Nexus (27 page)

  "Everything OK?" Sam asked.

  Narong grimaced. "He's kind of a paranoid. Look, I was wondering, we're doing this thing on Friday. It's going to be small, really chill, a family kind of thing." He paused. "It's a Synchronicity circle. There'll be about a dozen of us. Really mellow. Would you and Kade like to join us?"

  "That sounds amazing," Sam replied. "Yeah, I'd love to come."

  "Great," Narong said. "It's in an apartment above us in this building. Meet here at 10pm on Friday."

  "Fantastic."

  Sam checked her watch. It was almost 1am. Time to get going, she told Narong. Together they extricated Kade from his conversation. Narong repeated the invitation to the Synchronicity circle on Friday.

  [sam] Say yes.

  Kade felt reluctant in her mind, but he answered in the affirmative.

  Narong gave them directions to reach Soi Sama Han and flag down a tuk-tuk or a cab. Eventually the goodbyes were said, and they headed out into the cool Bangkok night.

 

Wats crouched on the rooftop. An old wound throbbed softly. Kade and Cataranes and their new friend – one he'd identified as Narong Shinawatra – would presumably be in the club for some time. Time to do a little research on that driver.

  He pulled some of his clearest full frontal shots of the man off his rifle scope, used his phone to search for similar pictures on the net. Possible matches scrolled across his vision. Nope. Not that one. Not the next either. Similar, but not the same face. Not the one after that or the next dozen or the next hundred to follow. Nothing promising in the first few hundred matches at all.

  He went back, selected a three-quarters profile shot from the scope, reran the search. Garbage. More garbage. More garbage after that.

  But wait. What the heck? Image 438. Chinese Premier Bao Zhuang. They looked nothing alike. How had that matched?

  Wats zoomed in. What he saw knotted his stomach. The match wasn't on Bao Zhuang's face. It was on the face of the man behind him, in the shadows. His bodyguard. Chinese Central Security Bureau. The Chinese equivalent of the Secret Service.

  The date stamp said October 2039. Six months ago. What were the odds that a member of the premier of China's security detail was now, six months later, assigned to drive Su-Yong Shu around?

  What were the odds that a Chinese "military advisor" who he'd seen die in Kazakhstan would come back to life two years later in either of those roles?

  No. He knew what he was looking at. These were three different men. All creations of the Chinese supersoldier program. All clones.

  What did it mean that Shu rated one as her driver? It meant that she was very important indeed.

  This was getting heavy. The more he learned the less he liked.

  Just then, the door to the club opened, spilling light and sound out into the alley. Wats dismissed the images on his goggle display. It was Kade and Cataranes.

  They would pass right below him.

  It was time to try contacting Kade another way. He was atop a roof at least thirty feet from the ground. Even with Nexus 5, this was at the outside edge of his range, but he had to try.

  He let the filters on his Nexus drop, reached out to feel Kade's mind as they walked below him. There… Kade…

  Fuck.

  Wats recoiled, reeled his thoughts in as quickly as he could. There were two minds running Nexus down there. One was Kade. The other was Samantha Cataranes.

  He caught his breath. Did he have enough control to reach Kade without Cataranes feeling him? He couldn't be sure.

  This was going from bad to worse. It was time to get Kade out of this. He wished it could be his friend's choice, but this was getting way too deep. Kade couldn't know how heavy the players were, couldn't know that he'd been followed last night, couldn't know how much danger he was in. Without that information, he couldn't make an informed choice. Wats was going to have to make it for him.

  The rifle was in his hands. He'd pulled it out without thought. His fingers moved with a mind of their own, screwed the silenced barrel onto the stock. He could get Kade out now. His hands slid the scope onto the assembled weapon. A shot to the head. His arms lifted the rifle up, brought the scope to his eye. The back of Cataranes' skull filled his vision. The crosshairs lined up perfectly. Her skull would be hardened, reinforced with a graphene mesh or a composite foam. The bullet might not penetrate, but it would bear her to the ground, give her a massive concussion, at the least. His thumb flipped the safety off of its own accord. She'd have pain filters. He'd need to fire more than once to be sure she was incapacitated. His index finger found the trigger. Could he take her down and not kill her? The force of the impact might just pulp her brain. Wats pulled in a long slow breath. He couldn't be sure.

  To be sure of getting Kade out, he'd have to risk killing Cataranes.

  Fuck.

  He lowered his aim. The leg. He could put her down that way.

  And if she had a weapon? If she turned and fired?

  He let the breath out of his lungs, re-engaged the safety, pulled his face away from the scope. The data fob was a weight against his chest.

  So close…

  There was another way. He knew the route the taxis and tuktuks used from hotel to conference center. He knew the rough time that Kade and Cataranes would make that trip. An intercept while in transit was the best option of the ones he'd looked at. He'd get Kade out that way. Tomorrow.

  There was no more point in following them tonight. The action would be tomorrow. Wats broke down his rifle and stowed it again. Then he took off across the rooftops, leaping lightly from one to the next, on a course towards the main street. He had preparations to attend to.

 
 

Kade felt tightly wound up as they walked down the alley. Sam let the silence stretch out for one block, another, yet another. Finally she reached out to him.
  [sam] What's on your mind?

  [kade] It's that obvious? 

  [sam] It's getting to be.

  It was true. The more time they spent in this Nexus linkage, the more attuned to his emotions she became.

  [kade] It's about the party they invited us to on Friday. I'm not going.
  [sam] What?

  [kade] You want to use these kids to get to this dealer, Ted Prat-Nung. And to do it you're going to blackmail them into helping you, just like you did me. That wasn't part of the deal. I'm not going to help you.

  Sam groaned inwardly. She still had to debrief him and to confront him about the things he'd been holding back. This was going to be a long night.

  [sam] Kade, we don't care about these kids. They're small time. We just want to get to Ted Prat-Nung and his Nexus distribution network. 

  [kade] And you'll fuck over their lives to do it. 

  [sam] Not if they cooperate.

  [kade] Cooperate in helping you find someone whose crime is selling people a tool to connect to each other? Find him so you can kidnap him? So you can kill him? What happens to Prat-Nung? 

  [sam] That isn't any of your concern.

  [kade] Like hell it ###########!!!!!!!!

  Pain lanced through Kade's mind and body, sizzled down the link to Sam's mind. Spasming, jolting pain, muscles constricting against one another, thought collapsing. Sam felt it an instant before she heard the sounds – the soft
pffwwwwt
of a silenced rifle of some sort, the meaty thud of a projectile striking his body, the crackling
zzzzzt
of electrical discharge, the involuntary scream through clenched teeth. A taser round.

  Time slowed. Her senses came alive. Rifle sound. Taser in the air. Spin. Crouch. A second projectile sailed through the air where her chest had been, missing her by inches.

  Follow the shot back. Third-floor balcony. Sixty feet. Two shapes, burly, rifles. The graphene-and-ceramic blade was in her hand as she thought it, then hurtling through the air from her outstretched arm.

  She moved as she threw, continued her spin, and dashed towards them. Rifles tracked, fired. A hideous gurgling as her knife ground home in an exposed throat. One down.

  A taser round skidded in a shower of sparks off the cobblestones to her left. Forty feet. Another ricocheted spectacularly off the alley wall. She jagged to the side, dodged another shot. Twenty feet.

  A taser round took her in the back of the thigh. Her muscles spasmed, sending her stumbling to one knee.

  Behind me. Fuck!

  The taser round was still discharging. Sam reached back, yanked the barbs out of her clenching muscles, hurled it blindly at the balcony. Another round took her in the shoulder. The momentum spun her around, landing her face down on the wet cobblestones. A third took her in the back. Her muscles clenched violently, flared with pain. She overrode them, came up to her hands and knees. The Nexus connection had frayed, was totally down. Tactical contacts were on the fritz. The multiple electrical discharges had disrupted both. She wasn't going to be calling for backup.

  Ahead of her, far down the alley, a fourth figure in the shadows. Tall, thin, hooded – just standing there. Sam came up to one knee. Behind her she heard a clang and a thud. Footfalls from the other direction. The shooters were heading for her. Good.

  More rounds in the shoulder, in the back. Their momentum sent her sprawling on her stomach. Volts and amps rocked her body, tore a scream from her mouth. She forced herself to go limp.

  Silence. The sound of breathing. Footfalls.

  Sam held still, eyes half lidded. Booted feet appeared in her vision.

  "
Yai Ba Nung Neow
," one of them said. One tough bitch.

  They had no idea.

  The other responded in Thai. "Bitch killed Prang, man. Fuck. I wanna make her scream." She heard the scrape of a knife being drawn.

  "Later," said the one who'd called her a tough bitch. "Take her inside. I'll get the boy."

  He stepped over her, towards Kade.

  Sam snapped out with both her hands, latched onto Toughbitch's foot, yanked on it with superhuman strength, and rolled. The thug went down hard and fast, spinning in the air as he fell. She let go of him, kicked her legs up and brought herself to standing, just as the other one came at her with a wicked teninch blade.

  He was huge, ugly, covered in tattoos, his rifle over one shoulder. He brought the knife down in a vicious overhand swing at her face. Sam stepped inside his reach, snap kicked him in the groin, broke his nose with a fast jab to his face, and then grabbed his still-extended knife arm and used it to throw him over her hip and to the ground. The rifle clattered away from him.

  A gunshot exploded in the alley. Something ricocheted off the wall. The hooded figure was firing. Sam crouched low, turned to get to Kade. He was moving, up on one knee, trying to get upright, trying to get into the fray. So was the first thug, Tough-bitch.

  Oh no.

  The second thug, Tattoo-boy, took a page from Sam's playbook, grabbed her left ankle and calf in a crushing grip with his two hands.

  Oh, fuck, she thought.

  He yanked hard, pulling her off balance. She fell to the ground in plank pose, caught herself with her hands. He swung Sam by her leg and her body followed. The brick wall of the alley came at her in vivid slow motion. She raised an arm to ward it away. Her arm collided with the wall. Her head followed, slamming painfully into the brick. Stone chipped. Dust fell down on top of her.

  Fuck.

  Tattoo-boy cocked her back, sending her body out towards the alley, then swung her at the wall again, harder this time. Sam managed to roll, took the blow on her shoulder rather than her head. Bricks gave under the force of her impact. Blood and dust were dripping into her eyes.

  Fuck.

  The knife was on the ground where he'd dropped it when she'd thrown him. It was beyond the thug's head, just out of his vision. He swung her back again, cocking her body for a good hard swing at the wall. She had time to see Kade on his feet, moving towards her, until the other thug's open hand collided with his face, sent him sprawling back to the ground again.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  Sam got her free foot under herself, heaved against the cobblestones with it, kicking herself out and away from the wall as the thug cocked her back. The move surprised him. His swing and her kick sent her towards the knife. She reached out, stretched for all she was worth, got a hand on the hilt just as Tattoo-boy swung her back towards the wall.

  Sam twisted to the side, stabbed to her right with all her strength as he swung her. The knife sank deep into his upper arm. Her spine slammed into the wall hard. The force of it pulled the knife out of her hand. Her head torqued back, battered against the wall. Shattered bricks fell on her face.

  Goddamn, that hurt. The world was going gray.

  The thug was screaming. All ten inches of the knife were embedded in his massive right arm. Sam kicked free, broke his weakened grip, rolled backwards and came to one knee.

  Tattoo-boy was enraged. He was coming up to his feet, pulling the knife out of his arm with his remaining good hand. The rifle was at Sam's feet. She grabbed it. The wounded thug charged, bellowing, bloody knife in his left hand, completely out of control.

  Sam swung for his knees with the rifle, connected. Her blow struck one knee in mid-stride and hammered it against the brick wall. He went halfway down, scrabbled to get up on his other leg. Sam was faster. She rose up, spun to her right through a full three hundred and sixty degrees, brought the butt of the rifle around in a whistling, blurringly fast arc that ended in a sickening wet crack against his temple, driving his head into the brick. The carbon fiber butt of the rifle splintered and cracked from the blow. The thug's eyes rolled into the back of his head and he toppled over.