He looked at Lauren and Marty again.
No…
Then he heard Lauren's voice in his head: 'My first marriage didn't exactly work out. But I've recently remarried.'
'I see you've met my wife, Will,' Marty said, stepping for ward holding Lauren by the hand. 'I never told you I got married, did I?'
'Marty—'
'Do you remember when we were teenagers, Will? You were always the popular one and I was always the loner.
The geek with the thick eyebrows and the hunched shoul ders who stayed at home on Saturday nights while you went out with all the girls. But there was one girl you didn't get, wasn't there, Will?'
Race was silent.
'And it looks like I got her,' Marty said.
Race was stunned. Was it possible that Marty had been so bitter about his childhood that he had pursued Lauren just to get even with Race?
No. Not possible.
Such a theory failed to give Lauren any credit. She wouldn't have married anybody she didn't want to marry —which really meant she wouldn't have married anyone who didn't advance her own career.
It was then that another image leapt into Race's mind.
The image of Lauren and Troy Copeland standing in the Huey two nights ago, kissing like a pair of teenagers before Race had stumbled onto them.
Lauren had been having an affair with Copeland.
'Marty,' he said quickly. 'Listen, she's going to betray you—'
'Shut up, Will.'
'But Marty—'
'I said, shut up!“
Race fell silent. After a moment, he said in a low voice, 'What did the Army give you to sell out DARPA, Marty?'
'They didn't have to give me much,' Marty said. 'My wife simply asked me to do her a favour. And her boss, Colonel Nash here, offered me an executive posting in the Army's Supernova project. Will, I'm a design engineer. I design the computer systems that control these devices. But at DARPA that makes me nothing. All my life, Will— a//my life—all I've ever wanted was recognition. At home, at school, at work. Recognition of my ability. Now, finally, I'm going to get some.'
'Marty, please, listen to me. Two nights ago, I saw Lauren with—'
'Drop it, Will. Show's over. I'm really sorry it had to happen like this, but it has and I can't help that. Goodbye.'
And with that Frank Nash stepped in front of Race—cutting off his view of Marty—replacing it with a view down the barrel of Nash's SIG-Sauer.
'It's been a pleasure, Professor, really it has,' Nash said, squeezing the trigger.
'No,' Van Lewen said suddenly, stepping forward—in between Race and Nash's pistol. 'Colonel, I cannot allow you do this.'
'Get out of the way, Sergeant.'
'No, sir, I will not.'
'Get out of the fucking way!'
Van Lewen straightened as he stood before the barrel of Nash's pistol. “Sir, my orders are clear. They came from you, yourself. I am to protect Professor Race at any cost.'
'Your orders just changed, Sergeant.'
'No, sir. They did not. If you want to kill Professor Race, then you're going to have to kill me first.'
Nash pursed his lips for a moment.
Then—with shocking suddenness—the SIG in his hand discharged and Van Lewen's head exploded, showering Race all over with blood.
The Green Beret's body fell to the ground in a heap, like a marionette that had just had its strings cut. Race stared down at Van Lewen's fallen frame.
The tall, kind sergeant had sacrificed his own life for his—had stared down the barrel of a gun for him. And now, now he was dead. Race felt like he was going to be sick.
'You son of a bitch,' he said to Nash.
Nash re-aimed his gun at Race's face. 'This mission is bigger than any one man, Professor. Bigger than him, bigger than me, and definitely bigger than you.'
And with that, Nash pulled the trigger.
