…" He frowned. "Escaped capture by RCMP forces in Quebec, currently wanted in connection with numerous data-crimes on three continents, known to be an active member of the Juggernaut Collective. Designated priority target." Tyler waved the slate at her. "This isn't some kid pirating software or deep-sixing parking tickets. He's part of an international criminal conspiracy! And now so are you."
For a moment, she couldn't find anything to counter his accusations, and Anna began to wonder if she had been played all along. What if
Juggernaut had been tracking her, watching while she conducted her covert investigation? What if they had used her, twisted her to their own ends? She bit down on her lip, feeling sick inside. Another lie on top of all the others? "No," she managed, shaking her head. "It's Temple. He's the traitor! He's been using his access to the DOJ network to pass classified data!"
"To who?" Tyler demanded.
"I… I don't know!" she said angrily. "All I know is that he's responsible for the deaths of a half-dozen Secret Service agents, men you and I worked with!"
Tyler sat back, his expression souring. "I'll tell you where you are going, Kelso. You're being transferred to a secure psychiatric unit out of state.
Maybe there you can get some help. If Juggernaut were just using you-"
"Don't talk to me like I'm delusional!" Anna snapped, pulling against her restraints. "I know what I saw!"
Tyler's hand slipped to the stun gun on his belt. "Sit back," he ordered. "Don't make me knock you out."
She sagged and fell against the metal bench as another truck hummed past, the light cast from the screen-panels along its flanks moving slowly along the inside of the van. Something made her look up, and for a moment Anna thought that the stims, the stress, and the lack of proper sleep had all conspired to make her hallucinate.
Visible through the slit-windows, she saw a line of text marching along the side of the driverless truck as it paralleled the van. Brace Yourself
Kelso, it read, This Is Going to Hurt.
Her jaw dropped just as Tyler caught on, and the agent turned to look out the windows, catching sight of what she had seen. He tapped his mastoid. "Drake, do you see-?"
Before he could complete the thought, the wheels of the computer-controlled hauler gave a savage screech and the glowing screen-panels loomed through the windows. The robot truck broadsided the van and the vehicle resonated with the force of the impact. Tyler was knocked aside, but Anna was ready, riding out the collision. Through the security panel in front of her, she heard Drake swearing as he tried to stop the van from spinning into a wild skid. Then the truck veered across the lanes a second time and Drake lost control as they collided. The vehicle fishtailed across the freeway and momentum turned it sideways. There was a moment of stomach-churning vertigo as the van flipped over and crashed onto its side. A horrible grinding shriek sounded out as the prisoner transport scraped to a halt along the asphalt.
Anna recovered quickly, ignoring a cut over her right eye. Tyler was lying on his side, his breathing shallow but ready. She pulled as far as the restraints would let her and grabbed at him, dragging him closer. Her hands snagged the magnetic key rod on his belt and she tapped it on the cuffs; they fell away and she immediately felt a prickling sensation as proper blood flow returned to her extremities.
Someone banged twice on the rear doors. A hissing, fizzing glow appeared where the lock was mounted and she turned away. Metal parted with a heavy cracking sound and the doors fell open.
The bright beam of a torch engulfed her and Kelso held up a hand to shield her eyes. "You gonna sit there and stare, or are you gonna get the hell out?" said a voice.
Anna lurched onto the highway, panting, and found D-Bar standing there, a manic grin on his face. The unmanned truck was idling nearby, blocking the view of the wrecked van from passing traffic. The hacker jerked his thumb at a sporty Redline roadster parked nearby on the hard shoulder. "C'mon, your ride's here."
"You did that?" She blinked. "Tyler… Drake… You could have killed them!"
D-Bar gaped. "Excuse me, but weren't they taking you off to some deep dark hole, never to return? And you re welcome, by the way!" Anna took two steps toward the front of the van, but D-Bar grabbed her arm and pulled her back. "The driver is okay, I checked. Don't worry, I don't want a murder rap any more than you do."
Limping, she followed him to the sports car; it was a Falcon GTG, worth maybe ten times the sticker price of Kelso's commonplace sedan.
"I hadda dump your wheels," he said, before she could ask. "Which I managed to do, despite the whole handcuffing thing…" He drifted off, and paused. For the first time, Anna noticed he was wearing an earphone. "Yeah, okay," he said, speaking to the air. "Just monitor the traffic cameras at the exits. If anything looks jagged, let me know."
"Who are you talking to?" she demanded.
"Some people. Springing you, getting a new ride, all on short notice, that had to be a team effort, y'know? And I'm still waiting for some gratitude." He pointed. "There's some clothes in the back, nothing fancy though. Better ditch the romper suit soon-as, yeah?"
She reached the car and sagged against the hood. "Temple. It's Ron Temple, he's the leak. The son-of-a-bitch was giving the Tyrants all they needed."
D-Bar nodded gravely. "Okay. Well, look, don't sweat it. We know it's him now, so there are other approaches we can make. And with your help
– "
Anna shook her head. "I'm not in this to help you, I'm doing this for me. For Matt." She tore off the prison garb and threw it into the bushes, ignoring D-Bar as he gawked at her. From the backseat she recovered a track suit and sweatshirt. "He has a contact, he must have. I'm going to make him give it to me." She climbed into the car and started the engine.
Abruptly, D-Bar realized that she wasn't going to take him with her. "What about me? You're just gonna leave me out here on the highway?"
"I don't trust you!" she snapped, stamping on the accelerator. The Falcon peeled out into the main lane with a snarl of engine noise that smothered the hacker's string of curses. She aimed for the next exit, already plotting the route in her head that would take her back toward the
D.C. suburbs.
Romeo Airport-Michigan-United States of America
The helo extended its rotor-rings and turned them this way and that, running through the last of the preflight checks. Saxon watched, his fist tapping absently against his thigh. It seemed like they had been here for hours, primed and ready to go, watching the clock. Waiting for the word from the forward waypoint. Once or twice he had seen Hardesty and Barrett in quiet conversation, talking animatedly in low tones that didn't carry. Saxon found himself wishing he had an aural booster implant, or maybe one of those lip-reader software upgrades for his optics.
He looked away, unable to ease the tension knotting in his chest. After the fight room, after that night in London, he'd expected this feeling to drop away-but it was still there. Saxon could not shake it, no matter how hard he tried. He still felt like an outsider-what he had thought were the first inklings of comradeship were ghosts, illusions. The reality was that the bond of brotherhood, of shared purpose he'd felt in the service and then again with Strike Six, was absent here. He wondered if he was fooling himself, holding on to some mawkish ideal of esprit de corps.
Perhaps there was no place for something like that in the Tyrants.
His train of thought stalled as Namir emerged from the hatch of the transport plane, stepping quickly down the ramp. The other man had been called back aboard by the pilot; Saxon had caught the tail end of the conversation, something about an urgent signal from "the group." Now the commander's face was furrowed with irritation; whatever he had been told, Namir wasn't happy about it.