“Can’t make the switch too soon. Too many checkpoints out of Addis.” The driver grinned. “And then we wouldn’t get paid.”
“Excuse me?” It was Estelle Kingston speaking now, coming over to join their group. Berhanu followed beside her, looking reluctant. “Can someone please tell us what’s going on? Why have we stopped?”
Rick cleared his throat. “We, ah, need to change modes of transportation from here on.”
“And what does that mean?”
“There is a train,” the smuggler said. “And you are getting on it. Or not. I do not care. But you cannot ride any further with us. And we are getting paid what we are owed, either way.”
This last was direct to Rick and Kai. Rick was still aware of the other two smugglers, who had slowly moved in around them over the last few minutes.
“This is not a request,” the driver said flatly.
“Fine,” Rick said. “We’ll pay you. After we see the train.”
The driver seemed to consider this for a moment. Then he nodded, whistled, and said something to his colleagues. They began to unload ice cream crates from the back of the truck. “Get your things,” he said to Rick and his group. “And carry a crate.”
Berhanu frowned. “I am not --”
“Just do what he says,” Rick growled at him. The curator stepped back, looking startled by Rick’s tone, but Rick didn’t care. The sooner this was over, the better.
He clambered into the back of the truck to retrieve his and Kai’s backpacks, as well as Estelle’s duffel. The smugglers had already piled crates into Berhanu’s and Estelle’s arms, in stacks so high he could not see either of their faces. Rick shouldered his backpack; Kai took his own and Estelle’s duffel. Then both of them were handed a crate.
“Let’s move,” the driver said.
Judging by the sun it was fairly early in the morning, but it was still unpleasantly hot and muggy, with a torrid wind blowing in from the west. Rivulets of melted vanilla and chocolate were running down everybody’s arms after only a few minutes of walking, which, in turn, attracted large black flies. Rick tried to blow them away, but they only buzzed around his head for a few loops before landing on his arm once more and making sticky tracks in the ice cream. His only consolation was that the smugglers were carrying their own crates and so had to deal with the same annoying visitors.
Berhanu suddenly yelled. A swarm of locusts the size of gerbils exploded from beneath his feet, buzzing and clicking angrily. He tripped and disappeared beneath the grass, ice cream crates flying.
The smugglers swore. “Pick those up,” barked the driver. Berhanu was still getting to his feet, the front of his suit now covered in dirt as well as ice cream. He flinched as the smuggler shouted at him again, moving to recover his dropped crates. Then he froze.
“What’s wrong?” Estelle asked from behind her own stack.
Berhanu was staring down at the sopping mess with an odd expression. It wasn’t until he spoke that Rick realized it was anger. “You are smuggling weapons.” His voice was shaking. He reached down and picked up a case of ammunition that, judging by its sheen of melted chocolate, had been hidden at the bottom of the ice cream. “You are smuggling weapons to the terrorists?!”
The air thickened. The driver said something in Amharic, and Berhanu answered back, fury making his voice rise. Rick saw tiger-stripes balance his crates in one arm, the other moving to unsnap his holstered pistol.
God damn it. “Mr. Abraham,” he said quickly, forcing his voice to be calm and flat. “Please stop arguing with these gentlemen.”
Berhanu rounded on him, face covered in sweat and taut with anger. “Did you know about this? Who these men -- what they are? How could you make a deal with them?!”
“Mr. Abraham,” Kai said, “please calm down --”
“Do not tell me to be calm!” Berhanu snapped at him. “I cannot believe I allowed myself to be talked into this. You do not understand, none of you do -- this is my home, and it is being torn apart by savages, and these men are helping them!”
“It is just business,” the driver said, sounding exasperated. “If it soothes your conscience, we sell to anyone, regardless of affiliation.”
Berhanu scoffed, barked something in Amharic, and spat in the grass. “I refuse to be a part of this.” He took a step back from the crates he had dropped.
“Berhanu,” Estelle said. “Berhanu, please --”
“No, Estelle. I do not know what Pharos or Radical Dynamics is playing at, associating with such types. If I had known from the beginning, I never would have become involved.”
The driver sighed. “Fine. Stay here, for all I care. You can walk back to Addis.”
Berhanu folded his arms, looking as if he were ready to do just that.
A low, distant whistle carried across the field. Rick twisted his head towards it. He couldn’t see the train yet, but it was coming. “Alright, look, we need to get moving if we’re going to catch this ride.”
“Wait,” Estelle said. “I think Berhanu’s right. We need to find another way.”
“Miss Kingston, there is no other way.”
“There has to be! I can’t believe Nasim would be ok with this.”
Rick forced himself to take a deep breath. “Miss al-Faradi gave us a job: get you to Axum. The how of it falls under our purview, not hers. She trusts us. I implore you to do the same. Look, if Mr. Abraham does not want to be involved, then I can’t force him. To be honest, he’s no longer an essential asset. ”
Estelle turned on the spot with great difficulty, still balancing her stacked crates, and looked at him with a stunned expression. “Mr. Nachson, we cannot leave him here!”
The train whistle came again, definitely louder. The smugglers had already begun to move, leaving their group behind. Rick clenched his teeth. “Miss Kingston, please --”
“No!” Her eyes were wide behind her glasses, looking both panicked and angry. “I’m in charge of this operation, like you said. Nasim al-Faradi trusted me, and I am telling you, we are not continuing without him.”
“You should not go either, Estelle,” Berhanu said. “We will find another way.”
“There is no other way!” Rick shouted. “This is it! Now or never!”
He could hear a distant rumbling now, a clatter of metal.
“We need to go, Miss Kingston.”
She didn’t move, only glared at him.
Rick dropped his crates. “Fuck it. Kai, let’s go.”
“Umm…” Kai was peering at him from behind his ice cream.
“Now, Kai!”
He saw Kai’s eyes jump to Estelle, who was now looking confused. Then he sighed and dropped his crates as well. He set Estelle’s duffel on the ground. “Sorry,” he said to her.
Screw the bonus.
The train was growing louder still. Rick began to run.
* * *
“Shit.”
Booker slammed on the brakes. He had to depress the pedal to a worrying degree before finally getting the car to grind to a halt on the rough dirt road. Up ahead, pulled over to the shoulder, was the truck. He was maybe a mile from it, but with open grasslands on all sides and a straight road, there was nothing to screen him from view.
Idiot. He should have been more careful, should have hung back. But he’d been awake for over twenty-four hours at this point, and driving for a good quarter of them. It took its toll, even on a seasoned night owl like him. More than once during the night he’d come awake with a start, not remembering the moment he fell asleep, having to yank the wheel hard to keep from careening off the road into a tree or a boulder. Several last-minute saves, only for him to fuck it up now.
Booker sat in the tiny car in the middle of the road, afraid to move one way or the other. He tapped his fingers idly on the wheel, squinting through eyes that itched and ached. It didn’t actually look like anyone was in the truck – the trailer was open and the interior was empty. So maybe this was the end of the road after all?
Carefully he drove forward, keeping an eye on each shoulder. No one appeared, even when he pulled up next to the truck and peered through the driver-side window. The vehicle was completely empty. He could look straight through the other side and across the highlands –
There. A cluster of stick-like figures had gathered near a distant ridge. Booker blinked several times to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. When they didn’t vanish, he shut off the car and stepped out. He took a moment to crack his back, then focused on the figures and used his smart lenses to zoom in on them. They resolved into definite human shapes, though he couldn’t make out their faces. Even at a distance, however, he could recognize her.
Estelle. She was standing in the middle of the field. On the wind Booker thought he caught snatches of voices, impressions of a conversation. It didn’t sound friendly.
Shaking off the motion sickness that always came with using his lenses’ zoom function, Booker leaned against the truck. An entire night of driving, and he hadn’t even considered what he would do when he caught up with her. His head was still reeling with it. What the hell was she doing out there? They were just…standing around. Waiting, it looked like. But for what…?
The blat of a horn made him look sharply to the right, and this time the motion sickness wouldn’t be denied. He very nearly threw up, and had to quickly return his vision to normal. Eyes watering, he glimpsed a long, sinuous shape racing across the plains, headed north.
He turned back to the group, just in time to see two of them start running. Álvarez and Villeneuve, it had to be.
Oh fuck.
A train. They were hopping a train, taking it the rest of the way to wherever the hell they were headed. If that happened, Booker would lose them for sure. He could follow the tracks, maybe, but there was no telling where they would get off. Plus, with the war to the north, that train would likely pass where he couldn’t.
He was going to lose her.
Booker stared at the train, feeling a surge of helplessness as it plowed implacably forward. It was still a ways off, maybe five miles, but would reach his quarry in a matter of minutes. It didn’t look like it was slowing, either. They’d be swept away in seconds, and that would be it.
Estelle would be gone, before he could figure out what the hell she was doing here.
So what are you going to do about it?
There was really only one thing to do.
Booker jumped back into the car, twisting the key and bringing it to life with a roar and a belch of exhaust.
* * *
Panting, Rick crested a low ridge -- and there were the tracks, all but overgrown with grass that reached his hips. The smugglers had set down their cargo and were watching the approaching train anxiously. The driver turned to him with a snarl. “You dropped our stuff --!”
“I’ll double what we’re paying,” Rick gasped, stumbling to a halt and catching his breath.
Kai coughed. “Ah, Rick, I’m not sure we can --”
“Just get us on that train.”
The driver regarded him through narrowed eyes. “Payment now.”
“Fine. Kai, pay the man.”
“Rick, that’s a lot of crypto --”
“Just do it! Please!”
Kai continued to grumble, but made the transaction. The smuggler checked his wristband and, thankfully, looked satisfied with the number. He nodded to Rick. “Your friends had better hurry up.”
“They’re not coming.”
“Yes they are,” he said, eyes focused over Rick’s shoulder.
Rick spun. Estelle and Berhanu were running, Estelle’s duffel bouncing wildly over one shoulder.
“Fine,” Rick muttered. “Fine.” He turned away and peered down the tracks. The train was visible now, speeding towards them. “It’s not stopping.” He turned to the smugglers. “Guys? Why isn’t it slowing down?”
They were paying him no mind. The driver was snapping at his companions, who were lining up behind him and gathering up the cargo with frenzied speed. Tiger-stripes, standing in the back, passed a crate up to rifleman, who had shouldered his rifle and passed the crate up to the driver. The driver was holding it over one shoulder like a shot put.
With a sinking stomach Rick turned back to the speeding train. “Oh, come on.”
“I could toss you.”
“You jest –”
“Hey!” Estelle and Berhanu had reached them, both panting and looking thoroughly exhausted. Still, Estelle marched right up to him and thumped him in the chest. “Who are you?”
Rick stumbled back, more surprised than anything. “Miss Kingston, we don’t have time --”
“Stop it! Stop lying! You’re not with Pharos at all, are you?” Berhanu was glowering over her shoulder. “Are you?”
Rick wanted to kick something. The roar of the train was filling his head; he could barely think. “Look, you want to get to the Ark? I can still get you there.”
“Who are you?” Berhanu demanded.
He opened his mouth -- and then the smugglers began to babble excitedly. Rick spun, thinking the train was upon them, only to find the smugglers staring in the opposite direction. They had dropped their cargo and were raising their weapons -- not at him, but at something behind him. Rick spun back the other way, reflexively drawing his own pistol. Estelle and Berhanu ducked out of the line of fire, looking terrified, but nobody was paying attention to them. What looked like a salmon-colored clown car was currently hauling ass across the plains, headed directly for them.
“What in the ever-loving fuck?”
The train let shout its horn again, a deafening sound. Rick could hear the rattle and squeal of the tracks. He wanted to turn and look, but didn’t dare take his gaze from the oncoming car.
“What is it?!” the smuggler driver shouted, and it took Rick a moment to realize he was being addressed.
“I have no idea.” He squinted as sun flashed off the windshield. The figure behind it was wrestling madly with the wheel as they tried to navigate the uneven terrain. Less than five yards away the car abruptly fishtailed, swinging around in a wide arc and raising a tail of dirt and grass. Locusts exploded around it like fireworks. Before the car had come to a complete halt, the door burst open and the driver stumbled out. Tall and dark-skinned and dressed like a tourist in khakis and a button-up, he was already sprinting towards Rick and Kai.
Rick stepped back, expecting a hail of gunfire from the smugglers to cut the guy down and half-hoping they would. He did not have time for this, whatever it was. But then he heard what the stranger was shouting.
“Estelle!”
She spun at the sound of her own name. Even from behind Rick could tell she was frozen with shock. “B-Booker?!”
“Who is it?!” the smuggler driver shouted, and now he was turning his gun on Rick. Tiger-stripes and rifleman were divided between Kai and the newcomer.
“I don’t know!” Rick turned to the man sprinting towards him. “Who the hell are you?”
“You need to – listen,” he gasped, stumbling to a halt before them. “Estelle -- these men aren’t who you think they are!”
She shook her head; not in denial, but as if trying to wake up. “Booker -- what are you doing here?”
“I don’t have time to explain --”
“What the fuck is this?” the driver demanded. “Who is he? Why is he here?”
“I don’t know –”
The tall stranger looked past Estelle and Berhanu, addressing Rick. “My name is Booker Hopkins. I’m -- I’m FBI!”
“Oh, don’t tell them that!”
The driver squeezed off a shot, dirt exploding at Booker Hopkins’ feet. He jumped backwards, and Estelle screamed. “FBI?! Why FBI?! Why!” The pistol swung back towards Rick.
“I don’t know! Christ, I don’t know this man!” Rick realized he had to shout to be heard over the train now. He could feel it at his back, the ground rumbling beneath his feet. All at once it burst into his vision, speeding past him, the
force of its passage making him stumble away from the tracks.
“These men are thieves, Estelle!” FBI man was shouting. “I’ve been working a case, tracking murders! Your people, Álvarez! Professional thieves, disappearing!”
Rick snapped his head around, staring at the man. He knows about –?
“I believe you’re next!”
Despite himself, Rick engaged: “Why?”
“Because you’re on a list!”
The train slid past him, a broad arc that seemed endless – but he could see the end of it in the distance, a terminus rapidly approaching. And now the cars flying past were open, doors gaping in the wind. The smugglers were tossing cargo frantically, swearing and cursing the entire time. For every crate that sailed through an open door, two bounced off the side of the train and tumbled through the grass.
We have to get on, Rick thought. Now.
Except here was this FBI man, talking about things he couldn’t possibly know. Rick met his gaze – the guy looked exhausted, frenetic, half-crazy. He was searching Rick’s face, looking for – something.
“What do you want?” he demanded.
Booker Hopkins stared at him, then glanced at Estelle. She still seemed to be frozen with shock. Hopkins looked back to Rick. “To help!”
“Bullshit!” Rick nodded to Kai, and together they moved towards the train. How the hell were they going to do this?
“Wait!” Estelle appeared at his side with Berhanu. “We’re still coming with!”
“Estelle,” Berhanu gasped. “I don’t -- how?”
The FBI man inserted himself between them. “Estelle, you can’t go with them --”
“Booker, I have no idea what you’re doing here or -- or anything, but this is my job!”
He blinked. “Your job?”
“Yes!” She shouted; then, dismissing him, turned back to Rick. Her face was set and her eyes aflame with renewed determination. For Estelle Kingston, it seemed, there was no turning back. “Are we getting on this train or not?”
Rick nodded to her, then holstered his pistol and turned, eyes tracking the passing cars. “Yeah, just let me figure --”
A Covenant of Thieves Page 29
