Detective Constable Harry Benict with Major Investigation Teams (MIT) shivered, zipping up his jacket a bit higher and warmed his hands around his coffee. He'd parked up the street, Jimmy having tipped him off. And thank god he had. The place was crawling with people.
He slowed down a moment to take it all in, his breath misted in the crisp cold winter air as he sighed. The vultures were already there, with several reporters already set up. It was too early for this sort of shit. He had barely had 2 hours sleep before the call came in.
Hand brushing against his warrant card, he took another long swig of the coffee. Wonderfully sweet, just as he liked it. He was going to need it. Even though it had just happened, it was already on the news, not to mention all the police scanners.
Everyone had been called in. If that was because of the location of the port, so lots of corporations' interest or something else, he would soon find out.
Approaching the crowd, he finished his coffee and looked around for a bin—not seeing one, he shrugged and chucked it. He wouldn’t be allowed onto the crime scene with it.
Pushing through the crowd he got his first look at the destruction.
They'd done well. You could say that much. They had tried. Fucking gangers.
Shaking his head, he moved for the cordon. "Jonny." He said, nodding to a uniform he recognised.
"Harry." He nodded back, waving him through.
He passed through the holographic tape, cutting out for a moment as he passed and looked for the man in charge. He expected to see Detective Chief Inspector Charlotte. She was always first to the scene. He swore that the women never slept. He might have respected that if she wasn’t such a full-on bitch.
But he got a shock when he spotted the Detective Superintendent.
What on earth was he doing here? He never left the office, well, unless there was some sucking up to be had. The fat man looked stressed, his eyes flashing gold.
"Sir." He said when he was a few paces away.
"What! Oh Harry, go help section 5." He said, waving him away.
Nodding respectfully, he walked away. He might not like or even respect the man, but he needed this job; his family needed this job. Now, where the fuck was section 5?
He flagged down a fellow detective, shaking his hand as he did. "Tony. How was the date?" He asked, smirking. It was all he had spoken about for the last week.
Tony's face lit up, and a broad smile spread across it, his golden teeth glinting in the light. "Fucking fantastic mate. Fucking fantastic. Score of my life." A shadow passed over his face. "At least until this shit happened."
"What's the situation?"
"It’s a fucking shit show, is what it is."
"Ohh yeah? I saw there was enough media on the scene."
"Fucking vultures. They did Lewis dirty. Didn’t deserve that."
"I hear you." He said. Not that Harry agreed. Lewis was as dirty as they came and a nasty piece of work to boot. Tony was crooked too, but he was harmless. So he had been rather pleased by the blog post, not that he would ever release information like that.
It wasn’t worth his life. As much as he wanted to clear up the streets properly, his family needed him.
Tony grunted and spat on the floor. "Where are you assigned?"
"Section 5."
"Ahh, near the end. Let me walk you."
Harry fell into step beside him. "Soo…"
"Yeah. Right. What we know so far is the gang hit the place at 11:00pm. Estimates put them at 1000 strong."
Harry whistled at that. That was bigger than he expected. Big gangs could have that, but smaller ones like he assumed the gang was, that was uncommon. Obviously the established gangs or TOC could number in the tens of thousands.
"Yeah, I know right. And to hit the port of all places. Makes no fucking sense. But they will be dead by the end of the week, mark my words."
That wasn’t surprising. Hitting the port with all the corporate interest there. Yeah. Not likely to live long.
He was about to ask something else when he caught sight of the gate, or what was left of it. The metal was bent inwards, with debris thrown far and wide, far further than he would have expected.
"Hell of a blast." He muttered.
"You're telling me. Techies think it was a Mil-spec HLAW."
Harry could believe that. It matched up with what he knew anyway. How they had one was another question entirely.
The bodies were scattered everywhere. It looked like a full-on warzone and they still weren't covered with tarps yet. It was a silly thing to notice; of course they weren't, it had only just happened. Still…
He crouched down next to one, pausing to pull on his disposable plastic gloves. Tilting the boy's head to catch the light, he sighed when he saw the age. 15, maybe 16 at the most.
Such a waste. Poor kid.
He didn’t recognise the gang tats, a shitty tattoo of a skull. Small ones formed and collapsed so often that it was impossible to keep up, but he scanned it with his cybereyes and it matched with the Los No Muertos. So the kid was a full member. Maybe not such a poor kid after all, as he read some of his rap sheet.
He let his head roll back to the floor. He had seen everything he needed to. Ares-7, otherwise known as Rage-Puppet. A particularly nasty drug that made someone susceptible to suggestions as well as feel immortal. Then, once hurt would go into a blinding rage and attack it without hesitation. Finally, it dampened all pain by damaging the nerve endings, so in time and with repeated use, it became permanent.
Standing, he brushed his hands off and nodded to Tony, who was waiting.
"Fucking zombies." Tony muttered. "I get drugs, but that shit…"
"Have a bit of compassion Tony." Harry cut him off. Not interested in hearing his rant right now. He had heard it enough times to not need another rendition. "Do we have a body count yet?"
"It's still rising, but last I heard it was at 631."
About what he expected.
"And the breakdown?"
"71 security personnel and then the rest ganger bangers."
"They put up a fight that’s for sure. Any other casualties?"
"No, thank fuck. The SFO came in and cleared it out. It was lucky they did too. Anyone else and I think we would have lost officers."
Cowboys, the lot of them. But you couldn’t say the Specialist Firearms Officers weren't good at killing.
"Do we have any clue on their motive?"
"Do they need one? You know the type mate. Dorph's like this don’t need a reason. Properly thought it was a sick idea and went for it."
Harry smirked. "Sick idea? You're showing your age Tony. That hasn’t been used for a decade."
Tony flipped his fingers at him. "Fuck you. I will use what I like."
Harry laughed, head carefully inspecting the port as they walked. He servilely doubted this was a spur-of-the-moment deal. He could be wrong, but it didn’t feel like it.
"Tony! Where the fuck you going? We need you on cataloguing." Detective Chief Inspector Charlotte barked, having marched around the corner.
"Fuck." Tony whispered. "I'm just showing Harry—"
"The man who brought in the Raincoat Ripper can find his way on his own."
Tony offered him a shrug. "Sorry. Just follow the road round to the right."
"Got it. Cheers Tony."
Shaking his head, he walked on. Any excuse to natter and slack off. Harry was pretty sure Tony would have been fired years ago if he wasn’t so damn useful.
He followed the road as it moved into the port, slowly curving right, towards the river bank. It was covered with dead bodies, although as they got deeper into the port, the numbers did gradually thin out. Both from less resistance, but also because there were fewer Los No Muertos. Not surprising with the number that died, but also because they likely were fairly scattered by now.
Each path of the road had more dead gangers, although they were concentrated on the main road, showing they had a clear path and target in mind. Most of the containers and warehouses were untouched—another point that they were looking for something.
This wasn’t more noticeable than when the road crossed a small bridge and neared the river, turning sharply left. It was the same pattern. There were bodies following the road around the bend, but far more concentrated on the right.
The small concrete track was lined with containers and more warehouses. Again, mostly untouched until he followed the trail of bodies down a smaller side alley. He had to pass through a narrow passageway, containers stacked high on each side, before it opened up into a well-paved road.
Harry got the distinct impression the ports didn’t want anyone to know about it.
These warehouses had been broken into. He was just about to join the other police when one warehouse caught his eye. Unlike the others around it, this one looked untouched. Nor did it have any of the bodies scattered out front.
But his cybereyes highlighted several bloodstains in the area. Now it could be from all the fighting around him. But why would they leave that warehouse untouched?
It seemed unlikely.
It took him a few minutes, but he found one of the security guards. "I need access to this warehouse."
The guard, who had been nothing but helpful up until now, closed off. "That warehouse is off limits."
He might be on to something. "Not tonight it isn't. Open it."
The guard still tried to fight it, but Harry was having none of it. Finally, he gave in, although not without a threat. "I will be calling your supervisor."
He'd have to work quick then. As soon as the door was open, he swept in, scanning everything with a glance. Several bloody boot prints let him know he was in the right place. He could hear the guard talking on his radio behind him.
Noting observations in his agent, he paced through the warehouse. Most of it was untouched until he came to the most recently delivered goods. It was on the far wall, nearest a large loading door. He saw several bodies haphazardly stacked in the corner.
From the blood trails, these were the bodies from outside. All except 4, which were slumped face down in front of the pile.
Each of their heads blown in from a shot to the back of the head. If he didn’t know better, it was an execution. But scanning the first came back with Huesos. An enforcer of the Los No Muertos. The other 3 were the same. So why would they have been killed here?
Ignoring that for now, he turned to the wooden crates. The entire row had been ransacked, likely looking for something.
Behind him, by the entrance, he could hear the Superintendent. Hurrying over, he started to look through the boxes. The first few were empty, but he took a picture of the information stuck on the front. He would be able to look up where the container came from and where it was going, as well as what ship it was on.
Which might be helpful.
After the first few, there was a clear pattern. All the opened boxes were from the same shipment and had arrived only a few days ago. All from the same ship.
There were no clues as to what they might have held, but following a hunch, he popped open one of the other crates. His grade 3 cyberarms making easy work of it. Lifting the lid and pulling away the fabric, he whistled.
A top-tier cyberdeck from Arisaka.
Care of the EEC and EBM that was very illegal to ship into the UK.
Sealing it again, he looked in three others, each the same. Either they were restricted items under embargoes or massive tariffs like Arisaka cyberware or straight up illegal. Checking the details on each box, most were being held temporarily, to be shipped into the EEC or had already been flagged as having passed customs.
So it was pretty clear to him what the warehouse was. It was a blind bonded warehouse. A secure warehouse where illegal goods could be stored to avoid customs and other inspections.
He had just sealed up another container when the Superintendent marched in. "Harry. What are you doing in a restricted area? If you are poking around… I will have your badge."
"This is a crime scene." he said mildly, nodding his head to the corner.
"Well… huh. Well done. Carry on outside. You don’t have the clearance for here. I will bring in Jamie to catalogue everything."
"Sir." Knowing better than to argue, he nodded and left.
Outside, he started to help catalogue the crime scene. He did pause near a uniform who was standing over a body. A ganger dressed very differently from the others. He had all the right gang tattoos and looked like the others. But there was nothing on file about him. Which was next to impossible. To get high up in a gang like the Los No Muertos, you had to get your hands dirty.
Scanning the uniform with his eyes to get her name, he approached. "Jenny. What do we have on him?"
"Detective." She said, standing up straighter and nodding politely. Her eyes glowed as she accessed her internal notes. "Not much. What information we could pull from his agent and cyberware went with Detective Anton for analysis."
"Thanks." He nodded and moved on, fighting back a sigh. So that information would be next to useless then. Anton was well known to be deep in corporations' pockets, so that pretty much guaranteed they would have the info first. So anything they might have been able to use would be too late.
The corporations would act on it before they ever got the chance to.
It was hours before the section was done and he was walking back to the entrance, tired and sore. He could feel himself flagging. He needed more caffeine, but if he did, he would get no sleep. Something he still hoped was on the cards when this was over.
Stepping out of the cordoned-off area, he lit up. Taking a deep pull from the fag he exhaled the smoke. The crowd had died down a bit by now, so he could pass through with ease and spotted a group of other officers smoking on the corner.
He almost left them alone, but he was spotted by Tony. "Harry. Managed to duck out? How's it looking in there?"
"Still a shit show. I expect forensics will be there for most of the day."
"Don’t envy them that." Martin said.
"Hear anything on the grapevine?"
"Not a dicky. There wasn’t even a whisper. What about you?" Matin said, turning to Joey. "The Firm involved?"
Joey pursed his lips and shook his head. "Naa. They were as surprised as anyone. My contacts said they knew something was going down, but not on this scale."
They would know. Both had deep ties to gangs. As crooked as they come. Martin had a fucking Mafia tattoo proudly displayed for fuck sake. While Joey was deeply embedded with the Firm. A scary fucking gang. But at least Joey had character and some moral fibre.
His contacts came from several years of working undercover. He'd tipped some of his friends and allies off about the investigation, allowing them to get clear, but the main target was a success.
Matin had none of that and was the worst kind of corrupt. He just did it for the power and money.
But it was a fact of life. Hell, most of the officers and police were corrupt in some way. Be that to the gangs or corporations. Better to know about them so he could work around them.
Harry was one of the rare few who wasn’t, a group he was very proud to be a part of. Even if he was aware of how precarious his position was. While he wanted to bring all to justice, he knew that was a pipe dream and just not realistic. Better to fight the battles you could win; otherwise he would just be kicked from the force, or worse.
He couldn’t allow that.
Another officer came over to join them and they carried on chatting.
"Wait other job?" Harry asked.
"Yeah. They hit another area. North of the port."
"Any information on it?"
"Not much. The wall was compromised. That was the only reason we knew about it. They just started. You can make your way over if you want more information." Bill said uninterestedly, before turning the conversation to football.
Harry nodded to the others and left. Bill was a football fanatic and all the baggage that came with that.
Walking the perimeter, he paused in a corner shop to grab another coffee and carried on walking around.
It was clear where they had entered from, with a clean breach through the wall. As soon as he arrived he could almost feel the difference. The Los No Muertos' attack on the south gate had been loud and messy; this felt more disciplined.
His gut told him this wasn’t the same group.
Crouching down, he picked up a piece of shattered concrete, turning it over in his hands.
"You noticed it as well." Someone said over his shoulder.
Glancing up, he saw Justiciar Sadie. A fit looking women, with a buzz cut. She was tall, bigger than his 6,1, and highly chipped in. She was part of a new division answering only to the Monarch. The Crown Prerogative Directorate (CPD) was meant to be able to do the things others couldn’t. It was a full task force, able to ignore red tape that trapped most of the rest of the force.
They were some serious shit. On par with SPAR in their prestige.
"The uniform damage and burns on the concrete? Yeah." Harry said, standing and shaking her hand.
"Good eye."
"I must admit my expertise with explosives isn't quite up to snuff. What does it mean?"
"It means they knew what they were doing."
"They? So you don’t think it was the gang?"
"Do you? " She said, eyebrow cocked.
"No feels different." He said, nodding.
"And you'd be right. Completely different MO. Come." She said, waving her hand over her shoulder. "They snipped the wire and then set the charges, allowing a Kenworth T623, by the tyre impressions, to access the port."
"What were they after?"
"Still running that down. But once they were in, they beelined for their target. Here I'll show you. We only know where they went from the tyre tracks and bodies."
She broke into a light jog that Harry had to work for to keep up with. He was panting by the time they had arrived. Maybe he had been letting himself go. He would need to refresh his membership at the gym, it seemed.
They turned into a small stack of containers. Far lower than the ones on the south side he had passed. His cybereyes highlighted several more imprints of the truck, as well as the bodies on the far side. He was walking towards them when he noticed several marked cigarettes.
"Good eye." The women said approvingly. "They have already gone off for analysis."
"Thanks," he said, nodding and then moving over to the bodies. He frowned at the differences. One was taken out with a precise strike; the other was shredded. Dozens of bullets when one would have been enough.
"Notice the differences, did you?"
"Yeah. But one shooter that is more accurate and the other a heavy isn't uncommon in mercs."
"True, but we think they are different crews."
"Different crews?" Harry said, sharply, eyebrow raised at her.
"Yeah. 2 different ones."
"How many people do you think there were?"
"We've identified 6 and a maybe a driver so far. In and out in under 10 minutes. Clean as a whistle. With little to nothing to mark their presence."
Hatty nodded slowly. "So professionals then."
"Appears that way. Anyway, that is all there is." She said, leading them back out to the busted fence. As they walked, she asked. "Anything interesting on the other side?
Harry went to speak, before hesitating and then chose his words with care. Explaining some of what he found, none of his thoughts, those higher up rarely wanted opinions, just facts.
She grunted.
They talked a bit longer, the woman still eyeing him thoughtfully, prodding him here and there. They reached the entrance again and were about to go their separate ways when Sadie asked. "How would you feel if you joined the task force for this case?"
"Join the task force?"
"Yes. You do good work. You have one of the highest closure rates in the department. Your recent spate of fame doesn’t hurt either. Catching that serial killer was some excellent police work. I could use someone of your skills on the team for this case."
Harry so wanted to agree, but this would have ramifications. Should he do it? Who was he kidding.