Everett cocked his head. "What happened at the Palais… Did you really intend that to succeed?"
DeBeers allowed himself a smile. "Either way, it would have been win-win, Morgan."
"I see. That explains your, shall I say, prudence?"
He went on, paraphrasing the report that Jaron Namir had given him in the weeks after the incident in Geneva; although the Tyrants had lost half their agents, they had still been able to complete their mission objectives. The mistake of recruiting Saxon had been erased and Hardesty, while useful, was not irreplaceable. Remarkably, Gunther Hermann had been recovered alive-although severely injured-from the waters of the Rhone by MJ12 operatives. It was a testament to the German's strength of will that he had survived a bomb blast, but the detonation had rendered him physically crippled and heavily burned. DeBeers was aware that Page had already co-opted Hermann, for extensive reconstructive surgery and induction into a cybernetic mech-augmentation program. Perhaps, in time, he would be ready to be redeployed.
"The fact is," DeBeers concluded, "the question of the global regulation of human augmentation technology is now unavoidable, and we have positioned ourselves to take full advantage of the situation. The result will be a forgone conclusion."
"The best kind," said Everett, saluting him with his glass. "And our larger plans move on with only minor alterations. Excellent." He paused.
"Still. There are issues yet to be resolved. Those children in the Juggernaut Collective, for example."
DeBeers shook his head. "We've dismantled that little gang of data thugs. Those who aren't dead are on our payroll. And as for their friends in that separatist rabble… We'll keep them around. Use them for our own purposes."
"The operative with the attack of conscience, Saxon? And the Kelso woman?"
"They haven't resurfaced, both figuratively and literally. But then, Lake Geneva is quite deep."
Everett accepted this and studied his mentor for a long moment. "You've yet to mention the hacker. What does he call himself-Janus?"
DeBeers frowned. "Gone. Silent. None of our concern, for the moment." He drew himself up, dropping the mannerisms of a friend in conversation with his best student, and his behavior became more authoritative. "There are other matters of more importance to attend to.
Like the work of Reed and the team from Sarif Industries."
"Of course, Lucius," said the other man. "I appreciate the opportunity for… clarity." He looked up as the waiters returned with the main course, and with a nod he had the server pour a fresh measure of wine into each of their glasses. Everett raised his and smiled. "To the future, then?"
"The future," said DeBeers, savoring the moment.
Santa Lucia-Guanacaste Province-Costa Rica
The hamlet was a small place a few miles past the outskirts of the main township, little more than a collection of homes and buildings clustered around the road in the lee of greenery and the encroaching edges of the jungle. Aside from the gray discs of satellite antennas and snarls of telephone cables webbing the redbrick buildings together, the scene was as it would have been twenty, maybe even forty years ago. It was basic and unhurried, and a long way off the grid.
The man and the woman who arrived were not locals, and some of the children who played in the street took it upon themselves to follow the pair of them, measuring these blancos and wondering who they were. The big man was an hombre de la maquina like they saw in the action vids, and they were wary of coming too close. The braver of the boys told the others that they heard men like him had chips in their heads that could read your thoughts and arms that could rip apart a car. The woman, she was different, her blond hair pulled back tight in a ponytail, the color turning back to brunette at the roots where the dye job was fading. She wore mirrored sunglasses and a wide-brimmed bush hat that did its best to hide her face from the world.
At the Duarte house, the two new arrivals were greeted with a strange mixture of emotions. The big man was welcomed like a cousin, with a tearful hug from the mother and a sad, knowing nod from the father. Samuel Duarte's parents both wept a little, but they thanked the big man and brought him inside, the woman following a few steps behind.
The children who asked questions about the couple in the earshot of adults were told to be quiet and speak no more of them. These people were friends, and that was all that mattered. They had come here to be away from the questions of others, and everyone in the village understood that.
Anna sat on the balcony as the sun set and stared out into the green; in the distance the color bled away to a gray-brown haze where the jungle ended in the maws of the mammoth logging camps, in the shadow of the mountainside. One hand she kept balled in a fist, resting on her lap. It was as if she couldn't remember how to unclench it.
She looked away and found Saxon, offering her a brown bottle of some nondescript local beer.
"Thanks." She took a long pull. "Are we good?"
He sat next to her, making a face as he pulled on the sutures in his belly. "We're good. This place is not on anybody's radar, you can be sure of that. It's…" He smiled ruefully. "It's just a barrio rattrap. No one knows who you are down here." The smile faded. "We're outta their reach.
That's what you wanted, yeah?"
She nodded. Fleeing from Europe, there had been many places they could have gone to ground, but something dark and potent inside Anna
Kelso had driven her to seek sanctuary as far away as she could go. Somewhere off the map, far from cities and the threats of what she saw when she dreamed.
He was watching her. "You'll be okay here."
Anna put down the bottle. Something in his tone rang a wrong note. "I will? And what about you?" When he didn't answer she glared at him.
"You're not going to stay?"
He shook his head. "Job's not done, Anna. Namir and those bastards he works for are still out there, still playing their games… I can't look
Sam's family in the eye and know that I let Namir keep breathing after I let their son down."
She moved closer to him. "Redemption, that's what you want, isn't it?" Anna sighed. "So do I, for Matt. But I want it for myself as well…"
"Yeah…" He drained the beer. "Haven't found it yet."
"You're wrong." She took his hand. "You saved my life, Ben. You came to save me when you could have just gone on with the fight. Then I did the same thing. I saved you. We… we redeemed each other." At last, she opened her hand and showed him the brass coin, its surface blackened and scratched.
"It's not enough…" he muttered, looking away. "After all we've seen, it's not enough." He went to the balcony. "They won, Anna. After everything we did to burn those bastards, they still won!"
She shook her head. "Not yet. Not until they silence us. This game isn't over." Anna followed him to the veranda. "Stay here," she said. "Please tell me you will stay here."
"You don't need me," said Saxon.
"It's not about need," she replied. "It's about what's going to happen. I don't want you to die out there…" Anna heard the fear and pain in her own words, rising up from deep inside.
"What do you mean?"
Anna told him about what Janus had shown her, the torrent of images and sights the hacker had pulled from the depths of the Illuminati's dark schemes; things she couldn't comprehend, half-formed pictures that lurked in her subconscious and tainted the patterns of her dreams. She hadn't slept well since that day; the specter of what Janus had revealed was always there when she closed her eyes.
"There's one thing I remember very clearly," she said. "It's burned in my memories like a brand. An image, an impression, of every city in the world." Anna shivered as she spoke, despite the heat of the fading day. "All of them engulfed in fire and fury. That's what they're planning."