cobra and the delinquents 14

 

Chapter 14 and now for the real work

 

I stood in the headmaster’s office, with two days before the beginning of term, reflecting that this would look very good on my resumé, if I ever cared to use it. And if I survived to use it. I was hoping to be finished before I was needed to go for my usual stint of bringing on the low achievers at the school where I had started a career in teaching.  Somehow, I doubted I would be there this year, and Tarquin could bloody well explain that. The principal was, after all, a friend of his.

Here, I had a bunch of either cowed or entitled kids, who were either Bratpack or they weren’t. I had a bunch of West Point veterans to help me, and security was a bunch of street ronin. I don’t mean that they were literally ronin, Japanese masterless warriors, but the term is fairly ubiquitous for the lone street warrior. I’d trained all of my security, in my dojo, and they called me Sifu or Sensei, which means teacher in Chinese and Japanese respectively.

Two were of Japanese extraction who had avoided being associated with either the Yakuza or the Zaibatsus; one was Chinese American, one was black American, and the other four were some species of white American, one with Sioux heritage, one with Irish heritage, and the other two the usual sort of mongrel mix which makes the true American. They were loyal, personally, to me; I had saved the lives of most of them, and taught them to defend themselves. They would not take any shit.

One of them was the lad whose life I had saved by the simple act of giving him water in that elimination round of ‘Extreme,’ where ‘elimination’ could be a little bit too literal. Many of them came from the rubble, either from Needlecrash or actually from the Forgotten. My building projects were going well, but there were those misfits who did not want a military surplus prefab duplex with lawn and nine to five job. That was fine; and I fitted in better with them than with those who were grateful for a touch of normality. It takes all sorts, and I owned the rubble, so I could cater to all sorts.

And draw on them at need for particularly loyal staff.

 

I was getting news on the kids who were being rescued.  Some of them were being used sexually but it turned out that the vast majority of them were receiving experimental biomods to upgrade performance, brain enhancing drugs, and a few of the poor sods being put in sensory deprivation to see if it improved gurfing abilities. Only in closed systems, so they had no chance to get out of the experiment and raise the alarm. Those that survived were basically given the offer they could not refuse, become bodyguards for their masters or die. The brain enhancers worked short term but caused headaches and seizures.

The idea was that these expendable children would be guinea pigs to the eventual enhancement of the Bratpack to ensure that their rule was unstoppable.

I was nauseated.

And I no longer had any qualms about killing any of the bastards who were involved with this. The rescued children, and any adults who had been children who managed to surrender, would have long years of therapy ahead of them, especially the involuntary otaku in their sensory deprivation tanks, who cried in pain at the lightest touch of anything but the goo they were kept in.

I heard the marines continued some of the experiments on the scientists running them.

It might prove useful for military developments, after all.

And extraterritoriality?

Rescinded.

Child abduction, omae. Trumps any other agreement, and just try to argue with a company of pissed marines.

 

 

I was going to have to do something about nine fathers who were the remaining parents of the Bratpack. Ideally, I wanted to get them together so I could do something about them.

Then I considered.

What was the likelihood that they would attempt to intimidate me when they came to bring their offspring back to school?  Probably quite high.

They had no idea where the faculty had gone, or who the new teachers were, and were probably used to intimidating those who were not a part of it into compliance.

Well, that would be easy enough; I could see them in my office.

And re-install the sleep gas.

I have a tank with ten minutes of air; it’s saved my life a few times. It’s not a standard piece of kit, but I knew a guy who was disposed of in Puget Sound with concrete overshoes, and the thought of drowning scared me so badly I went for the internal tank. Even if I had to cut my feet off, I’d have a chance. Though not in the deeper parts of the sound, but getting it was a panic reaction.

I have never regretted it, even if it was got for the wrong reasons.

And obviously, my sleep gas would be breathable, not contact. Otherwise I’d be out for the count too.

Yes, that was the way to handle it.

And I spoke to my staff, and my trained band of kids about how to handle the bullies. Ruth and co sniggered.

 

I was not surprised when a delegation of parents came to my office, not drifting in ones and twos, but as a solid phalanx. A dozen of them. Well, well.

“Gentlemen, this is quite a deputation,” I said, triggering the recording facility I have.

“We came to tell you how it’s going to be,” said one of them. “I don’t know what happened here, and what organisation you think you represent, but we are greater than you, and greater than any piddling organisation.”

“Am I supposed to be trembling in my boots at this demonstration of force?” I said, with an amused sneer.

He lowered over my desk.

“You would be, if you were wise,” he said.

I beckoned him closer, to turn his ear for me to whisper. He did so.

I blew in his ear.

He jumped back.

“What the fuck?”

“Well, it works for horses,” I said. “And I was granting you the benefit of the doubt of being almost as clever as a horse.”

“Now look here!” said another of them.

“I’d rather not; you aren’t a very prepossessing sight,” I said.

“Enough!” the first one slammed his fist on my desk. “The way it is going to be is that our sons are natural leaders, and will not be stopped from displaying their pre-eminence.”

“Surely if they can be stopped, it displays that they are not pre-eminent at all?” I said, innocently.

“They should be allowed to show the other students who’s boss!”

“Oh, I would hope that all the students know who is boss. I am,” I said.

“We can break your career, and your body,” he said.

“I think you overestimate your chances,” I said.

“You’ll never work again by the time we finish with you, if you don’t co-operate!”

I yawned.

“I’m only here as a favour. I would care why?”

I wasn’t sticking to the script of scared headmaster intimidated by big men. He grabbed me by the front of the shirt. I put my hand over his, and squeezed. He started panting, then crying out, and then the noises of breaking bones vied with his screams. I have very strong hands; there are techniques that you can learn. I let go and he fell back.

One of them produced a gun.

I leaped my desk and took it from him. I leaned him over my desk and gave him several swipes on his backside with a ruler, and they all stood and stared.

This was not in the script at all.

“You will be sorry!” said one of them.

“I am,” I said. “Sorry for your kids you have abused in bringing them up to be criminal thugs.” I activated the gas. I had done playing with them. “I am going to break your nasty little group and if I have to kill every one of you to do so, then so be it. I am not going to permit some half-baked quasi-Masonic order with delusions of adequacy spoil my country.”

It was fast acting and they started passing out at this point.

They became Tarquin’s problem from hereon. Once the Director had died and those of his inner organisation had been taken down, Tarquin revealed what he knew of the Wolf Pack and how the FBI had nearly been controlled by it.

He had said, quite firmly, that the director died of natural causes.

This convinced everyone that Tarquin had killed him for reasons of national security, and as he had ferreted out what nobody else had managed to do, they made him director. Which both put a crimp in his style, and gave him more ability to mop up the problem, with G-men able to swoop on those I might have found challenging.

These ones would be disappearing into the vast underground prison for those whose treason was too terrible to be given public trial. And no, that’s not especially democratic either, but if the populace knew how deeply infiltrated these buggers were, and their plans to use bioware to become supermen, there would have been an uprising. It was all laid out in the instructions the former headmaster had, how to choose subjects for experimentation towards the day when every chosen alumnus would be brought on to be faster, smarter, more able, the other pupils given limited modification as those chosen to be their servants under the rule of the fittest, those already born to greatness and raised even higher. It was damned chilling reading. ‘The glory of the empire of Overmankind’ was a chilling phrase. At least, it was to anyone who reads history.  They were to be literally above their fellows by being taller, as well as stronger, faster, and smarter. They were to have the mods I’ve given to my children and then more, and partly that was in the cosmetic of being built on ‘noble’ lines, so they stood out, with modifications starting from puberty after a childhood of genetic tweaks and scientific nutrition. Now, there’s nothing wrong with feeding kids well, but the odd bit of junk food is good for the soul. We had modified the school cuisine to add the odd treat.

And I don’t give my kids mods until they’ve gone through puberty. It’s still uncertain how much the growing body can be broken by inserting too much genetic and cyber modification too soon.  I wouldn’t have jazzed them up yet, if it hadn’t been needed for their survival.

 

I called for security, once the gas had cleared, and had the sleeping non-beauties carted away to be collected later.  I had converted part of the boiler room into holding cells. The janitor was a decent chap who needed the job, who spat, and agreed it was about time something was done about the young hoodlums and their stuck-up parents too; so I had no problem from him about a number of small cubicles in his domain. We just slung up some metal divisions along one wall with a barred gate at the front, installed drains for a toilet in one corner, a bunk style bed welded onto the metal side wall, and a small basin for washing hands and with potable water.  And yes, I could drop knockout drops into the water supply. A thin mattress, pillow, and blanket provided all their home comforts and the light was daylight quality for their good health. The doors had slots for trays of food. Each cell was monitored with a camera and bug.

I might need to use them on some of the oldest pupils as well.

 

I was glad we had the parents stowed when two of my teachers brought Ruth and half a dozen large boys to my study.

The boys were somewhat the worse for wear.

“They attacked me, Horace,” said Ruth, using my official name.

“I’m not your brother here, Ruth, I’m Mr. Tiber,” I said. I regarded the bloodied and bruised boys rather after the manner of a scientist regarding a rather nasty mould. “Perhaps the young gentlemen would like to give their names, and their side of the story.”

They exchanged shifty looks.

One of them spoke up.

“I’m Peter Coulter; I’m sorry, sir, I had no idea she was your sister. It’s normal to shake down new kids. I thought she was one of the scholarship girls. I didn’t know she was one of us.”

“If by ‘one of us’ you mean the now disbanded Bratpack, she isn’t,” I said. “The rules have changed. Your fathers are in custody. I suggest you all quickly learn the new normal.  But Ruth! I’ve spoken to you before about causing excessive harm to those too feeble to stand up for themselves.”

“They’re losers,” said Ruth.

“Then pity them, because they will never amount to anything much,” I said. “You boys, go about your business, and try to stay out of trouble. There’s never an excuse for trying to settle things with violence.  Ruth, no further punishment as you did not start it, but return a measured response another time.”

“Yes, sir,” said Ruth. Her eyes were dancing; we had discussed this approach beforehand.

I took the names of the boys.

“I recognise that you are too cowardly to try to assert yourselves without a gang, but I suggest you would do better to show any prowess you have in schoolwork,” I said. “I have no time for cowards. If you come to my notice again, you will regret it.  And please spread the word.”

Of course they tried it again.

This time with Marie.

Marie may not be quite as good as Ruth, but she made a good showing.

“Dear me, Marie, you do seem to have been busy,” I said. “Now, I know that one, that one, and that one; and I did tell them to warn the others.  I think you managed to be more restrained than your sister, Marie, so I’ll let you off with a warning. You cowards will be wearing signs round your necks declaring your cowardice, and you will sit at a separate table for meals.”

“We will not!” cried one. “Wait til our fathers hear about this!”

“Your father is in the Federal pen,” I said. “He already heard about the new rules.”

 

Three of them accepted wearing signs. The others had to have the signs put back frequently and were herded to the separate table by the security staff.

Six of them were stupid enough to invade my private quarters and point guns at Quin and Willow to use as hostages.

The two who survived would be in the federal holding facilities hospital for a very long time. I had footage and neither Willow nor I mess about where armed threats to our family is concerned.

But as far as the rest of the Bratpack was concerned, they just disappeared.

And perhaps that scared them more than anything else; because they lay low for a while.

I don’t like killing kids any more than I like killing women, but a seventeen year old with a gun has declared himself adult, and a threat.

 

cobra and the delinquents 13

 

13 And roast the tail

 

It was time to break the power of the school next.

I sent an email from the office of Steven Fitzgerald, to the headmaster. And yes, I then erased it from the ‘sent’ file so that he had no idea I was sending emails from him. Willow is a superb gurfer, and Susan knew all her husband’s passwords and could guess any she did not know.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. Most people are so sloppy with passwords.

Fitzgerald was a step above most people as he used wine names and dates of vintage years. He had reasonable taste, as well.

I had written,

The interfering social worker fellow who has charge of Hammond has been asking awkward questions.  I need to have a meeting with you and all the faculty who are a part of our organisation. Will seven o’clock Friday evening suit? In your office? I want to discuss how to handle Hammond.

Don’t reply to this, but if the time and venue do not suit, email me to ask to discuss if Hammond is returning to school and make your own suggestion in that.

Steven Fitzgerald.

 Naturally, Susan was happy enough to watch to see if there was a reply.

There was not.

I had fitted up the sleep gas grenade beforehand; the school was not hard to break into.

I gave them seven minutes over the time in order to wonder what had happened to Fizgerald, and then I triggered it.

We came in with an ambulance; someone’s Crashwagon^TM bracelet had indicated a fall. I went in, ran out, shouting to clear people out of the way and call the firebrigade and the gas board, a gas leak had rendered all unconscious.

We loaded them all up, virtually under the eyes of the sec team, those who were not in the meeting, and drove away, blues and twos and all.

We drove into a warehouse where the blues and twos were ripped off, water hosed off the water-soluble white paint with red cross, and an army truck with a new license plate left through the other double doors onto a parallel street, with a bunch of people hastily dressed in military clothing and chained together, whilst we wore red berets with our uniforms, as military police with a bunch of deserters.

We also had every file from the head’s office, and every bit of hardware. It went out on a stretcher under a sheet.

It was a bit cramped for our prisoners; eight actively involved including two security guards out of the four. But we weren’t interested in their comfort.

We went to an army barracks, where, ahead of time, I had pulled a ‘matter of national security’ bluff, and loaded them onto the VTOL aeroplane to take us to the ranch.

We put them on ice separately in the bunker under the burned out bunkhouse. We had a couple of hours to go through data before they started coming round.

One of the female teachers was responsible for calling girls to be trafficked to her office.  We kept her, and the headmaster. I could find nothing about the others that made them worth my time feeding them; so they did not wake up, and fed the furnace.

If we’d missed someone with information, that was bad luck. I did not think we had.

Tarquin, meanwhile, was seeing to getting Federally approved teachers in as a takeover, and firing the two guards who were left as they let the bullies get on with it. And the teachers were all veterans of West Point, and not about to let bullying go unpunished.

Tarquin had also seen to making sure that the deaths of those organised by Troy and Evans were traced to orders set up by the late director in the event of his death.

Other Wolfpack members would find out, and be shocked, because it was obviously not what he had intended; as his death was natural, not assassination, but they would be likely to consider it a tragic and unfortunate mistake that Zeke had not been more specific, and would not suspect that the noose was closing on them, too. As Tarquin even found a way of paying Troy and Kyle out of Zeke’s personal fortune, I wasn’t going to quibble.

I strongly suspected that Tarquin was having far too much fun for a grey man who pulls strings in the shadows.

That he had been whistling, ‘Defer, defer, to the lord high executioner!’ under his breath whilst organising it was, to me, a giveaway of his happy state.

A government agent had no business enjoying a covert coup; but I was glad he was on our side. If he’d been Wolfpack, the country would have been his.

 

 

As it happened, we had paydirt in the meticulous records kept by the headmaster, who was also stupid enough to record all his passwords in a book he kept in his desk drawer, and which Willow had thoughtfully scooped up. That meant we did not really need either him or the female, but I wasn’t about to let them get off with dying quietly. I wanted them to experience terror.

It was worth keeping them in the same cell to record what they spoke about, in capture shock. But then, we might separate them, without bothering to ask any questions, nor answering any of theirs. To my mind, a child abuser who is a teacher or a parent is one of the most evil characters alive, because they are betraying the sacred trust of a young, developing life, who ought to have the right to expect the adults in his or her life to look out for them. And I count anyone with authority over children in that.

I would not go out of my way to torture them, but I’d let them torture themselves with imagination.

We were not bothering to keep any more of the Street Rats and the drug dealers behind them; they had sent a few dozen warriors while I was in DC, but they were ordinary street thugs, and our defences had taken them down. Hammond had been in his element, stripping down bikes and cars, and it kept his mind off the fact that sooner or later, I was going to kill his father. He might say he wanted him dead, but he was still a young boy, whose father had not actually abused him in more ways than to send him to that school; and it is normal for a boy to love his dad. Even when he hates him at the same time.

And he was caring tenderly for his mother, who was happy to spend time with him, but was also glad to escape being cared for too tenderly and to help us in bringing the empire of the Wolfpack crashing down.

Fortunately, it was Willow who caught the Pack’s chief gurfer, trying to make sense of the disappearance of the Washington Academy’s staff. Willow pulled out her most vicious attack program, a feedback loop which trapped the gurfer in her own machine as Willow turned up the sensory load beyond the usually available maximum.

When they found the gurfer, she would have the mental ability of a can of tomato soup.

This is why Willow has a physical uplink which she plugs in, preferentially to internal uplinks. And why she does not gurf alone. If she starts twitching, her minder pulls the plug. Some gurfers swear by internal uplinks, as getting closer. But then, some people sleep around and like to hit it raw, rather than use a condom.  And risk all the diseases out there. Willow likes her jackable prophylactic.

She’s better than most gurfers who do have internal uplinks.

 

“Can I see them?” asked Hammond. “I… I need to know that they are facing justice.”

“I’m not sure if it’s wise,” I said.

“Please? So I know it’s real?”

I sighed.

“Let them stew for a while, then you can see them. But don’t engage in conversation.”

He nodded.

Their conversation did not help much but it revealed a lot, in some ways.

The woman spoke first. There may, or may not, be meaning in that.

“Michael? Where are we? What’s going on?”

“I don’t know. Were we drugged or something?”

“I last remember you saying that Fitzgerald was late for the meeting he called, and then… there was smoke! And we went to sleep and woke up here. The others aren’t in here!” she sounded panicked.

Good.

“Keep it together, Clarissa. Whatever is going on, they don’t dare hold us long. We’ll be out of here shortly; the school’s legal team will see to that.”

That was a group who needed to be taken care of. Thanks, Michael, for the reminder.

We could probably afford to hire out surgical strikes on them.

Their talk was not especially helpful, and I let Hammond go and look at them, before having them isolated.

The headmaster reacted first.

“Hammond! Are you here to rescue us? Is your father here?”

“What’s going on, Hammond?” asked Clarissa. “Why are we here?”

Hammond just sneered.

“Wait, who is in charge?” asked Michael.

“Surely you don’t blame me for taking that girl? She was an unhealthy influence on you,” said Clarissa.

Hammond smirked at her. Then he walked out.

They were still calling after him as they were dragged to separate locations.

“That was fairly precious,” said Hammond. “Watching them falling apart.” He scowled. “She knew about Tula and how I felt.”

“And probably had orders to take her early because of it,” I said. “We’re working on rescuing her, but I’m not sure what state she or any others might be in.”

“End the nightmare for them, even if that means killing them,” said Hammond. His voice broke on that.  I had a second sobbing teenage boy in my arms that holiday.

Well, a man who can release his emotions is actually stronger and more stable than one who bottles it all up.

I gave him a nip of whisky in hot chocolate. The boy had become a man over the last few weeks.

And it was time to seize Fitzgerald senior; after all, the boot camp experience would end with the long holiday, and time moved on.

 

Dix had done well; he would go back into society with more ability to hold his temper, and a few choice cowboy phrases to use on those who tried to put him down.

Briggs? Well, Briggs was learning to keep his mouth shut and his fists to himself, having met people who looked like victims, and sounded like victims, and retaliated like nothing he had ever encountered before. It was a start, anyway.

Obama had come a long way. And I did not seriously think she was on anyone’s hit list; she had been punished, and she was still a minor, and it should probably be left at that, so long as she kept a low profile. Those three would be going home. Jamie had already gone. And Hammond was staying.

And I would be taking over the Washington Academy as headmaster; thanks, Tarquin.

I would, at least, have my team of kids as spies and agents, less Hana and Olive, who would be going back with Auntie to her school, being younger. A year round would give them both more confidence.

And the cats would have orders not to leave our quarters without escort. They might be smart, but they would be vulnerable to a concerted effort.

 

As to Fitzgerald, sending for him to collect his son was the best way to get him where we wanted him. Susan asked to take him down.

She tested out well on sniper rifle.

She took him down at a place called ‘Last Chance Truck Café.’ Double tap to the head.

She was a good pupil.

Of course, she fell apart, then, but Willow got her home, and tears, cuddles and hot chocolate went a long way to helping.

“We’re free, mom,” said Hammond.

They weren’t; not yet, but it was a lot closer.

 

In the meantime, Clarissa managed to hang herself, and Michael opened his veins. Oh dear, how sad, never mind. Did I tell you we had Craig Thomas’s father as well as Craig?  I sent in a bunch of gangers I know to wipe out the rest of the Street Rats, and I hired a few low grade assassins to handle the drug cartel associated with them.

It was the lowest echelon, in a way, but it was the direct link to the school.

I’d be working through the parents during the term.

“What shall we do with the prisoners?” I asked Tarquin.

“We have no further need of them,” he said.

He can be bloody cold at times.

I double tapped each of them, and was somewhat sickened to do so.

And I reminded myself of the mess they had made of Hammond, and of all those girls.

Tarquin was sending the marines after those; the Wolfpack never infiltrated the marines. You’re a marine first. All other affiliations come second. If you can’t live with that, you’re out.  It was out of my hands, and I was not displeased.  And the marines would deal with any opposition with extreme prejudice.

Things would start to be dangerous from hereon. The Wolfpack were now aware. And were ready to be dangerous. The death of their FBI support allied with the complete disappearance of the supporting teachers in the Academy had to be ringing alarm bells.

I would be a target; but that was fine.

I was used to being a target.

And all the kids would have top grade bioware reflexes, which does not show up on scans, like wired reflexes do, and would have the attitude of apex predators, not merely the attitude of little dictators. It makes a difference.