None of that was getting through. We were operating off stale intelligence. It was like being hunkered down in the heart of a mystery. All we could be sure about was what we could see, and that was the green-tinted chaos of a wind-tossed forest with rain glittering like flakes in a fucking snow globe. I loved it, I did.
Twenty minutes later, things changed. The rain backed off. The wind retreated. Drops were still falling off the leaves and we could hear the wind above us, but on the forest floor no wind was blowing. A faint mist condensed right out of the night and swarms of mosquitoes started flying—but we didn’t have much flesh exposed and our faces were painted. We were okay.
Then Diego spoke in this voice that made my hair stand on end, low and hesitant, like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “Shaw,” he said, “take a look behind you, five o’clock, twelve meters upslope.”
I didn’t want to give my position away, so I turned slowly, silently. Studied the slope above me, but all I saw were trees. A million fucking trees, spindly trees with moss on their trunks, ferns on the ground between them, and this mist, barely visible, padding the air.
“I don’t see anything,” I said.
From farther down the line, Francis said, “Fuck. I do.”
Then I did too. A thread of light. That’s all it was. Shooting between the trees. It lasted a fraction of a second. If I’d blinked, I would have missed it. In the corner of my eye I saw another thread, this one way down the line, close to Francis.
“Laser pulses,” Mason said over comms. “The NVG’s are picking it up. That’s why we’re seeing it. It’s pitch dark out there without the lenses.”
“It ain’t the goddamn trees talking to each other with laser comms,” Hector whispered. “Who we got on this hill with us?”
“Not who,” Diego said. “I’ve got one only eight meters away. Got to be a device. Some kind of security system. Motion sensor. You know how it is. Saomong’s smart. They know we’re here.”
“What the hell,” I said. “You think they got this whole road surveilled? How many point sources you count?”
“I see at least six,” Hector answered.
Way too many for it to be fixed surveillance. It was like the mosquitoes. Whatever was making those flashes, we’d brought it here. Our heat, our presence. We were the lure.
“Go check it out, Hector,” I said. “Don’t get your lines tangled.”
“Do my best.”
I couldn’t see him from where I was. The ground was soft and wet so I couldn’t hear him either. We all waited in silence.
“Jesus Christ,” he whispered. “It’s a fucking—”
Bam!
A short, sharp concussion. Not a gun. An explosive. Not loud either. Just loud in comparison to the silence on either side of it. The flash I saw through the trees was actinic, almost fried my NVG.
Then the forest was buzzing like a nest of wasps had come awake. Far down the line, someone started shooting.
Hired Guns
True stands, arms crossed, one shoulder against the glass. It’s cool in the office but her cheeks are flushed with fear, shock. In her mind she’s in that forest, surrounded by the green-tinted dark and the endless imprisoning trunks of sapling trees.
It takes her a few seconds to register that Shaw has stopped speaking. When she does, her gaze shifts from the abstract, fixing on him. He is still in the corner where he’s taken a defensive position, but it’s as if the program he’s running on has paused. He’s motionless, mesmerized, his attention fixed on something she can’t see, something playing out on the screen of his AR visor.
“What do you have?” she asks him.
He lifts his head to look at her through the glittering lens. “You figured out who’s following you?”
“No.”
That hard half-smile. “Looks like we get a chance to find out.”
She reaches into the front pocket of her jacket, sees him tense up, and hesitates. “Easy,” she urges, and slowly pulls out her MARC. She toggles the power back on, then uses her fingernail to hold down a tiny recessed button. A purple ready light comes on. “Give me a link in.” She holds the visor out to him. “I want to see what you see.”
He scowls behind the screen of his own AR visor, then shrugs. “Stand by.” He uses his data glove to scroll through menus she can’t see. Then, taking his visor off, he holds it close to hers until both devices flash, indicating identities have been exchanged and a link established.
When she puts on the MARC, she sees a livestream. It’s an aerial view of the warehouse district taken from a low angle. Their location is noted by a tag, while a caption identifies the source of the video as a high-altitude UAV manufactured by Shin-Farrell. The surrounding streets are empty except for an SUV rounding a corner three blocks away.
Shaw is wearing his lens again, studying the display. All vehicles capable of autonomous navigation have identifying transponders. He says, “The ID links up with a local PMC. Hired guns. Gotta be.”
True is impressed. “You’ve got a link into the city’s database?”
“Support your local cops,” he says softly. “Background report says they’re a new operation. That makes them a pair of amateurs, desperate for business. They were told to follow you, but they probably don’t know who you are. For sure, they got no clue who they’re gonna find.”
The lethal certainty in that statement sends a shiver through her. She finds herself trying to talk him down. “Come on. They might not find us at all. The way they’re driving, it’s like they think they’ve got the right neighborhood, but they don’t know the exact address.”
“You’re a nice lady, True.”
The truck stops in the middle of a street. A window goes down, two devices take flight. Tags pop up on the video, labeling the objects as Sibolt surveillance drones.
Shaw snorts in contempt. “That didn’t work so well the first time, gentlemen. And around here you don’t get a second chance.”
Fear rises in True’s throat, but not fear for herself. She needs to defuse this situation before someone gets hurt. Right action demands it. “Hey, it’s just surveillance. No need to start a war.” Gentle words, feigned confidence, as she moves toward the door. “It’s not like they tried to hurt me before. I’m going to talk to them, ask who hired them. If we keep it civil, maybe we can help each other out.”
Better to take the risk herself than to let Shaw take action.
His eyebrows rise above the frame of his visor, and then his scarred mouth wrenches up on one side. “Hold on. If you want to play it that way, you’re welcome to it. But don’t go unarmed.” He palms the lock on the safe. “Take a pistol, at least. Insurance.”
Inside the safe is a small collection of firearms. He takes out a pistol, hands it to her. “Nine millimeter, homemade, unmarked.”
Printed downstairs, no doubt. It’s lightweight with a short barrel, easy to stash in a pocket. She checks the load. She would probably be safer if she went unarmed, but she slides the pistol into her jacket pocket anyway.
“Let’s do a voice link,” he says. He kills her video feed, leaving her with a clear field of view. Then he puts through a new link. She accepts it. “Comm check.”
“Comm check affirmed,” she says. She grabs her pack. Shaw is resting hip-cocked on the desk, entranced by his display. “Hey,” she says.
“Yeah?” He doesn’t look up.
“Don’t disappear, okay? I need to hear the rest of that story.”