Icarus Effect de-1

by James Swallow

  For a moment, she couldn't find anything to counter his accusations, and Anna began to wonder if she had been played all along. What if

  Juggernaut had been tracking her, watching while she conducted her covert investigation? What if they had used her, twisted her to their own ends? She bit down on her lip, feeling sick inside. Another lie on top of all the others? "No," she managed, shaking her head. "It's Temple. He's the traitor! He's been using his access to the DOJ network to pass classified data!"

  "To who?" Tyler demanded.

  "I… I don't know!" she said angrily. "All I know is that he's responsible for the deaths of a half-dozen Secret Service agents, men you and I worked with!"

  Tyler sat back, his expression souring. "I'll tell you where you are going, Kelso. You're being transferred to a secure psychiatric unit out of state.

  Maybe there you can get some help. If Juggernaut were just using you-"

  "Don't talk to me like I'm delusional!" Anna snapped, pulling against her restraints. "I know what I saw!"

  Tyler's hand slipped to the stun gun on his belt. "Sit back," he ordered. "Don't make me knock you out."

  She sagged and fell against the metal bench as another truck hummed past, the light cast from the screen-panels along its flanks moving slowly along the inside of the van. Something made her look up, and for a moment Anna thought that the stims, the stress, and the lack of proper sleep had all conspired to make her hallucinate.

  Visible through the slit-windows, she saw a line of text marching along the side of the driverless truck as it paralleled the van. Brace Yourself

  Kelso, it read, This Is Going to Hurt.

  Her jaw dropped just as Tyler caught on, and the agent turned to look out the windows, catching sight of what she had seen. He tapped his mastoid. "Drake, do you see-?"

  Before he could complete the thought, the wheels of the computer-controlled hauler gave a savage screech and the glowing screen-panels loomed through the windows. The robot truck broadsided the van and the vehicle resonated with the force of the impact. Tyler was knocked aside, but Anna was ready, riding out the collision. Through the security panel in front of her, she heard Drake swearing as he tried to stop the van from spinning into a wild skid. Then the truck veered across the lanes a second time and Drake lost control as they collided. The vehicle fishtailed across the freeway and momentum turned it sideways. There was a moment of stomach-churning vertigo as the van flipped over and crashed onto its side. A horrible grinding shriek sounded out as the prisoner transport scraped to a halt along the asphalt.

  Anna recovered quickly, ignoring a cut over her right eye. Tyler was lying on his side, his breathing shallow but ready. She pulled as far as the restraints would let her and grabbed at him, dragging him closer. Her hands snagged the magnetic key rod on his belt and she tapped it on the cuffs; they fell away and she immediately felt a prickling sensation as proper blood flow returned to her extremities.

  Someone banged twice on the rear doors. A hissing, fizzing glow appeared where the lock was mounted and she turned away. Metal parted with a heavy cracking sound and the doors fell open.

  The bright beam of a torch engulfed her and Kelso held up a hand to shield her eyes. "You gonna sit there and stare, or are you gonna get the hell out?" said a voice.

  Anna lurched onto the highway, panting, and found D-Bar standing there, a manic grin on his face. The unmanned truck was idling nearby, blocking the view of the wrecked van from passing traffic. The hacker jerked his thumb at a sporty Redline roadster parked nearby on the hard shoulder. "C'mon, your ride's here."

  "You did that?" She blinked. "Tyler… Drake… You could have killed them!"

  D-Bar gaped. "Excuse me, but weren't they taking you off to some deep dark hole, never to return? And you re welcome, by the way!" Anna took two steps toward the front of the van, but D-Bar grabbed her arm and pulled her back. "The driver is okay, I checked. Don't worry, I don't want a murder rap any more than you do."

  Limping, she followed him to the sports car; it was a Falcon GTG, worth maybe ten times the sticker price of Kelso's commonplace sedan.

  "I hadda dump your wheels," he said, before she could ask. "Which I managed to do, despite the whole handcuffing thing…" He drifted off, and paused. For the first time, Anna noticed he was wearing an earphone. "Yeah, okay," he said, speaking to the air. "Just monitor the traffic cameras at the exits. If anything looks jagged, let me know."

  "Who are you talking to?" she demanded.

  "Some people. Springing you, getting a new ride, all on short notice, that had to be a team effort, y'know? And I'm still waiting for some gratitude." He pointed. "There's some clothes in the back, nothing fancy though. Better ditch the romper suit soon-as, yeah?"

  She reached the car and sagged against the hood. "Temple. It's Ron Temple, he's the leak. The son-of-a-bitch was giving the Tyrants all they needed."

  D-Bar nodded gravely. "Okay. Well, look, don't sweat it. We know it's him now, so there are other approaches we can make. And with your help

  – "

  Anna shook her head. "I'm not in this to help you, I'm doing this for me. For Matt." She tore off the prison garb and threw it into the bushes, ignoring D-Bar as he gawked at her. From the backseat she recovered a track suit and sweatshirt. "He has a contact, he must have. I'm going to make him give it to me." She climbed into the car and started the engine.

  Abruptly, D-Bar realized that she wasn't going to take him with her. "What about me? You're just gonna leave me out here on the highway?"

  "I don't trust you!" she snapped, stamping on the accelerator. The Falcon peeled out into the main lane with a snarl of engine noise that smothered the hacker's string of curses. She aimed for the next exit, already plotting the route in her head that would take her back toward the

  D.C. suburbs.

  Romeo Airport-Michigan-United States of America

  The helo extended its rotor-rings and turned them this way and that, running through the last of the preflight checks. Saxon watched, his fist tapping absently against his thigh. It seemed like they had been here for hours, primed and ready to go, watching the clock. Waiting for the word from the forward waypoint. Once or twice he had seen Hardesty and Barrett in quiet conversation, talking animatedly in low tones that didn't carry. Saxon found himself wishing he had an aural booster implant, or maybe one of those lip-reader software upgrades for his optics.

  He looked away, unable to ease the tension knotting in his chest. After the fight room, after that night in London, he'd expected this feeling to drop away-but it was still there. Saxon could not shake it, no matter how hard he tried. He still felt like an outsider-what he had thought were the first inklings of comradeship were ghosts, illusions. The reality was that the bond of brotherhood, of shared purpose he'd felt in the service and then again with Strike Six, was absent here. He wondered if he was fooling himself, holding on to some mawkish ideal of esprit de corps.

  Perhaps there was no place for something like that in the Tyrants.

  His train of thought stalled as Namir emerged from the hatch of the transport plane, stepping quickly down the ramp. The other man had been called back aboard by the pilot; Saxon had caught the tail end of the conversation, something about an urgent signal from "the group." Now the commander's face was furrowed with irritation; whatever he had been told, Namir wasn't happy about it.

  "We're going?" Hermann asked, gathering up his rifle. He couldn't keep the eagerness from his voice.

  Namir ignored him and beckoned Federova closer as he approached Barrett and Hardesty. "There's been a change of plan," he said, his tone terse. He glanced at the big American. "Lawrence, it seems you'll have the chance to put your boasts to the test. We're proceeding with the Sarif exfiltration at reduced capacity. I expect you to compensate, yes?"

  Barrett gave a nod. "Not a problem."

  Namir nodded to Federova. "Yelena, you and I will accompany him."

  "You're benching us?" said Hardesty. "What the hell fo
r?"

  "Close your mouth and listen, Scott." Namir's reply was sharp. "There's been a development. Apparently, one of our North American assets has been compromised and there's a very real danger of some serious blowback. The situation needs to be dealt with immediately." His gaze bored into the other man. "A scorched-earth protocol is now in effect. You will lead a team to expedite immediately." He nodded toward Saxon and the German.

  Hardesty's expression changed. If anything, he seemed reassured. "Well. That's different."

  "Sir," insisted Hermann, "we have an objective here, in Detroit. We've planned and prepared for it."

  "And now you have a new one. Adaptability is something I require from all my operatives, Gunther. Circumstances on the ground are always fluid. We meet the mission needs as they occur." Namir's tone made it clear he would brook no questioning of these orders. He offered Hardesty a data slate. "This isn't something we can trust to hired hands. Details are here. Transport has already been dispatched for the rest of us. The helo is at your disposal."

  Hardesty nodded, scanning the data. "It'll be tight. We'll have to do this quick and dirty."

  "I made that clear to the group," Namir replied. "It's not an issue."

  "Fine." Hardesty passed the slate to Hermann and walked away to brief the pilot of the flyer.

  Saxon broke his silence. "This… asset. You want a straight recovery?"

  Namir shook his head. "No. Locate, terminate, and sanitize the area."

  Terminate and sanitize. He had just handed them an assassination mission. Hermann passed Saxon the slate and asked another question.

  "There's little suggestion of what kind of resistance we can expect."

  "Minor" Namir replied. "Nonlethal embedded security. Perhaps one or two threat vectors, including the target himself. The primary concern is that the asset does not escape and no materials are left behind in any recoverable state."

  Saxon read, and he kept his expression neutral. The location was an expensive gated community, part of a suburb of Washington, D.C., called

  Great Falls. In the helo, flying full tilt, he estimated they could reach it in less than ninety minutes. The target's residence was a large home set in grounds and woodland; he ran his finger over the surface of the slate to reveal the next page, and found the face of the person Namir wanted them to kill looking back at him. He read on, and his eyes narrowed. "This man is a federal agent."

  Namir came closer. He nodded, making no attempt to show any disquiet over Saxon's concern. "Correct. As such, he may be armed. He's certain to be on alert, given the situation."

  "Which is what?" Saxon insisted. "I'd like to know what requires the murder of a ranking officer of the United States Secret Service."

  "Ben," said Namir, his human and synthetic eyes measuring him carefully. "You need to believe me when I tell you that this is necessary. You have to trust me. The Tyrants have a mission, and sometimes that mission requires that we make choices that are difficult, ugly… bloody. But I know you understand that."

  "Why does this man need to die?" He didn't flinch from Namir's gaze. "What's the reason behind all this, Jaron? I've followed your orders… the group's orders without question now for months. But blind faith in your CO only goes so far."

  Namir nodded. "I respect your honesty. It's part of the reason I recruited you. So I'll give an answer, but it will be the last time, know that.

  Because I cannot afford to have men under my command who continually question me at every turn."

  The ghost of a threat hung in the air between them, the Israeli face-to-face with him. Saxon tensed, feeling the edges of ready menace coming off the other man; once again he found himself wondering who would prevail if they went against each other. He didn't like the odds.

  "The group has been observing a… situation. This man has been classified as a liability," Namir went on. "He can expose us to our enemies.

  What he knows could severely impede our objectives if it were to be revealed to the wrong people. Ronald Temple is a serious threat to stability."

  "And we can't have that," said Saxon, without weight.

  Namir gave the slightest of smiles. "I knew you'd understand."

  Great Falls-Virginia-United States of America

  Configured for stealth and speed, the helo flashed over the countryside at treetop level, ducted blades chopping the air in a low, droning thrum.

  The pilot kept them off the line of any major population centers or highways, following power lines or river courses as they raced eastward. The radar-transparent polymers and sleek, blended lines of the hull gave the craft the detection footprint of a bumblebee, and in tandem with infrared and ultraviolet baffles cloaking the engines, the flyer was virtually invisible.

  "Two minutes " said the pilot, the words resonating through Saxon's head over the mastoid comm. He began his final premission ritual, losing himself in the simple, robotic motions, trying not to think about the job he had been sent to do.

  Weapons. Equipment. Armor. All secure. He zipped open a gear pouch to check the contents and hesitated; something inside was emitting a soft glow. Hardesty and Hermann were busy with their own checks, so Saxon reached inside. His gloved fingers found the lozenge shape of the disposable phone; the morning they had left London, he had stuffed it into his kit and thought no more about it. He was certain he had deactivated it. Turning the device to conceal it from the others, Saxon tapped the screen.

  An error display told him the vu-phone's digital mailbox was full. He scrolled down and found hundreds and hundreds of text messages, all of them sent from the number he had seen on the side of the advertisement blimp, all of them the same five words: What master do you serve?

  Uneasy, he hit the mass delete tab, opened the phone's case, and disconnected the battery before concealing it once again.

  "Will we need electronic support for this engagement?" Hermann was asking, loading heavy-gauge rounds into the magazine of a Widowmaker tactical shotgun. Hardesty's tone was dismissive. "Namir said digital interdiction is being handled by other assets, so don't fret about getting caught on camera.

  Just do what I tell you." He sensed Saxon looking at him and met his gaze. "You got a question, too? Make it fast."

  "Ninety seconds to deployment" called the pilot. "Thermograph can't get an accurate read…At least ten-foot mobiles inside target structure"

  Saxon glanced out the window and saw the flicker of lights below, the soft glow of streetlamps amid patches of darkness. He looked back. "We can do this without collaterals. Cut the power, go in quiet, hit the mark, and extract."

  "Like a ghost, huh?" Hardesty snorted. "It's funny. You bitched to me that I didn't have the stones to get my hands dirty in Moscow, but here I am going in at the sharp end and suddenly you wanna soft-pedal it?" He gathered up his FR-27 assault rifle, securing the ammo magazine in place. "How about that. All of a sudden, you're gun-shy."

  "This is different. There are civilians in there." The helo dropped into the low grass with a bump and the engine note fell as the rotors went to idle. Through a stand of trees Saxon could make out the house.

  Hardesty shook his head. "There's only targets." He pulled a lever to let the hatch slide open and thumped Hermann on the back. The German vaulted out into the darkness. Hardesty went next and Saxon followed him, but he'd barely taken a step before the other man placed the flat of his palm on his chest. "Where you going?"

  "Namir-"

  "Is not in command of this engagement," Hardesty replied. "I am. And I'm telling you to wait here and hold the landing zone. Y'know, in case a troop of Girl Scouts tries to sneak up behind us, yeah?" He gave a snort and set off.

  Saxon stood there, watching the two men melt away into the shadows, his hands tense around the grip of his rifle, a nerve jumping in his jaw.

  For a second, his finger rested on the FR-27's trigger. A single three-round burst would put that son-of-a-bitch down…

  Then the moment faded, and the lights in the house went dark.
He caught the faint sound of breaking glass and what might have been a woman's scream.

  Kelso left the Falcon at the side of the road and crossed a stretch of scrubland to the wall of the estate; she'd been to Temple's place once before, back when he'd just taken the job as department head. It was after the Anselmo case had broken, and in celebration their new boss had held a barbecue to toast the team's success. It seemed like a century ago, a warm summer day with good food and a few beers, Matt there with Jenny

  … Back before the first time Anna's career had gone off the rails.

  She shrugged off the memory and scrambled up over the wall, concentrating on the moment. Temple would have security, she decided, some kind of alarm system Anna caught sight of the house as her head came level with the top of the wall, and in that moment she saw every light in the building die. Her fingertips touched a sensor strip on the top of the bricks, but no alarm sounded. Whatever had killed the power had given her a way in. She took the opportunity and scrambled the rest of the distance, dropping to the gravel drive. There were a few cars parked outside the three story house, mostly high-end sedans and a couple of SUVs. The house belonged to Temple's second wife and she was old money; Anna recalled office talk about how she liked to play the hostess, gathering movers and shakers from the D.C. community. The whole city ran on that kind of networking; Anna was disgusted that Temple could send her off to be disappeared, then stroll home for some overpriced wine with his spouse's cronies without breaking stride.

  She moved closer, using the cars as cover. Her hand strayed to where her service weapon would have been holstered and she grimaced. After the van crash, she hadn't thought to steal Agent Tyler's firearm or stun gun. Going in unarmed made her feel naked and supremely vulnerable.