Deus Ex - Icarus Effect (21 page)

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.

She caught the sound of glass breaking and froze. Something wasn't right; a power outage should not have lasted more than a few seconds.

Anna glanced over her shoulder, and in the distance she could see the next house over, the lights still on.

Her head snapped back as she heard gunshots, twice in quick succession. She guessed they were 10 mm rounds from a pistol. The gun sounded

again, and this time she saw the reflection of a muzzle flash through a ground-floor window. A woman screamed and a shotgun answered.

She blinked her optics to low-light mode; they had the Eye-See vision-enhancement package, the law enforcement variant, and while they were

not as powerful as military-grade cybernetics, they were enough to throw the view of the house into an ashen pattern of green and white. Anna

kept to her cover as two figures burst out the front door, stumbling in panic as they tried to flee—a woman in an evening dress and a man in a

sports jacket. They raced across the drive, the gravel crunching under their feet.

A shimmering thread, invisible to the naked eye, fell from a first-floor window and drew swiftly across the ground until it crossed the woman's

back. There was a hissing snap and a cloud of ink-dark mist blew from her chest. The man turned in fright and took a second round in the

sternum. Both of them were dead before they hit the ground.

Anna dared to peer over the wheel well and saw a shadow move away from the window, a rifle slung in a casual carry.

For a moment she considered turning tail, heading back to the car; but she was too deep in now to give up. Anna waited as long as she dared,

and then stole toward the house, staying low as she threaded her way in through the front door the dead couple had left open.

Inside, the horribly familiar smells of spent cordite and blood reached her nostrils. A man in a suit lay against the staircase leading upward, his

eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling. Anna felt for a pulse; there was nothing.

She moved on, hugging the walls, finding her way into the open lounge. More of Temple's guests were here, some of them caught still sitting in

chairs with glasses of wine in their hands, others shot in the back as they tried to run. Anna saw the telltale patterning of close-range shotgun

blasts.

On the floor above, a floorboard creaked and she froze. She very clearly heard a shuffling footstep; then in the next second, a strangled, pained

gurgle and the heavy fall of a body.

Cold certainty gathered in her thoughts. An assassin—or more than likely, a team of them—were stalking through Temple's home,

systematically executing everyone they found. It could only have been the Tyrants; the brutality and precision of the attack bore all their

hallmarks. Above, she heard the creaking again. They were sweeping the house, floor by floor. She had little time; once they had completed

their search, they'd double back and look for stragglers.

She scanned the corpses again; he wasn't among them, and if Ron Temple was anything like the man she thought she knew, he would have had

a plan for something like this. He was methodical to the last.