Fuck it. That bastard deserves whatever he gets.
Lincoln sits in the front seat, swaying as the SUV rolls past the bumps and swales of the rough country road. He thinks about True’s report—the leaf mech perched on the window frame, the biomimetic hawk that intercepted it—and assumes that everything Daniel related to them is known.
But known by who? True’s answer is a Chinese faction. A logical deduction, given the information relayed to them by Brooke. The question Lincoln faces now is whether the activity will be limited to surveillance, or if it will escalate to active interference. They encountered no trouble on the way out. They detected no vehicle following them, but a ground vehicle wouldn’t be necessary to an enemy with sophisticated aerial surveillance.
He studies the narrow road ahead, uneasy. Traffic is light, but he can’t see far. No way to know what’s around the next bend, or a few more kilometers down the road. He asks himself, What can be gained by attacking us?
Nothing.
An assault would lead to an investigation, and eventually the reason they came here would be made public. No one involved in this tangled operation, whether known or unknown, wants that. And still his anxiety is ramping up. He’s got a feeling trouble is coming—and that’s a feeling he’s learned to trust.
The SUV rocks as it plows through a rain-filled pothole. Lincoln is abruptly conscious of the pistol’s weight in his pocket. They printed the guns as an insurance policy in case Shaw had a presence on the ground. But the situation is changed and Lincoln senses the weapons are now a liability.
He glances at Rey behind the wheel. The journalist, focused on driving, doesn’t notice the attention.
Lincoln returns his gaze to the road. He slides his right hand, his organic hand, into his pocket. His fingers close on the pistol. He pulls it out and surreptitiously passes it back to True, who’s sitting behind him. He feels her take the weapon.
Next, he pulls out his tablet, taps out a text, and sends it to her: Break it down. We’re done with them.
He glances back to see her eyeing her tablet, an anxious flush heating her cheeks. She looks up, nods.
He consults his tablet again, reviewing a satellite map of the road ahead. Then he turns to Rey. “Let’s stop.”
Rey looks around in surprise. So does Miles. Rey says, “Sure, we can stop. There’s a store just—”
Lincoln interrupts him. “The map shows a bridge five hundred meters ahead. I remember crossing it. Let’s stop there. I need to conference with True.”
He’s barely gotten the words out when it starts to rain again, a heavier shower than before. “Crap,” True says from the backseat.
Lincoln laughs at the sincerity in her comment. “Pass me my jacket,” he tells her.
She takes off her seat belt and turns around. Their packs are in the back. She rummages among them. Alex turns to help out. Miles is alert, looking around, looking for danger.
They’re almost at the bridge when True hands a raincoat to Lincoln. “I’m ready,” she says.
The bridge is modern, wider than the road, low concrete sides topped with steel railings. Rey drives across it, then eases the SUV into a muddy pullout. Lincoln and True get out. She pulls up the hood of her rain jacket. Their boots stick in a fine, sucking mud as they walk back to the bridge. A sweet scent of flowers and spice defies the rain. For now, there is no other traffic.
Lincoln gestures her to go ahead. She pulls her hood off again. “Can’t hear anything with that up,” she mutters. The rain beads on her hair as they stand at the railing. Lincoln has positioned himself to hide her from Rey’s sight if he’s looking in the rearview mirror.
The stream below is running fast from the intermittent rain, water brown with suspended silt. True has disassembled both pistols, removing the magazines and separating the slides from the lower receivers. She leans down to rest her forearms on the railing and drops the pieces in. They vanish in the brown current. The extra ammo follows.
“What are you thinking?” she asks, just loud enough to be heard over the rushing water.
“I don’t think a Chinese intelligence agency fielded that hawk.”
She looks up in surprise. “No?”
“It doesn’t feel right. This whole thing feels off.”
She straightens up, pushing a few strands of wet hair off her forehead. “Targeting Nungsan was extreme.”
“Agreed. So is running a surveillance program eight years out. That’s why I’m starting to think it’s personal. Someone with influence who would be affected if the truth got out. Someone with resources, used to outsourcing on-the-ground activity. The biomimetic hawk was the same here as back home.”
She thinks about this, then says, “I’m not sure if that’s better or worse. You have any idea who we’re talking about?”
He follows her gaze to the muddy water. No sign of the gun parts. He hopes they’re working their way downstream. “Not a clue.”
She says, “They’ll be hunting for Shaw just like we are, but we have the advantage. We know for sure he’s alive. We know the name he’s using. All they’ll learn from our conversation with Daniel is that he escaped Nungsan.”
The rain paints cool tracks down his face and the back of his neck. His shirt is getting wet. “They’re determined,” he reminds her. “They’ll figure it out.” He juts his chin, indicating the stream. “I’m thinking they’ll try to slow us down in the meantime.”
She looks up at him again. That fever-bright gaze. “You thought Rey must have guessed about the guns. You think he said something?”
“No. But Rey and Daniel have enemies. It wouldn’t be hard to get the cops curious about why we’re here, why we’re talking to them. But we’re clean now. It won’t matter.” He cocks his head toward the car. “Come on. Let’s go.”
She catches his sleeve. “Lincoln. Do you think Shaw knew he was marked for death?”
The question comes out of nowhere. He puzzles over it as the rain begins to abate. “How could he know?”
“He couldn’t,” she says. “But he knew something. I mean, he got away. He got out. But he didn’t come home. There must have been a reason. What reason, Lincoln?”
She asks him that, but she’s already guessed why—and he has too. “We can talk about it later. Let’s go.” He starts back toward the SUV.
“He was abandoned in that place,” she says from behind him, still in that voice so soft he has to turn around to hear her clearly. “He was abandoned and he knew it. No rescue came. His brothers didn’t come for him.”
“God damn it. We looked for him. You know we did, but we were sent on a false trail.”
“Yes,” she says, letting him know that this is the point she wants to make. “All of us were betrayed. Shaw needs to know that.”
Her eyes are wide and bright, too bright, with a warrior’s focus—as if she’s sizing him up the way she’d size up an enemy. She wants to find Shaw—so does he—but their reasons are not the same. “You’re feeling protective of him, True.”
“I am.”
“You need to be careful of that. Whatever his reason for not coming home, it doesn’t excuse what he’s done since.” He jerks his chin at the car. “Let’s get the fuck out of here while we can.”
Miles watches out the rear window of the SUV as Lincoln and True walk back from the bridge. He’s not sure what’s going on between them but it’s a relief to know the guns are gone.
When they get back in, they bring with them the odors of mud and rain-wet clothing and a sense of tension as thick as the tropical humidity. Neither offers an explanation.
“Let’s go,” Lincoln says. Rey obeys.