"Not enough," Cami replied cheerfully. "Got a positive ID there?" Holly turned her head and focused down on the tag around the skeleton's femur. It was yellow with age. In their AR, they could all see the printing: 'Kennewick, WA, 1996, Army Corps of Engineers.'
"Hallelujah," Delta muttered. Cami marked the location and noted the inventory number scribbled on the outside of the plastic crate.
"Thanks, Doc," Cami said, still cheerful.
"Roan, I'll expect payment tomorrow," Holly replied. Delta and Cami exchanged glances.
"Fine." Roan replied.
Roan made arrangements with the Johnson to meet back at the beach at 2 a.m. By midnight, they'd slipped into the storage facility. Cami was right: security was a joke. She hacked the main doors to get them inside. Roan cut through the hard-wired alarm on room 7B-3. They grabbed the crate and left. In and out, under five minutes.
And for once, their 'client' didn't say a word.
Roan drove their pickup into the little parking lot, right at two o'clock. A large van was waiting, engine running, in the middle. Roan parked facing the road, the beach just a few meters away from the back of the truck. He nodded to Delta. The ork closed his eyes, slouched for a second, then straightened up again.
"It's our Mr. J," he said. "Looks eager. He's alone."
Roan nodded. "OK, let's do it." Stepping out of the pickup, he moved around to the back and flipped down the tailgate. The Johnson stepped out of the van and walked up to him.
"Roan," the elf said. In the dark, his teeth flashed white. "You're prompt." Roan pulled the crate to the end and popped it open. The Johnson was an elf, so Roan didn't bother with a flashlight.
"Hope this is the right guy," Roan said as the elf stared at the skeleton. "Your description was… vague."
The elf smiled. "Oh, yes. This is definitely the right one," he said, satisfied. "I see your reputation is well deserved-" Roan leaned over to snap the case closed. Something rushed through the space where his head had been a moment before and slammed into the back of the truck. Roan straightened, turned, and felt something punch his shoulder.
He fell back, using the momentum to grab the Johnson. The elf screamed, but Roan just rolled with him, under the truck. A bullet spat rocks up two centimeters from his face. Roan rolled again, further back.
"Cami?" he shouted in his 'link, in his mind.
"On it," came the reply, ice cold in his ear. He heard the ratchet of a shotgun from the cab of the truck and muted his ears for a second. The truck shook above him. Roan pulled his Predator from the holster, scanned the parking lot. Boulders tumbled at the edge, leading down to the beach. The road was empty.
"Damn it, where are they?" he asked. At the same time, he saw a burst of light as a figure, wrapped in flames, fell screaming from the rocks down to the beach. Score one for Delta. Roan switched his eyes to thermal and focused on the rocks. Was there another person down there? Another spat of bullets hit the truck's cab. The Johnson was whimpering now. Roan ignored him-the bullets told him where to look. He sighted, aimed, fired. Hit. His target jerked and then flew back, punched by a slug from Cami's Remington 990.
Tires squealed beside the truck. He rolled again, aimed. A van stopped, the front doors flying open. He could only see legs.
"Shit," he muttered, then fired another shot. Blood and bone spewed out as a man fell to the ground, one leg ripped apart. More bullets hit the pavement in front of him. Roan felt something burn across one cheek. Someone inside the van burst into flames. Roan saw a thin face, screaming, before the flames washed over it. He heard glass shatter above him. Cami grunted over their 'link.
Roan slid out from under the truck, belly-crawled forward. He could see a man using the front of the van for cover. There was a loud explosion on the beach as ammo cooked off a human torch.
The man by the van glanced over, just for a moment. Roan took advantage and put two clean shots into his face.
He dropped. The screaming from the van was inhuman.
"Oh, for god's sake, Delta. Finish him off," Cami muttered in their 'links. Roan cautiously stood. His shoulder felt like it was on fire and something warm was trickling down his cheek. He'd live.
"Cami, you OK?" Roan asked. His hacker looked out of the truck's shattered back window. Blood covered most of her face, drenched the side of her armored jacket.
"Damn window. Bullet-proof glass my ass," she said, spitting out a mouthful of blood and glass. "Somebody shut that fucker up!" she shouted.
Roan turned, moved over to the van. He fired once and the screaming stopped. He slid the door of the van closed-just in case there was any ammo on the body, ready to cook.
"How 'bout you, Delta?" Roan asked, leaning over the man he'd shot in the leg. The guy was moaning, his eyes wide and glassy with shock. Roan put a bullet between them.
"Hell, I ducked," Delta replied, peering out the back window. "That all of 'em?"
"Fix Cami up," Roan replied, walking over to the rocks and looking down at the burning body on the sand. "Two down over here." He looked down at the body laying across the boulders, the one Cami had shot, and then back to the van, to the two men bleeding on the pavement. There wasn't much left of either face, but enough to know.
"Elves," he muttered. Roan stalked over to the truck. He reached underneath and hauled out the Johnson by the front of his shirt.
"You trying to screw us?" he shouted, shaking the man. Something wet and warm oozed over his hands where they held up the Johnson.
"Party lights," Cami said. Roan looked out and saw the sparkling lights winding their way up the dark beach road. Lone Star. He looked down at the glassy eyes of their Johnson.
"Motherfucker," he said, with feeling.
Two hours later, Delta slept, exhausted, while Roan paced the living room of their safehouse. His shoulder ached like hell, but he couldn't ask Delta for help. Patching up Cami had taken everything out of the ork. The skeleton sat in its crate in the spare room.
"You think the Johnson turned?" Cami asked as she scrubbed at the blood drying on her jacket.
"No," Roan replied. "They shot him, too."
"Why the hell would someone want a bunch of old bones?" she asked. Roan looked at her, at the blood streaking her blonde hair, soaking through her shirt. He'd screwed up. Someone had messed with his team. Now he wanted to know why.
"I gotta make a call," he said.
Roan had met Elijah a few years back. They'd shared a bottle of ouzo one night in a seedy hell-hole of a bar. For a brainy dirt-digger, the man could drink.
He made the call, connected. A middle-aged human looked out at him, brown hair tied back into a stubby ponytail. From the distorted view, Roan guessed Elijah was looking down into a handheld 'link.
"Roan," Elijah said, after staring for a moment. "Hell. As pretty as ever, I see. The blood's a nice touch."
Roan raised his hand to his cheek. Grimaced. "Yeah, well." He shrugged it off. "I've got something here, right up your alley."
"Yeah?" Elijah asked. In the background, Roan could hear the screams of tropical birds. Roan transmitted a burst of data, including a picture of the skeleton Cami had uploaded for him.
"You heard of the Kennewick Man?" Roan asked.
Elijah whistled. "My God. I'd heard it was lost. And no photos of the thing lying around, of course, otherwise… Hell, it's what, 8,500 years old, right?" he said, excited.
"So says the intel," Roan replied, shrugging.
"How much did you get paid for this?" Elijah asked, still staring at the picture.
"Not enough." Roan sighed. "Not nearly enough."
Elijah promised to call back in a few hours. Roan told Cami to get some sleep. He double-checked all the alarms, then popped a couple of painkillers and bunked down himself. Cami woke him up in the morning. She and Delta had the morning news on the trid.