He was still staring when the door was blown off of its hinges and Albion operatives stormed in. He was knocked sprawling, a moment later his hands twisted up behind his back. The last thing he saw before they dragged him out, was a glint of metal through the window.
A drone, banking away and heading for home.
Faulkner was standing on the back ramp of the APV, lighting a cigarette, when Danny emerged from the old Limehouse garage, Hattersley trailing in his wake. Smoke boiled into the afternoon light, and pursuit drones circled like carrion birds. Danny started towards the APV to make his report. Hattersley followed, talking a mile a minute.
“Did you see that armoury down there?” Hattersley asked, mopping at his face with a handkerchief. “They were 3D printing a whole bloody arsenal. We’re lucky they didn’t know we was coming.”
“Yeah, funny that,” Danny said. “There’s cameras all over the place. You’d think they’d have had more warning.”
“Maybe they weren’t paying attention.”
“Maybe.”
Hattersley shrugged. “Hey, whatever happened, I’m cushty. Any fight you can walk away from, right?” He paused. “You’re still bothered about that thing last night, aren’t you? That thing with Holden?”
Danny stopped. “Wouldn’t you be?”
Hattersley didn’t look at him. “It’s tough, man. But… you had to do it.”
“Did I?” Danny stripped off his helmet.
Hattersley didn’t say anything. Danny shook his head and looked around. There were uniforms everywhere. The Met was here, but positioned well back from the action. This was an Albion operation, and Faulkner didn’t intend to let anyone forget it. He wondered if Constable Jenks were over there somewhere. Part of him hoped not.
Nearby, prisoners – what few there were – were being loaded into a transport, or into ambulances. The dead were being bagged up, ready to be delivered to the morgue. There were too many of the latter for Danny’s taste. He was tired – no, exhausted. But every time he closed his eyes, he saw Holden.
He wasn’t sure what to do. Something told him reporting Faulkner’s actions wouldn’t end well for him. Faulkner wasn’t the sort to act on his own initiative. If he’d killed Holden, it was because he had orders to do so. Orders that could have only come from the top. And if that were the case… was that really the sort of brotherhood he wanted to belong to?
Death didn’t bother Danny. Nor did violence. A soldier had to become used to both, very quickly. But there was a difference between shooting someone who had a gun trained on you, and taking out a man tied to a chair.
The army, Danny’s army, didn’t execute prisoners without a damn good reason. As far as he could tell, Faulkner had only killed Holden because it was expedient to do so. The technician had outlived his usefulness and, worse, was a potential liability.
He wondered – feared – what that meant for Ro. She’d been transferred to the custody suite at the base, and he hadn’t seen her since. He hadn’t even been allowed to talk to her, not that he knew what to say. How did one apologise for allowing one’s sibling to be arrested?
Faulkner acknowledged their arrival at the APV with a nod. “They didn’t put up much of a fight,” he said. He sounded almost disappointed. He’d been watching the firefight through their Optik feeds. Three teams had gone in, taking the main entrance and blowing through the reinforced doors. There’d been around twenty hostiles – funny to think of fellow Londoners that way – inside. Many of them had surrendered immediately. Or tried to.
But some had resisted. 3D printed weapons could kill as easily as the real thing. Luckily, there’d been no casualties, at least on Albion’s side. He thought again about how unprepared the hackers had been. Maybe Albion had caught them at the right time. Or maybe they’d been distracted. That didn’t explain why the various security measures Danny and the others had located had been disabled. Almost as if someone had set DedSec up to fail.
“Still, well done, lads.” Faulkner tapped ash from his cigarette. “Looks like we caught a pair of Holden’s accomplices as well. They tried to set off a bomb, must have made a mistake and one of them wound up dead.”
“And the other, Sarge?”
“Safely in custody and being transported back to base for interrogation.”
Danny hesitated. Wanted to speak. Didn’t. Faulkner looked at him for a moment, then said to Hattersley, “Go get a head count on the prisoners for me. I need to update the after-action reports. You stay here, Danny.”
Hattersley glanced at Danny, but didn’t argue. Danny watched him go, trying to look anywhere but at Faulkner. He’d avoided the other man as much as possible since the night before. Since the incident with Holden. But he couldn’t avoid Faulkner forever.
“Cigarette, Danny?” Faulkner asked. He held out the pack.
Danny shook his head. “Don’t smoke, Sarge.”
“No? Good for you.” Faulkner blew a plume of smoke into the air. “You did well in there, lad. Textbook.”
“Thanks, Sarge.”
“Few too many prisoners for my taste, though. Prisoners means paperwork.” Faulkner scratched his chin and turned back to the garage. “Nice little set-up they had. Takes time to build all that. Money. Burrowed in deep like ticks. What’s the one thing most organised terror groups have in common, Danny?” Faulkner went on before Danny could answer. “Money.”
“Hackers, Sarge.”
Faulkner laughed. “Grow up, Danny. Hackers steal pennies and piss. Everyone knows that. This sort of effort requires real money.” He flicked his cigarette to the ground and crushed it beneath his heel. “And that’s exactly what my report is going to say, once we’ve finished debriefing all these prisoners you got for me.”
Danny cleared his throat.
Faulkner looked at him, a slight smile on his face. “What was that, Danny? Something to say?”
“My sister, Sarge…”
“Ah, yes. Very proud of you there, Danny my lad. It takes true dedication to the cause to throw over blood in the name of Queen and country.”
Danny swallowed a
