She studies the sky, looking for the shooter.
“You aren’t going to find it,” Colt says. “A laser-armed UAV could be a mile up, or miles away.”
“It’s Kai Yun,” she says out loud. She glances over her shoulder at Guiying. “They followed her.” True recalls her earlier suspicion. “You did this, Shaw. You asked for this. You picked an open courtyard and baited it with Li Guiying just to see who would come out to play.”
Colt swears softly over the MARC’s comm.
Shaw says, “Of course it’s Kai Yun.” Keeping his gaze focused on his visor, he adds, “They think they’re invulnerable. They’re not even trying to be subtle. I’ve got nothing left up there. I don’t think anybody does, except them.”
“They cleared the sky? That’s crazy.”
“It’s gonna get crazier when the Arkinson launches.”
“The Arkinson?” she echoes in disbelief.
Colt says, “If you got any kind of exit plan, girl, now would be a good time to execute it.”
She ignores him and says, “You can’t scramble your air force, Shaw. This is a peaceful country, not a UA. Third-party military actions cannot take place—”
This time he looks at her, a cold gaze from behind his visor. “For God’s sake, True, are you quoting legal scripture at me?”
“He’s got a point,” Colt says. “Think who you’re arguing with.”
Okay. Right. She sees the absurdity, the pointlessness of protest, but the situation is escalating and she can’t help arguing. “Shaw, you cannot engage in an air war above this city.”
“I’ve got a defense contract that says I can.”
“What?”
“War is my business. It’s your business. We are fucking militaries for hire.”
“We are not the same,” she says. “Variant Forces is a black-hat PMC that has not signed the code of conduct and it’s run by you, a man who does not exist.”
“For God’s sake, True,” Colt rumbles. “Do you want him to shoot you?”
Shaw gives her a dark look that asks the same question—but then admits, “A local PMC is the public face of the operation.”
“Shit,” she says—all she can think to say given the twisted, tangled, dangerous world they live in. Impossible to know who’s in charge and who’s got military-grade weapons in their back pocket. War can happen anywhere, everywhere, at any moment.
But for now, the cracking has stopped. Doesn’t mean it’s over.
“Stay put,” Shaw warns her. “We’re stuck here while that laser owns the sky.”
“Yeah, I got that.”
To her surprise she hears voices outside, civilian voices. They sound puzzled, worried. She guides the sparrow’s camera to look back down at the street. It finds people at the end of the block, looking up at the sky. More people on the roof terrace across the street. They’re trying to understand what’s going on. They question each other in concern, in disbelief.
“They need to get back inside,” True says. She is sure there is a ground game on the way, and really, it’s just a question of whether Shaw’s Arkinson can eliminate the laser before Kai Yun’s foot soldiers show.
That doesn’t seem likely.
A civil-defense siren kicks in with an ear-shattering howl.
Unsettled Times
“I was not expecting to see you here, Lincoln. I did not know you were in Rabat.”
Lincoln sits across a desk from Dove Barhoum, a man he has traded emails with on several occasions but whom he has never before met in person. Dove’s weathered face, sun-blackened and set in a deep scowl, suggests he is not at all pleased to be meeting Lincoln in his office now.
“These are unsettled times,” Dove goes on. “We all watch one another. We wonder who is an enemy, who is a friend… who has a contract for mutual defense. I have no such contract with you. But who will see you here and assume that I do?”
“Only your own staff,” Lincoln says. His left elbow is propped on the armrest of his chair, his prosthetic fingers rapidly tapping—a restless motion that draws Dove’s gaze and seems to unsettle him. “I didn’t announce that I was coming.”
Dove’s scowl deepens. He’s understood the accusation. After so many unreturned phone calls, a surprise visit looked like the only way to find him at his desk.
Lincoln says, “I am not here to put you in danger or to antagonize you. I’ve lost contact with one of my employees. I need to track her down, for her sake and for mine. I know you talked to her yesterday.”
“True Brighton,” Dove says. His scowl eases and his gaze grows distant. “She was here, sitting where you are sitting now. We spoke only briefly. She was careful to explain she had not come to me as a representative of Requisite Operations. Her business was of a personal nature. It is not something I can discuss.”
“But you called me late yesterday,” Lincoln says. “Am I wrong to think you called me to talk about True?”
“You are correct. I was concerned. To see her here on her own so soon after your operation in the TEZ. There are those who would not look on her kindly if they knew. But later, I knew it was a mistake to contact you. My clients need to know I will not discuss their business.”
“Is she your client?” Lincoln asks.
Dove smiles, not in a friendly way. “No, she is not my client. She asked only a simple favor. But it’s not so simple now.”
Lincoln nods. “She asked you to put her in touch with Jon Helm. Did you?”
“No. I told her I could not do that—and that is all I will tell you about what we discussed. I have not seen her or heard from her since her visit yesterday. I do not know where she is.”
Later, in the car, as they drive back into the city, Lincoln recounts this short interview.
“Someone threatened him,” Miles concludes. He’s in the backseat between Felice and Rohan. Officially, he’s an embedded journalist. The terms of their warrant don’t allow him to carry a weapon, but he’s armed with a phone and wears a protective vest over civilian clothing. “He called you to let you know True had been by. But you didn’t pick up, and sometime after that he was told to mind his own damn business.”
“That’s how I read it,” Lincoln agrees. He’s turned around in his seat to talk to the crew in back while Khalid does the driving. Lincoln brought Khalid along as an interpreter. He put him behind the wheel because he’s the most adept at reading Arabic traffic signs. But like Miles, he’s unarmed. He doesn’t have a security license yet, and if he did it wouldn’t matter. The terms of their warrant are very specific, allowing only three soldiers to enter the country.
“A simple favor,” Lincoln says. “That’s how Dove put it. I think he got charmed into passing the word that she’s here. When the word got to Shaw, he reacted.”
“That doesn’t tell us jack about where she is now,” Rohan says. He’s carrying a pistol strapped to his chest, mostly hidden by his protective vest.
Felice is armed the same way. “True’s running an op,” she says irritably. “When she needs backup, she’ll call.”
“I don’t think we can count on that,” Miles says. “You weren’t in Manila. She doesn’t see him for what he is and she’s not looking at bringing him in. He could be gone before—”
“Hey!” Khalid says, leaning over the steering wheel to look up at the blue midday sky. “Lincoln, what is that? You see it? Streaks of smoke, like something’s falling in pieces out of the sky.”
Lincoln does see it. Thin smoke trails descending over the city. Three or four of them. No. More than that. Everywhere he looks—over the harbor, over suburban neighborhoods, he sees more.