D-Bar's pale face flushed red and he blinked. "What? Why? No!" He shook his head. "I can do this from-"
"No arguments!" insisted Lebedev. "We can't go in without an information warfare specialist. You're always telling me how good you are-now you can prove it."
D-Bar jabbed a finger at the screens. "What, this wasn't enough for you?"
"Cheer up, son," Saxon offered. "You'll get to see it from the sharp end for a change, yeah?"
Anna listened to the interchange and it was as if she were falling away from it all, being left behind with every passing moment. When she spoke, the words came of their own accord, without her conscious control. "I'm going, too." Anna searched herself for a good, convincing reason, but she came up empty. All she could grasp was the distant, undying anger deep in her chest.
Powell shot her a look. "No. We don't need you."
"How about she goes and I stay?" offered D-Bar.
"I have to!" she insisted, with a force that came from nowhere. Anna went on, her voice rising. "I've been chasing the Tyrants for months! I've thrown away everything-"
"Kelso is right," Saxon broke in abruptly. "She should be part of the team. We can use her."
"How, exactly?" Powell demanded.
Saxon made a look-see gesture. "She saw the faces of the Tyrants. Two sets of eyes, mate." He gave Anna a look that was unreadable. "Right?" he asked her.
"Right," she repeated. "Yes."
Powell seemed as if he was about to argue, but Saxon gave him a look and tapped his wristwatch. "We don't really have time to waste arguing, do we?"
"Get the veetol and head for the shore," said Lebedev, ending the debate. "I'll contact you with the details once you're airborne."
CHAPTER TWELVE
Cape Charles-Virginia-United States of America
The veetol was an old air-ambulance model stripped to the bare metal, a bulky and ungainly thing like a fat gull borne up on bright thruster nozzles that spat exhaust from the wingtips. They flew fast and low, following the line of the canal from Baltimore, until the river mouth opened up before them. Saxon felt it in the pit of his gut as the veetol rose up in a near-vertical ascent, trading altitude for thrust. He made an attempt to glance out the porthole; along with the Kelso woman and the hacker, Saxon was crammed into the rear of the flyer with Powell and four of his men from the New Sons. None of them looked like soldiers of any stripe he thought worthy of the name; they had a different air to them, which reminded him of the feral intensity of the gang kids he'd grown up with on the streets of North London. He pegged them for ex-cons or militia types. Kelso sat with her head down, lost in her own thoughts.
D-Bar gave him a smile that was all fake bravado. "What's wrong? Don't like flying?"
Saxon didn't allow himself to dwell on the similarity between this veetol and the one he'd rode into the wilderness six months ago. "Something like that," he offered. It was a tight fit in here, and he was starting to get tired of it. "Hey, Powell!" He had to shout to the other man to make himself heard over the roar of the engines.
Powell had the distracted look of someone using a comm implant. He glanced at Saxon but said nothing.
He nodded at the FR-27 rifle slung over the man's chest. "Do I get a weapon?"
"I only give guns to people I trust."
"What are we doing?" Saxon went on. "As cozy as this is, we can't fly to Switzerland in this thing."
Powell smiled thinly, reacting to something only he heard. "Don't sweat it," he called back. "Our ride is here." He jerked his thumb at the porthole.
For a moment, Saxon couldn't see what he was talking about; then his perception caught up with what he was looking at, and the shape he'd thought was just another churn of storm clouds took on a different aspect.
From out of the easterly front emerged a massive, elongated ellipse. Lined with fins and stabilators, great hoops hung from its flanks, the centers of them blurred by the motion of wide, fluted rotor blades. Along the flank of the aircraft he saw a blue-on-blue livery and the name: LEBEDEV AIRCARGO.
"Whoa!" said D-Bar, crowding in to take a look, "Cargo zep… Good cover." He trailed off as he thought it through. "But… how are we gonna get on board?"
Powell was getting to his feet. "Not the easy way."
The veetol's deck dipped and the hull of the airship rose to fill the window. The other men were securing their gear, checking straps and gear pockets. Kelso met Saxon's gaze with a questioning look and he gave her a shrug as a reply.
D-Bar turned to him, catching on. "He's not serious-"
A red light flashed and along the side of the veetol, a seam opened to peel back a long drop-hatch. Cold air howled into the cargo space and
Saxon felt his gut tighten. He closed his eyes and for a moment he was remembering blackness and the shriek of wind.
The dorsal hull of the airship drifted past below them, a curved stretch of ridged aluminum as wide as a football field. He saw guide rails set into the metal and thick maintenance cables. The veetol dropped, almost bumping into the hull of the cargo carrier as a gust of wind pulled at the wings.
Two of Powell's men went first, the gale-force airstream catching them. Before Saxon could stop him, Powell went forward and shouldered D Bar out through the open hatch. The hacker screamed as he fell, but the men on the hull were there to grab him.
Powell turned on Kelso and shouted, "You should stay behind. Go back with the flyer."
Saxon saw the shift of emotions on her face and she shoved the man out of her way. She dropped from the veetol, a flash of panic on her face and then she was down and safe, clinging to the guides.
"You next" Powell ordered.
Saxon frowned and made the drop; it was less than a meter and a half of open air, but a sudden burst of wind shear hit him like a punch in the gut. He felt his foot touch the curve of the hull and slip out from under. His balance wasn't there and he was falling.
Suddenly, slender but strong fingers were gripping his wrist tightly. It gave him the moment he needed, and Saxon's cyberarm snagged a cable and held fast. He turned his head to see Kelso holding him steady with no little effort.
Saxon nodded his thanks and scrambled back up the curve of the hull. Powell and the last of his men dropped to the deck as the veetol curved away, and he led them forward to a windbreak and a hatch set flush with the hull. D-Bar barged his way to the front and made sure he was first in. The rest of them followed suit. The hatch slammed shut as he dropped into the airship's maintenance bay, cutting out the roaring cold. He frowned; his face was raw with windburn.
"You okay?" Kelso asked.
He nodded and gestured to his cyberlegs. "It's these new pins. Still working out the gyro synch. Thanks for the assist, though. Hope you didn't strain anything."
"It was just reflex," she snapped, suddenly terse.
"One suh-skydive without a chute is enough f-for anyone," said D-Bar, fighting back the shivers.
"Can't argue with you there," Saxon replied, with feeling.
"Okay, listen up," Powell ordered. "The zep crew know the drill. They don't ask, we don't tell. The ship'll make a speed-run over the
Greenland-Iceland-UK gap and then on down to Switzerland." He looked at them all in turn. "We need to be ready to go the moment we reach
Geneva, so I advise you all to get some rest, because the moment we touch down, we don't stop until the Tyrants are dealt with, you read me?"
The other men gave a chorus of nods, and Saxon glanced at D-Bar. The young hacker was quivering and wiping tears from his ruddy face.
"Wow," he managed, crack-throated, "that was some rush, huh?"
"Get below," said Powell, cutting off any reply.
Geneva International Airport-Grand-Saconnex-Switzerland