The tram rocked from side to side as it made its way up the street. He tried for a map in his head to see where it was taking him, but the feed kept getting interrupted. The same electricity that was taking him away from Delta was also blocking META. He guessed they were running north, toward the Danube.
Soon the tram slowed for its next stop, and DeBolt ventured another look back. His heart skipped when he saw someone running to catch up on the far side of the street.
It nearly stopped beating altogether when he realized who it was.
“I saw you get on the tram,” Lund said breathlessly, “but I didn’t think I could catch up! I’ve never run so fast in my life!”
She was in his arms, her chest heaving into his with the rhythm of a heartbeat. DeBolt kept holding her, his cheek buried in her soft hair while he looked warily out the window behind. He saw no sign of Delta, and wished it were otherwise. A few minutes ago he’d at least known where the man was. He was ecstatic to see Lund, but terrified she was so near the killer.
She pushed away and looked at him, her expression an awkward mesh of relief and desperation. “I got your message about Patel, so I came as fast as—”
“No,” he cut in. “That message wasn’t from me.” They passed through three stops while DeBolt explained everything he’d learned since they’d last talked in Boston. He covered how everyone associated with META had been killed, Patel’s oversight of the project, and its link to the NSA. He told her about Patel’s plans to sell the technology to the highest bidder. Finally DeBolt told her how he’d gotten Delta to turn against his creator.
“That’s why he left the gallery,” Lund said.
“What?”
“I saw him, the killer — he was right behind me in the room where Patel was going to speak, only a few feet away. It was a very public place, so he must have been waiting for the right time.”
DeBolt felt a shudder rise through her shoulders and translate into his hands. He said, “But then I got Patel to confess, and I transmitted it to Delta. When he learned the truth, he ignored you and came after Patel in a rage.”
“I saw what he did — the body in the dirt.”
“He went berserk. I tried to reason with him after he killed Patel. I tried to explain that I was no threat to him. I told him we were both victims of META. He came after me anyway. I jumped over the top-level balcony, landed in the dirt.”
“I saw you limping.”
“Right knee and lower leg.”
“Is it broken?”
“I don’t think so, but I can barely walk.”
She looked outside. “We need to get out of town. Can you get a car, the way you told me you did at that diner in the States?”
“Like OnStar, some European version? I don’t know. Right now I can’t do anything.” He pointed up. “Those high-voltage lines screw up my connection — I’ve noticed it before.”
“Then we have to get off the tram.”
He considered it. “If Delta saw either of us get on this car, he’ll find a way to track it.”
DeBolt looked outside and saw a great basilica-style church. Beyond that the Danube stretched out before them, rolling lazily under a wide double-stacked bridge. The tram came to a stop called Mexikoplatz, and after a careful look outside they got off. DeBolt leaned heavily on Lund as they walked toward the river.
He said, “There’s a big parking lot near the base of the bridge. We can find a car there.”
Progress was slow, and ground they would normally have covered in two minutes took five. They paused together at a deep set of stairs, five flights leading down to a parking lot where at least a hundred vehicles stood in wait. “There’s got to be something we can use down there,” he said. “We’ll start with the luxury brands. I think they’re more likely to have a system I can—” DeBolt’s voice cut off abruptly.
Lund looked at him, saw his distress. She looked all around. “What is it?” she asked. “Do you see him?”
He stood frozen on the sidewalk.
“What’s wrong, Trey?”
He hesitated, then said, “The stairs. It’ll take me forever to climb down with my bad leg. You go down and do some research. I’ll need makes and models, license plate numbers with the country of origin. I’m not sure which will be the easiest for META to hack, so we have to expect some trial and error.”
“But Trey, I can help you down the stairs and—”
“No, go now! Do not question me on this!”
Lund hesitated, taken aback by his sharpness. She said nothing, but started down the long stone staircase.
DeBolt waited until she was halfway down before following the instruction in his right eye.
TURN AROUND, BRAVO.
He saw Delta step from behind a stone column. He was across the street near the church, no more than fifty yards away. It left only one way out for DeBolt. He limped away from the stairs and headed toward the bridge.
63
All too late, DeBolt realized how perfectly Delta had orchestrated things. Only two people now stood in the way of his private ownership of META. Using his abilities, Delta had easily lured him to Vienna, and so too Lund. The man had tracked them both through the city, and even though they’d managed to escape him, DeBolt twice, the final outcome was never in question — it was only a matter of time.
At that moment, the killer had DeBolt in a nearly perfect situation — isolated, injured, and alone. If there was any consolation for DeBolt, it was that his snap decision had been the right one. He might have given Lund a chance. Once he’d split from her and moved toward the bridge, Delta had followed him. Bravo is the greater threat. That would be his guiding thought. DeBolt only wished he could live up to it.
The bridge was a modern and busy thoroughfare, two levels of traffic stacked on top of one another. The sidewalk fed into a pedestrian bridge on the outside of the lower level. It ran straight and true, a wide concrete path spanning a quarter of a mile to the far shore.
DeBolt saw a few other pedestrians and one bicyclist on the path. He was sure Delta noticed them as well, and was no doubt calculating how to do his work without drawing notice. The answer seemed obvious: on DeBolt’s right was a metal rail that ran the length of the bridge, and beyond that was a thirty-foot drop into the Danube. He remembered how Delta had killed Patel, and adapted those mechanics to fit what a police detective might think later this afternoon when the body of a young man was collected from a bank downstream: Broken neck, poor bastard. That’s what happens when they go off the big bridge.
DeBolt hobbled as fast as he could, his right leg screaming in pain. Thankfully, the four-foot-high guardrail was on his right side, and he used it as a crutch, trying to gain a rhythm. It would never be enough. The far end of the bridge seemed miles away, and with a look over his shoulder he saw Delta closing in. The man wasn’t even running, just keeping a methodical pace thirty steps behind him.
DeBolt was so focused on moving, he hadn’t realized the screen in his eye was again blank. The static was stronger than ever, crackling on the screen, buzzing in his ear. He passed a service door that was set into the concrete wall that separated the path from the enclosed lanes of traffic, and on it he saw a warning sign — the words were in German, but DeBolt recognized the high-voltage symbol. The bridge, he realized, had embedded utility tunnels. Water and sewer, heavy-duty power lines. It meant META was disabled for both him and Delta. Was there some way to take advantage of that briefly level playing field? Nothing came to mind. Delta seemed to hold every advantage.