Doctor Who_ So Vile a Sin - Ben Aaronovitch [28]
A correspondent was coming out the front of the ICC office as Roz ran up. She didn’t slow down, caught the door with her shoulder before it closed and slammed it back open. The foyer was crowded, faces turning to watch her as she barged through.
Some of them were POVs, pupils ringed by the harsh green of the artificial iris. No doubt she was being recorded.
There was a security door at the far end. Roz looked for a victim – had to be small, human and as vulnerable-looking as possible. She spotted a young woman, tisane-coloured skin, black curly hair, large brown eyes.
Roz grabbed the woman around the chest and swung her around. She wanted the woman between herself and any potential heroes. She made sure that the pistol was visible to the whole room as she jammed it under the woman’s chin. ‘Get back,’ she yelled. ‘I’m not joking, get back.’
There were yells but no screams, these were experienced people.
‘Open the door,’ screamed Roz. ‘Open the door or the human bitch gets it.’ Somewhere, she knew, someone was watching her on a monitor, trying to figure out the angles and remember what it was the training manuals said about hostage situations.
Roz made sure her back was to the security door. ICC had in-house security – Roz guessed two maybe three guards. She’d worked with ICC in the past. Competent, she remembered, and fairly well trained. But it was hard to keep an edge in a job like that, sitting at a console, watching monitors and filing complaints. Not like a street-level Adjudicator: working the 69
undertown gave you an edge or a horizontal retirement – one or the other.
Three guards, she decided. One would stay with the security console – the other two would be getting ready behind the security door. They couldn’t negotiate, not with a terrorist with a gun and a crowd of possible victims. They’d use neural stunners, open the doors and shoot her in the back, playing the percentages, hoping that her finger didn’t convulse on the trigger and blow the hostage’s head off.
They’ll be nervous, she thought, hell, they’ll be terrified – I know I would be. Both of them sweating, the stunners slick in their hands. That little cop prayer going through their heads – oh Goddess please don’t let me mess up let me do this right don’t let anyone get dead.
The seals on an automatic security door make a sound just before they open. You have to be listening for it.
Roz pivoted when she heard it and threw her hostage through the door just as it opened. The woman collided with one of the guards. The other, Roz noted with approval, was in a kneeling firing stance. It was a good tactic because the height differential gave an attacker two separate targets. If you were lucky the few moments it took them to choose could make all the difference.
Roz kicked him in the arm, he fell backward, his stunner skittering across the floor. The other guard, a woman, was trying to untangle herself from the hostage. Roz smacked her in the side of the head with the pistol and she fell to her knees, dragging the hostage with her.
Roz slapped her hand on the door control, sealing it shut. The male guard went scrambling for his stunner. Roz stepped on his hand and scooped it up for herself. She checked the setting, made sure it was non-lethal, and shot him.
She turned back to find the hostage and the female guard staring at her. They had identical expressions of shock, surprise and fear. Roz frowned. ‘For Goddess’ sake,’ she said, ‘show a little backbone.’
She made the guard lie down in the recovery position and then shot her too.
‘What is it you want?’ asked the hostage.
70
‘Beats me lady,’ said Roz as she dragged her towards the control suite. ‘I only just got here.’
The control suite was all drapes and thick, sound-deadening carpet. A large simcord screen displayed the ICC network, a mesh of fine lines across the Empire. There were repeater screens around