exit for herself with the collapsible push-dagger that dangled from a lanyard about her neck. Falling out onto the deck of the Intrepid, she was deluged in the white glare; overhead, a pair of silent police blimps drifted in the breeze. Clusters of cameras, sensors, and guns were barely visible amid the drowning wash of hard light. Down on the river and on the shoreline, red and blue strobes came on. For one long moment, she found herself wondering if
Widow was right-had she brought this with her?
Kelso joined a throng of people running toward the old carrier's fantail just as the screamers went off. The wave of noise slammed into them and she fell as they did, her skin crawling with the burn of infrasonic sound.
The cops came across the deck of the old warship in a line, heads concealed by the mirrored masks of riot helmets, webber guns and restraint dispensers in their hands.
Sheremetyevo International Airport-Moscow-Russian Federated States
The aircraft parked at a discreet hangar on the far edge of the airport, distant enough to be out of sight of any prying eyes. The fuselage currently displayed the livery of Skye Secure Aviation, a transport subsidiary of Belltower typically used for the transit of sensitive cargoes; it was the ideal cover, but the mimetic hull could just as easily mimic the insignia of any civilian airline or military air force.
The operations room was a high, narrow chamber that filled both decks. Thinscreens were arranged on every surface, and hanging down from above, a cluster of holographic projectors resembled the splayed legs of an impaled insect. Folding seats among the control consoles and comm desks provided space for everyone to sit, but most of the Tyrants stayed on their feet. The air of barely contained tension was thick in the room; all of them wanted to hear the go-command.
Namir worked a panel, bringing the holograph to life. Nearby, seated in a way that communicated casual disinterest, the sixth member of the
Tyrants toyed with a loose belt length, hanging from a half-jacket patterned with triangular armor plates. If Yelena Federova was actually capable of speech, she made no effort to show it. When Saxon saw her, the woman was padding silently around the aircraft, almost a ghost.
Most of the time she kept to Namir's company, and Saxon had been content to leave it at that; still, he couldn't escape the sense that she, too, was measuring him.
The dusky-skinned woman graced him with a cool nod, sullen eyes briefly looking up from under a cascade of dark hair that hung down over her face from a half-shorn scalp. Federova had a dancer's physicality to her, an aura that Saxon could describe only as 'grace'-but she hid a lethal edge beneath it. Her augmented legs were crossed in front of her; long and perfectly machined, they resembled the framework of racing motorcycles, curved and finely balanced. Standing, she seemed to balance en pointe like a ballerina.
The mutter of the holograph's activation pulled Saxon's attention away, and he watched as a vector-scan model of a blunt, modernist building sketched itself in the air before them.
Jaron Namir stepped up to the edge of the nimbus of laser glow; the colors threw stark highlights over his craggy features. 'Intelligence has located one of our high-value targets,' he began. 'Here. The Hotel Novoe Rostov, off Zubovskaya Square.' He touched a control and the image blurred, re-forming into a series of phantom panes. Several of them showed digital photos of a heavyset man with a beard and thinning hair.
'This is the mark. Mikhail Kontarsky, a minister of the Russian federal assembly, and senior administrator of the RFS committee on human augmentation policy.'
Saxon raised an eyebrow at that, but said nothing.
'This man is corrupt to the core' Namir went on. 'He's betrayed his country and the people who elected him. Kontarsky has been suborned by an organization called Juggernaut. What we know of them is this: they are a decentralized anarchist terror group that uses information warfare to further an antiglobalization agenda. Neutralizing Kontarsky is a first step toward eradicating these dangerous militants, and it will deny them a conduit into the Russian Federated States.'
The Juggernaut name was familiar to Saxon. He recalled intelligence briefings from his time with Belltower; one of the targets of the group had been Tai Yong Medical, a major client for the PMC's security division.
'So the Russkies are incapable of dealing with Kontarsky themselves?' said Hardesty, throwing a look toward Federova, who ignored it. 'Why do we have to intervene?'
'Because the man is a point of instability, in a kleptocracy masquerading as a government.' Namir paged through more images. 'Kontarsky is a wild card. He has many friends in the duma-the parliament… That's why Juggernaut has turned him. He has to be removed.'
'That would mean terminated,' Hermann asked, 'if we are being clear?'
Namir nodded once. 'Make no mistake, we are dealing with a dangerous man here. Kontarsky is connected to several Russian organized crime syndicates. He's no choirboy.'
Saxon peered at the screens, catching glimpses of elements from the politician's file, evidence of corruption and money laundering scrolling past his eyes.
'Mission data is being downloaded to your personal stacks,' said Namir. 'Draw weapons for a covert urban assault from the armory, and assemble on the tarmac in five minutes for deployment.'
Saxon followed Hermann aft, turning the briefing over in his mind. 'Taking down a member of the Russian ministry… Am I the only one who has questions about that?'
The German threw him a look. 'If Kontarsky is a target, I trust the reasons are sound.'
'Do you?' Saxon hesitated. 'You've been with the outfit longer than me. Don't you wonder who gives the orders?'
'Namir gives the orders,' Hermann said flatly.
'But who gives them to Namir?'
The other man walked on. 'It is not something I trouble myself with, Saxon. Sometimes it is necessary to operate in the shadows to maintain the status quo. That is what we do.'
'But still-'
'Still what?' Saxon turned to find Namir standing behind him. 'Do you need a reason, Ben?
Look at Kontarsky's files. He's not an innocent man.'
Saxon paused, studying the Israeli. 'Who is?' In such close quarters, his thoughts couldn't help but turn again to wondering who would prevail if the two of them faced off. It would be an even match, Saxon thought. At first.
Namir glanced over Saxon's shoulder as Hermann passed through into the aft compartment, leaving them alone for the moment. 'Juggernaut is a clear and present danger to global stability. They have to be dealt with. You understand that, yes?'
'I understand that someone is threatened by them,' Saxon replied. 'Tai Yong Medical? Others, maybe?' It was a clumsy attempt to gauge a reaction, and he knew it, but Namir gave him nothing.
'Have you ever wondered why Belltower's intel during Rainbird was so wrong?' The question came out of nowhere, and Saxon blinked.
'Juggernaut are info-terrorists, Ben. Along with all the other brushfire wars and proxy conflicts they have a hand in, they're working with the
Australian Free States. Conducting pay-for-play cyberwarfare on their behalf, compromising data security, disrupting intelligence gathering.
The men Kontarsky is working with are the ones responsible for your squad dying out there in the desert.' Namir paused to let that sink in. 'Is that reason enough for you?' he asked gently.
CHAPTER FOUR
NYPD 10th Precinct-New York City-United States of America
The coffee helped, but not enough. It was strong and tar-black, and it tasted awful, but the stew of day-old caffeine and stale sugar gave Kelso something to focus on.
The metal chair she sat upon, its twin across the way, and the table bolted to the floor were all the interview room had that could be considered furniture. The polymer cuff around her right hand was tethered to a
