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Big Hit: Btech Style, The
Setting up an assassination in the Battletech universe.
by William Pora |
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Two days passed and not a word from Oswald. Bernard amused himself by watching the mech fights at one of the many local arenas. On the third day, Bernard was returning from dinner. He entered his hotel room. The room’s sensors turned on the lights as he entered. He began taking off his coat when he saw one of his dinner suits laid out on the bed.
The suit had a note on it, held in place by a long narrow dagger.
“More of Oswald’s melodrama no doubt,” thought Bernard
Bernard took the note and read it.
“3313 Ford’s Theatre Road for lunch tomorrow.”
The next day Bernard rented a groundcar and headed out to Ford’s road. He used the onboard navigation module to find the address and it turned out to be twelve kilometers out of town. Oswald had a small villa in the hills surrounding Solaris City.
He parked in the driveway out front next to several expensive antique cars. A parking attendant took his car. He showed his invitation to the bodyguards at the front and was led by one of them out to the back of the villa.
A party was underway. A small band played calypso music. A cook was tending a large grill with several kinds of meat roasting. Several young men and women lounged in and around a large swimming pool with drinks in hand. Several old fat men smoked cigars and played cards at a nearby table. Waiters strolled through the crowd handing out drinks to the guests. One of these handed Bernard a drink as he passed by. Standing away from it all roamed several bodyguards warily watching each other.
Bernard was led past all of this to a small shooting range. A lone man was practicing while a pretty girl in a bikini looked on with a stopwatch. Bernard suddenly recognized her as the nightclub singer he had seen with Oswald a few nights earlier.
Oswald was using an ancient bolt action rifle. He loaded a magazine into the bottom of the rifle, opened the bolt and loaded a cartridge. He then closed the bolt and aimed through the crude telescopic sight on top of the rifle. He pressed a button on the counter and the paper silhouette 100 meters away started moving slowly left to right. He waited a couple of seconds and squeezed the trigger. At the same time the girl started the stopwatch. He loaded and fired twice more. The silhouette now had a hole were the head should have been. The girl stopped the watch just after Oswald fired his last round.
“Nine seconds in total,” said the girl.
Oswald groaned in disappointment.
“Two misses and one hit. It's just not possible. Three shots in eight seconds with two hits is impossible with this piece of junk.”
Oswald nodded at Bernard.
“Honey run along and talk to the other girls, I’ve some business to tend to.”
The girl looked slightly annoyed but obeyed anyway. She put down the watch, picked up her drink, and pecked Oswald. As she passed Bernard she gave him a dirty look.
Bernard just nodded amiably as the girl passed by.
“Nice shooting. You know you’re lucky that the history courses in most of the Inner Sphere public schools don’t go as far back as the Twentieth Century. Otherwise some of these folks might actually appreciate the pun.”
Oswald shook his head.
“Most of the people at this party didn’t even graduate school. Besides we both know that what was taught in the history books wasn’t what really happened. Come on.”
Oswald led him past the party into the villa. They went down some stairs into a workroom. Oswald unloaded the rifle and began to clean it. As he worked he talked.
“It’s safe to talk in here. Now, are they really serious about this?”
Bernard nodded.
“Serious about the Founder account?”
Again Bernard nodded.
“I didn’t even think the Founder accounts even existed. I thought they were some sort of fairy tale made up to keep the members interested.”
“Neither did I, but I went to Switzerland and confirmed their existence.”
The Founder accounts were twenty one bank accounts stored in twenty one old and established banks in the Inner Sphere. All supposedly set up by the founders of the Order. Each year the order would add some money to the accounts but otherwise leave them alone. The accounts had been collecting interest for over a millennium and had swelled to staggering proportions. Now the Order was offering to pay Oswald with one of these accounts for a single assassination.
“And the target?”
Bernard unbuttoned his shirt. Taped to his chest was a black file. He removed the tape carefully and handed the file to Oswald.
“I just received this yesterday via courier.”
Oswald smirked.
“A little paranoid are we?”
“You know the rules concerning ultra sensitive documents. No precaution too great...”
“...no cost too high. Yeah, Yeah I remember.”
Oswald finished cleaning the rifle and replaced it on a bracket with a plaque underneath labeled “Dallas, Terra 1963”
For the next half hour Oswald was engrossed reading about his target.
As Oswald read, Bernard looked around the room. Various weapons from several ages lined the walls. At a brief glance he saw a a vial of poison marked “St. Helena, Terra 1819”, a derringer pistol labeled “Washington DC, Terra 1865”, a scalpel labeled “London, Terra 1888”, a revolver labeled “Sarajevo, Terra 1914”, another revolver labeled “San Francisco, Terra 1968”, and a jeweled laser pistol labeled “Unity Palace, Terra 2760”
Bernard furrowed his brow at the last one.
“Why include him? He wasn’t one of us.”
“Include who?”
Bernard pointed at the laser pistol.
Oswald put down the file and hopped off the table.
“Oh, you misunderstand Bernard, this collection isn’t a tribute to the Order, it’s a tribute to the craft. To all those down the ages who contributed to the craft of assassination. Whether he or she was an amateur or a professional, a loner or part of a team, government sponsored or crazed individual. All of them contributed to the craft of assassination. Old Amaris wasn’t one of us, but look at what he unleashed with a single laser pulse.”
There was a slight gleam in Oswald's eye as he spoke that made Bernard slightly uncomfortable to be in the same room with him.
Oswald tapped the folder.
“Important lady. I can see how her death would benefit your plans. But just how did you get so much information on Khan Marthe Pryde of the Jade Falcon clan?”
Bernard recovered his composure and smiled.
“We have members in all the corners of known space. From street sweepers to Dukes. Did you really think we would have let General Kerensky get away without having at least a few members on board his Exodus Fleet? Sure their descendants are a little more militant, and a little less hedonistic than the rest of us, but they still believe in the goals of the Order.”
“So what’s the deal? I pop off Pryde, collect the account, the Order forgives and forgets, and we all live happily ever after?”
“More or less. The timing is crucial though. She must die right after the initial revolt or the Falcons will dispatch reinforcements and crush the revolt. If you kill her too soon the Falcons will put everything under martial law. Too late and the assassination won’t matter. With Pryde dead at the right time the Falcons might be confused and disorganized just enough for us to pull off this revolt.”
“No problem, during an emergency she’s got to let herself be seen to inspire the troops. When she does she’s dead.”
Oswald was already thinking of contacts to call, and arrangements to be made.
“A second consideration is that it must seem as though it was one of the other clans that had her assassinated. We don’t want the Tukkayid truce nullified. We just want the Falcons confused. If another clan is blamed then they might even start fighting among themselves.”
“Well I have some contacts that can provide me with the proper items. I think I can leave enough trace evidence to suggest one of the other clans killed her. But just what am I supposed to do after I kill her? With the entire Jade Falcon clan looking for me”
“Getting off planet will be your responsibility, but if you make it into orbit we will have a jumpship ready to pick you up. You’ll be dropped off on Terra or any system you wish. The account will be transferred over after the assassination.”
“After? Uh-uh. Half now, half later.”
“You have to understand Oswald that the amount of money we’re talking about is so large that it would not be practical.”
“You mean you don’t trust me with so much money. You figure I’ll just say the hell with it and take off on you.”
“Well to be blunt no we don’t trust you. However as a token of our trust I have been authorized to give you these to aid you in your job.”
From his coat, Bernard produced a small package.
“ Three sets of ID’s, a list of ten bank accounts and passwords throughout the Inner Sphere you may use as you see fit. The ID’s are all properly registered and perfectly legal, the accounts are solid and all told contain 10,000,000 C-bills, enough I think to help you on your mission.
Oswald smirked as he took the package.
“Well allright, it goes against all standard protocols, but I’ll collect after the event. And after that? The Order will pardon me and stop hunting for me?”
“Yes.”
“As simple as that?”
“Well you won’t get a full pardon, and I wouldn’t go provoking any members of the Order you might meet, but we’ll promise to leave you well enough alone if you’ll do the same.”
“You really think your rinky-dink revolution of yours is going to work even with Pryde dead?”
“Well the Lyrans are in no shape to stop us. The Davions are trying to reclaim the Lyrans, the Kuritans are trying to reclaim their lost empire, the Rasalhagues are still stunned, and Comstar is digging in for the clan offensive. That just leaves the clans to deal with. If we can take them by surprise I think we stand an excellent chance.”
“Poor bastards don’t know what you’re getting them into. In any case all I need now to get started is the date you want Pryde dead.”
“April 21st, 3062.”
That night Oswald couldn’t sleep. The Order’s proposal kept him awake. He quietly slipped out of bed and let Mitzy, the red-head sleep. He silently dressed himself in a simple black track suit and tennis shoes and headed to the villa’s living room where he lit up a cigarette. Normally on an assignment he would never smoke, but the easy life on Solaris allowed him some leeway. As he sat there, doubts began to creep into his mind.
After the revolt on Geneva he looked for more targets, better challenges in his line of work but found none. He spent a few days on Solaris, and was seduced by the easy life, the pay, and the women. He’d planned to stay a week, and now it was almost two years later. He looked down at his belly.
“I have gotten a little flabby,” he thought.
He tried a simple test. He took out another cigarette and closed his eyes. He tossed it in the air and tried to catch it. The cigarette landed in his hand and it almost slipped out. At the last second he closed his hand and crushed it.
He looked at the crushed remains. “Clumsy, very clumsy”.
He looked at the clock on the mantle and left. He had to go to a dead drop. A dead drop was an isolated spot where messages and items could be secretly passed on without being seen or suspected. This particular dead drop was far out in the countryside. Twelve kilometers from his villa there was a large wetland area. The wetlands worked in conjunction with the Solaris city sewage system to filter and clean the wastewater from the city. Near the automated waste management facility the smell was horrific. No one came here except for maintenance and inspections crews every once in awhile. The dead drop area was perfect. The hover car skimmed over the marsh reeds and took him to a small patch of dry land. Navigating at night it took Oswald thirty minutes to find the precise spot. He landed the car on this patch, got out and walked out into the marsh. After walking in the marsh for a few minutes he found the dead drop. The drop area was an old abandoned alligator nest. The reptiles had been chased off long ago, but the mud, twig and branch structure they had amassed still remained.
After digging into the mound for awhile, Oswald found what he was looking for. A large bundle covered with heavy plastic. He pulled the package out and replaced the branches and mud. The drop area may be useful again sometime. He put the package into the back of the hover car and returned home.
Dawn was creeping over the horizon when he got home. Once there he took the package to his workroom and closed the door. He unwrapped the plastic packaging and looked over the contents. Two uniforms, a mechwarrior helmet, a knife, a pistol, and two magazines of ammunition. Dong, the old cappelan had done his job well once again. How the cappelan acquired half the contraband he did still amazed Oswald. Oswald had called Dong’s apothecary shop in the Cappelan side of town earlier in the week, and using a complex code that only he and Dong knew ordered his equipment.
The first uniform was a Jade Falcon standard issue uniform. The uniform was grey-green in color, the boots and belt black, and the buckles and buttons silver. Two medal ribbons were on the left breast of the tunic. One was an Inner Sphere Invasion Bar, and the second was a Tukkayid campaign ribbon. The only part of the uniform missing was the name plate which he would supply.
The second uniform was a Wolf clan mechwarrior’s coolsuit. The suit was used to combat the infernal temperatures generated by mechs in battle. The jumpsuit was actually two suits in one. Inside a mesh-like structure carried coolant all over the body. Unlike Inner Sphere equipment, the clan suits helped cool down the entire body. The outer part of the suit was made from a kevlar like material, which was more pliable and softer against the skin. Sown into the sleeves and cuffs were medical sensors that monitored the pilot’s vital signs.
The helmet had advanced targeting features that allowed the pilot to target an opponent and fire without using the joystick. The helmet also interpreted the signals from the brain to provide a mech its balance. What really set it apart from its Inner Sphere cousins was an emergency disengage switch at the back of the helmet. If feedback became a problem a pilot could disengage the helmet and save himself a terrible headache or worse. Just before disengaging the mech’s computer would lock the mech into what it considered an upright stable stance and wait until the pilot was able to resume piloting.
Finally he looked over the weapons. The pistol was of clan design, but simple. He took it apart and looked it over. The mechanisms inside were an old but reliable design, the pistol used 10mm ball ammunition, and could be set to automatic fire. The magazines carried twelve rounds apiece. On the bottom of the barrel was the place of manufacture and a serial number. “VALAGRAD, STRANA MECHTY 01592767”. Oswald didn’t know where Strana Mechty was, but was relying on the cappelan. He had specified that the pistol and bullets had to be standard Wolf Clan issue, and no doubt they were.
He next examined the knife. It was more a piece of artwork than a tool, but still highly functional. The pommel was the body of a wolf carved in some dark exotic wood, the crosspiece was made out of silver. The blade was serrated and polished bright. The scabbard it came with was made of red leather and decorated with little running wolves all over it.
There was a gentle knock at the door, and Oswald tensed. He took the pistol and turned to the door.
“Yes.”
“Oz, you coming back to bed?”
He sighed.
“In an minute Mitzy, in a minute.”
He had gotten clumsy he thought to himself. But that night as he trudged thru the wetlands he recognized a few traces of his old professional self. He smiled to himself. He would fulfill the contract, kill Marthe Pryde, and become rich. But he realized it wasn’t for money he would do it, it would be for the thrill. It would be for the rush. It would be for the notoriety. Oswald was back. |
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