"They call themselves the Illuminati." Lebedev became grave, and his manner gave Kelso a moment's pause. "The Tyrants are just their blunt instrument, one of many of their tools. The Illuminati are pulling their strings. A group of powerful men and women who believe that they alone have the will and the right to govern the future of our world."
She shook her head. "What you're talking about doesn't exist. It's the creation of a paranoid mind."
"Is it?" Lebedev paused. "Tell me, wasn't the very same charge leveled at you very recently?" He leaned closer. "If nothing else, I would think that the events of the last twenty-four hours would have taught you that the line between fact and fiction is not as well defined as you thought."
She was quiet for a long moment. "All right. Say I buy that. But what the hell does a group of rich people carving up the world have to do with
Matt's death, him and all the others? Not just Dansky, but the other ones I found."
"And there's more where that came from," offered D-Bar, hovering nearby. "A lot more."
Lebedev pointed at her face. "You're augmented. Those lovely eyes of yours. Because of that, you represent something to the Illuminati. You, and everyone else who has chosen to augment themselves. You're a threat." He gestured at the air. "New eyes, new arms. Faster reflexes, quicker thinking. But where does that end? When humans have the capacity to change the course of their own evolution, where does that lead?"
Anna struggled with the thought. "It… it gives people control."
He nodded slowly. "Control of their destiny. And a human race with that capacity is one beyond the influence of the Illuminati. That makes for an unstable world, and they can't have that." Lebedev's tone turned cold. "We mustn't be allowed to take charge."
D-Bar came closer. "The United Nations are coming under pressure. They're being pushed toward a referendum on worldwide regulation of aug technology. That's what this is all about. Senator Skyler, all the rest? That's the Tyrants moving the pieces on the game board for their bosses.
Setting up the dominoes. Your pal Ryan was just caught in the cross fire."
It made a horrible, chilling kind of sense. The Tyrants were working on lines of influence, removing people who might act as impediments to a greater plan, or intimidating those they needed to use. The coin cut the palm of Anna's hand as she gripped it hard.
"Human history turns on the smallest of moments, Ms. Kelso, and one of those moments is almost here," said Lebedev. "If the UN go to a ballot…" He frowned. "Whoever controls the direction of that vote will be able to manipulate the future of mankind." After a moment, he put down his cup and beckoned Anna to her feet. "I know it's a lot to take in. Come with me, I want you to meet someone. They might be able to make things clearer for you."
D-Bar had already taken the flash drive Anna got from Temple's house, and he gestured with it as he walked away. "I'm gonna get started on analyzing this. See what we got. Tell Janus I said hi, yeah?"
"Who is 'Janus'?" asked Anna.
"I'll introduce you" said Lebedev.
"You're a very good soldier, Ben," said Namir, from the ops room doorway. "But there's something you lack."
Saxon saw the other man in the computer screen, a warped reflection of those hard eyes and that scarred face. "Enlighten me."
"You can't see where the line is. You don't know how to compartmentalize yourself. You're not willing to make that sacrifice." Namir took a casual step into the ops room. "That's what we have to do. Put up walls around the parts of our souls we want to keep sacrosanct. Barriers to protect our humanity."
Saxon tensed. "Is that what you do?" He thought of the man in the photo at the house, the father and husband. "You're one man in here, with us. Out there, you're someone else?" He rose slowly, his fury building. "That's not something to be proud of. That's a pattern of psychosis!"
Namir shook his head slowly. "You're very good at what you do, Ben. But inside, you're weak. You can't let go. I thought that might change after what happened in Queensland. I had hopes."
"Were you a part of that?" Saxon pointed at the screen and his voice rose. "Is this about those bastards holding your bloody leash?"
Namir's tone never altered. "I want you to think very carefully about what you say next. Because this is the most important choice you will ever make. What happened in Moscow, then in the house in London
… Those things were not the tests of your character, or your loyalty." He gestured to the monitor. "This is the test, Ben. This is what will define who you are, and your future with the Tyrants. Do you understand? I need to know if you can be like me. Like the rest of us."
Saxon's gorge rose; he was sickened by the other man's words, revolted by the thought of what black and poisonous truth lay behind them.
"Like you?" he husked. "You don't hide your humanity away, Namir. You only tell yourself that you do. The truth is, you're not human anymore. You've lost that, you and Hardesty, Federova, and the others. You're a weapon that thinks like a man."
The other man gave a weary sigh. "That's a shame. I really wanted you to understand. I hate to see great potential wasted."
"Tell me what you did…" Saxon spat, his voice rising to a shout. "Tell me!"
Namir's gaze never wavered as his metallic hand curled into a fist. "Do you know what real strength is, Ben? Sacrifice."
CHAPTER TEN
Aerial Transit Corridor-Gulf of St. Lawrence-North Atlantic
It was as if the blood had been drained from him; Saxon was suddenly an empty vessel, echoing and cold. In all the years of battle in conflict zones across the globe, in those moments when death had been a heartbeat away from claiming him, he had never felt the same slow, sickening shock that swept about him now. Carefully, he gathered up the vu-phone and pocketed it, moving slowly to keep one of the ops room consoles between him and Namir.
"I'll give you the truth, if you want it," said the Tyrant commander. "There's little point in being coy about it now."
"Operation Rainbird." Saxon ground out the words like pieces of broken glass. "What did you do?"
Namir sighed. "I wish I could make it clear to you how lucky you are, Ben. Recruitment into the Tyrants is not a reward that just anyone is given. You need to be superlative. You need to be more than just a fool with a gun." He walked a little farther into the room, and Saxon stiffened as he felt the floor shift slightly beneath their feet; the jet was banking, turning eastward. Namir went on. "You were on the radar a long time before I came to you in Queensland. We have ongoing dossiers on many potentials. Our missions have a high level of attrition. Fatalities like Joe
Wexler are a regular occurrence."
"Get to the point!" snapped Saxon.
"Oh, I will. But you have to see the big picture first." Namir nodded to himself and pointed. "You were in the prime percentile, Ben. All that was stopping you were your… shortcomings. We freed you from that."
"What?" He could feel the dark answer coming; on some level, he already knew and he didn't want to hear it. He didn't want it to be true.
"Wexler… It took his wife's death to bring him into the fold. Now, Gunther Hermann, he was a very different subject. Much more direct. The group made certain problems he had in Germany go away, and in return he was in our debt. Not that what he owed mattered. He came to the
Tyrants willingly, eyes open. But you?" Namir cocked his head, weighing Saxon up. "The man I wanted for my team, the man I know you can be, he was being held back." He nodded again. "Throughout your entire military service, first to King and Country, then to Belltower, you've been shackled to some kind of outdated moral compass. You have a dream of being the 'good soldier.' And while other men have had that beaten from them by harsh reality, you hold on to it, Ben. Against all odds, you hold on. That's why you never rose in rank. We've both been leaders of men. And that means sometimes you have to send men to die, and do it without flinching."