Deus Ex - Icarus Effect (29 page)

beaten from them by harsh reality, you hold on to it, Ben. Against all odds, you hold on. That's why you never rose in rank. We've both been

leaders of men. And that means sometimes you have to send men to die, and do it without flinching."

"I'd never make my men take a risk I wouldn't take myself!" he shot back.

"Indeed," Namir allowed. "That's your failure. You've been abandoned by every family you had. Your parents, your nation, your army, your

employer ... And yet still you refuse to see the callous truth. You're blinded by your own hope." He smiled. "I took that from you. I broke those

bonds because I thought it would make you stronger."

"The falsified data for the mission ... You had it substituted for the real thing!" Saxon's muscles tensed. He wanted to strike out, but he had to

know the full dimensions of the betrayal. "How?"

"We have assets inside the Belltower corporation. It wasn't difficult." He sighed. "Those men, they were a hindrance to you. They had to be

sacrificed. It was a test. If you perished there in the desert alongside them, then you had no place with us. But if you came out alone ..."

"I tried to save them!" Saxon shouted. "Duarte ... I could have saved his life!"

"He was expendable," Namir countered. "They all were. I gave Hardesty the order to break Rainbird because I needed to know. I wanted to

see if you were willing to live, Ben. If you had the courage to survive."

Saxon's voice was low and hard. "You heartless fucking bastard ..." His hand slipped toward the pocket where the Buzzkill was concealed; but

the weapon would be barely an insect bite to the Tyrant commander, with dermal armor sheathing what there was of his flesh.

"Survivor's guilt. That, and your instinct to be loyal to a man who saved your life." Namir studied him. "The psych profile said that was all I

needed to control you. But these things are so hard to determine. The human mind is a chaotic system. And as much as men are exactly the

animals you expect them to be, sometimes they are not." He frowned. "I don't need to ask you to choose. I can see the answer in your eyes. You

can't let go. Hardesty was right. You don't have the strength to kill cold."

"I'm pleased I can prove you wrong." With a blink, Saxon shifted vision modes, getting ready.

Namir drew a wicked-looking combat blade from a sheath on his belt. "You are going to fight for it, aren't you?" he asked. "At least show me

that courage. Let me know my faith in you wasn't entirely misplaced." Saxon drew the stun gun and thumbed off the safety catch. The other

man laughed. "Oh, that's a choice you'll regret," he sneered.

Saxon met his gaze. "I'm not going to use it on you." The reflex booster kicked in and he brought up the nonlethal weapon, firing two rounds

into the flat, glassy surface of the main display console. The stun darts, thick shells the size of a shotgun cartridge, discharged a powerful surge

of voltage on impact; the console erupted in a violent shower of sparks and acrid smoke. Surge buffers in the ops room tripped, plunging it into

darkness, but Saxon was already seeing the space in low-light mode.

Namir reacted, sweeping in with a lunging, lethal attack that Saxon dodged by a hair, the blade cutting the air near his face.

The stink of burnt plastic reached the fire sensors in the ceiling and immediately triggered a carillon of buzzing alarms. Saxon snatched at a

monitor screen and tore it from a desk, with a snake nest of cables trailing behind it. As puffs of fire-retardant powder began to rain from safety

nozzles overhead, he slammed the display into Namir's head with such force that the screen shattered and the Tyrant commander staggered

back under the blow.

Saxon took the moment and vaulted over a workstation and into the corridor beyond. As he ran, the familiar itch in his jawbone arose, Namir's

voice issuing out of his mastoid comm. "All call signs, ignore the alarms" he snarled, "Gray is rogue. Intercept and terminate!"

Dundalk—Maryland—United States of America

"Hello," said the voice, bereft of anything that could make it possibly seem human. "I'm pleased to see you are unharmed ."

Anna glanced at the videoscreen set up inside the army tent, and then back at Lebedev, who stood near the door flap, watching her reaction.

"What's this? More games?"

"Some of the people we work with prefer to keep their identities a secret," he noted. "Isn't that right, Janus?"

"I'm afraid so, Juan," said the voice. "It would compromise not only me, and Juggernaut, but also your lives if I were to tell you who I am."

Anna folded her arms and gave the hazy shape on the display a level stare. "After all that stuff about conspiracies and distrust, you're playing

the need-to-know card?" She shook her head. "If I know anything, it's that the less truth you have, the less trust follows. You could be anyone.

You could be working with the Tyrants or the ... their masters."

"You find it hard to say the name, don't you?" On the screen, the digital shadow shifted slightly. "Illuminati. A layered word, heavy with

meaning and counter-meaning. You don't want to believe. It's an understandable reaction."

"Our colleague here has been opposing them for a long time," said Lebedev.

"How did you get mixed up in all this?" Anna demanded. "What's your angle? Are you in it for the kicks, like D-Bar, or for the greater good like

him?" She inclined her head toward Lebedev.

"Neither," came the reply, and for a moment Anna thought she sensed something like melancholy under the words. "I found Juggernaut and

became one of their circle. I'm doing this for the same reason as you, Anna. Because they killed someone who was important to me."

It didn't sound like a lie; but then with all the layers of digital masking in place, she wondered if she could ever read anything about the ghost

hacker.

"Trust is a rare commodity these days. But you can only accumulate it by spending it. An ironic fact, in present circumstances." There was a

pause. "You have questions. I'll answer them if lean."

Anna frowned. "This ... vote. The United Nations. You're telling me that all the assassinations have been to set that up to fall one way?"

"Yes. " The screen blinked and became a map of the world. As Janus spoke, dots of red appeared across the span of nations, each briefly

displaying a data window with death certificates, accident reports, security camera footage, and other information sources. "What you're seeing

are the targets of the Tyrants. Hundreds of people, all of whom have lines of influence that can be drawn back to the proposed regulation

vote, and how it will play out. "

Over the map, a matrix of connections formed, a web bringing each person together, showing the human effect of the targeted individuals. Anna

was suddenly reminded of a stone dropped in a lake, the ripples radiating outward; only here, the ripples were being guided, controlled—and in

many cases, erased.

One thread through the complex knot of effect was highlighted. "Consider this " said Janus, displaying an image of a smiling middle-aged man

and his family. "A midlevel minister in the Italian government, with many friends in the Euro-Parliament. His son was cured of debilitating

brain damage because of a neural implant. He is well disposed toward the spread of human augmentation technology. The

recommendations he makes carry weight. A committee of United Nations representatives are currently entertaining a suggestion from

certain groups to call for a vote on the regulation of H.E. development..."

Lebedev nodded slowly. "But before the minister can be consulted on behalf of his country, his wife is suddenly diagnosed with a variant neo

SARS strain. His family comes first. He's unable to fulfill his duties. Instead, the man who replaces him on Italy's technology advisory board is a

known associate of William Taggart, the pro-humanist... and now that country is supporting the push for the ballot." He spread his hands.

"That's just one story. You saw another, more violent approach firsthand, with Skyler and Dansky."

Anna's eyes narrowed. "What happened to the minister's wife?"

"She died from complications. The minister has been suspended on medical grounds and is currently undergoing treatment for depression."

The map returned. "This is how they work, Anna. Hundreds and hundreds of tiny actions, individually small, collectively gigantic, all

working in concert. Every person they have exerted control over has been a part of a plan to dominate a vote that has yet to happen. And

even this is only one element of an even greater schema."

"The Illuminati are working in tandem with one of their satellite groups, a faction called Majestic 12 born out of the Cold War era, a technology

division of sorts ... Together, they're in the process of securing a power base for something beyond the scope of the UN vote. Something much

bigger."

Anna was reeling from the import of what she was hearing, caught between incredulity and acceptance. "Bigger than regulating the most radical

science ever created?"

"We can see only the edges of the conspiracy " Janus told her. "But what we can be sure of is that the Illuminati s goal is and always has

been command over the future of humanity. A New World Order, without freedoms, without questions. Without end."

She turned away, shaking her head. "No ... No! It's too much! I've come here looking for a murderer and you're telling me that the world is

turning on all this?" Anna looked toward Lebedev. "Listen to me. I don't care about your damned conspiracy theories! I don't care about who

else they've killed! I've thrown away everything I have because I want just one, single thing—Justice, for Matt Ryan." Her voice caught. "He

saved my life. I couldn't save him. So I am going to find the person who killed him and make them pay. If you won't help me do that, then I'll be

better off alone." Furious, she stormed out of the tent and strode away over the uneven concrete floor.

Aerial Transit Corridor—Gulf of St. Lawrence—North Atlantic

Saxon tried to think of a worse tactical situation he had been in, and came up empty. Trapped on board an airborne jet with four heavily

augmented mercenaries and no means of escape, armed only with a couple of rounds of stun-dart ammo that was nearly useless against these

adversaries ...Yeah, it's pretty grim, he told himself. About the only positive point he could find was that without Federova among them, at least he would see the other Tyrants coming. He wondered how much good that would do him.

Despite Namir's commands, the fire alarms were still in full effect, but retardants had only been triggered inside the ops room. Saxon moved

quickly through the galley area, panning the Buzzkill this way and that, going forward.

His mind raced through the tactical options open to him. He had to make a choice; he needed a better weapon, something lethal, and he needed

it fast. He could set up a quick-and-dirty ambush, try to kill one of the others when they came for him, and take their gun—but that would cost

him time. The second option would be to get into the cockpit, lock himself in there, and force the crew to land the jet on the nearest piece of

ground, maybe Newfoundland or Nova Scotia. Without at least one pilot, he'd have to handle the aircraft alone, and Saxon wasn't willing to trust

himself on that score. With his rudimentary understanding of piloting, the best he could do in that case was ditch in the coastal shallows and

hope he survived.

Every second he spent deliberating, they were getting farther and farther away from land. He nodded to himself. Take the plane, then, he