Deus Ex - Icarus Effect (20 page)

that term lay a multitude of sins. Temple had been right; she would end up inside some ghost prison, a "black site" facility off the grid, and that

would be the last anyone would see of her.

"They're going to interrogate me," she said, her fear giving itself voice. "Some faceless mercenary, someone with no legal oversight, no due

process." Anna stared at Tyler, who wouldn't meet her gaze. "And when they're done, when they get all they want from me, I'll be executed."

She stamped her foot on the metal floor. "Right here, Craig. On American soil. You know that's not right!"

He was silent for a moment. "What I know is that you're a terrorist sympathizer, Anna. You've been classified an enemy combatant."

"Bullshit!" she snapped. "You know me! You know what I was doing was not about terrorism! It's about Matt Ryan-"

"Maybe so," he retorted, speaking over her. "Maybe, yeah, that is what you think you're doing, breaking the chain of command and conducting

illegal operations without sanction ... But you're in bed with international criminals! You're working with Juggernaut! They're wanted by

Interpol, the NSA, FBI-"

"I..." She tried to find the right words. "It's not what you think!"

Tyler reached into a pocket and pulled out a data slate. "D-Bar. You know who he is, right? Your hacker buddy?"

The name brought Anna up short. How does the agency know about D-Bar? She'd kept that information to herself. They had to have been

listening in on her calls. More than likely, her apartment was wired as well.

Tyler ignored her, reading from the slate. "Patrick Couture, also known as P-C, also known as D-Bar, from the French word meaning 'to unlock'

..." He frowned. "Escaped capture by RCMP forces in Quebec, currently wanted in connection with numerous data-crimes on three continents,

known to be an active member of the Juggernaut Collective. Designated priority target." Tyler waved the slate at her. "This isn't some kid

pirating software or deep-sixing parking tickets. He's part of an international criminal conspiracy! And now so are you."

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 for?"

"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."