"What do you mean?"
D-Bar sniggered. "According to this, the Swiss sat-comm network has more holes than… well, you know, the cheese."
"We exploit them," said Croix. "As such, we've been able to track two distinct encrypted communications nodes that have appeared in the
Geneva area."
"They match what we have on record," said the hacker. "It's the Tyrants. They're here, all right."
Anna felt her pulse quicken, and she stepped closer to look at the laptop. "You're telling me you can read their communications?"
"Of course they can't," D-Bar snapped irritably. "Quantum coding crypto? Don't be stupid!"
"But we can recognize their presence. It's a fingerprint," said Powell.
Croix's smile returned. "Oh, we've done better. We have locations."
"How'd you manage that?" Saxon raised an eyebrow. "Namir's team don't make mistakes."
"People get lucky sometimes, Saxon," D-Bar broke in.
Croix nodded to the man with the laptop, who brought up a series of digital maps. "One of the communication nodes remains static at the airport."
"Must be the jet," said Saxon. "Namir uses it as a command post."
"The second," Croix went on, "is mobile." He said something in French and the other man used the computer to show grainy footage from what appeared to be a traffic camera. "A delivery vehicle. It's been making a circuit of the city."
"Cleaning the route," said Anna. "Making sure he's not being tailed, before…"
"Before what?" asked Saxon.
Powell folded his arms. "That's what we need to find out." He was silent for a second. "All right. We need to do this right now. Take the vehicle and the jet at the same time. We don't know what we're dealing with, and we can't afford to wait and watch."
Anna saw something on the video footage that sparked a cold tremor of recognition within her. She moved closer, peering at the images.
"Taggart does not speak until midday," Croix was saying. "They won't move against him until then."
"Are you sure? Do you want to take that risk?" Powell insisted.
"The plane will be the harder target, though, right?" said D-Bar. "And if Saxon is right, if that's the control…" He swallowed. "Look, with this setup I can monitor the van from here-"
"No," said Powell. "It has to be a simultaneous takedown."
"The kid's right, though," offered Saxon. "That aircraft will be heavily defended. You try to storm it with anything less than a full team and the
Tyrants will cut you to ribbons."
"Croix." Powell turned to the Frenchman, considering the other man's words. "Get us an entry into the airport. Then set up a vehicle so we can at least tail the mobile. I'll lead the team against the jet. Saxon will come with us."
Anna heard him talking but she registered what he was saying only peripherally. "I'll take the van," she said. "Get me close and I'll take him."
Saxon's brow furrowed as he heard the raw fury bubbling up inside her words. "Kelso, what is it?"
She pointed at the screen. "You know him?" On the monitor, the blurry image of a man's face had been captured by one of the traffic cameras.
He wore a bandage over one eye and a cap.
Saxon gave a wary nod. "He's German, former GSG-9. Gunther Hermann."
The name echoed in her mind. Hate, cold and hard like black diamond, grew solid in Anna's chest. It was the same man from that horrific day in
Georgetown. The killer who had left her for dead, who shot Byrne and Dansky… and Matt Ryan.
Geneva International Airport-Grand-Saconnex-Switzerland
"There," said Saxon, pointing into the gloom. "Hangar four."
Beside him, Powell squinted down the eyepiece of a monocular. "That's a Belltower aircraft."
"It's them" Saxon insisted, studying the shape of the parked jet. "I'm not seeing any movement, though. They have to be inside."
Powell spoke over the general comm channel. "All right, listen up. Two entrances, one gangway at the forward hatch, another drop-ramp at the aft. You know the drill. Move in, neutralize any threats. Fast and efficient." He glanced at Saxon. "Stay where I can see you. Croix may want to give you the benefit of the doubt, but he's not me."
Saxon shrugged. "Whatever you say."
"All units," Powell said to the air, "take the plane. Go, go!"
They covered the distance to the far hangar in a few seconds, veering from shadow to shadow, avoiding the footprints of security cameras.
Saxon had to admit, for a group of irregulars, the New Sons had the makings of a good spec ops team; but he wasn't convinced they'd be enough to deal with the Tyrants.
Not that survivability was foremost in his mind at this very second. All he cared about was finding Jaron Namir, and ending his life.
There were active boxguard robots scanning from the corners of the hangar interior, and Powell's men went after them with Pulsar grenades, shutting them down with flashes of electromagnetic discharge. Saxon hesitated at the foot of the gangway, glancing back down the line of the plane to where the cargo bay doors were wide open. He toggled his mastoid comm. "Any unit at the rear: is the helo in place, over?"
He got a reply immediately. "What helo, over?"
"There should be a small veetol flyer stowed back there-"
"Saxon!" Powell snarled, coming up behind him. "Stay off the channel unless it's important!"
He frowned and climbed up the staircase, staying low.
The highway traffic coming into the city across the Rhone from Lancy was mostly commercial at this hour, and there was a moment of uncomfortable recollection when Anna watched a massive automated truck thunder past them. She'd insisted on taking the shotgun seat, kneading the grip of the Zenith automatic Croix had given her while the Frenchman sat behind the wheel of their black sedan. He had a connector running from one of his augmented arms into the dashboard, and he scanned the road ahead, his face set in concentration.
The interior of the car was dark, but in the backseat, D-Bar was lit by the glow of the laptop computer; the screen's pale light gave his face a corpselike pallor.
"I see him," said Croix. "Five hundred meters ahead. Confirm?" He threw the question over his shoulder.
When D-Bar didn't reply, Anna turned in her seat. The hacker blinked and looked at her. There was a mix of emotions on his face that she couldn't read. "Oh. Yeah," he managed. "Confirm."
"He's turning off the motorway," Croix noted as the van slipped into a feed lane. "Heading into the city. We need to know where he's going."
Anna listened, but she was watching the glow of the taillights from the target vehicle with almost feral intensity. In her mind's eye she could see only the face of Gunther Hermann, that and the moment of Matt Ryan's murder, over and over.
Geneva International Airport-Grand-Saconnex-Switzerland
"We're in," said the other team leader. "Tail section clear. Moving to secure lower deck." "Copy," whispered Powell. "We're moving aft."
Saxon pressed himself into the wall and strained to listen. They had found no one in the cockpit, nothing but the jet's controls set in standby mode. It rang a wrong note in his mind, and he hesitated, frowning.
"Something's not right," he said as Powell came to his side.
"What, that we got the drop on your Tyrant buddies?" he husked. "Keep moving." He gestured with the silenced FR-27 in his grip.
With Powell and another two of his men following on behind him, Saxon moved down past the galley to the doors of the ops room. He felt an unpleasant chill on his skin. Walking the halls of the jet so soon after having nearly died there did not sit well with him.
On a three-count, he tore open the door and fell into the room, looking for a target.