She turns her gaze to the passage. She can see its mouth, but she can’t see into it—and she can’t see Farouk. He’s probably in the courtyard, hidden beneath the balcony or at the bottom of the stairwell.
Her MARC flashes a red highlight at the top of her visor. She looks up, targeting the highlight with her Triple-Y before recognition sparks: A sparrow. A mechanical sparrow descending from the roof terrace, dropping toward the courtyard in a swift spiral. Not her sparrow—the laser destroyed hers—but the same design.
Lincoln?
Her finger is still floating above the trigger when a shot goes off—it sounds like it’s right below her. The sparrow bursts apart as the shot reechoes off the walls.
As the echoes fade, she hears Farouk. He’s running, bounding up the stairs. She gives him two seconds, long enough to finish the first half-flight. Then she pivots, aiming the Triple-Y down the stairwell as he comes into sight, his pistol in one hand. He gets off a shot. It cracks past her ear. But she’s already hammering him, five slugs to the chest.
He drops like a dead man, sliding down with his back against the wall. She wonders if he is dead. It takes him a few seconds to decide—then he starts to wheeze.
“Heads up, Ripley,” she says, “call Lincoln.”
Rushing In Again
Lincoln waits at the top of the street as True trots up the hill. He’s flanked by Rohan, Felice, and Miles.
During her brief call, True warned them to stay out of the target street.
“It’s over,” she reported, sounding worn and tired. “I couldn’t stop them. Shaw is gone. Rihab has him. And this is going to be a crime scene. You do not want to leave any DNA or risk your image being recorded here, so stay away.”
He’d seen a photo of the corpse outside the front door so he didn’t argue. He told her, “Tamara flew a sparrow over the site.”
“I saw it.”
“The man on the roof, he’s your prisoner?”
“The cops can have him. His partner is here in the stairwell. I’ve secured him too. They’re both Shaw’s men, Variant Forces soldiers, and they betrayed him.” Bitter disgust in her voice as she said this.
“They came for you next?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
And she took them both down. If there was video of that confrontation, he wanted to see it. “Any idea if they’ve got backup on the way?”
“I don’t think so. Those two were out for themselves.”
“Tell me about the dismembered body out front. Did that woman betray Shaw too?”
Three or four seconds of dead silence followed this question, then: “You could say that. But he didn’t kill her, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Now, as True reaches the top of the hill, he can see her eyes past the screen of her MARC. The fever-bright gaze of a soldier fresh off the battlefront. Wired up tight on stress and adrenaline, and haggard. Her cheeks are gaunt, her skin shining with sweat and oil, her hair escaping from its usual neat braid. She’s got a Triple-Y slung over her shoulder, and he’s fairly sure there’s a pistol in the front pocket of her jacket.
Miles hangs back, but Felice and Rohan aren’t shy. “You asshat,” Felice says with a grin. And Rohan, his arms wide like he’s going to give her a hug. “Mama, what the fuck? You forgot you have friends?”
She startles him by tossing him an electronic key, which he manages to catch in a desperate grab.
“Maybe I did,” she admits. “But we got to move. Since you’ve left your truck behind, see if you can figure out what that belongs to. Maybe we can use it. But don’t get close until we check if it’s rigged.”
Lincoln thought his anger had cooled, but it comes rushing in again as she turns to him. He says, “I’d have you up on charges if we were still in service.”
She takes this in with a stonewall expression. “If we were still in service, you’d be right to do so. If you want to, you can still turn me in to the police. They’ll probably be here in about thirty seconds.”
Felice rolls her eyes. Rohan, who is still standing there with the key in his hand and an uncertain look on his face, turns to Lincoln. “Hey. True fucked up, but we are not turning her over.”
“Give me that key,” Lincoln says, taking it. He’s got no intention of involving the police if he can help it, and no desire to talk to their liaison officer, Nadim Zaman—which means True is right. They need to clear out of here now. He triggers the key. From around the corner, a car beeps in response. They go to find it—and that’s when True catches sight of a shot-up expeditionary SUV blocking the intersection. Traffic is moving on neighboring blocks, but not here.
“Oh,” she says softly.
There is blood on the inside of the bullet-riddled windshield. A line of heavier-caliber bullet holes stitches the roof. As they trot past, Lincoln glimpses two bodies inside.
“Your work?” Rohan asks.
She answers in a quiet voice. “It looks like the Arkinson strafed them, finished them off.”
Lincoln clicks the key again. A parked SUV responds with flashing lights and a two-tone beep. It’s painted in desert camouflage. “Whose car?” he asks.
“I got the key off one of the soldiers at the house. I don’t think Rihab had time to wire it, but I want to check anyway.”
“No, I’ll check,” he says.
“I’ve got a snake.” She pulls a little eight-inch serpent out of her pocket. Lincoln recognizes it as one of Tamara’s creations. She tosses it under the truck, saying, “Check it out, Dad.”
Dad?
She’s not using her data glove, she’s not controlling it, but the snake moves. It rears up to examine the undercarriage while she circles the truck, looking inside, studying the seams around the doors. He joins her. So do the others. A fifteen-second search for wires and taped explosives. “Looks clean on top,” he concludes. “Anything underneath?”
She stoops to pick up the snake. “Nothing.”
“Then get in. Everybody in.”
Rohan, Felice, and Miles pile into the back. Lincoln slides into the driver’s seat. True is opening the front passenger door when he punches the ignition. She flinches, like she’s still worried it might blow.
“We’re good,” he says as the dash lights come on and the air conditioning starts to flow. “Get in.”
She dumps her daypack on the floor, but she’s still holding the snake and the Triple-Y as Lincoln puts the car into drive. “Who are you working with?” he asks her.
“What?”
“The snake. Who’s running the snake?”
“Oh. Colt’s shadowing me. He’s linked into my MARC too.”
In the backseat, Rohan snickers, and Felice sounds incredulous when she demands to know, “You’re working with your dad?” Lincoln is just as astonished. True has never been able to talk to Colt without butting heads with him. Hell, no one can.
“Desperate times, desperate measures,” True says. She gets out her tablet and flips it open, adding, “He says to tell you all he’s not senile.”
Lincoln says, “I’m going to assume that’s not an exact quote.”
She shrugs, sliding on her reading glasses. Her fingers tap and glide across the face of the tablet. “I’ve got a mother’s helper planted on Shaw.”
Lincoln’s scars tighten as this news draws a grudging smile. Rohan is more expressive. “Righteous move, Mama! That’s going to make this hunt easier.”
And Chris on comms: “Tell True to log in to the QRF. I need that signal.”
Lincoln relays the message. She nods and murmurs, “Hey, Dad, I got to log out… Yeah, you too. Thanks, old man. I love you. And don’t call Alex. I’ll talk to him when this is done.”