told his son — or any of his other children — that he was moving to Washington. None of them needed to know. The information Toby had slipped down to the farm had been relayed through a team of human agents, all of whom knew no more than they actually needed to know. If the aliens had the patience — and a lucky break — they might be able to track the messages to their destination, but the Colonel knew that fear and suspicion could not be allowed to paralyse him. The aliens would win if he gave up the fight believing that they could track him whatever he did. Besides, there was Gillian’s bug detector to ensure that they were not followed or detected.

General Thomas had been moved up to a location near Washington two weeks ago, where he’d been making contact with military deserters and a number of former military personnel who had realised that it was in their best interests to go underground. The aliens and their pod people — and their collaborators — had been expanding the round-ups, tracking down and arresting everyone who had any military experience at all. It made perfect sense, the Colonel knew; people with military experience presumably knew how to be dangerous. The aliens, given what they now knew about alien society, might not realise just how many guns were in civilian hands. And, now that they’d wrecked most of the federal government, they had no way of knowing how much unregistered weaponry was in the hands of the resistance.

“We begin the operation in three days,” General Thomas said. Once, he would have been forced to use PowerPoint slides, creating a dog and pony show for bored officers and civilians who wanted to feel that they were at the heart of military operations. Now, nothing was written down and no records were kept. The aliens had busted one underground cell because they’d made the mistake of keeping records. No one else would make that mistake. “We hit the collaborators — not the aliens — as hard as possible.”

There were nods from the grim-faced men gathered around the table. They all knew what happened when aliens were killed; their bodies disintegrated in a massive explosion. Worse, the aliens didn’t seem to care how many of their collaborators were killed, but they launched massive reprisals against any civilian settlements anywhere near where one of the aliens were killed. The Colonel wasn’t particularly surprised. There were only a limited number of Snakes, after all, and they weren’t expendable. Humans were expendable. They could always make more pod people.

It wasn’t just in the United States, either. The Snakes were trying to hold down the entire first world. Communications channels to the rest of the world were flighty, but they’d managed to get general agreement to join the attack on the aliens. The Snakes would start thinking that the entire world had turned on them. And if they realised that no Snakes were being killed…

“Keep the pressure on, but don’t let them have a chance to smash you,” the General added. “We cannot afford a stand-up fight; not now, perhaps not ever. We hit, we hurt… and then we get out. Any questions?”

There were none. “Very well, gentlemen,” the General said. “Let’s go.”