The message read: ATTENTION FUGITIVE: YOUR IMPLANT USE HAS BEEN TRACED AND LAW ENFORCEMENT OFFICERS ARE NOW CONVERGING ON YOUR LOCATION. DO NOT ATTEMPT TO FLEE OR DEFEND YOURSELF. COMPLETE COMPLIANCE IS REQUIRED.
Surrounded
Beth had been so immersed in her research and conversations with Simon that she failed to notice the squad of nine heavily armed police officers in body armor approaching the Fog house from all sides.
They crept through the dark of night like big cats in pursuit of a kill. Each one of them was equipped with night vision gear as well as a belt of gadgets like concussion grenades, taser guns, and electrified batons. They stayed crouched low to the ground so the street lights would illuminate them less. All nine of the police officers got into position without being detected, then waited for the alert before moving into action.
Once Beth was fully notified of the shitstorm approaching her, she pulled herself out of her immersed state and back into the real world. She found herself in the same broken down bedroom with the unbathed junkies strewn over the floor that she had been in for almost two days now. The smell of stale beer and faint urine was always present, and a bit of smoke from an unknown source seemed to hang in the air like msit on a bayou. There was no sound but the inhale and exhale of a few sleeping drug addicts, and — Beth now noticed — the sound of someone shouting from outside.
“The house is surrounded!” she heard a woman yell from the front of the building. “Lay down any weapons you might have and put your hands in the air. Don’t make a move and nobody gets hurt!”
Beth could hear some scuffling in the rooms around them. Some of the junkies in their room stirred, looking around at the police lights that were now shining brightly through the windows. Some voices yipped out in fright. Others hollered instructions to each other. Metal scraped on wood as different people around the house grabbed things to defend themselves with.
“You are harboring a dangerous fugitive,” the police sergeant continued to yell. “None of you will be subject to any criminal charges, regardless of what we find on the premises, so long as you surrender the fugitive peacefully.”
How did they track us? Beth’s frantic thoughts ricocheted around the inside of her skull.
“I don’t know!” Simon said. His own tone was saturated with anxiety. “My private access point should have kept us untraceable. It should have been foolproof!”
Well, it looks like it wasn’t, Beth replied. And now we’re fucked.
“The fugitive is known as one Elizabeth Dylan,” the woman outside carried on. “She is a former police detective and is believed to be armed and dangerous. She is approximately five feet five inches tall — of Asian and European descent. You have five minutes to surrender her willingly or we will come in and take her by force.”
They’ve got to be bluffing, Beth thought. If they’re working with Tarov, there’s no way they’re going to let witnesses live. They’ll probably shoot whoever brings me out the front door, spray the windows and walls with lead, and then burn the house down.
“If they’re with Tarov, we’re not getting out of here alive,” Simon said. “After Rubik failed to kidnap us, I doubt Tarov will take any chances anymore. Interrogating us to make sure all possible leaks were plugged would be nice, but his top priority is making sure our evidence never sees the light of day.”
So the best course of action is just to kill us and scrub my C.C. clean, Beth thought.
“Exactly,” the I.I. replied.
Beth’s heart beat so fast and blood flowed so loudly through the veins in her temples that she almost didn’t hear footsteps approaching the room. It was impossible to tell how many people they were created by before they reached the door.
It seemed like half the house had decided to go to Beth’s room at once. The junkies inside moved a little, but they were so strung out that they had no idea which way was up or down, let alone that a police sergeant was shouting at them from outside. The ones at the door, however, were rabid. They wanted blood if it meant keeping the cops out of their drug palace.
“There she is!” one of them spat, pointing a pipe-stained finger at Beth.
They struggled to get through the doorway, cramming into the room like ice cubes out of a dispenser. They stood at a short distance, sizing the woman up and trying to decide what to do with her.
“We oughta shove her out the front door and let the cops deal with her,” one with a wild blond beard suggested.
Several of the burnouts coughed out their agreement. They took a step forward while Beth braced herself, looking around for something to use as a weapon.
Lobo wedged his way through the doorway with a gun in his hand. His face was contorted with cold anger. The junkies opened up a path for him.
For a second, Beth thought he was coming for her. She thought he’d heard the sergeant yell about her being a cop and was feeling betrayed. He’s going to turn me over to the police, Beth thought. Over to Tarov.
“He wouldn’t do that,” the I.I. in her brain said.
“Lobo!” the one who had suggested giving Beth up said when he saw the tatted man and his gun. “You gotta get this bitch outta here, man. She’s a fuckin’ cop, yo. She’s fuckin’ set us up.”
Again, the crowd muttered their approval of his statements.
“Look, man, that ain’t who we are,” Lobo said back. He took a step forward, placing himself between Beth and the mob. He looked into the eyes of all the crazed addicts that surrounded him. “We don’t give people over like that. Not guests in our house.”
“I’m
