Into the Violet Gardens Page 7

  As Soriana intercepts her foe, the pilot’s assistant opens fire toward Troy, but the cyborg deflects the shot with his damaged shield. The blow shatters the lower piece of his shield. The bullet bounces over one of the walls, and the assistant chokes to a zap piercing his throat. As Troy sees the passenger slip out into the clouds, he steps back to an enforcer sprinting his way.

  Troy flings the broken shield like a Frisbee, dealing a cut to the enforcer’s nose. Before the enforcer can strike once more, the jet’s interior fluctuates, and Troy shifts backward. His limbs shake. The enforcer skids toward the stack of cargo, and Troy snatches his assault rifle. The cyborg skids downward and releases the trigger, firing a spray of bullets through the vest. Nevertheless, the enforcer doesn’t fall to his knees so easily. Troy attempts to fire at the head, but the enforcer reaches for the rifle’s barrel. Troy’s heart goes inert.

  The boxes topple over the two as they struggle. An auric streak glints over the enforcer’s pupils as he spins with the agent. Troy’s back hits against the wall, and the rifle jiggles in his clutch. Rapid-fire bellows clockwise, and several rounds hit the pilot’s seat. Blood splashes at the window, but the last three shots pierce into the plane’s controls. Soon the world around them cyclones and Troy wobbles.

  Goddamn!

  Boxes fly out of the door, sucked into the clouds. Losing grip, Troy staggers back and lands against a corner, abutted by the open exit. Troy’s heart races to the wind roaring angrily inside, satiating to take everyone in its arms. Hanging on to a railing above, Soriana clutches her adversary’s head by the ankles, and a bone cracks as she twists her hip. His hands clutch toward the exit’s edge, holding on for stance as a body and his rifle get taken by an invisible grasp.

  He flinches to a stack of boxes erupting before him. Blood drips from Mendoza’s eye, and the side of his face is swollen in bruises. Troy sees him pound the ground, but his diversion steps in as the recalcitrant enforcer trudges. Soriana throws herself forward, thrusting her knees at the jaw. Tooth snap from his mouth as the impact jams him toward the empty seat and discards him like excrement into the wind.

  The air pulls Soriana back, and Troy manages to reach and catch her by the hand. Her mouth hangs as her legs dangle outward. Her scarf slips from her neck and disintegrates to the jet’s blades. Her cleats roar, holding her afloat. The aircraft swirls than ever, and Troy’s head bumps. He spots the close button on his left and sighs. Meanwhile, his veins protrude as he pulls the operative with all his might inside.

  “¡Hijo de perra!”

  Troy kicks a box toward a sudden motion, racing at him. The cyborg flings Soriana inside before punching his hand at the button. Soon when the door seals from the air’s madness, Troy blinks to a sharp edge pressed against his bionic arm. The Virtual swats underneath his chin, throwing the kingpin off. Stumbling to the swift motion, Troy’s eyes flash to a booming kick landing on top of Mendoza’s temple. The kingpin careens. An auric highlight lingers from the blood that trails from him.

  How many goddamn kicks he’s going to take? Goddamn.

  “This paralyzer should do!” she cries. “Catch!”

  Soriana tosses a marble tube in Troy’s hands. The Virtual skids over a rising Mendoza, impaling the tube’s needle into the kingpin’s abdomen. Mendoza howls to the sting quivering him. The golden hue in the kingpin’s eyes vacillates, buying Troy time to roll him flat despite the space shifting violently around the two.

  “Devices cannot hold me down, scrapdog!” Mendoza censures.

  “Get to the stick! Go!” Troy declares as the VTOL shakes. The siren flares crimson over him, followed by an instant boom outside. He swallows. “I’ll subdue him!”

  As bizarre as that suggestion was, Troy knew how far-fetched it would be thinking he and Soriana can survive without at least taming this plane. Not when this hound is at hand.

  He snatches the cuffs from his gear belt and locks one end around Mendoza’s wrist. Meanwhile, Soriana rushes to the seat. She manages to get a hand on the stick.

  The ship gyrates even further like debris locked in the hands of a tornado. Troy grits his teeth to a VTOL blade, embellished in an inferno, swirl from view. A street sighting begins to loom visibly feet below.

  “¡Coño! It’s jammed!” Soriana warns. She shifts with the stick. “Annnd—no. No!”

  The keys on the stand in front of her spark, and a small blaze flickers near her. Mendoza chortles.

  “Get back now!” Troy shouts. “Go! Go!”

  His words fall dead as an abrupt jam throws Troy backward. His back crashes to the rear wall, and he freezes to the interior, crumbling. Debris rushes through, and his vision turns black upon a sudden knock.

  ***

  Dull cries burrow into Troy’s ears like evanescent specters in his memory, followed by two gunshots. The cyborg’s fingers screech on hard pavement. Pain swarms over his body like a sharp venom. His hands fold over a rocky substance, and Troy strives to raise his hand.

  How am I halfway alive?

  The obliqueness in his vision alleviates as he spots a voltaic dome evaporating away out of a figure, followed by two shadows intercepting each other. Sparks flare with each clash. He crawls to the misty scene until he freezes to a knife falling near his nose.

  His optics lock toward Soriana, stumbling and clutching her stomach. She grunts to a sudden kick flinging her weight back, and her body rolls next to Troy. His mouth drops.

  Shit!

  Soriana shivers on the ground, inept to proceed. Enduring a bolt of energy snake inside his veins, Troy glowers at the menace gleaming in Mendoza’s golden eyes. Blood drips from the tip of the kingpin’s tomahawks.

  “Rise UP, scrapdog!” Mendoza’s voice screeches. He trudges through the smoke. “No whore and man can protect you this time!”

  Troy glares down at the handcuff severed from its twin and then at the knife resting on the ground. The voices of mandating linger over him like raindrops, freezing him. That is, until he seals them away and blood drips from his eyelash. His world becomes red.

  So be it.

  Troy snatches the knife and sprints. The kingpin sweeps with his axes at one, but he misses Troy by an inch to the nose. The cyborg dives, sliding as he skids his knife through Mendoza’s armpit. The skin splits.

  Mendoza jerks to the blood squirting underneath his arm, and a tomahawk drops. His efforts to retrieve it are cut when Troy kicks him to the temple. The tomahawk slips in Troy’s hands, and the Virtual races forward, swiping at his abdomen in blitz motion. Troy’s blood pressure accelerates. Mendoza could only stumble further as Troy wields at the kingpin’s vest plate, and sharp vertical gap envelopes within it.

  Blood continues to hiss like a fountain from inside Mendoza’s armpits, soaking his sandy pants. The color in his pupils flickers, and so do the veins protruding on his skin. Troy steps in, crossing the knife and axe at hand against his neck. With a single release, Troy deals the cutting blow.

  Troy hurls his bionic foot forward, careening Mendoza near the crash site. The Guatemalan hisses as he shakes on the ground. The flames cease from Troy’s feet with every step he takes. Pedestrians gather, surrounding him like a ghost behind the fog. A father seizes his son before he can rush into the scene with naivety.

  The melees slip from Troy’s hands as he gazes downward at the travesty displayed. Mendoza lays, gritting his teeth to the blood flowing from the cross-shaped gash planted over his neck. His vest, charred from the blaze, now soaks in the blood of its user.

  “Fuck…you,” he croaks. The anomalous scar that extends to his lip drenches in a red stream. Mendoza scratches his nails on the concrete. “You’ve finally out-dueled me.”

  Troy’s head throbs, and he rubs his temple. The smoke’s particles land base on his skin. He was as trapped in his shock, never thinking this situation would escalate like this.

  “You have no fucking idea what you have done, eh?”

  “Your career’s done, Mendoza,” Troy says impartially.
“You’ve chosen this.”

  Mendoza cracks an enervated laugh, only to spew crimson saliva. Troy watches Soriana motion forward, leveling the muzzle of her pistol at the kingpin. A linear bloodstain betrays through the lower part of her vest. Her cheeks riddle in dark ashes, and the officer ignores the outside attention locking on her.

  “Look around you cyborg,” Mendoza continues as the tone of his voice loses its strength. His dark pupils gloss sideways. “You have NO allies. You may be proud, but it CHANGES nothing. Drug Wars…they have no bounds, no matter how much you try. Latinoamérica is the foundation of survival, and we fight to keep it that way. Something you cyborgs will never know. We’re the regulators, not destroyers.”

  Troy’s eyes remain fixated on the dying kingpin. Whatever words the fugitive uttered crumble in his ears. His chest turns numb. Meanwhile, Soriana’s grip on the trigger quivers.

  “But, if you insist with your black and white fantasy…I will no longer stop you. My people, they’re all yours.”

  As he draws his last breath and seals his eyes, Mendoza leaves his head to tilt. His mouth hangs, and drool slivers on the crimson pool he laid on. The perturbation running in Troy’s mind placates. It’s been many years since the Mendoza Cartel inflicted so much trepidation in not only his life but the lives of those like him. Yet Troy found it flummoxing how far he rose in that span, from being struck as an insular student, obliterated from his limbs, and to this hour, the time has surely hardened him. He didn’t warrant this choice. Nor was this suggested. Nonetheless, the Virtual knew that his options were in paucity. Death was no answer for Troy or for Soriana. Now, after years of pursuit, Mendoza chose this end with intent. A perennial nightmare, which has lingered behind his tail, has finally snapped, giving the cyborg a wave of clarity.

  “Is he…” Soriana says, aching in anxiety. She brings down her pistol, and the blood on her face subsides. “Is he—”

  “Yeah,” Troy states blankly.

  The smoke bellowing from the fallen jet obscures the sun above them and continues to swarm the intersection. He rubs off the sweat plastered on his nose. Soon his daze shatters to another engine rumbling above. Troy’s fist clenches.

  Goddamn. More trouble?

  Palm trees sway to a dense breeze, and pedestrians cover their eyes. Soriana stands along with Troy, and the two exchange questioning glances before they take a step forward to a white aircraft descending on the road. Its wings fold upon landing, and the flare illuminating from the aircraft’s engine ceases. Troy’s doubts break toward the presence of a golden leaping jaguar emblazoned on the top of the jet.

  He signals Soriana as he witnesses the jet’s door open. A broad-shouldered official, if not a strikingly familiar one, hops onto the streets. The smoke’s particles adjure from his presence as if deeming itself too squalid to stain the man’s skin, which was as tan as an armadillo’s shell. His dressing pants correlate with the color that represents his jet. His slick hair remains tenacious through the breezing wind. Troy hears Soriana groan under her breath.

  Aiden Ottoman?

  “Well, this is a turnout,” he says aloud to the two. The private company’s CEO strolls smoothly, trudging with such a swagger despite the tumultuous air lingering around. He looks over and waves off the bystanders staring dryly, and several Salvadorans step away. A crystallized green ring gleams around a finger of his. Ottoman directs his focus onto the two agents standing.

  “Agents,” he acknowledges. Then he clasps his hands upon looking at Soriana. “Salazar.”

  “How did you find us?” Soriana questions strangely. The mood in her tone deepens.

  Ottoman raises an eyebrow, saying, “Well, you see, I was alarmed by the situation, thanks to my savvy pilots.” He peeks over her shoulder, folding his arms and grimacing to the now charred VTOL. “Surprised you’re still alive. I was ready to SNAP him myself.”

  Soriana shoves the pistol abruptly inside her holster. Meanwhile, Ottoman passes through the two, staring musingly at the corpse. He folds his arms, and a glint sparks in his dark eyes as he hums callously.

  “So you two finally put him down,” he says.

  Soriana frowns. “N—that was…”

  She looks over at Troy, who nods almost unpassionately toward Ottoman in approbation. The last drops of blood slip from the cyborg’s bionic fingers.

  “Had no other way,” he states.

  A supercilious smile crosses Ottoman lips.

  “Agent Levi,” He nodded. “Hell, I’m mused because the truth of the matter is, there was ‘no other way’ to begin with.” He looks toward Soriana once again, taking a box of cigarettes. He inserts a cigarette into his mouth. “Your partner’s an impressive one. You two make a good duet.”

  “This was an inadvertent move,” Soriana abrogates, shaking her head.

  “And an ideal one that speaks for itself. The fool’s ravaged my company for too long.” He looks elsewhere from her, grabbing his lighter and kindling at the tip. “Now, you heed me, Levi. I served as a Ranger and operative for many decades. There were no such things as a second chance. Otherwise, you will be another trophy to them.” He rests his hands inside the pockets of his company’s vest. The cigar ignites gently. “Director Wayne can rest on his words.”

  The CEO may have had a point in his argument. After all, he suffered the brunt of losing his contractors to such a reprehensible strike a month ago. Yet what matters to Troy is that the people that suffered at the mercy of the Cartel can finally taste the sky’s air. The people no longer have to look over their shoulders in fear.

  Troy glances at Soriana, whose injury still remains intact. “She may need some care,”

  He takes a peak at her, raising an eye. “Hmm. She will be fine. Nothing too critical.”

  “I won’t be so amped in my ego if that were me,” she says, watching him let go of the cigarette and whistle vapor upward.

  Tacit, Ottoman tosses the cigar, letting it fall flat on the kingpin’s body.

  “It’s best I block my ears to the what-ifs,” Ottoman states, “Otherwise, you wouldn’t be walking with a V-man. Killed in action, fair as that, Salazar. I’ll rendezvous with you with the other VCOs. They’ve been anticipating for you.”

  Ottoman moves on, making his way toward the plane. The smoke begins to diminish around them, and Salvadorans yet remain in position, hooked in their shock as they watch the official advance. The ashes burn bright at the chest of Mendoza’s cadaver, and the steam emerging from the cigar dims, forever erased by the clearing sunlight.

  Chapter 7

  The JOA aircraft makes its landing at the field of an occupied air base. The engine ceases to growl, and the door opens. The PMC pilot next to Ottoman on the passenger seat grunts.

  “The crew should be right there,” Ottoman notifies Soriana. “Have fun.”

  Of course, it will.

  Concealing her vex, the officer rushes to hop down, with Troy following behind. Her abdomen grips with acute pain as she advances. But, that diminishes as she picks pace. Her hair blossoms to the now gentle breeze. She carries the torn vest in her hand, exposing her bloodstain on the fabric of her gray V-neck shirt that rests underneath her coat. Jets, ornamented with the jaguar emblem, station in an orderly fashion, impeccable from scratch. Troy’s footsteps clap behind her.

  “I know your Division’s waiting at the bridge,” Soriana informs him. “I still have someone I’d like to introduce you to.”

  An unpleasant chill snakes down her spine. The kingpin’s corpse flashes in her eyes, burning into her pupils. The slash splitting its way at the surface of his neck echoes into her ears. It was an alleviating yet tumultuous sensation that left Soriana in perplexity. Her quandary could only add up by the inadvertent rift in communication between Eva and her. The sudden hang-up riddled Soriana with many questions. Everything about this operation became an anomaly. She had many explanations to get down to.

  She freezes to a Prowler motioning from inside a garage. The robotic drone�
�s eyes were blazing with an azure hue locked at her before narrowing them elsewhere. Soon three VCO agents trudge from the shadows, leading by a female cyborg in the middle. Soriana’s heart leaps.

  Finally, she’s here.

  “Soriana!” Eva calls out as she advances.

  “Over here, sis!” she replies.

  The sound of Eva echoing her name brought her reminiscence of the tunes she used to hear from afar when she took her junior brother Moses in the wilderness of Rock Creek Park. The two of the officers near, and Soriana gestures to catch her breath. Still, their faces blush, and a period of gauche silence befalls among the two. The diamond fixates on Eva’s temple, and minor scratch laces on her cheek. That is until Eva opens her mouth.

  “Soriana…I was—I was concerned.” Eva fumbles in her speech. “Forgive—what happened to you?”

  “First, don’t apologize,” Soriana states. “This situation was unintentional on my end.”

  Soriana explains what happened. Meanwhile, Troy stalks from behind and removes his Kevlar helmet. His dreads swing freely. Eva grimaces at what she’s heard.

  “I’m relieved to see you and everyone alright at this point,” Soriana concludes.

  The Virtual glances at her android and fellow comrade. Her VCO partners exchange unusual expressions with her.

  Eva says, “I was able to dispose of Guzman, but we had our own plan suggested since your absence.” She purses her lips toward her fellow Virtual, who nods.

  Rip sighs. “Bit of messy at the end. But oh well.”

  Despite hearing this success, Soriana detected a parlous tone biting in Eva’s voice. As if there was more detail to this troubling situation that she was missing. She could be wrong, and God forbid it.

  “No worry at this point,” Soriana says. She taps a hand to the wound on her side and looks up at Troy, who’s now at her side. She smiles. “I owe him. He’s been a notable resident of mine studying abroad in Cancun, and we happened to see each other at the bridge after a decade pass.” She pauses, beckoning to the VCO agent. “So Troy. This is Eva Moreci. She’s been a former agent of mine before initiation.”