Thunder split the night.
The Caravaner bucked under the impact and roared into an instant inferno as the warhead detonated. Sloan was lifted into the air and flung away, arms flailing.
Sam ran forward, but then tripped and fell sprawling. He looked back to see what had made him fall. In the flickering light, he saw Sloan’s face, rigid with hate and fear. The runner’s hair was half-burned away on one side. His body was nowhere in sight.
Sam scrambled to his feet and staggered once more toward the burning van. Its roof began to sag from the beat, and noxious smoke poured from the pyre. The interior of the van was incandescent with the heat of the conflagration. A sudden spout of flames drove him back. A large hand closed powerfully on his arm. Sam tried once to tug free before turning to see Chin Lee’s tusked face.
“You can’t help her now,” the Ork yelled over the roar of the fire and the thunder of the circling helicopters. Come on, head for the trees. The fragging Yellowjackets can’t follow us there.”
The Ork released him and sprinted for the shelter of the forest. Sam gave the van another look. Chin Lee was right. He could no nothing for Hanae now.
He was alive and she was not, but Sam would make someone pay for that. As they ran for the trees, the second van exploded in a ball of flame that climbed into the sky. Fleetingly, he saw the silhouette of Black Dog scrambling away in the other direction while the angry Yellowjackets buzzed over the clearing, filling it with fire and lead.
Chin Lee was well ahead, just passing the first tree when a slim shape rose up to meet him. The Ork started to swing his assault gun around, but the figure stepped close, brushing the muzzle up and away. A black-clad foot snaked out and the Ork crashed to the forest floor.
The fires revealed the attacker as an Elf. He stood over the stunned runner, panting slightly. Then he casually lifted one hand and sighted down his extended forefinger at the Ork. Arcane energy sparked from his fingertip.
Chin Lee screamed and clutched his arm. The Ork’s hand came away slimed with goo. He yowled louder as the goo spread across his chest and up his neck. The cries died in a bobbling wheeze as his face turned to mush and slumped away from his softening torso.
“A fitting end to such an abomination,” the Elf mage pronounced.
Sam had not stopped running, his legs pumping, though his eyes were locked on the horror before him. His mind was so numbed by the terrifying display of magic that he didn’t realize be was heading straight for the Elf until it was too late. He barreled into the mage and they both went sprawling.
He pushed himself away, kicking at the other to untangle their legs. This Elf had just turned a living person into a puddle of slime. Sam had no doubt that he would gladly hand him the same fate.
The Elf had gathered his wits and was trying to stand. Seeing a fallen branch, Sam grabbed for it. Swinging as he scrambled to his feet, he struck the Elf in the head. The rotten wood of the branch shattered on impact. Fragments and surprised insects exploded in a cloud, sending the Elf staggering back, more confused and startled than hurt.
Sam turned and ran.
“Go ahead and rabbit, renegade. You’re meat for the hunter.” The mage began a spell chant. He spoke it loudly, obviously intending Sam to hear.
Sam risked a glance over his shoulder. The Elf had raised his hands above his head, a flickering nimbus of ruddy light forming into a sphere around them. The killer mage was readying a spell. Fear lent speed to Sam’s pistoning legs.
Then he felt a strange surge inside. Somehow he knew the spell had been completed. Heat scalded his back as the trees around him washed in flame. The hot air seared his lungs and he fell, burning.
17
The Mitsubishi Nightsky gleamed elegantly in the setting sun. The limousine’s sable bodywork drank the light to form deep, distant reflections in contrast to the immediate glitter and shine of the chromed highlights. The rear door gaped to offer access to the cool, dark interior, a counterpoint to the oppressive heat of the day.
A woman and a man walked down the steps of the Jarman Building. Their manner and total indifference to the pedestrians passing between their corporate sanctuary and the luxury vehicle at the curb marked them as the likely owners of the Nightsky.
She wore a conservative suit of the most exquisite tailoring and materials. From the sparkling silver heels that gave a fine shape to her bared legs to the platinum chain glittering within her dramatic coiffure, she moved and breathed corporate success.
He worn a dark three-piecer and moved so smoothly that the suit hardly seemed to crease as he walked. The dark hair that framed his long-boned face might have emphasized the grimness of his saturnine features, but his obvious pleasure in the woman’s company rendered him strikingly handsome. He was a dark counterpoint to her sparkle, but in every way a match to her corporate royalty.
Their expressions were relaxed as they laughed quietly at some private joke. Their eyes were only for one another and they seemed to be anticipating an evening of pleasure.
Hart slipped from the crowd to stand in front of the man. It was going to be her pleasure to ruin the start of that evening.
“Hello, Mr. Drake. Surprised to see me?” Drake pulled up. The woman shot him a glance that told Hart she had no idea what was going on. Not good, chica. You should know your bedmate better than that. “Well, Mr. Drake?”
“You are exceptionally resourceful, Ms. Hart. Why should I be surprised?”
Hart shrugged off his smooth reply. “I guess I’ll just have to be satisfied making Ms. Mirin nervous.”
The woman shifted her searching look to Hart, who carefully ignored the penetrating appraisal. Hart and the woman had never met, but the Elf knew Mirin would not care how Hart knew her name. She would rather be wondering what else Hart knew about her. Let her. As long as Mirin was confused, her uncertainty would restrain her.
“Young woman…”
“Arcstore it, Ms. Mirin,” Hart said, earning a sharp, angry look for her interruption. “I am not here for conversation with you. So keep out of it. I also suggest that you not initiate any suspicious gestures. It could cost you your life. I have friends in high places.” In reply to Mirin’s scornful smirk, Hart added, “One of those friends has a high-powered rifle trained on your head. That person is an excellent marksman. And well aware of your capabilities.”
“Is he fast enough?” Mirin said contemptuously.
Drake placed a hand on his companion’s arm. “Let’s humor Ms. Hart, Nadia. To the best of my knowledge, she is a woman of her word and scrupulous in reporting her arrangements. There is no need for violence at this time.
“Ms. Hart, perhaps you would care to step inside where there are fewer ears?”
Hart smiled, too, aware that fewer ears meant fewer eyes if he really did want to start trouble. “I think not.”
“On the stairs then. Away from the mob. Just you and I.”
Mirin seemed ready to object, but Drake forestalled her with a slight shake of the head. For Hart, he had nothing but smiles. “Would it be satisfactory for Nadia to wait in the car? I am hardly likely to offer you violence on this public street, in plain sight of all these people.”