Incursion

Chapter 26: Lex Talionis

The military issue laptop whirred moderately as the progress bar on top of a few other windows crawled to 96%.

Unlacing his fingers from where they were twined beneath his nose, Heimdall glanced away from the laptop’s screen and at the mysterious smartphone-like device linked to his laptop. He had been trying to breach the encryption and other security measures on the device’s ‘deeper’ functions, such as its ‘DATABASE’ and ‘GPS’, which were the most important features he would need access to in order to uncover more intelligence on the enemy.

Finding a compatible decryption routine from his laptop’s software was the easy part, though it did take him over an hour of trial-and-error. Actually decrypting the device and trying to breach its stalwart security wasn’t as simple. A total of six attempts to penetrate its defenses had been made so far: the first attempt reached twenty-eight percent progress before the process was rejected by the device’s firewall. That was over two hours’ worth of waiting wasted in the end. Heimdall’s second attempt involved finding a different, but compatible decryption routine and waiting some more for the second routine to eat away at the firewall. Unfortunately, that failed as well, this time at four percent progress. The third attempt took three hours and forty-five minutes, at which point Heimdall had assumed there would be no more problems. But at fifty-nine percent progress, the device locked him out again and terminated the progress that had been made up to that point, forcing Heimdall to repeat the tedious process once more.

He hadn’t slept in two days, not since the assault at the hospital in the northeast quadrant of the city. Ever since his handler, Hornet, had lent the enemy’s device for him to work on, he hadn’t left this room.

The first traces of fatigue now began to manifest in him, taking the form of a slight, admittedly negligible headache. Heimdall wasn’t remotely concerned about a miniscule degree of sleep deprivation; he’d been through worse, and his unique physiology would allow him another two or three days of zero recuperation before his performance would significantly deteriorate.

He’d been sitting at the desk for over six hours now, watching the green progress bar inch toward the end to completion. He’d barely moved from the seat since this sixth attempt began, watching as one percent became two percent, then three percent, then four and five, and so on. Heimdall noted how much like an effective immune system the device’s security measures were. To him, it was as though the device manufactured antibodies instantly to respond to his every attempt to gain access to its contents, and deployed countermeasures at ten times the speed a human’s bloodstream could.

The number beside the progress bar eventually changed. Ninety-seven percent.

He kept his eyes on that number for a full minute before he turned his head slightly and reached for the canteen of water to the right of his laptop.

He was a little surprised and momentarily perplexed when he saw that his hand and arm seemed to move at well under half the speed he knew he was exerting to reach for the canteen.

Blinking, Heimdall consciously pushed his limb forward with greater force, but it continued to move toward the object at the same reduced speed. What’s more, his hand completely overshot the top of the canteen and the heel of his palm caught the canteen’s cap. He attempted to rectify his movement, but before he could, he’d knocked the canteen over backwards with a rather drawn out thuuuuunk as the object fell over in slow motion.

A slight frown appeared at his lips.

Finally rising from his chair, he now reached over the table for his rucksack. Even standing up was odd as he felt like he was doing so underwater. With some effort, he managed to extract the silver case from his pack and pressed the buttons on either side of it to open it.

Compensating appropriately for the reduced speed of his movements, he picked up one of the syringes and removed its cap. He clenched his left hand to form a tight fist, then palpated the inside of his elbow to locate his median cubital vein. Once he had ascertained the precise orientation of the vein, he took the syringe and aligned the needle carefully to match the direction his vein was going.

After taking two seconds – which felt like four or five – to double check that he wasn’t going to create two holes in his blood vessel, Heimdall pierced his skin and the vein with the thin needle, then pushed down on the plunger.

He watched as the clear liquid in the syringe receded into his arm. A few seconds after all the drug was administered, he felt a somewhat familiar stinging sensation running up and down his left arm.

Luuuuuub-duuuuuuub. Luuuub-duuuub. Lub-dub. Lub-dub.

He listened to his heart rate in his ears, paying attention as it seemed to go from roughly thirty beats per minute to the normal sixty.

Heimdall put down the empty syringe beside the silver case, then reached for his canteen again. This time, his arm moved at normal speed and his dexterity seemed to return completely; his fingers and palm wrapped partly around the object and he managed to unscrew the cap and lift the canteen to his mouth to take a sip of cool water.

He placed the canteen back down on the table in time to glanced back at his laptop’s screen and see ninety-eight percent progress turn to ninety-nine.

“Heimdall,” came a familiar voice from somewhere out in the corridor. “Heimdall!”

Heimdall turned around in his stool just as a sallow faced man with long black hair barged into his makeshift quarters. He appeared moderately upset and hassled as he brandished a tablet in his hand.

Heimdall stood up and stiffened his posture and met Hornet’s eyes. “Yes, sir?”

Instead of answering, Hornet stomped over and placed his tablet flat on the desk beside Heimdall’s syringe case. Heimdall watched him silently as the other man drew up a video recording on his tablet and clicked play on it.

“Look at this.” Hornet sounded displeased, though Heimdall had no inkling as to why.

Heimdall obeyed, looking at the tablet’s screen. On it was a feed of a surveillance camera mounted high to a wall, shooting down at what appeared to be the end of a row of holding cells. Near the right edge of the feed, he could see one mostly nude man appearing to be copulating with a small woman who was facedown on the floor inside the last cell.

Several seconds into the video, the man abruptly halted his activity with the woman to glance backwards at something that the camera didn’t capture, something outside of the woman’s cell. The man appeared to fumble for something close to his discarded clothes but was ultimately unable to produce whatever he wanted to as a third person appeared in the frame.

Heimdall continued to watch intently as the newcomer, dressed in the navy blue uniform of a US Army soldier, overpowered the nude man with ease and left him critically wounded and bleeding from the genitals before appearing to examine the motionless woman on the floor. The assailant peeled off his mask, went through some gestures to inspect the woman’s vitals, then finally hefted her onto his back. Before he left the frame, he turned his face slightly as if to tell his passenger something, allowing Heimdall enough time to view his features. He had short black hair, sharp dark eyes, and looked to be a blend of Spanish and Asian heritage. Heimdall recognized him instantly.

“Looks familiar, no?” Hornet asked him.

“Affirmative, sir. That man was at the assault of the Peter Lougheed Centre two days ago.”

“Correct me if I am wrong, Heimdall,” Hornet continued, “but I was under the impression you had made short work of this man. Am I correct?”

“Negative, sir. He is still functioning.”

“I know that!” Hornet suddenly shouted at him, making Heimdall glance at him finally. “I want to know why!”

“I am uncertain of the answer, sir—”

“I just got off the radio with the US Army, and I’ve been told this ‘dead’ man not only killed several more soldiers, but managed to extract Christina Valentine and vanish! The commanding officer is not impressed!”

Heimdall remained neutral, not knowing what to comment about that. Hornet glared at him for a couple of seconds before speaking again.

“Well? What do you have to say about this?”

“I have none, sir. I am unsure of what you are looking for as a sufficient response.”

Hornet reared his head back with eyebrows raised.

“THIS IS YOUR BLUNDER, HEIMDALL!” Hornet yelled at him, jabbing a finger into Heimdall’s chest. “This is your fault! You failed to eliminate a dangerous enemy, and now he’s on the loose with someone we worked to capture! As a result, Northstar HQ will hear about this and they will likewise not be very impressed with me!”

“I… apologize, sir.”

Hornet ran his hand through his hair, grimacing. He sighed heavily before slamming his hands down on top of the desk.

“How do you propose to remedy this?” he asked, his voice still laced with hardness even though he wasn’t shouting anymore.

“I am not in a position to propose plans, sir. However, I am in a position to carry out orders. I will do as you tell me to, sir.”

Hornet paused, appearing to consider something, then asked: “Any progress on the device I gave you for analysis?”

Heimdall glanced over at the laptop and saw that the top window was showing ‘Decryption Complete’ instead of the progress bar now.

“I have managed to break through the device’s firewa—”

“Good.” Hornet slid an arm between Heimdall and his laptop, pushing the man away from it and taking his stool. “Then go.”

“Sir?” Heimdall was unable to mask his confusion at the vague order.

Hornet glanced over his shoulder at Heimdall, then pointed at his tablet lying on the table.

“I’ll sift through this data and report to headquarters about it. I want you out there fixing your mistakes.”

“…Please, sir. I require more specific instructions.”

Hornet sighed again, then gestured once more towards the tablet.

“I want that man dealt with. I want his head. Dead. Terminated. Eliminated. Not breathing. Is this specific enough for you?”

Heimdall nodded stiffly. “Yes, sir. Eliminate the man who has taken Christina Valentine and bring you his head. I will sever it from his neck and bring it to you.”

Hornet stared at him for a moment before turning back to Heimdall’s laptop.

“Do not return unless you’ve finished this task. I want no more mistakes, Heimdall. Get this done. And keep me updated.”

“Yes, sir. Shall I decapitate Christina Valentine as well?”

Hornet’s shoulders rose and fell emphatically. “I didn’t mean decap— Ugh. No, I want her brought to me. I will kill her myself. Everyone else is expendable. Understand?”

“Understood, sir.”

“Now leave. We’re through here.”

Heimdall obeyed, leaving Hornet to pore over his laptop. He exited the Currie Barracks after equipping himself with his weapons and some simple provisions, then procured a Humvee and left CFB Calgary.





I opened my eyes, finding the bedroom quiet and darker than when I fell asleep again. By the fading light flitting through the patio door blinds, I had to assume it was now between four and five in the afternoon. I could see some light flurries of snow dancing in the air outside.

The room was cold with the power to the building cut, but I managed to keep warm enough by bundling up on the clothes Knight had left just inside the door a few hours ago. I changed out of my soiled jeans and into a pair of light brown cargo pants, then put on a long-sleeved blouse and put my parka on top of it.

The food was harder to accept. At around noon, the door to the master bedroom opened and Shadow Team’s leader dropped a packet of cheese pastries and a couple of chocolate bars on the floor quickly before exiting the room. For a little while, I didn’t move from the bed, my head aching and my stomach crying out for sustenance. But after half an hour, my base needs won out and I ate the cheese bun and half of one chocolate bar. I slaked my thirst with the one bottle of water that was sitting on the bedside dresser.

Now feeling a little better with food and water in me, plus a decent amount of rest, I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the door. Ever since he confronted me with the matter of his deceased friend, Knight hadn’t spent any more time in the room with me. His reaction at the last second before deciding not to pull the trigger on me baffled me still. I could see in his face for the first time a mosaic of emotions: fury and sorrow, conviction and regret, certainty and indecision. I wouldn’t have minded if he’d shot me then and there, but he didn’t do it. In the end, he just seemed… afraid.

What was going to happen to me now? It was an understandable question. I’d asked myself this multiple times now since this morning’s revelations.

I didn’t leave the room the whole day. I felt it was my obligation to stay right where Knight would be able to find me for when he decided to come back and actually punish me. At the same time, however, I decided to test the knob on the door out of curiosity. It turned freely, which meant Knight wasn’t even trying to forcibly confine me to this bedroom. He hadn’t even bound my wrists or ankles with anything to prevent me from hypothetically making a break for it through the surely unlocked patio door. It felt as though I was on mere house arrest without the ankle bracelet.

I glanced at the carton of emergency contraceptives beside the nearly empty bottle of water, perplexed by its presence. It wasn’t an object that a survivalist would usually have on hand, and the only logical explanation I could think of was that Knight himself had gotten it for me. But why would he bother to do that?

Doesn’t he hate me? It was another question I’d pondered as the unbroken quiet surrounded me. Although I’d fully expected him to, the thought of him feeling that way toward me still made my chest feel tight. All this time, I wanted to apologize to him even more, and to tell him that he should go on and finish me off. I wasn’t sure of the details, but part of me wondered if the reason he became a C.O.S. agent at all was because of what I’d done to him.

Why won’t he do it?

Furthermore…

Miyaku Williams. That was the name of Knight’s friend who died in that explosion, but her name was foggy to me. I had practically memorized every last name I sent money to as my attempts at compensation repeated over the years, but none of them were ‘Williams’ from what I remembered. Though, if even the Canadian Security Intelligence Service of all organizations couldn’t list the victims whom I knew were missing from my roster, then I shouldn’t be surprised if the blast was so violent that there was no body to identify. Yansen and Rhodes were in charge of rigging the bomb, and I wouldn't have put it past them to give it just a little more kick for 'good measure'.

I was jarred from my thoughts by the sight and sound of the door opening. I looked up slightly at Knight, who was now back to his usual charcoal black windbreaker and dark gray combat pants. He looked much more composed now than this morning, his signature inscrutability back in full. This time, however, his eyes seemed to actively avoid mine.

He turned his head stiffly toward the dresser.

“Did you take the pills?” he asked curtly.

“The… pills?”

He tilted his head slightly to gesture at the carton of PlanB on top of the dresser beside the bed.

“Oh… no. I haven’t. I thought that—”

“Take them. Their effectiveness goes down after the first twenty-four hours.”

I glanced back at the contraceptives but made no move to reach for the carton. Truth be told, the memory of being assaulted by those three soldiers felt distant and relatively unimportant to me. The humiliation and degradation was there, but I suppose I was blocking them out for now.

“What?” he said blandly after I had stayed motionless for several seconds.

“I’m sorry,” I blurted before I could really think. “I just didn’t think it mattered anymore.”

“I don’t give a damn what you think. Take a pill.”

His voice hardened momentarily. I looked back at him tentatively. His hands were curled into fists at his sides, but his face remained stoic.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, then reluctantly reached for the carton. He watched silently as I tore open the packaging and dislodged one white and blue pill from its peers. I popped it in my mouth, then washed it down with the remnants of my water bottle. When I had drained the bottle dry, I glanced up at the man standing in front of me. His eyes still refused to meet mine.

“We’re leaving,” he said.

“Okay,” was all I said before standing up. Compared to this morning, I was now able to get to my feet and stay on them, though I still felt weaker than normal from the electroshock therapy I endured, plus my aggravated ribs.

I shuffled past Knight, a part of me bracing for him to grab my neck or punch me or slap me… but I reached the door without being attacked.

I opened the door and stopped halfway through it when I heard some rustling behind me. I glanced behind me to find Knight tidying up the sheets. I watched him with mild fascination as he straightened out the comforters so that there were no creases and rearranged the two pillows to align neatly against the back wall. He then grabbed the leftover food and wrappings, the empty water bottle, and the opened carton of PlanB and stashed them all in his backpack. When the room was essentially spotless, as if no one had been in it the last day, he secured his backpack to his body again and moved toward the door only to have his exit inadvertently barred by me standing in his way.

“What?” he asked again.

“N-nothing.” I moved out into the hallway.

He exited the bedroom as well and closed the door. “There’s a LUV outside. Go.”

I nodded, making my way past the kitchen and living room, which both looked rather bare and without personality. I headed out the front door. Knight stayed behind me the whole time, but oddly enough whether it was intentional or not, he seemed to keep walking behind me at a distance.

When we were outside in the dark first floor hallway of the building proper, I headed for the lobby of whatever condo building this was. However, the lack of footsteps plodding behind me made me stop and look back a second time.

Knight stood stock still in front of the suite door, looking down at what appeared to be a silver key resting in the palm of his right hand. He looked lost in a daydream, gazing at the key with something akin to longing.

I thought about calling out to him, but eventually decided against it. I wondered if this was his home. For some reason, I doubted that. I knew from having been to his quarters in Haven that Knight had a minimalist sort of living style, but that suite we just left was much too bare to be even his home. The place had no books, no china, no mats, not a single trace of clutter that would indicate someone lived in and looked after the place. It felt more like a new hotel room than a condo suite. From my brief time inside it, I got the impression that no one had been inside it in a long time.

He stayed a statue for a few more minutes before closing his eyes and squeezing his fingers over the key. He reopened his eyes, then reached up and placed the key on top of the unlit fluorescent lamp mounted to the wall beside the suite door.

He double checked to ensure that the door was locked, then finally turned to me, His dark eyes found mine for a split second before they went elsewhere.

“Move.”

“Okay.”

I continued walking another couple dozen strides or so until we came to a building lobby with a staircase leading to upper floors and an elevator right next to the staircase. I turned left at the junction, where the exit was.

Upon walking outside the lobby, I was greeted by the familiar chill of the impending winter evening. There was hardly any light in the sky now, instead swathed in a gloomy velvet that was closer to violet than red. The stars hadn’t come out yet, though from the overcast conditions I doubted there would be any tonight. Small flakes of snow fell from above, landing on my skin and pricking me with cold. Though it was technically snowing, there was no breeze.

If I closed my eyes and tried, it wasn’t too hard to pretend it was just another peaceful evening.

I heard Knight step out of the building behind me. “LUV’s this way.”

He walked past me and led me down the curb to the left of the building entrance where one of the armoured light utility vehicles from Haven was sitting in a parking slot in between a black pickup truck and a white sedan. He walked straight to the driver’s door while I hung back, trying to decide where to sit. Beside him seemed presumptuous given how he must feel toward me, but in the back seat was awkward too because it would seem like I was being chauffeured.

Knight noticed me standing by the front end of the LUV. “What are you doing?”

“I just… don’t know where to sit,” I mumbled to him, feeling foolish for having brought up something trivial in light of what had transpired between us earlier.

His eyebrows seemed to press down on his eyes slightly.

“Sit wherever. Just get in.”

Without waiting for me to make a decision, he ducked into the driver’s seat and fired up the engine. The sound of the LUV coming to life seemed to firmly prompt me to jog over to the front passenger door beside Knight’s and hop into the seat.

When I was buckled in, he backed out of the parking space and maneuvered the vehicle out of a gate down the main path between several condo buildings identical to the one we left, then turned left onto a suburban street that I didn’t recognize. Logically, I knew we were still in Calgary, but I wasn’t familiar with this part of town. A glance out the window as we crossed a three-way intersection told me were on Panamount Boulevard Northwest.

For the first ten minutes of the ride, I kept looking out my window, watching trivial things like the unlit lampposts we passed, the occasional public school or playground, or just the flurries of snow that raced past the glass. Knight kept quiet, seeming entirely oblivious to me sitting there with him. It was strange; I felt as though I was being escorted by armed guards to either a maximum security prison, or to an electric chair. Except my ‘armed guards’ amounted to just one man who seemed not to be paying attention to the prisoner. My hands weren’t even cuffed and my legs weren’t shackled.

When the LUV turned south on Stoney Trail, I became too restless to stay silent anymore. I had to know.

“Knight?” I glanced at him finally.

He kept his eyes front, that signature expression of plain opacity plastered to his face. His eyelids blinked once in time with me speaking up, which was my sign that he had heard me.

I hesitated, trying to choose what to open with. No matter what I wanted to say, I felt infinitely more awkward speaking to him now. I couldn’t tell if merely hearing my voice was tiring or enraging to him. In a way, his lack of apparent emotions was worse. Before today, he’d admittedly allowed me snippets into his thoughts and what he felt. Now, he seemed determined to shut me out.

“How are Genel and Josh? Did they make it out of Peter Lougheed okay?”

He didn’t answer. I waited ten seconds to see if he would allow me a response, but he remained silent. I tried again.

“Did we manage to get the prisoners out?”

More silence.

“Did you visit the rec centre recently?” I asked next, “I—”

“The prisoners and the mission are no longer any of your concern.”

I almost didn’t want to look at him when he said that, but I looked at him nonetheless. His expression was as stony as ever, and whenever I spoke to him, he was more likely than not serious about whatever he said.

Part of me wanted to argue, but I beat down any urges to appeal my case. With that one statement, I already knew what was going to happen to me. I didn’t need any further explanation.

I would have liked to talk to Sarah and Olivia one last time, but I didn’t try to push for that opportunity. Knight was in charge — he always was.

The next twenty minutes were quieter than the last ten. Knight stayed away from the major Calgary highways and instead pushed out of the city limits as we journeyed further south via 100th Street, which ran along vast expanses of mostly empty prairies that were blanketed in nearly endless white snow as far as the eye could see. The first remnant of civilization came about thirty or so kilometres from where we began on 100th Street, when we passed through the dead town of Janet, which might as well have been a rural cemetery or tomb with its unlit streets and forsaken homes and boutiques. The dreary surroundings did nothing to improve my sombre mood.

Past halfway to our destination – which could only be Haven – Knight took his right hand off the wheel and brought a finger to his earpiece. Since I no longer had my TACPAD or an earpiece, I couldn’t listen in on the whole conversation.

“Knight. Go ahead.”

He appeared to listen to whoever was contacting him for a moment without any change to his facial expression, then suddenly his eyes narrowed very slightly and his mouth opened a little in what looked like contained shock.

“What?” he said sharply, his tone turning urgent.

I felt compelled to stare at him as he appeared to listen to his caller another ten or so seconds before speaking again more grimly.

“Copy. I’m about fifteen minutes out from there. Don’t approach the site yet. Keep your distance. I’ll meet you at Copper Pond. Be careful. Knight out.”

He put his hand back on the steering wheel, his eyes looking more intense than five minutes ago.

I couldn’t handle being kept out of the loop, even now.

“Knight, who was that? Is there something wrong?” I asked him. He had mentioned ‘Copper Pond’, which sounded like a body of water in the neighbourhood of Copperfield.

His jaw tightened a little, but he refused to answer.

“Knight!” I pleaded, my heart starting to pound loudly at the sight of his grim expression.

He looked adamant to keep tight-lipped for a few more seconds before he relented with some reluctance.

“That was Genel. She told me Chief Warrant Officer King and her team reported that the rec centre was attacked.”





Heimdall slowed his Humvee and eventually halted at a US Army checkpoint at the southern outskirts of Calgary’s downtown core.

One of the six soldiers stationed at the intersection of 4th Street and 26th Avenue waved at Heimdall and walked up to his door. The soldier lowered a scarf that was pulled up over the lower half of his face and gave the interior of Heimdall’s vehicle a cursory inspection.

“Find anything?” the man asked Heimdall almost casually.

“I have not, unfortunately. I have spoken to Lieutenant-Colonel Baker and several of his men who were present during this morning’s incident. Apart from the face of the assailant on the camera feeds, I have gleaned no additional information that may point to his or the prisoner’s whereabouts.”

The Army infantryman listened to Heimdall’s stiff report with an expression of awkwardness and mild interest.

“Err, okay then, I guess? Yes or no would have done fine, my man, but thanks for the info. You leaving already?”

“I no longer see any reason to stay here when there are no more leads. I must consult with my superiors for further instructions.”

“Huh… Okay. Uh. You’re… going to share anything new with our CO, right? He wants these bad guys dealt with ASAP.”

“That is not my decision to make. My superior will contact yours for further information regarding this matter.”

The soldier nodded slowly, seeming more and more uncertain on how to interact with the driver of the Humvee.

“Uh, cool. Sure. You’re clear to pass on through.”

The sentry stepped away from the Humvee and waved Heimdall through the checkpoint where two other Humvees with manned turrets on top stood guard of the intersection.

Heimdall proceeded south along 4th Street and between the communities of Rideau Park and Roxboro. He had a mind to contact Hornet to give an update on his investigation of relevant scenes in the downtown core, but he did not have to initiate the conversation himself.

Heimdall’s earpiece vibrated in his ear briefly. He pulled over to the side of the road and pressed the small button on the device.

“This is Heimdall.”

“Heimdall.” The voice of Hornet came through the earpiece. “Do you read? This is Hornet.”

“Yes, sir. Affirmative. I read you five-by-five.”

“Good. Where are you now?”

“I have just left the downtown area, sir. I have finished investigating the Calgary Courts Centre’s underground parking garage and the route the enemy took to—”

“Understood. However, we’ve caught a break and I want you to look into it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m going to give you an address. Do you have a pen and paper, or your pad?”

“Negative, sir. You may continue. I will remember it exactly.”

Hornet paused for a second before continuing. “All right. The address is 6 Copperfield Way Southeast. I’ve been looking at the data that was uncovered today. A call to a device linked to this one we took from Valentine originated from that location a day ago. See what you can find there.”

“Understood, sir. 6 Copperfield Way Southeast. I will proceed there now.”

“Report back to me when you’re done.”

“Yes, sir.”





Almost half an hour alter, at approximately 1100 hours, Heimdall parked his vehicle at the parking lot of a Shoppers Drug Mart about two kilometres to the west of his destination. Since it was practically the middle of the day, he could not afford to be less than cautious on his approach to a possible enemy outpost.

The most direct and easiest route to 6 Copperfield Way Southeast was to head east on McIvor Boulevard, but Heimdall consulted his Northstar-issued personal data assistant to map out a more obscure approach to his target location. He took less than a minute to memorize the streets and landmarks on his way to the specified location, then pocketed his PDA and stepped out of the Humvee. He retrieved his HK 417 marksman rifle from the trunk and two extra magazines for the weapon, then went on his way.

Instead of heading east on McIvor Boulevard and possibly arriving at his destination in less than fifteen minutes, Heimdall proceeded further south on 52nd Street, passing what appeared to be three military trucks that seemed to resemble beached whales. He was able to see that the three trucks’ left sides were riddled with bullet indentations, as if the armour had taken a relentless beating from automatic fire. The presence of numerous dried bloodstains on the asphalt that wasn’t buried in snow suggested to him that an ambush had taken place there. From the relative lack of bullet marks on the right sides of the trucks, he surmised that a group of US Army soldiers had somehow been ambushed, their vehicles disabled, and were forced to take cover behind the trucks while an opposing force barraged their position with gunfire. Even without closely observing the scene and clues, however, it was clear to Heimdall that this assault had taken place more than a few days ago. Possibly a week ago, but no more recent than that.

Leaving the wreckage of the military vehicles behind in the intersection between 52nd Street and McIvor Boulevard, Heimdall made his way south toward Copperfield Gate, then instead of looping around via the main thoroughfare of Copperfield Boulevard, he cut through the green space and bike paths until he reached an arrowhead-shaped building marked with a large stone sign out front that read, ‘St. Isabella Junior High School’. From there, Heimdall headed northeast along Copperleaf Link Southeast until he got to Wildflower Pond’s southern side.

The entire walk took him just shy of a half hour, but his roundabout way of getting to the destination spared him any possibly encounters with roving patrols.

Heimdall crouched down just at the edge of the frozen pond and concealed himself partly within some dead, leafless shrubs and behind a boulder to stay relatively hidden. With the daytime conditions, he knew he could be seen across the pond just as well as he could see across it.

He dug out his portable recording binoculars from his backpack and placed the lenses up to his eyes. Adjusting his aim, he trained the device to the north, to the other side of the frozen pond.

Across the ice, about five hundred metres away from his current position, Heimdall was able to make out two identical, fenced off areas off the bike path that ran around the pond. He searched his memory for the name of the recreational activity for which the outdoor arenas in the distance were used.

The word came to him after a moment: tennis. A curious ‘sport’ where two opposing sides volleyed a small, bouncing ball at each other, where whoever failed to keep the process going lost. Heimdall had seen some Northstar employees engage in this activity several times within the confines of the headquarters’ compound, mostly during free days.

He adjusted his aim a little to the right. Using the pair of tennis arenas as his twelve o’clock point, he gazed to one o’clock where there was yet another fenced arena. This one, however, had higher fences that would generally be impossible to climb for normal people. From his position, he couldn’t make out the finest details, but the arena looked larger and contained somewhat different ground markings than the pair he saw first. This one had rather white, polished floors and two semicircular marks on either side of its round-edged, rectangular shape. The name of the activity tied to this other arena eluded him, however.

Movement at the edge of his left lens’ field of view prompted him to redirect his binoculars back to twelve o’clock. The fences of the tennis arenas got in his way somewhat, but with some more zooming in with his binoculars he was able to see a figure leaning against the southeastern wall of a white walled building about one hundred metres west of the larger third arena.

Heimdall increased the magnification of his binoculars to its maximum to observe the solitary figure. It was a man, estimated to be in his mid-twenties, wearing camouflage fatigues and carrying an automatic rifle. Heimdall noted that he was not wearing the standard navy blue of the United States Army – that man was instead wearing some kind of digital green, woodland pattern camouflage. The man took out something small, thin, and white from his pocket and stuck it partly in his mouth, using his lips to hold the object in place as he reached into a different pocket to produce a second object. The lone scout kept his sights on the man as the unaware soldier used a barely visible device to light the tip of the thin roll with a tiny flame.

Heimdall observed the solitary soldier a moment longer, then lowered his binoculars. He looked to his ten o’clock and two o’clock. The building that the soldier was leaning against was directly across the frozen water. Going counter clockwise around the pond would bring him to that building more quickly, but there was hardly any cover on his approach that way. Going clockwise instead had more cover by way of houses that ran along the pond’s northwest side, and the last building in that row of houses appeared to be right next to the target building.

Heimdall rose to his feet and retreated to the street behind him, Copperleaf Crescent. From there, he headed west a hundred metres, then cut through a bike path and began heading northeast, sticking close to the residences for cover. He then began moving along Copperstone Cove until he reached the final house on that street, where he took cover behind a row of pine trees twenty metres to the southwest of the building.

Heimdall rechecked his PDA to confirm that he was looking at 6 Copperstone Way. As he ascertained that he was at the correct location, he heard a pair of footsteps coming around the corner from the northwest face of the building.

Lowering himself to the ground but keeping still otherwise, Heimdall peered through the gaps in the pine tree needles and watched a soldier in the same digital green camouflage join the first soldier leaning against the southeast wall.

“Master Corporal, sir,” said the soldier who had just come out of the building to meet the one with a cigarette in his mouth. She was leaner than the average soldier, with dark brown hair that was unkempt and cropped close to military regulations.

The man lifted a hand to take the cigarette from his mouth before addressing her. “Just ‘Tim’, Tori. Come on. Or ‘Lane’.”

The woman chuckled mirthlessly. “Sorry, I just thought it would be good to set an example for the others if I called you that.”

“There’s no one else here, Ingridson.”

“I know. But I’m trying to get into the habit.”

“I really wish you wouldn’t.”

Heimdall watched as the man, Master Corporal Lane, looked down at his lit cigarette and offered it to the woman, Ingridson.

“Fancy a smoke?”

“You know I don’t smoke, Tim,” Ingridson said, shaking her head.

“I know. Just asking in the off chance you wanted to start.”

“Why would I start?”

Lane paused to lift the end of the cigarette to his lips, inhaled gently, and blew out a cloud of smoke.

“I don’t know. It just… feels like I won’t get to do this anymore pretty soon.”

Ingridson stepped closer to him. “What do you mean? You down to your last pack or something?”

“Nah. But I do need to pick up some more on the next supply run. No, I mean that things just aren’t looking up from where I’m standing. We lost three officers already in the past two weeks. Well, four officers, if you count Martinez.”

The woman sighed at him. “Come on, Tim. She’s still helping us. I don’t know what she does and to what extent, but she hasn’t really abandoned us.”

Lane took another lungful of smoke, expelling the puff a couple of seconds later. “I’m sorry, Tori. I’m a lousy CO. I’m not sure I should be leading what’s left of us. I don’t know what we ought to do. I should just convince those SF guys to take over for me or something, But the Master Warrant Officer… she’d have done better than me for sure.”

“But she isn’t here. And you’re the highest ranking NCM now. This is how chain of command works.”

“I know,” Lane said, his voice rising and hardening a little before he seemed to settle down again. “Sorry. It’s just hard to keep my head up.”

The female soldier placed her hand on his shoulder. “I get it. These last couple of weeks have been one loss after another. But you’ve still got me and several others to lead. Plus several dozen of those civilians to keep safe. We need you.”

Lane glanced at Ingridson’s hand on his shoulder for a moment, then rather reluctantly placed his hand over hers. “Right. Gotta stop being a downer, right? I hear you, Tori. Just… I’m going to need your help, okay?”

Ingridson nodded promptly. “Roger that, Master Corporal.”

The two of them let go of each other. After a few more moments, Lane finally dropped the remnants of his cigarette and ground it with the sole of his boot.

Heimdall waited another minute before the pair of soldiers retreated back inside the Copperfield | Mahogany Association Centre through a rear door and vanished inside. Only then did he finally move, rising to a more upright crouch.

He configured his earpiece using his PDA and initiated a call to Hornet, who picked up right away.

“Heimdall, what is it?”

“I am calling to report about the location you indicated, sir,” Heimdall said tersely.

“Fine. Anything there?”

“I had a visual on two Canadian Army soldiers outside the building. Is this what we are looking for, sir?”

Hornet was quiet for a moment, then he remarked, “No. Not exactly. But it’s not an insignificant matter. We haven’t seen any Canadian Armed Forces in days now. You say you saw two?”

“Affirmative.”

“Just the two?”

“Yes, sir.”

Hornet paused before asking: “Did they mention anything interesting? Or did you just observe from a distance?”

“They were conversing about a group of other units like them. Probability is moderate that there are more of them inside. They also mentioned ‘several dozen’ civilians they are safeguarding.”

“Civilians? Where? Also there?”

“I have no reason to think they would be elsewhere, sir.”

“That’s interesting.” Hornet paused again, then went on, “Those might be the civilians who were broken out of the South Health Campus and Peter Lougheed Centre.”

Heimdall did not comment on that as it wasn’t an interrogative. Instead, he merely asked, “Your orders, sir?”

Hornet took a moment to ponder the question. “Heimdall.”

“Yes, sir?”

“I’m informing Lieutenant-Colonel Baker that that location is a high-probability enemy hideout. I want you to see if you can hinder those soldiers there from squawking.”

Heimdall pressed his earpiece harder against his ear. “I apologize, sir. I do not understand. ‘Squawking’?”

Hornet sighed. “I mean I want you to make sure those soldiers won’t be able to radio for reinforcements. Disable their comms. Can you do that?”

“Affirmative, sir. I am carrying a handheld radio frequency jammer with me. Will that suffice?”

“What’s the range on it?”

“Up to two hundred metres of jamming range, sir.”

“Will it cover the property?”

“Affirmative. I can set it in position out of sight and activate it right now.”

“Not yet.” Hornet’s voice took a sharp turn. “Hide it so it won’t be seen, but set it for remote activation. I don’t want those Canadian Army units knowing they’re under attack until it’s too late.”

“Understood. Set one RF jammer for remote activation. I will do that now, sir.”

“After that, hold on to the remote and don’t trigger the jammer until I say so. Stay within the vicinity until further instructions, but stay out of sight. Get to it.”

“Yes, sir.”

Heimdall terminated the call and immediately unzipped his rucksack’s main compartment. After some rummaging, he dug out a small, short, cylindrical device coated in a matte black finish. Resembling the size and shape of a portable Bluetooth speaker, the device featured two switches and several buttons running along its circumference. It was a prototype radio frequency jammer developed not three months ago by the research and development team at Northstar headquarters. The prototype had significantly more range than standard military jammers, and was optimized to be even easier to carry and set than its predecessors.

Heimdall placed the device up against the base of one of the pine trees in front of him, then flicked the first switch to turn on the jammer. He flicked the second switch to set the device to activate remotely. He detached a miniature remote embedded to the bottom of the cylinder and slid it into his pocket.

Taking care to maintain stealth, Heimdall retreated to the row of houses behind him on Copperstone Cove and forced entry into the nearest residential building via the rear door. The building’s third floor loft afforded him a close view of the premises while keeping him fairly concealed thanks to the smaller style of windows and the curtains that were partly drawn over them. He took a plastic folding table from one corner of the loft that appeared to have been repurposed as an attic, unfolded it, and set the table in front of the window. He pulled up a chair and placed it in front of the table, facing the window.

Then he waited.





It wasn’t until 1515 hours that Heimdall was roused from a light doze by his earpiece vibrating in his ear once more.

Lifting his chin off his chest as he sat up in the chair he had settled in, he tapped his comms device to receive the call.

“This is Heimdall.” He spoke without an ounce of drowsiness or fatigue lacing his voice.

“Heimdall, Hornet,” the voice of Heimdall’s superior officer spoke back with equal alertness. “I’ve informed Baker of that location. He’s sending sixty plus men and an armoured convoy to that area. They’re about five minutes from the target now.”

“Understood. Shall I assist in engagement, sir?”

“No. Negative. Are you in a position to survey the building?”

“Affirmative.”

“Good. The convoy consists of three ICVs and six Humvees. They’ve got more than enough firepower to decimate that building, so there’s no need for you to involve yourself directly. I have different orders for you.”

“I understand, sir. What are they?”

“Keep surveying the area while remaining hidden, even when the US Army is engaged. Only engage if you confirm visual of Valentine, her rescuer, or the rest of their team. As you know, they’re not dressed in uniforms, so I trust they won’t be hard to differentiate.”

“Engage only Christina Valentine and her team. Yes, sir. However, what shall I do in the event none of them arrive during the assault?”

“Hmm. I doubt they’re actually based there, but I suspect their military support is. I have faith they’ll realize soon enough that their allies have come under attack and will no doubt come to investigate. Heimdall, I want you to remain there until 0500 hours tomorrow. If Valentine or her team don’t show by then, return here. But I have a strong feeling they will.”

“When they do, sir—”

“Yes, engage and terminate them. I would… prefer Christina Valentine brought to me alive, but if there is no way to subdue her non-lethally, you are cleared to use deadly force on even her.”

“Copy, sir.”

“All right.” Hornet sounded hesitant for a fleeting moment. “Can I trust you with this, Heimdall?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Then,” the senior Northstar mercenary said with finality, “I’ll leave you to exercise your discretion as long as you operate within my conditions. You will begin jamming the enemy the moment the US Army convoy arrives on site. Hornet out.”

Less than five minutes later, Heimdall felt and heard the rumble of several military vehicles. He turned his attention to the north as a column of Humvees led by two Strykers and guarded in the rear with one came trundling up to the three-way intersection not twenty steps outside of the residence he was in.

Heimdall thumbed the button on the remote linked to the jammer he planted outside, confirming that the jammer was now activated from the green light on top of the small remote.

Three Humvees and the two lead personnel carriers formed nearly a one hundred and eighty degree half-circle to the association centre’s northwest to northeast, covering the main entrance. The last three Humvees roared across the parking lot to the northeast and circled around to the rear of the building along with the last ICV, covering the back entrance.

In just a minute, Heimdall witnessed the US Army completely surround the suspected hideout of the last pocket of resistance in the city. Soldiers poured out of the Strykers and Humvees and formed a perimeter in front of their vehicles.

One of the soldiers behind the line of twenty or so infantrymen lifted a megaphone to his face and began to speak.

“This is Captain Anderson with the United States Army. We have the building surrounded. We know some Canadian military personnel are inside, along with possible civilians. All Canadian military must exit through the main entrance unarmed. If you do not comply, we will consider your refusal to surrender an act of resistance and respond with lethal force.

“I repeat, there is no way out. We know you are in there. Give yourselves and the civilians up, and we will nor harm any of you.”

Heimdall waited patiently, watching the standoff progress for two minutes until Captain Anderson gave the ultimatum.

“We have given you enough time to decide,” he said through the megaphone. “If not one Canadian soldier comes out with no weapons in ten seconds, we will open fire on the building and root you out by force.”

Anderson looked around at his men and said something to the ones nearest him that Heimdall couldn’t hear. Then Anderson used his audio device again.

“Ten.”

Heimdall observed the soldiers in the line in front of the captain stiffen and aim their rifles at the building.

“Nine.”

The fifty-caliber machine guns on top of the Humvees, manned by one soldier each, adjusted to aim at the building as well.

“Eight.”

The three Strykers followed suit. While two of them were armed with standard M2 Browning heavy machine guns, the one covering the rear entrance was armed with a Mk 19 grenade launcher instead.

“Seven.”

Heimdall kept an eye around the perimeter of the surrounding US forces in case his own targets decided to intervene somehow. So far, the area was clear in that respect.

“Six.

“Five.

“Fou—”

Captain Anderson broke off abruptly, then raised a fist to signal his men to hold their fire. Heimdall directed his gaze to the porch of the target building, where one soldier clad in the same digital green camouflage had stepped out with his hands raised to head height. As this soldier cautiously stepped toward the captain of the opposing force, Heimdall saw that he was the soldier who had been smoking against the back wall earlier that day: Master Corporal Lane.

Lane’s lips moved, but Heimdall couldn’t quite make out what he was saying from this distance. However, in response to whatever the Canadian soldier said, Anderson replied back in his amplified voice:

“That is correct. Should you and all your men stand down and surrender now, yours and the lives of the civilians you’re sheltering will be spared. You will all be detained, but you will not be harmed.”

Lane’s shoulders sagged visibly. He hesitated, then said something else to Anderson, who responded with:

“Very well. Have your soldiers all come out and stand alongside you.”

Lane turned toward the building, then gave a tired gesture with one of his raised hands. Heimdall watched as nine other soldiers came out of the main entrance after the master corporal. A few of them were being supported by a fellow Canadian soldier as they appeared to have sustained various physical injuries. All ten Canadian Army personnel lined up parallel to the US Army’s front cordon, keeping about ten metres away from the captain’s men.

When it appeared that all the present Canadian soldiers had come out and surrendered, Captain Anderson made a ‘move in’ gesture toward the men closest to him. About half of his vanguard jogged toward the Canadian soldiers, but passed them and began to enter the building one by one via the main entrance.

As the surrounded Canadians turned their heads and started to become visibly agitated at the sight of Americans storming their once safe haven, Anderson assured them:

“No need to be alarmed. We are merely confirming that no more of your men are hiding inside, and that you are not trying to resist secretly. Please remain where you are.”

Heimdall continued to wait in silence for a minute before he caught sight of about four of the ten US soldiers come back out and jog back to the captain. One of them appeared to confer privately with the commanding officer for a brief moment before Anderson lifted the megaphone once more.

“My men have told me the building now only houses several dozen civilians and that you have complied to the letter. I would like to extend my appreciation for your cooperation. Rest assured that your civilians will be sent to a detainment camp and processed humanely.”

Anderson paused, lowering his megaphone slightly while looking around at his foot soldiers and armoured vehicles. After a rather cursory glance around, he brought the device in his hand back up to his mouth.

“All right, men. Weapons free.”

A couple of the surrendering Canadian soldiers near one end of the line tried to break ranks and flee upon hearing this, but none of them had anywhere to go.

The soldiers covering the front of the building let loose with their M4s on full auto. Heimdall did not avert his gaze as the ten unarmed Canadian soldiers were cut down one by one by angry streams of 5.56 NATO rounds. It took less than ten seconds for each of the Canadian soldiers to sprawl to the pavement and snow, but some of them remained twitching and clinging to life. Those who survived the initial barrage were peppered with a second, shorter volley until not a single one was left moving.

Anderson sent two of his own men to closely check the fallen Canadian soldiers to ensure that none of them were still alive.

When the deed was done, he ordered his troops: “Secure the area! I want all the civilians rounded up and brought out here. No exceptions. Transport trucks are on the way to take them to the Stampede. Move!”





Heimdall lowered his binoculars for a moment and stooped down to grab a bottle of water from the side of his rucksack. He unscrewed the cap and took a long gulp of the warm liquid.

It was now 1720, two hours since the US Army arrived in the area and nearly thirty minutes since they vacated it completely. In the darkness of dusk, Heimdall considered flicking on his portable LED lamp, but decided that the light shining through even the smallest windows in the house’s foyer would draw too much attention in this darkened part of the neighbourhood.

The US Army had spent roughly an hour and a half searching the building for further clues to any more insurgents who weren’t on site, plus making two trips to transport the civilians offsite. Judging from their less than enthusiastic behaviour once the prisoners had all been moved, Heimdall surmised that they weren’t successful in finding any leads that would point to the CSIS operatives he himself was after. They left the area without much fanfare before 1700, taking all noise within the area with them.

Heimdall rose back to his seat and resumed his silent vigil over the now still Copperfield | Mahogany Association Centre. He brought his binoculars back up to his eyes and flicked on the night vision setting so he could see into the darkness. His eyes once again lingered briefly over the bodies of the ten Canadian Army soldiers who had been executed earlier that afternoon before he panned his lenses from south to northeast, which was the maximum extent his windows allowed him in terms of visual coverage.

For the next several minutes, he caught no signs of life. The stillness of the winter evening was all too palpable. There was limited snowfall, but not a single breeze. The silence was so thick that Heimdall’s ears actually buzzed a little to compensate for the lack of sounds around him.

It wasn’t until 1735 that his searching eyes picked up on movement two hundred metres to the northeast, between the last two houses near the intersection of Copperstone Way and Copperstone Road, across the street from the now empty target building.

Heimdall put aside his binoculars quickly and swapped to his marksman rifle. He brought the scope to his right eye and trained the rifle in the direction of the last two houses on the corner of Copperstone Road.

It was a little difficult to make out details from this range even at maximum magnification, but Heimdall was certain he could see at least three figures crouched down in the shadows of the gap between the two houses. The one in front appeared to be using a pair of binoculars trained in the direction of the association centre practically a stone’s throw to the east of Heimdall’s position.

Heimdall waited patiently to see if the figures would come out into the open. For about three minutes, the figures did not move from the gap. Then finally, the one in front stowed his binoculars away and appeared to signal for someone behind him to follow.

Through the infrared scope of his HK 417 rifle, Heimdall tracked the three figures that had emerged from the shadows and begun crossing Copperstone Road. Heimdall quickly observed that the one in the lead was a man in his twenties, armed with an assault rifle that he was panning carefully around in a roughly one hundred forty degree arc to his front. Though the man was not dressed in military fatigues, he exhibited clear, wary control and vigilance not unlike that of a seasoned veteran.

Following him closely behind was a rather lean, small woman who, like the man she was tailing, was not wearing a military uniform. She curiously didn’t seem to be carrying any weapons unlike her two companions, although by her walk and general disposition, Heimdall surmised she was also trained to be vigilant in unknown territory.

The third person was clearly male just by the look of his sizeable bulk. Much like the somewhat slimmer man leading their small group, he acted with the same level of alertness and deliberation as he watched the rear and sides with a light machine gun in his arms. Heimdall immediately recalled Hornet’s now deceased colleague simply because this man he was tracking had about the same burly build.

Heimdall kept his sights on the three as the figures crossed the parking lot with growing transparent intent to investigate the building he was watching over.

When the group arrived at the front lawn of the association centre, the man in front crouched down at the heap of deceased Canadian Army soldiers. He lifted a pair of night vision goggles from his eyes to study the corpses without assisted optics. That was when Heimdall recognized him.

It was the man he encountered two days previously at the Peter Lougheed Centre. The one Heimdall himself had overpowered in a melee and stuck a knife in the chest.

For a fleeting moment, Heimdall marveled privately at the odds of this man still being alive, considering several possibilities to explain why the man was still walking, before eventually being forced to admit to himself that perhaps he had gotten complacent. He’d been quick to assume a stab like the one he inflicted would be enough to kill such a target. Heimdall thought of the less problematic insurgents he was used to dealing with in the States, the ones who were fortunate to have even a smidge of the combat training and discipline this mysterious operative had. He had allowed himself to assume all his opponents would die as easily as them.

He resolved never to make the same mistake again.

He watched through his scope as the small woman fell to her knees beside the leader and appeared to stare in shock and disbelief at the pile of bodies before stumbling back to her feet with some difficulty and attempting to head inside the building. The man with the assault rifle, however, was quick to grab her by the wrist to keep her in place. As the woman whipped her head to glance at the operative who was holding her arm, Heimdall was able to place her face as well.

It was Christina Valentine.

Heimdall’s heart rate kicked up just a blip upon making the connection that these three had to be the exact targets Hornet had tasked him to eliminate. His finger disengaged the safety of his rifle and he took a few moments to stabilize the rifle on the table before him, all the while deliberating which of the three to take out first.

Remembering that Hornet expressed a preference for a living Christina Valentine, Heimdall settled his sights on the larger man, the one he deemed to be a more significant threat.

The leader of the group outside gestured at the burly man, then pointed toward the building close to their position that had once been occupied by the Canadian Army. Still holding back Valentine, he seemed to order his colleague to head inside the building in the woman’s stead, to which the larger man nodded and began to walk toward the association centre’s front door with his light machine gun at the ready.

Heimdall kept his scope on the larger of the two men who was now walking carefully up the path to the porch.

Right before the burly man could mount the front steps of the building and escape behind some small tree’s branches that got in the way of Heimdall’s field of view, the mercenary inhaled briskly and exhaled softly. During his exhalation, he depressed the trigger of his marksman rifle, being mindful to keep the side of the burly man’s head underneath his crosshairs.

At roughly the same instant that the rifle’s stock punched back against the flesh of his shoulder in response to the recoil of the round he just released, the bottom pane of the window he’d opened halfway earlier that afternoon shattered inward with a loud crack, spraying Heimdall with shards of glass.