headquarters of the UN in Geneva.
'There's stuff here from a sealed memo to the Secret Service from the U.S. State Department,' said the hacker. 'Designating Taggart as a citizen of note. He's going to be part of the American delegation in a meeting with some of the movers and shakers at the UN.'
'The vote,' Lebedev muttered. 'Taggart's going to the United Nations to spearhead the push for a ballot on augmentation control.'
Saxon gave a dry chuckle. 'Huh. Oh, yeah, now I get it. Makes sense.' He glanced at Anna. 'You want to know why Taggart is still breathing?
Because they don't want to kill him quietlike. They want to do it out in the open, in front of people. They want an event.'
'The founder of the Humanity Front, murdered by an augmented killer in full view of the global media, on the steps of the Palais des Nations
…' Powell shook his head. 'Can you imagine the fallout from that? Taggart becomes a martyr to his cause. His organization already has a lot of momentum. They lead the charge and do the work of the Illuminati for them. It's brilliant.'
'Who?' Saxon asked, catching on the word, but Lebedev spoke over him.
'It's what they do. They find others and manipulate them into following their agenda.' He frowned. 'How long until Taggart arrives in
Geneva?'
'His flight lands in Switzerland around midday our time,' said D-Bar. 'According to this, eighteen hours later he's at the UN to give his speech.
We got less than a day before they waste him.'
Powell drew himself up. 'We've got to stop the kill from going down.'
Lebedev nodded. 'I'll contact our colleagues in France, get them to mobilize.'
'That won't be enough,' Powell insisted. 'We need to be there. I'll assemble a unit. You get us some transport.'
Anna watched the other man mulling it over. 'All right,' he said after a moment. 'It can be done.'
Powell gestured toward Saxon. 'I want him to come with us.'
Saxon snorted. 'You trust me now, all of a sudden?'
Powell ignored the question. 'He can provide visual identification of any Tyrant operatives.'
'Fine by me,' grunted the soldier.
Lebedev nodded again. 'Agreed.' He turned to the hacker. 'D-Bar, gather your gear. You're going along as well.'
D-Bar's pale face flushed red and he blinked. 'What? Why? No!' He shook his head. 'I can do this from-'
'No arguments!' insisted Lebedev. 'We can't go in without an information warfare specialist. You're always telling me how good you are-now you can prove it.'
D-Bar jabbed a finger at the screens. 'What, this wasn't enough for you?'
'Cheer up, son,' Saxon offered. 'You'll get to see it from the sharp end for a change, yeah?'
Anna listened to the interchange and it was as if she were falling away from it all, being left behind with every passing moment. When she spoke, the words came of their own accord, without her conscious control. 'I'm going, too.' Anna searched herself for a good, convincing reason, but she came up empty. All she could grasp was the distant, undying anger deep in her chest.
Powell shot her a look. 'No. We don't need you.'
'How about she goes and I stay?' offered D-Bar.
'I have to!' she insisted, with a force that came from nowhere. Anna went on, her voice rising. 'I've been chasing the Tyrants for months! I've thrown away everything-'
'Kelso is right,' Saxon broke in abruptly. 'She should be part of the team. We can use her.'
'How, exactly?' Powell demanded.
Saxon made a look-see gesture. 'She saw the faces of the Tyrants. Two sets of eyes, mate.' He gave Anna a look that was unreadable. 'Right?' he asked her.
'Right,' she repeated. 'Yes.'
Powell seemed as if he was about to argue, but Saxon gave him a look and tapped his wristwatch. 'We don't really have time to waste arguing, do we?'
'Get the veetol and head for the shore,' said Lebedev, ending the debate. 'I'll contact you with the details once you're airborne.'
CHAPTER TWELVE
Cape Charles-Virginia-United States of America
The veetol was an old air-ambulance model stripped to the bare metal, a bulky and ungainly thing like a fat gull borne up on bright thruster nozzles that spat exhaust from the wingtips. They flew fast and low, following the line of the canal from Baltimore, until the river mouth opened up before them. Saxon felt it in the pit of his gut as the veetol rose up in a near-vertical ascent, trading altitude for thrust. He made an attempt to glance out the porthole; along with the Kelso woman and the hacker, Saxon was crammed into the rear of the flyer with Powell and four of his men from the New Sons. None of them looked like soldiers of any stripe he thought worthy of the name; they had a different air to them, which reminded him of the feral intensity of the gang kids he'd grown up with on the streets of North London. He pegged them for ex-cons or militia types. Kelso sat with her head down, lost in her own thoughts.
D-Bar gave him a smile that was all fake bravado. 'What's wrong? Don't like flying?'
Saxon didn't allow himself to dwell on the similarity between this veetol and the one he'd rode into the wilderness six months ago. 'Something like that,' he offered. It was a tight fit in here, and he was starting to get tired of it. 'Hey, Powell!' He had to shout to the other man to make himself heard over the roar of the engines.
Powell had the distracted look of someone using a comm implant. He glanced at Saxon but said nothing.
He nodded at the FR-27 rifle slung over the man's chest. 'Do I get a weapon?'
'I only give guns to people I trust.'
'What are we doing?' Saxon went on. 'As cozy as this is, we can't fly to Switzerland in this thing.'
Powell smiled thinly, reacting to something only he heard. 'Don't sweat it,' he called back. 'Our ride is here.' He jerked his thumb at the porthole.
For a moment, Saxon couldn't see what he was talking about; then his perception caught up with what he was looking at, and the shape he'd thought was just another churn of storm clouds took on a different aspect.
From out of the easterly front emerged a massive, elongated ellipse. Lined with fins and stabilators, great hoops hung from its flanks, the centers of them blurred by the motion of wide, fluted rotor blades. Along the flank of the aircraft he saw a blue-on-blue livery and the name: LEBEDEV AIRCARGO.
'Whoa!' said D-Bar, crowding in to take a look, 'Cargo zep… Good cover.' He trailed off as he thought it through. 'But… how are we gonna get on board?'
Powell was getting to his feet. 'Not the easy way.'
The veetol's deck dipped and the hull of the airship rose to fill the window. The other men were securing their gear, checking straps and gear pockets. Kelso met Saxon's gaze with a questioning look and he gave her a shrug as a reply.
D-Bar turned to him, catching on. 'He's not serious-'
A red light flashed and along the side of the veetol, a seam opened to peel back a long drop-hatch. Cold air howled into the cargo space and
Saxon felt his gut tighten. He closed his eyes and for a moment he was remembering blackness and the shriek of wind.
