Fearless Leader (Juxtapose City) Read Free

across a poster of the Turandot Bridge pinned above the television set.
    Six sets of eyes bright with the exhilaration of the recent gunfight jumped to Black and Jake as they entered. Gloved hands regretfully eased off of triggers.
    "What's JC2 doing here?" one of the men demanded, lifting his helmet to wipe at his brow.
    Black didn't answer, scanning the scene with a critical eye.
    "Prick," muttered another agent.
    Jake stepped slightly in front of Black, an imposing figure even in jeans and a leather jacket. "Got something to say, say it aloud."
    The one who'd spoken last raised his voice. "I said what's JC2 come to do, fuck this up too?"
    "Shut your fucking mouth or I'll teach you how it's done," Jake snarled
    "Sure," sneered one of the other agents. "Just like in the Blue Square, huh? Great example."
    "You little--"
    "Sergeant." Black caught his teammate's arm, halting his forward surge. "This isn't the place." Ignoring his fuming teammate, Black looked to McCahill. "You going back to the station?"
    McCahill shook his head, bitterness darkening his face. He knew why Black was here. "Not until later in the afternoon. Dickerson wants us to wait. He's coming down. Wants to do an on-scene interrogation." He spit on the stained carpet, making no qualms about showing his displeasure. "He wants you to wait for him. Says you can do your 'business' here."
    Black hid his surprise, conscious of the other men's eyes upon him. He didn't know if the members of McCahill's team knew that he was here to lure away one of their own but he was aware of their animosity all the same. He had a reputation in the JCPD. It didn't make him many friends.
    He mulled over Dickerson's order. On-scene interrogations were rare. They usually only occurred when there was a deadline of some sort. Ransoms and bomb-threats were the usual cases. As far as Black was aware there had been only one hostage victim involved and no demand for ransom. If the loud wailing coming from the bedroom was any indication she had definitely been found alive.
    Not realizing that he did it, he rubbed at his temples, willing away the ache in his head that had faded to a dull throb since the day of the explosion. He sensed that something was up but his fogged mind, hazy from lack of sleep the last few days, refused to follow the trail.
    "Black?"
    Jake's questioning tone, shaded with concern, made him drop his hand. "Fine," he said to McCahill, "we'll wait for the captain here. I'll want to speak to Sola then."
    "Assuming he wants to speak to you," McCahill grumbled, turning away. It was an empty threat. Black was the commanding officer of JC2, a group more important in the hierarchy of special teams than R&R. Sola didn't have a choice.
    Paying little attention to the way McCahill's team glared at him, he walked to the first bedroom and stood in the doorway. A young woman in her mid-twenties was wrapped in a police issue blanket, sitting on the edge of a bed. At her feet kneeled an R&R agent who spoke to her in hushed tones. He was using speech-to-text on his PRU or Personal Retrieval Unit to record her responses.
    Behind the kneeling man stood another, still helmeted, who watched the scene with a blank expression. He had the cold, hard look of a professional soldier. Short, clipped brown hair topped a tanned face sharpened with horizontal wrinkles. He was not an old man since special teams enforced age limitations, but his blue-grey eyes were grim like those of a seasoned veteran. From the file he had been given on the man Black knew that the agent was an avid hunter. He liked to release his pent-up aggressions by stalking prey in the country outside Juxtapose City.
    Jake read the white lettering stenciled on the man's helmet. "Sola. Hell, he even looks like an asshole, Black."
    "He's good at his job," Black replied.
    "Good at bein' an asshole, probably."
    Black's eyes roamed over the woman currently shivering beneath the blanket. He didn't recognize her and he knew from his