The Weir slipped forward again, and paused at the corner of the building. Even as Sky calculated the distance and the wind, something prickled in a corner of his mind. Was this one of the Weir he’d seen the night of their attack on the gate?
“Three meters,” Sky said. “I’m gonna lose it.”
“Alright, take it,” Swoop said. “Don’t miss.”
“Yep.” Sky moved his finger to the trigger, drew in the slack on it so the slightest bit of additional pressure would fire. Just under four hundred meters. Easy. He inhaled smoothly. Exhaled. Held. Waited for the moment between heartbeats.
“Hold that,” Gamble said. “I’m almost to your position.”
Sky allowed himself a breath, let the slack back out of the trigger, but kept his finger in contact and the Weir dead center in his optic. “You sure, Ace? I got the shot.”
“Yeah, I got it, babe. Ten seconds.”
The Weir down below moved to the door, but paused. So strange. Sky dialed in further, magnifying his target. Something about the silhouette. Familiarity out of context.
And then — like lightning from a clear sky — recognition. Gamble flashed into view almost at the same time that Sky called out, “Hold! Hold! It’s the kid! It’s Painter!”
The collision lifted the Weir… Painter — up off the ground, Gamble’s momentum rocketing him skyward and depriving him of any ability to counter her attack. Not a clumsy tackle; this was a relentlessly practiced technique to ensure a sudden and definite kill. Sky’s optic was zoomed in too close to track the outcome, but he didn’t need to see it to know what happened. He went numb. Why hadn’t he realized it sooner? And what was the kid doing outside the wall?
“You sure?” Swoop asked.
“Positive,” Sky answered.
After a few moments, Gamble said, “Yeah, I confirm. It’s Painter.” Swoop cursed. Sky backed his optic out and found his wife, crouched on top of Painter’s sprawled form.
“Is he dead?”
“Oughta be,” Gamble said. “But no, he’s not dead. Ain’t happy either.”
“What’s going on?” Wick asked.
“Hold on.”
“We’re on the way out,” Mouse said.
“Check,” Gamble said. “Able, I need you on security. Sky, sit tight.”
“Alright, check,” Sky said. The kid had been anxious lately, agitated, and with good reason. Seemed like a real bad time to be out stretching his legs, though.
There was movement in an alley near Gamble. Sky recognized Able’s fluid stride as he moved into position about five yards behind Gamble. He dropped to a knee, facing away from her, his head up and scanning for threats. A few moments later, Swoop and Mouse appeared in the building’s entryway. Swoop flowed out onto the street and mirrored Able, watching the other direction, while Mouse went directly to assess Painter.
It looked like the kid was sitting up now, at least. Sky surveyed the surrounding area from his perch, watching for any sign of danger. Several minutes passed amidst the cold night air and the occasional croak or call from a distant Weir, but nothing seemed to be heading their way
“Finn,” Gamble said. “Location.” Her words were clipped, direct.
“Want me to ping it?” he responded.
“Negative, comms only.”
“North-west of you, six hundred meters. About fifty meters east of the wall.”
“Stay put, we’re coming to.”
“Alrighty.”
“Sky, you OK to move on your own?” she asked.
Sky chuckled. If anyone on the team was used to moving alone, it was Sky. “Yes, Mom,” he said. She hated when he called her that, but a little dig seemed appropriate after the question she’d asked.
“Alright, rally on Finn,” she answered. Her tone was flat, all business, like Gamble hadn’t even noticed the Mom.
Sky asked, “What’s going on?”
“Just move, Sky.”
Something was definitely wrong. Down below, Sky saw his wife helping Painter to his feet while the other three formed a protective triangle around them. As soon as Painter was up, they started moving as a unit. Sky kept watch over them until they disappeared down a distant alley. Once they were out of sight, he slung his rifle and headed down the exposed staircase. Down one flight, he drew his sidearm. Just in case.
The whole left side of Painter’s face throbbed and burned, and any time he took too deep a breath, it felt like every muscle in his back went into spasm. He was sitting on the floor, trying to track Mouse’s finger by moving only his eyes. The whole team had gathered and taken shelter in a nearby one-floor building, and Mouse had insisted on giving Painter a thorough once-over. Gamble had apologized five or six times, which had been nice. But it didn’t make his body hurt any less.
“Well, that sly son,” Finn said, almost to himself. And then louder, “Check this out. It’s a siphon. They hid it in a co-routine, off our secure channel.”
“For stupid people, Finn,” Sky said from the door, where he was keeping watch.
“The kid’s right. They’ve got a trace on. Never would’ve noticed it if I hadn’t gone looking.”
“Custom job?” Wick asked.
“Nah, it’s really not that sophisticated. Only clever bit was where they stuck it, which makes sense if Connor’s involved. Otherwise, it just looks like an off-the-shelf solution.”
“Aww,” Wick said, “and I was about to start feeling special.”
“Can you kill it without anyone noticing?” Gamble asked.
“Sure, easy,” Finn answered. “Now that I know it’s there. I can spin it off, let it run isolated.”
“What about following it back?” Swoop said.
Finn went quiet, eyes staring up into the corner of the room, as though he was seeing something else entirely.
“Alright,” Mouse said, patting Painter on the shoulder. “I don’t think there’s any permanent damage. How do you feel?”
“Like I fell out a fifth-story window,” Painter said.
“She must’ve held back on you, then,” Mouse said, winking.
“Yeah,” Finn said. “Yeah, I think I could follow it back, Swoop. Only problem is whoever’s on the other end might be watching. Could tip ’em off.”
“Any way to tell?” Gamble said.
Finn shook his head. “Looks like it’s got two listeners running. I can run ’em back, but no way to tell what might be waiting until I get there.”
“C-c-connor, and Aron, I bbb-bet,” Painter said.
“Not if they’re dead,” Finn said.
“So, could’ve been as many as four, then,” Gamble said.
“Yeah, I guess so,” said Finn.
“Kill it.”
“You got it.”
Gamble approached Painter, and knelt in front of him. “How you feeling, Painter?”
“Still brrr, still breathing.”
“We need to get back to Cass and Wren, and we need to do it quickly. If you don’t think you can make it, I can leave a couple of the boys with you.”
“I c-c-can do it.”
“This isn’t a time to tell me what you think I want to hear.”
Painter answered by getting to his feet.
“Alright, then,” Gamble said, standing. “Pack it up, gentlemen, we’re moving out. Finn, are we scrubbed?”
“Yeah, channel’s clean.”
“Then I’ve got point. Swoop, Mouse, you’ve got the cargo.”
The team snapped into go-mode, wordlessly forming up. Swoop and Mouse took positions on Painter’s left and right. And a few seconds later, they were pushing out into the open, headed from a known danger into one unknown.
TWELVE
Cass sat at a table right in the middle of the Mister Sun’s main room, alone, eyes intent on the door. The lights near the entrance were turned low, all the others were off completely, casting the area in a dusky gloom. Painter and Wren were both upstairs in Painter’s small room, hopefully getting some much needed sleep. Though she wouldn’t have been surprised if they were both lying wide awake, listening for whatever might come. Mister Sun had retired to his side room. She was pretty sure he was waiting just on the other side of the door, just in case.