Supremacy's Outlaw: A Space Opera Thriller Series (Insurgency Saga Book 3) by T.E. Bakutis (top 100 books of all time checklist .TXT) 📗

Jan stepped inside, found a few pale technicians staring at monitors, and swiped the first datapad he found. He wasn’t about to flee an enemy this powerful without snatching something he could, hopefully, use to blackmail them. He tucked the stolen datapad into his armor and walked right out the door.

Jan knew of no good direction other than “up,” so he used that to guide him as he walked, ascending flight by flight until he found a single stairwell leading even farther up. He passed a few uniformed people as he walked. Some nodded his way, and Jan nodded back. He said nothing.

This was too easy. They had to know he was going to escape. Yet Jan emerged from the final stairwell to the underground hangar without issue, and encountered only one problem there.

The hangar was completely and blessedly empty of aircraft. There was only the open expanse of biocrete and the sheds on either side, none of which were big enough to shelter a helo.

Jan scowled and pondered his rapidly dwindling options. What type of operation could be large enough to empty the hangar of its aircraft? Just what had Rafe gotten himself into?

“Hey!” someone shouted from behind Jan. “You!”

Jan turned around and scowled. “What?”

“What are you doing here?” The speaker was a young woman in an orange uniform, suggesting she worked as maintenance. Oil stains covered her pale hands. More marred her cheek.

“Excuse me?” Jan marched forward with all the bluster he could manage. “What are you doing here?”

The tech’s challenging glare faltered. “I work here.”

“On what?” Jan gestured. “Do you see any aircraft to service here, tech—” he eyed her nametag “—Woodard?” He was right on top of her now.

“This isn’t an aircraft hangar,” Woodard exclaimed, but then her eyes widened. They had both, at the same time, realized Jan should know that. “Oh, shi—”

Jan snatched Woodard into a choke hold. She struggled, and had a lot of struggle for her size, but she was at least ten years younger and half his weight.

The moment she sagged, passed out, Jan set her down. This young woman most likely genuinely believed in the Truther cause, but she was a technician, not a soldier. She wasn’t Frank. Or, at least, that was what Jan would keep telling himself.

He rifled through Woodard’s pockets until he came up with a gray key fob, then clicked it furiously. A faint rumble drew his gaze. A single door rose in the distance, revealing a rectangle of daylight a bit bigger than an autocar.

It was then that Jan took another look at the empty hangar and remembered Woodard’s words. This wasn’t an aircraft hangar. Giving the Truthers their own fleet of helos would be too obvious, even for the scam Ceto Security Division had arranged.

This was a garage.

Jan hurried across the open expanse and broke into the first large shed he found. Multiple all-terrain vehicles in various states of repair waited inside. Jan pocketed the key fob and got to work on hotwiring the first ATV he found that had four wheels, two seats, a motor, and at least one sheet of armored plating.

The big vehicle started up without issue, and then another complication occurred. Shouting. Very angry shouting, just outside the shed. Whoever was watching the cameras had finally decided to do their job, or opening that garage door had triggered an alarm. No help for that now.

As Jan settled into the driver’s seat of the ATV, he noticed another problem. This ATV did have one plate of armor, but that plate was on the wrong side. It was on the left side, and the shouting — and the entry to the garage — was on his right.

Moments later, Jan shot out of the garage as fast as the ATV could go ... backward. Gunshots echoed, and a thwack or two smacked the armor plating, but Jan kept his gaze over his shoulder and his foot on the acceleration pedal. Another crack sounded as a searing pain erupted in his upper arm, and then the daylight beyond the garage door began to shrink.

The door was halfway shut when Jan’s ATV slammed into it hard enough to blow the segmented door off its support rails. There was a moment of blessed heat and blessed brightness, and then Jan slammed on the brakes, spun the wheel, and had the ATV pointed forward in less time than it took to breathe.

The sun on his face felt good.

As Jan tore off toward freedom, he found the way ahead as flat and empty as the hangar he’d left. An endless expanse of dirt and scrub stretched before him, and with nothing to dodge, he noticed how much his arm ached. He touched his left arm with his right hand, momentarily driving with his knees, and looked down at a dark palm slick with bright red.

Jan couldn’t help but chuckle, even though chuckling hurt. Through armored plating, through body armor, while going full speed backward through a giant garage, a single bullet had still found its mark. He was bleeding out at a decidedly distressing rate. That was shitty luck on a shitty day.

And he now heard two more engines gaining on him.

16: Scam

Jan felt like he’d been driving for half a day, but honestly, it had probably been five minutes. Five minutes crouched low in his driver’s seat, unable to even see over the dash, as he grew increasingly dizzy due to what was certainly rising anemia. He was losing a lot of blood.

If he hit something, he would probably flip. If he poked his head up, he would probably get it shot off.