“And the Montana?”
“Far too quiet.”
“What about Szilard?”
“He sees no one.”
“Not even his bodyguards?”
“You mean his latest bodyguards?”
“Guess I just answered my own question.”
“You bet your sweet ass. Christ, fuck the bodyguards: that’s how the Rain got in the last time. That’s how the Lizard beat the Rain’s hit team—purged his bodyguards and everybody else while he was at it. And then he ripped the head off the intelligence apparatus and placed me atop the bleeding stump.”
“He’s lucky he had his own private network to draw from.”
“Not lucky. Farsighted. Now, tell me what’s going on.”
“What’s going on is that the Praetorians sent me in here to kill Szilard.”
“That’s as predictable as it is funny.”
“They’re coming apart at the seams. They’ll do anything to hang onto power.”
“Like setting off a war?”
“How do you know—”
“You’re not the only agent we’ve got in the field.”
“Yeah? Got anyone aboard the president’s ship?”
“You’ve got the location of his fucking ship?”
“For you, anything.”
Jansen gestures at Linehan. “And what about him?”
“The last piece of the puzzle,” says Lynx. “The key to stopping the Rain once and for all.”
“Aren’t the Rain history?”
“I’m sure they’d like you to think so.”
“Go on.”
“This man Linehan—they met with him. They rigged him. In HK. He’s still got their software in his head. Reverse-engineer that and we can figure out how they ran rings around Matthias. How they brought down the zones. How they got into the Platform. How they got in here.”
“You’re going to be moving up in the world,” says Jansen.
“You too,” says Lynx.
They look at each other.
“You really think they’re still on the loose?”
“I don’t think it,” says Lynx. “I know.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“Call it a hunch,” says Lynx—just as a sentinel beam on the wall spits fire, strikes the acting head of SpaceCom intelligence in the back of the head, knocking him face first onto the desk. The smell of seared meat fills the room.
Lynx looks around. He gets up, turns as the door slides open and the two suited soldiers enter the room; next moment, they’re sprawling on the floor as their armor malfunctions and electrocutes them. The door slides shut.
For a moment Lynx stands there. Then he steps over to one of the dead soldiers, opens up the suit, pulls out the body, climbs in to take its place. The sweat of the man he’s just killed fills his nostrils. He pays it no heed, turns to Linehan, injects him. Another moment and Linehan has his bare hands around Lynx’s armored neck.
“That’s not constructive,” says Lynx.
“You twisted fuck.”
“Look, I’ve got this room in lockdown but I don’t know how long I can keep it that way.”
“What the fuck was that about me being rigged by the Rain?”
“Total bullshit. And by the way, while me and Admiral Dead were talking, the queen-razor Manilishi has been shutting down the Montana’s defenses. So how about you get in that other suit and let’s go waste the Lizard.”
Linehan releases him. He stares through the visor at Lynx’s face. He’s so angry he looks like he’s about to lose his mind.
“And then I’ll waste you,” he says.
“And then you can try.”
This is just demented,” says Spencer. “Tell me something I don’t know,” says Sarmax.
The train’s bending right, along a curve. The angle of descent has steepened. Immediately to the left is a wall. About ten meters to the right is an edge. And past that edge …
“Christ almighty,” says Spencer.
“It’s at least a kilometer across,” breathes Sarmax.
They’re in a cavern that redefines the word vast. The railway runs along a route carved into the cavern’s edge, descending in long circles along a spiral. Sarmax and Spencer can see all the way to the other side of the cavern, to where another train that’s farther ahead has descended to the level beneath. Rows of lights line the cavern ceiling above, illuminating what lies below. Whatever’s down there isn’t visible from the current vantage point. The train keeps on rumbling downward.
“Let’s get out and take a look,” says Spencer.
“I’m guessing all we need to do is wait.”
“We need more data before we ride this thing all the way in.”
“Good point.”
Though either way it’s a risk. They adjust their camouflage, leap lightly from the train, roll along the ground, stop just short of the edge. The camo makes minute refinements. They peer over. Vertigo kicks them in the face.
“Holy shit,” says Sarmax.
But Spencer’s saying nothing. He’s just looking down what must be at least half a kilometer. He feels like his eyes are rebelling at what they’re taking in. As if he’s lived all his life to see something so completely gone.
“What in God’s name is it?”
“Christ only knows.”
If that. It’s some impossibly mammoth structure—the top of a huge dome, curving down to where it’s swallowed by a webwork of platforms and catwalks. The exact size is impossible to discern. But if the curve of what’s visible is any indication …
“Fucking insane,” says Sarmax.
“It must be at least a klick high.”
“Sure, but what the fuck is it?”
“I think the better question is what does it contain?”
“You still can’t access zone?”
“There’s clearly one down there. Lot of wireless activity.”
“But the answer’s no.”
“The answer is I’m working on it.”
“We need to get inside.”
“I realize that.”
“Any ideas?”
“How’s this for starters …”
This is bullshit,” she says. “Is it?”
“It’s something you’re projecting.”
“You don’t think it’s real?”
“I think you’re making me hallucinate.”
“Or maybe …” says Carson.
“Or maybe what?”
“What else would account for what you’re seeing?”
“Don’t do this to me, Carson.”
“Think about it, Claire.”
“It’s fucking real, goddammit!”