He headed straight at it, knowing the Alliance soldiers on the other side wouldn’t be able to see him coming. The vehicle providing them with cover was also obscuring their view of what was directly in front of them.
As he approached the APC, the mercs behind him split out to the sides, triangulating their positions so they could keep firing around him. They kept a steady stream of deadly high-velocity rounds trained on the vehicle, keeping the marines pinned down behind it.
Ignoring the constant gunfire, the krogan stopped less than ten meters away from the APC. Every muscle in his body tensed as he began to focus his biotic abilities. The reaction triggered an automatic biofeedback response in the amplification modules surgically implanted throughout his nervous system. He began to gather dark energy, drawing it in and trapping it the way a black hole traps light. It took almost ten full seconds for the power to build to maximum capacity. Then Skarr thrust forward with a fist, hurling it toward his target.
The overturned APC launched into the air, flying over the heads of the stunned Alliance marines to land a dozen meters behind them. They were caught off guard, completely surprised and totally exposed by the unexpected maneuver. Nothing in their training had prepared them for this. Uncertain how to react, they simply froze: a small group huddled together, crouching in the sand.
They would have been gunned down right then were it not for the fact that their enemy was just as surprised as they. The mercs had stopped shooting, watching in utter amazement as the krogan biotic had simply hurled the four-ton APC out of the way.
“Throw down your weapons!” Skarr growled.
The marines complied, knowing the battle was lost. They slowly stood up and raised their hands above their head, letting their assault rifles fall to the ground. Knowing she had no other choice, Kahlee did the same.
The krogan stepped forward and seized her by the upper arm, squeezing so hard she let out a cry of pain. One of the marines made half a move to help her, then pulled himself back. She was glad — he couldn’t help her; no sense getting himself killed.
While the mercs kept their weapons trained on their prisoners, Skarr half dragged, half carried Kahlee over to one of the vehicles. He threw her into the back, then climbed in beside her.
“Kill them,” he said to his men, nodding in the direction of the Alliance marines. The sharp retorts of gunfire drowned out Kahlee’s screams.
Saren watched the entire scene unfold through his binoculars, never moving from his carefully chosen position. He was surprised when Skarr didn’t kill Sanders, instead taking her prisoner. Obviously her connection to all this was more than he’d first realized. But it didn’t really change anything.
The mercs climbed into their vehicles and sped off into the dusk, switching on their lights to guide them through the gloom.
Saren leaped down from his vantage point and ran over to the small scout rover he had parked nearby. The vehicle had been specially modified for stealth missions at night: the headlamps were equipped with dimming covers to disperse the illumination and angle it down toward the ground, creating a faint glow that would be enough to navigate by but was barely visible from more than a kilometer away.
In contrast, the high-powered beams of the other vehicles blazed like beacons in the darkness of the desert night. He’d easily be able to spot them from as far as ten kilometers out.
All he had to do was follow them, and they’d lead him right to wherever Edan was hiding.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Anderson couldn’t help but feel nervous about this meeting. Even though the Council had officially approved the ambassador’s request, he was still haunted by the memory of his last meeting with Saren. For several long moments he’d been absolutely convinced the turian was going to leave him for dead outside the ruins of Dah’tan. When Ambassador Goyle had revealed that Saren might have a general hatred of the Alliance, he wasn’t the least bit surprised.
“Personal information on Spectres is sealed,” she told him, “but our intel dug up something interesting. Seems he lost his brother during the First Contact War.”
The lieutenant knew there were more than a few turians who were still bitter about the conflict, especially those who had lost family members. And he suspected Saren was the type who didn’t just carry a grudge, but fed it constantly. It may have started as a desire to avenge his brother, but after eight years it would have grown into something much darker: a twisted, festering loathing for all humanity.
As much as he wanted to catch those responsible for what had happened at Sidon, he wasn’t looking forward to working with Saren on this mission. He had a bad feeling about all this; just like the one he’d gotten when the Hastings had first responded to Sidon’s distress call. But he’d been given his orders,
and he intended to follow them.
The fact that the turian was over an hour late didn’t make him feel any better. In the interests of trying to smooth things over, Anderson had let him pick the time and place of the meeting. He’d chosen midday
at a small, dingy bar in a run-down neighborhood on the edges of Hatre. The kind of establishment where the customers made a point of ignoring neighboring conversations. Nobody here wanted to know what anybody else was up to.
Not that there was much chance of anyone overhearing them, anyway. The place was practically deserted this afternoon — probably the reason the turian had chosen this time of day. It made sense, but
as Anderson sat alone at a table in the corner nursing his drink he couldn’t help but wonder what kind of game Saren was playing.
Why wasn’t he here? Was this some kind of setup? Or maybe a ploy to get him out of the way while the
Spectre continued his investigation?
Twenty minutes later, he’d just made up his mind to leave when the door opened and the man he’d been waiting for stepped through. The bartender and the only other customer in the place besides Anderson glanced up as he entered, then looked away as Saren crossed the room with quick, angry steps.
“You’re late,” Anderson said as the turian sat down. He wasn’t expecting an apology, but he felt he was at least owed an explanation.
“I was working.” was the curt reply.
The turian looked haggard, as if he hadn’t slept all night. Anderson had contacted him early yesterday afternoon, right after he’d turned Kahlee over to the security team that was to help get her off world. He wondered if Saren had been working the case nonstop since then. Trying to finish everything off before he was forced to join up with his unwanted human partner.
“We’re in this together now,” Anderson reminded him.
“I received the Council’s message,” Saren replied, his voice heavy with contempt. “I intend to honor their wishes.”
“Glad to hear it,” Anderson replied coldly. “Last time we met I thought you were going to kill me.” There was no point in holding anything back; he wanted to know exactly where he stood with the Spectre. “Do I have to spend the rest of this mission looking over my shoulder?”
“I never kill someone without a reason,” Saren reminded him.
“I thought you could always find a reason to kill someone,” the lieutenant countered.
“But now I have a very good reason to keep you alive,” Saren assured him. “If you die, the Alliance will be crying out for my head. And the Council just might be inclined to give it to them. At the very least they’d revoke my Spectre status.
“Truthfully, I couldn’t care less whether you live or die, human,” the Spectre continued. From his tone they might have been discussing the weather. “But I don’t intend to do anything that will put my career at risk.”
Unless you’re sure you can get away with it, Anderson thought. Out loud he asked, “You got the files we sent?”