She raised an eyebrow. "You weren't planning on looking for me?"
Logan took a sip of his coffee. "How long have you known my address?"
"A year and a half. Next you'll want to know how I found you, and it's going to sound creepy. I kept track of things you'd mentioned, things you owned. Your running shoes. The rain shower head in your bathroom. Your blender. Other stuff. I dug up five years' worth of purchase and shipment records from a bunch of online retailers. I looked for places where all of these things had been shipped, and I came up with your address. Clever place to live by the way. On a map, your apartment looks like a business, not a residence."
"Does anyone in the company have my address?"
"Probably. If they do they didn't get it from me. I never wrote it down or typed it out. I just memorized it."
"Why?"
"In case of this exact situation. The same reason I had a gun and a wallet full of untraceable payment methods stashed within a three-minute run from my apartment."
The waitress arrived with their food. When she left, Zoe asked, "What happened at the airfield?"
Logan recounted the events—the company men killed around the campfire, how he'd used the flare gun to out-stalk the shooter, the hike through the jungle and his night at the resort. When he was done, she gave her own account of the attempt to scrub her.
"I had cameras installed in the parking lot, and more watching the front entrance, and the hallway leading to my apartment. Small wireless things that cost twenty bucks apiece. I was out of the apartment before they were inside. They came in with no knock, no warrant. They had masks on and guns drawn. I called you, detonated the bombs I had in place, and ran."
Logan took a moment to process what she had said. "Who was it?"
She shrugged. "I have no idea."
He remembered something else he'd wanted to ask. "The people I killed on the island, during the—"
She cut him off. "That you killed? I believe I saved your ass by taking out one of them with the mule."
He smiled. His first genuine smile in days, he realized.
"You're going to ask me if I have any idea what the fuck they were," she said. "And I don't. We can both guess, and we'll both come up with the same speculations. But we already know that kind of technology is out there, and if it's out there, someone is using it."
"Are they linked to the people who tried to scrub us?"
"Could be. Or it could have been the company cleaning house. Or it could have been something and someone completely unrelated—a rival corporation, someone we pissed off in the past. We know that list isn't short. But whoever it is, I think it would be in our best interest to figure it out."
***
There was still more than an hour before daybreak when they left the diner.
They took Zoe's vehicle, a battered jeep, recently acquired, that offered more weight and an additional two cylinders of power under the hood. Logan's car was still parked where he'd left it, a mile from his apartment. He'd need to retrieve it later that day.
As the hours wore on, the conversation had gotten less awkward. After they'd finished their food, and as they finished their last cup of coffee, they'd discussed what they would do next. They needed to arrange travel out of the country, and agreed that Southeast Asia was a good option. Zoe recommended getting there by way of Germany, which had some of the strictest consumer privacy laws in the world.
"It goes back almost a hundred years, the Stasi, secret police in the Eastern Bloc during the Cold War," Zoe explained. "They spied on everyone, kept insanely detailed records on everyone's behavior. The German government is smart enough to recognize the mistakes of the past when they see them, and they know it doesn't make a difference whether it's a government agency or a corporation that's gathering and storing all that data. We'll be difficult to track there. Plus, we can stop for Bratwurst and beer."
But first things first, they needed a place to sleep for a few hours.
Logan's apartment was out of the question. Zoe hadn't seen any signs of surveillance, but that didn't mean there weren't any.
"I'm staying in a cabin, part of a campsite. It's forty minutes from here." She went on to explain how she'd made her choice—that the rental office took cash and still kept records with pen and paper. "It's nice," she added. "Quiet."
Logan didn't need any more convincing. Accommodations were tricky in their situation; they wouldn't want to stay in one place for more than a night or two, but every time they moved to a new location, they would lengthen their digital trail and create a new opportunity to be discovered.
Zoe was smart, smarter than he was when it came to these aspects of tradecraft—the long game, the plan. He'd always been better about improvising, about adjusting the plan on the fly, and this is why they had worked well together. Complementary skill sets.
Zoe drove, he sat in the passenger seat.
Ten minutes from the diner, Logan checked the rearview mirror and saw a black SUV behind them.
"Turn here, drive for a bit, and then double back to the highway," Logan said.
Zoe glanced in the rearview mirror, and took the next turn.
"Are they still behind us?"
Logan checked the mirror. "Still there."
And five minutes later, the same vehicle was still behind them.
This left no doubt in either of their minds. They were being followed.
CHAPTER 11
"Looks like it's armored," Logan said. The sky had lightened by a few degrees and given him a better look at the black SUV. The vehicle was three car lengths behind them, just far enough away to stop short of rear-ending the jeep if Zoe slammed on the brakes. Its body was encased in an outer shell with a dull rubber finish. Thick metal bars guarded the headlights and grill. The windows were smoked. Whoever had come for them wasn't being discreet about it. The choice of vehicle was itself an act of aggression.
Zoe glanced in the rearview mirror. She was maintaining speed at fifteen miles over the posted limit. She could have gone faster, but they didn't want to turn this into an all-out chase. Not unless they had to.
Traffic was scarce at this hour, limited to the occasional car or long-haul truck. The highway was flanked on both sides by walls of dense forest. Exits were ten miles apart, with gas stations and rest stops at every other exit.
Whoever was driving the SUV was employing their own strategy, maintaining distance but matching speed.
"Shit," Zoe said. Logan looked up and saw what she was referring to. Another black SUV, identical to the one behind them, was merging onto the highway up ahead. The vehicle moved into the right lane and stayed under the speed limit, like it was waiting for the jeep to catch up.
Their hand was being forced. They could either let themselves be boxed in, or escalate the situation.
Logan looked up as they passed under a sign that read:
WARNING: FERAL CITY AHEAD
NO CARS / BUSES / CIVILIAN TRAFFIC
STAY ON HIGHWAY
DO NOT EXIT
"Take the next exit," Logan said. "Get in front of them before we get there."
He'd had his gun in hand since they'd spotted the first SUV following them.
As Zoe floored the gas pedal and the jeep surged past the SUV on their right, Logan lowered the passenger-side window, took aim, and opened fire.
***
The black SUV rode on a set of four non-pneumatic tires that were supported by an internal rubber honeycomb instead of air pressure. Logan's first volley of shots struck both back tires and were absorbed harmlessly, causing nothing more than a few loud thuds inside the vehicle.
The second volley rattled off the driver-side window. The driver cursed and jerked the vehicle onto the shoulder, careening toward the wall of trees flanking the roadside.
Barnes reached over and grabbed the steering wheel, veins popping on the surface of his thick forearm as he wrenched it from the driver's grip and guided the
vehicle back onto the road.
"Relax, haven't you ever been shot at before?" Barnes growled at the driver, some kid who was less than half his age.
Barnes let go of the wheel and let the driver take over again. The jeep carrying Logan and his handler had surged ahead, gaining a considerable lead.
"The next time someone opens fire on you, hold the car steady and ease off the gas for a second," Barnes said. "More operators die in car crashes than gunshots fired from one moving vehicle to another."
The driver muttered something under his breath.
Barnes let it slide.
"Stay close, but don't do anything to encourage them to crash, we need them both intact."
Up ahead, the jeep merged off the highway.
***
"What the hell is this place?" Zoe said.
"It used to be called Poughkeepsie. Guess it's still called that."
Her foot was still heavy on the gas, but less so than it had been on the highway.
They were in the ruins of a suburban neighborhood. Two-story houses rotted on small plots of land. Sagging roofs sat atop rusted aluminum siding. Boarded-over windows looked out over lawns that were weeds and dirt. The air carried the scent of burning trash. Broken glass and litter were scattered everywhere.
Zoe's first impression was that the whole city was vacant, but on the next block, there were people. A man dressed in rags sat on the front steps of a house. Four young men were packed into a parked car, loud music and chemical smoke rising from the windows. A woman, her head covered by a hood, walked down a sidewalk.
"Don't slow too much," Logan said.
Zoe nodded and pressed on the gas. "This was where that bomb went off. What was that, ten years ago?"
"Eleven. Some sleeper cell of extremists built a dirty bomb in a garage, planned on driving it down to New York City. But they messed something up, crossed some wire they weren't supposed to, and the thing detonated while they were assembling it. Leveled an entire block and irradiated most of the city. The government relocated the population, but some stayed and others moved in. It's designated as a feral city—no public service, no taxed property, no police or recognized government. Gangs control any areas still worth something."
Logan spoke while looking through the rear window of the car. One of the black SUVs was still trailing them, a few blocks back. The other had dropped out of sight. Logan didn't know if that was good or bad.
"Up ahead," Zoe said. Logan looked through the windshield to see the second SUV coming toward them. Zoe took a hard turn down another derelict street and hit the gas.
The back left tire blew out with a BOOM. Then a second later, the right back tire.
Then the front tires.
"Fuck!" Zoe shouted. She pushed the pedal down, driving on the rims, sparks spitting out from the friction of metal on pavement.
Logan's thoughts raced as the vehicle screeched to a crawl. The SUVs grew in size behind them, bearing down but keeping their distance.
Logan pointed to a house up ahead. "We're getting out and running toward there. I'll provide cover fire. When you hear me fire the fifth shot, turn and open fire to cover me. Ready?"
They went on the count of three.
Their jeep ground to a halt and they stepped out.
Logan wasted no time, aiming and squeezing off two shots at the oncoming SUVs. He knew there was no hope of the rounds puncturing the armored exteriors, but he was hoping the shots would keep the occupants inside a moment longer. He fired shots three and four, holding the gun with his left hand while his right unscrewed the gas cap on the jeep. He pulled a scrap of paper from his pocket—a napkin from the diner—and stuffed one end inside. He sparked a cheap lighter he'd bought the day before at a gas station and lit the fuse.
He pulled the trigger for the fifth time and ran. Zoe had already reached the driveway of the house he'd pointed to.
She knelt behind a rusted-out car and began firing. Steady, evenly-paced shots.
Logan sprinted toward the house. He'd chosen it because it looked vacant. And because the neighboring property looked occupied—the vehicles parked in front looked functional and a thick cloud of chemical smoke billowed from the chimney.
Behind him, the SUVs were rolling forward.
Logan didn't stop to think whether or not it was a good or bad idea. He emptied the rest of his magazine into the neighboring house. Someone began shouting from inside.
A second later, the jeep exploded.
Zoe abandoned her cover and followed him up the front steps. He opened the front door with a well-placed kick that splintered the rotted frame.
Logan pushed the door shut behind them.
***
Up ahead, the jeep was lifted into the air on top of an orange fireball. Metal and glass flew in all directions. The blown-out vehicle crashed down on the pavement, thick black smoke rising from the wreckage.
This didn't concern Barnes.
What concerned him was what Logan had done just before the vehicle exploded.
After forty years in this line of work there wasn't much Barnes hadn't seen—hell, there wasn't much he hadn't done—but Logan opening fire on that house at random, that was a new one. Barnes hadn't even understood what was happening at first.
What the fuck was Logan doing?
Then it clicked.
Four young men, each carrying an assault rifle, bolted out the front door of the house Logan had fired on. Members from one of the gangs that controlled the feral city. Probably squatting in the house, cooking drugs. Logan had just kicked a hornet's nest.
"Fuck," Barnes said. He and his men were already outside the SUVs. They were all armed, all dressed head to toe in tactical gear. It was obvious how the gang members assessed the situation—this was either a police raid, an attack on their turf, or both.
Barnes and his men took cover as four streams of full-auto gunfire were sprayed in their direction.
Bullets punched dents into the armored bodies of the SUVs. Cracks spider-webbed the windshields. A few rounds hit the pavement under the vehicles. The men around him cursed as bullets and bullet fragments scattered past their feet.
***
Broken furniture was piled against the walls. The room stank of urine and mold. The walls were swirled with water stains and burrowed with rodent nests.
Logan crouched by the window, peering through a gap between two boards.
He watched the four young men emerge from the neighboring house and open fire. He knew the firefight would last a matter of seconds. He led Zoe out of the room, to the backdoor.
***
Barnes tapped a button on his comm unit. "Snipers," he said. "One of you keep the assets inside that house, the other, please shoot these assholes with the machine guns before they start lobbing grenades at us."
The pair of snipers had been dropped off as the SUVs traveled through the surrounding neighborhoods. They'd taken positions in the nearby streets to shoot out the tires of the jeep Logan and his handler had been driving.
Two voices responded over the comm channel, acknowledging the orders.
Over the chatter of automatic weapon fire came the thunder-like report of a large caliber rifle.
***
Logan kicked open the back door, gun raised in anticipation of what was on the other side. As the door swung open it was ripped from the hinges, thrown out into the yard. A half-second later came the report of the rifle. Another shot punched through the top of the doorframe, leaving a crater-sized hole. Chunks of plaster tumbled down.
Logan stepped back. A third shot hit the steps leading down to the back yard, spraying up a cloud of dust and stone.
Logan took another step back.
***
More shots thundered through the abandoned streets.
The gang members were dead, a mess of blood and limbs scattered across the driveway.
"Remember," Barnes said. "You're authorized to use l
ethal force against anyone interfering with the apprehension of the two assets. Lethal force is not, I repeat NOT, authorized against the assets themselves."
One of his men spoke over the comm channel. "Seriously? They've opened fire on us twice, unprovoked."
"Whatever asshole just said that—you are wearing the most reliable and effective body armor ever worn by man. If you catch a bullet, you get a mandatory week off with pay. You should be so fucking lucky to get shot today."
Barnes opened up the back of one of the SUVs and lifted a grenade launcher. The weapon had six rotating chambers. "Headphones on," he said through the comm channel. "I'm going to drop a sound grenade on them."
***
At the front of the house, Logan heard something clang against the front door, followed by a high-pitched whine that set his teeth on edge.
Zoe looked at him, wide-eyed, scared, and he knew he was looking back at her with the same exact expression.
***
Barnes aimed the grenade launcher and fired again. The gun made a sound like a bottle being uncorked. The first round had knocked the door open, bouncing off and rolling down the front steps. The bulky headphones he wore blocked out the crippling sound that emanated from the grenade.
He pulled the trigger again. The second round sailed through the now-open door, disappearing into the house.
***
Something bounced on the floor in the next room. A half-second later the sound hit Logan's ears and set every nerve in his body ablaze. He barely managed to put out his hands as he crumpled to the kitchen floor. His heart rate redlined. The noise persisted, unrelenting.
Zoe was on the floor, knotted into a fetal position, her face a rictus of pain, her limbs twitching. Logan dragged himself across the kitchen floor, forcing his muscles to unlock, each movement small and painful.
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