Jade Sky (15 page)

The giant dragged Blossom to her feet, then backhanded her through the wall. Matt's shot ricocheted off its skull, but the next blew a chunk from its neck. He advanced. It dropped to one knee, steadying itself on the wall until Matt blew off its elbow with another volley. Three more shots knocked it on its back. Dropping to one knee to get a shot under its chin, he pulled the trigger and the microgrenade went off inside its skull.

"Status?" he said into his helmet. Radio silence earned them nothing at this point. He snapped another 20-round drum of 19 mm HEAB rounds into the shotgun as his team reported in.

"At least a dozen below us, pinned down," Garrett said. "Upper stairwell still clear."

"Minute, sir," Akash said.

"Alive," Blossom reported, her voice slurred. "Pretty broke up."

Jeff's voice spoke over the radio. "You have DRC troops closing on your position. Kill him and get to the extraction point. Marine support ETA ten minutes, and it's going to be close."

"Mister Dawkins?" Matt shouted toward the end of the hall. "You're under arrest on the authority of the International Council on Augmented Phenomena. Come out with your hands on your head. Or don't, and we'll kill you, which my boss would prefer. You've got three seconds."

Dawkins's voice held a hint of England but otherwise sounded all Middle America. "The DRC recognizes neither UN nor NATO authority, Sergeant Rowley. ICAP has no jurisdiction here."

Matt grunted. "We don't care. One."

The floor shook as a grenade went off in the stairwell. Akash hobbled up next to him and fired a round into the bonk's ruined, bloody eye. "Just in case."

Matt ignored him. "Two." He triggered the AA12's range finder at the doorway and flipped the thumb switch so that the HEAB round would explode to the left. "Th
—
"

A grenade skittered out the door. Akash dove, covering the explosive, his body jerking as it went off. Matt rounded the corner, firing. Explosive rounds tore into computers, filing cabinets, and a cheap metal desk. Whispers roiled across his brain, and he stepped back.

Feet caught him in the chest as Dawkins dropped from the ceiling. A palm strike knocked the shotgun from his hands. Another pounded his helmet, dazing him. Matt blocked the next two strikes, then countered with an uppercut. Dawkins spun to the side, past Akash's body, and sprinted down the hall. Matt took three steps and dove, hooking Dawkins's ankle as he scrambled over the dead bonk.

Dawkins caught himself before he fell prone, but Matt yanked him back and delivered a knife-hand chop to his groin. Dawkins deflected some of the blow with a roll to the side and Matt just managed to block a crushing strike to his throat.

"I'm hit," Garrett said. "Flesh wound." His assault rifle chattered as Dawkins pressed the attack.

Matt anticipated every strike, but could barely keep up. Almost as fast as Blossom, Dawkins wielded iron-like hands that hurt like hell even when blocked. Dawkins took a helmet to the face and laughed through bloody teeth. A flurry of blows forced Matt down the hall, over the dead bonk and past Akash's body.
He's too fast.

Helmetless, Blossom appeared behind Dawkins. She'd found a claw hammer somewhere, which she swung two-handed at the side of his head. He ducked without turning around, then snap-kicked her leg. She gasped as her knee bent sideways, then dropped as he drove his palms into her temples.

Matt drew his combat knife and lunged at Dawkins's back. A finger strike shattered his visor and broke his nose, and a snap-kick to the face backed him up another step. Dawkins wrenched the knife from his hand and stabbed it through his shoulder, the monofilament blade punching through armor, muscle, and bone.

Dawkins grinned through bloody teeth. "I guess you're not the one, Rowley." Matt tried to lift his arm and couldn't. Dawkins yanked out the knife and reversed his grip on it.

An assault rifle fired and Dawkins dropped, clutching his right leg. Still prone, Blossom fired again, the second burst tearing into his left leg at point blank range. Dawkins spasmed as she switched to full auto, emptying the magazine into his calves and thighs.

Matt crushed Dawkins's throat with his knee, then flipped him onto his back with his good arm. Dawkins's mouth opened and closed, but no words came out as Matt hogtied him with steel-reinforced zip ties. Matt's arm regained more use with every passing second. He looked down at Akash, still face down on the floor.

"You alive, Rastogi?"

Akash didn't move. Matt rolled him over and hissed through his teeth. Steaming blood and viscera mingled with Akash's body armor, his neck a ruin of blackened flesh. Matt knelt, then exhaled in relief. Akash's exposed arteries pumped, and air wheezed through his throat.

Blossom dragged herself upright, spared them a glance, then picked up Akash's REC7 and joined Garrett at the door. She took a few shots, enabling him to reload. "Going up. Cover me." She tossed a pair of grenades out the door and disappeared into the stairwell. Garrett’s weapon barked.

"Sorry," Matt said. "This is going to hurt." He grabbed Akash's combat harness in his left hand and Dawkins's shirt in his right and dragged them toward the exit. He handed off Akash to Garrett, who cradled him in his arms.

"Up!" Blossom yelled. "Go!"

Garrett shouldered through the door. Blossom stood at the edge of the landing, her weapon trained on the first floor. "Clear to the roof," she said. Matt's lungs burned with cordite and gunpowder as he took the stairs three at a time, Blossom backing up behind him. Before they could make it to the top the building rocked, brick dust falling from the ceiling.

"What the hell was that?" Garrett asked.

"Tanks," Jeff said. "DRC. Marines'll distract them. Proceed to the extraction point."

Whispers begged him to die as he stepped onto the roof. He ducked behind the stairwell just before machine gun fire blasted chunks out of the brick next to where he'd been standing. He triggered his radio as his squad took cover. "Jeff, we've got a 67-2 on the opposite roof pinning us down. Are we on our own for this?"

"We see them," Jeff said. "Give us a minute."

They crouched at the top of the stairwell in an unrelenting hail of brick chips, and took occasional shots down the stairs to discourage pursuit. Thirty seconds later a streak of fire hit the far roof and the pillbox exploded.

Blossom whooped.

"Thank you, Marines," Garrett said. As if on cue, a cacophonous legion of small-arms fire erupted from the beach.

They ran to the edge and punched pneumatic crampons into the brick facade. Carrying Dawkins, Garrett rappelled down first. Matt followed with Akash. Blossom took the rear. The building shook as another tank round hit it, and Javelin missiles streaked overhead in response. Matt stumbled as his thigh erupted in pain but kept sprinting. As he carried Akash to the beach, a hundred pinpoints of firing automatic weapons filled his vision.

The colonel in charge of the operation gave a perfunctory salute and rushed them to the evac boats. The LCAC hovercrafts spit bullets up the beach, covering their retreat into the water. In moments they made it out of range of hostile fire. Matt checked his leg. Through and through, the bullet wound had already closed.

Once aboard, the colonel yelled to them over the giant fan propellers. "Air support has us covered all the way to the Rwandan shore. Once there, you'll head north-west to a small air field. Mr. Hannes will send the coordinates to your helmets." He glanced at Matt's shattered visor, and Blossom's helmetless head. "From there it's a fast jump to Saudi Arabia. You'll be home before you know it."

Matt patted Akash on the shoulder. "You going to live?" The question wasn't necessary; with second-generation regenerates, ICAP agents would survive anything that didn't kill them outright. A ruined, gory mess, he grinned through bloody teeth.

"You're one ballsy asshole," Garrett said. Akash gave him a weak thumbs-up.

*   *   *

As the WWII-era troop transport made its way through the dark Rwandan mountains, Matt checked Dawkins's bonds for the millionth time. The banded steel had cut through the skin of his wrists and ankles, which had healed around them. Dawkins stared at him, and the whispers muttered every time their eyes met.

A rugged man in his mid-forties, Dawkins had dark brown hair that matched his eyes. Like everyone with second-generation regenerates, his perfect skin held no blemish, scar, or wrinkle. He blinked in the dust of the road, then resumed staring.

"Do I know you?" Matt asked.

Blossom glared at him. "You not supposed to talk
—
"

He cut her off with an upraised hand and looked back at Dawkins.

"No," Dawkins said. "We've never met. But I've read your dossier, twice."

"Twice?"

"Once when you were recruited and again when you were assigned my case." He clucked his tongue. "Not very distinguished, I'm afraid."

Matt refused to take the bait. "That's what I told them."
Keep him talking, and maybe he'll slip up and reveal his source.
"And yet," he grabbed Dawkins's restraints and shook. "Here you are."

"What if I'm here because I wanted to talk to you, Sergeant Rowley?"

Akash snorted, then let out a tiny groan. "You're here because we kicked your ass and dragged you back with us, eh?" He rubbed the fresh, pink skin on his throat and chest.

Dawkins looked at Akash for a moment, then turned back to Matt. "You left the C130 at 4:42 pm local time, just as it crossed the western shore of Lake Kivu. Using the cover of the setting sun, you approached on ICAP-pattern ESG powered gliders
—
"

"Enough," Matt said. "You've made your point."

Dawkins looked back at Akash. "What you need to ask yourself, Mr. Rastogi, is if I knew all that, why didn't I ambush you on the way in? A flak cannon would have ruined that pretty face in a moment. So why weren't mine manned?"

"Were you going to talk before or after you tried to kill us in the hallway?" Akash asked.

Dawkins rolled his eyes. "My plan was to capture Sergeant Rowley, not the other way around." He smiled at Akash. "And the rest of you were expendable."

Matt exchanged looks with his team, then looked at Dawkins. "Okay, you want to talk to me? Go
—
" He gasped as the whispers slithered through his mind, strangling conscious thought. Pinpricks of white pain drove through his skull. He put the heel of his hand to his head and groaned through a clenched jaw. "Ahh
—
" Next to him, Blossom clutched her head with both hands. Dawkins's eyes rolled into the back of his head.

A blinding flash lit the sky behind them. The truck swerved and skidded sideways, pitching Matt to the floor, and came to rest, diesel engine idling at a low rumble.

"What the fuck was that?" Garrett said through gritted teeth, pulling himself from the floor.

Behind them, the atmosphere burned. A column of smoke and white steam boiled skyward.

"My God," Akash said. He got out and gaped at the horizon.

Matt followed him. As the whispers faded, he spoke. "Kivu."

Garrett dragged Dawkins out of the truck by the throat. "What did you do?" he snarled.

The shockwave blasted them to the ground, and rocked the truck up on two wheels. By the time Matt regained his feet, a mushroom cloud filled the horizon. He turned back to the group and cried out.

Garrett's fist sprayed blood as he pulled back and punched again, caving in Dawkins's cheek bone.

"JOHNSON," Matt screamed. "STAND DOWN!"

Garrett pulled back for another punch, but Blossom appeared in front of him, a twelve-inch knife at his temple.

"You won't hit again."

Garrett snarled, shaking, his bloody fingers digging into Dawkins's throat. "He killed . . . Millions. Millions of innocent people."

Blossom didn't twitch. "Drop him."

Garrett dropped him. Dawkins collapsed and rolled to his side. Garrett spat on him, glared at Matt, and got in the truck.

Matt stepped up to the hog-tied prisoner. He tried to speak, couldn't, and tried again. His raspy voice quavered, but he got out the word. "Why?"

Dawkins spat, then shook his head.

Matt lifted him and slammed his mushy, ruined face against the side of the truck. "I asked you a question."

He froze. Dawkins's torn collar exposed part of a tattoo, a line of pictographic text defaced with a brown cross over the top. Matt couldn't read it, but he recognized it.
Uruk proto-cuneiform,
the linguistics department had said.
Be ready. The master is coming.

Dawkins pushed a bloody tooth out of his mouth. He said something impossible to decipher through his swollen tongue and shattered jaw. He tried again, and the gurgling wet noise sounded something like, "Wasn't me."

They locked eyes. Matt saw no deceit in them, but if his years as a trooper had taught him anything, he made a terrible judge of honesty.

*   *   *

By the time Jeff met them at the thin strip of packed earth that passed for an airfield, the flames over the mountains had faded to a dull yellow that still washed out the single, dim beacon on the control tower. Two small, single-propeller planes with French tags waited beside a red-and-white civilian helicopter.