“What are you doing?” she hissed.
“You’re going to stand right here and wait for that vehicle,” he said as the lights of the menacing transport inched closer. They could be revealed at any instant. “You understand me?”
“But-”
“No questions. You’re alone. You just crashed from a cycle you had just stolen. Do you understand me?”
The vehicle was nearly on top of them. Almost against her will, Nastasia turned to face it, and suddenly Max was gone, faded into the night. She was alone.
Now the whole world was blinding light and the buzz of vibration below her feet, as the huge vehicle rushed toward her. She had never felt such fear as she stood on the frozen floor, gazing at the lights, imagining the weapons she knew were locked on her.
* * *
The pilot of the Black Ops DITV leaned forward in his seat. “Sir,” he said to Drago, “You need to see this.” He clearly couldn’t believe what the sensors were showing him.
“Magnify,” he told the AI unit inside the cockpit. The image zoomed forward with dizzying speed, and he found himself looking at Nastasia standing on the frozen icy floor, panic in her eyes.
“Pop the hatch,” Drago ordered. “We’ve got company.”
* * *
Nastasia’s legs started shaking as the vehicle sped directly toward her. The sound of the massive machine reverberated through her body, and its hulking shape, barely visible behind its blinding lights, was like some huge predator poised on its haunches, ready to pounce.
For an instant she was sure she was going to die, that the vehicle would crush her in its path. She dropped her head, focusing on the floor below her feet, and prayed that her life would not come to an end as a cold draft from the vehicle’s movement hit her face in a wave of freezing air.
The DITV stopped a few yards in front of her, its nose almost hovering above her. After a moment, the hatch at the bottom of the vehicle hissed and made a thick, chunking POP, and in seconds the Black Ops team was upon her, weapons drawn. Their leader-he had to be their leader, was the first to approach.
Nastasia was sure she was looking death in the eye.
* * *
Standing less than a few feet away and slowing his final approach, Drago could see that she was shaking. It made her look weak and confused. She certainly didn’t pose any serious threat to him, he knew instantly. The pilot stayed inside the vehicle, which was the protocol.
He used his heavily gloved hand to pull the mask from her delicate face. Even in the dimness, her piercing blue eyes were quite beautiful.
“What have we got here?” Drago said, lifting her chin toward his face. He was more than a foot taller than she was. He liked the fact that he could see her undisguised features, and all she could see was the blank, matte composite material of his face mask.
“Who are you, and how the fuck did you get here?”
Drago had known instantly that she was not one of the scientists that had escaped. Although there were females among the captives, none of them had disappeared with that group. He had memorized every one of their faces long ago. No, she was new. She was wearing something that was definitely standard issue. It was more like a wetsuit of sorts.
“My cycle exploded as I jumped the tunnel. I-”
“Your cycle?”
“Yes,” she replied, “I…my…” the story that Max had told her to repeat faded from her memory.
“And how did you come to possess this cycle?” he asked, toying with her. Knowing that she was definitely one of the members from the intruder vessel he was looking for.
“We stole it.”
“We stole it?” he mimicked, laughing as he looked back at the rest of his team. They had all dropped their aim now; they seemed almost amused as they relaxed to watch the show. “And who is we?”
Nastasia strained to see him clearly, but the brilliant lights from the vehicle made him and the others little more than silhouettes. Meanwhile, Drago wanted to see her hypnotic blue eyes a little more clearly. He tapped his shoulder to engage communication with the pilot, still inside the Shadow Ops DITV. “Pilot,” he said, “reduce your headlights to twenty percent and point them over at the wall.”
Nothing happened.
“Ligo?” he called the pilot by his assigned name, annoyed. He wasn’t used to having his orders ignored.
Abruptly, without warning, the headlights blinked out completely.
Drago cursed under his breath and touched his shoulder again. “Ligo,” he hissed. “Did I not make myself clear? Lower the headlights and turn them on the wall.”
Still-no response.
Drago turned to tell his lieutenant to fix the-
His two soldiers were lying motionless on the ice.
Drago’s eyes narrowed. “What the-”
Max’s knife entered his neck so swiftly that Drago didn’t even feel it sever his carotid artery. But he heard Nastasia gasp as his steaming blood splattered across her face. “What the fu-” he said and fell.
He was dead before his body hit the ice.
Max bowed as the big body crumpled and pulled his knife free of Drago’s neck with one single, businesslike stroke. “Let’s go,” he said, his voice deep and smooth. Then he took her arm, and they dashed to the massive vehicle.
* * *
Nastasia stopped short, astonished all over again, as her feet hit the perforated metal flor that lined the Black Op’s vehicle’s cockpit. Simon was already there standing behind the helmeted pilot, illuminated only by dim blue emergency lights. He had an old-fashioned pistol-not a Vector5 ray gun, but a solid and familiar Glock 32-in his fist. He had the muzzle pressed tight against the back of the driver’s neck. It didn’t flinch as Max walked in with Nastasia close behind him.
“Close the hatch,” Simon told her without looking away from the driver.
“Simon,” she said, “there has to-”
“Close the hatch,” he said again.
She heard something in his voice she had never heard before. A coldness. A hatred. A determination that glinted like steel.
He had changed, she realized, and not in a good way.
Max stepped past her and ripped the helmet off the pilot’s head, revealing a man in his thirties with a sharp chin, a shaved head, and a look as cold as the Arctic winter. His dark brown eyes revealed little fear.
No one knew his real name. Everyone in Vector5 called him Ligo, and that was good enough.
Simon pushed the pistol deeper into the soldier’s neck.
“Turn the fucking vehicle on,” he ordered.
The pilot didn’t move. He knew the drill; he’d been trained for it. He simply sat with hands clearly visible, loose in his lap, and stared blandly at the sophisticated instrument cluster in front of him.
Max wasted no time. With lightning speed, he placed the tip of his own handgun against the man’s clean-shaven cheek. He saw the gun steam slightly at the tip, still hot from firing moments before, and burn a mark in the soldier’s face. He still held his ground.
Simon couldn’t stand it. He shifted the placement of his weapon ever so slightly and fired. The sound was impossibly loud, almost deafening in the tiny space, but he did not blink. He watched the bullet enter the man’s shoulder from the back and blow a ragged bloody hole in the flesh as it exited. The pilot screamed and jerked forward, but he didn’t raise his hands.
“That was to show you I’m serious,” Simon told him. “Now turn on the fucking vehicle or the next bullet goes into your brain.” He repositioned the pistol so it pressed quite firmly against the back of the man’s head, pointing forward and not trembling in the slightest.
The pilot closed his eyes against the pain. He clenched his jaw and took a deep breath, straining it between his teeth and gathering his will.
“Lazarus-9905 VSO requesting ignition,” he said.
The AI’s bland voice spoke from the console without hesitation: “Copy, 9905. Preparing initial system diagnostics.” The onboard computer was now analyzing the chip embedded in the soldier’s suit to verify authenticity. Two seconds later, the cockpit lights flared to reveal an array of sophisticated instruments and multiple monitors streaming a wide range of sensor-data. Both Simon and Max were startled at the technology; the instrument cluster in front of the pilot was seamless and rivaled that of the Spector, but it was more robust and clearly engineered to withstand heavy military use.