“Crap. I didn’t expect that.”
The area around them was empty, save for several inert bodies, all mercs. Away toward the right, heading downhill, she made out the figures of Drake and Mai. Ahead of them was Coyote in full flight.
“What the hell? And where’s Beau?”
Dahl shrugged. “The assassin has shown her true colors,” he noted. “Cowardly to the core. They lurk, they hide, they kill, never manning up and joining the fight. This is our town now.”
Alicia set off. “I guess we should follow. Hey, what was all that about you dropping out of shiny school? Did Drake know?”
Dahl looked pained. “Nobody knew. It’s my business alone. Let it go.”
Alicia purposefully misunderstood. “That’s the new mega song, right? Let it go? Have you seen the marines singing it on YouTube? Put a tear in my eye it did.”
“No. I mean yes. I mean — that’s not what I meant.” Dahl sighed. “But you knew that, of course.”
“Torsty,” Alicia said. “Of all people, I get it. You should know that. If you don’t wanna talk about it that’s all right by me.”
“Thanks.” Dahl’s reply was a grumble.
“Drake’s observations are gonna be interesting though.”
Dahl nodded glumly. “And so sharply perceptive, I’m sure.”
Alicia laughed. “Yeah. That’s always been his Yorkshire way. Perceptive as fuck.”
Dahl sucked in his lips and said nothing. The decisions you made — simple or tough — they were the things that defined you. When faced with adversity you dug deep, finding the core to your heart and soul, and it was the choice you made at that time that changed you and turned you slowly and steadily into the person you would become. Dahl believed that was why hardships were visited upon men and women and their children.
To mold them.
If he’d chosen to leave and pursue an army career then it was that decision, among others, that had made him the man he was now. The craziness came from his rebellious side and he refused to reel that in. It was, after all, part of him.
The two were closing the gap now, the aftereffects of their tussle wearing off. Alicia even took a moment to untie the life sign monitor Coyote’s mercs had made her wear.
“Won’t be needing that anymore.”
Dahl’s face reverted to happy. “Oh yeah. Thank God for Karin Blake.”
Alicia nodded. The ‘battle to the death’ had been their plan all along, totally reliant on Karin’s ability to break through SaBo’s defenses without the hacker knowing about it. When Crouch initially left Sunnyvale to contact Karin, one of the things he’d related was that particular plan. It had been up to her to make it work, to take the SPEAR team’s monitors offline at the right time and fake their deaths, to fool one of the world’s greatest hackers without him ever knowing it.
Karin had told Crouch she had just the weapon — a virus stored away in some redundant system. She’d just hoped she had the smarts to pull it off.
Dahl ripped his own monitor away. The sounds of battle — the mercs holding off the main incursion team — intensified ahead.
“We’re walking into a war,” Alicia noted.
Dahl glanced sideways at her. “So what else is new?”
CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT
Drake raced headlong, recklessly, determined not to lose the Coyote. In his haste he did lose Mai. The Japanese woman, ever attentive, came across two mercs on their way out of town — deserters — and taught them that fleeing wasn’t necessarily the best idea. When Mai looked around, Drake was gone.
Still, all roads led to the battle.
Drake crossed the muddy path that led through the carnival’s gates and found himself inside the fence. Rides and stalls stood to his left and right, looking shabby, unpainted and tired in the light of day. A firefight raged ahead, stray bullets whickering everywhere. Mercs, Kevlar-suited special cops, and elite military units fought for ground.
But Drake knew the mercs were fighting blind. SaBo’s surveillance blanket had been taken down. Karin had won the battle of the hackers.
Now it was his turn.
But where was—?
Coyote hit him from a blind spot, an elbow to the neck, sending him face-first to the floor. Drake rolled, eyes never leaving her feet. Did she have a gun? He glanced up, thankful to see empty, flexing hands. Coyote jumped at him, stomping hard, but Drake rolled again. His movement brought him up against another pair of legs — those belonging to a merc.
The man stared down in surprise. “What da fu—?”
Drake rose fast, delivering a gut punch. The merc folded, grunting hard. When the man’s weapon came down, Drake grabbed it, reversed it, and smashed it across the man’s head. Lights out.
Before he could bring the gun back around, Coyote was on him. They tumbled to the cold, muddy earth — face to face, body to body — arms tight around each other.
“You always wanted me this way,” she breathed.
“The entire unit wanted you this way. But that wasn’t it. You were much more than that. Didn’t you know? Didn’t you know that just your voice and your way, the ideal that was you¸ brought more men back alive than their bloody grenade launchers?”
“I knew!” Coyote screamed point blank into his face. “Of course I bloody knew!” She threw a punch that he turned away from and heard it squelch into the mud next to his face. “But I couldn’t help it! Don’t you get that? I couldn’t… fucking… help it!”
She punched down again and again. The second one missed too, but the third caught him full on the nose, sending an arrow of agony into his brain. The fourth smashed into his temple, as did the fifth, and suddenly Drake was seeing stars.
“Shelly,” he said. “Shelly!”
“Not Shelly!” Her fists continued to rage down upon him. “Not Shelly! Just a psycho who couldn’t control it. A freak who learned to live with it.”
Drake twisted and brought his hands up, but was fighting a losing battle. Coyote, on top, possessed all the power, all the leverage, and a lifetime of fury.
“I didn’t want to be this monster!” she screamed. “I wanted to be Shelly! Not fucking Coyote!” And now tears fell from her eyes, dropping like beads of rain onto his bloody face.
Matt Drake gave it up. Not the battle, but the vengeance. He saw now the way it had all played out.
“Stop,” he said, letting his hands fall to the sides and leaving himself wide open. “Stop then, Shelly. I don’t want revenge on you. I want to help you.”
Coyote’s next blow fell hard, stopping a hair’s breadth from the tip of his nose. The shock on her face transformed the animal within, restoring the woman he knew.
“I will help you,” he said to the woman that had killed his wife and unborn child. “Let me.”
For one second Shelly Cohen stared down at him. “Matt? I’m sorry. I—”
And then something hit her like a rocket; a black-clad figure that came out of nowhere and still fought for victory. Or was it something else?
Drake struggled upright. Beauregard and Coyote scrambled and rose, the Frenchman a millisecond quicker and thus gaining the advantage. Drake tried to shake off a foggy brain and blurred vision, and stepped up.
“Wait. Who the hell are you working for, Beauregard? Have they switched your orders? Told you to take Coyote out?”
The French assassin’s face was hidden behind the feature-hugging mask. “The Pythians want you both,” he said in his thickly accented voice. “All of you. They will remove anything that stands between them and the world. They will remove it with extreme and total prejudice.” The man laughed. “Just wait and see.”