Makeda looked at Saladin and dropped into private comm. “I think we stick to the plan. We run right now, since it’s still all over the news. Some gun bunny is going to try to be a hero.”
Saladin clasped his hands and rubbed the pads of his thumbs together. “I want to run now, but I think you’re right. Send Plath and MissTree on?”
Makeda gave him a nod and turned to the women. “I want the two of you to go as soon as you can. Leave behind whatever you don’t need.”
“I hate running.” HiddenPlath glanced at MissTree. “But it’s the right thing to do.”
“I’m ready. I can call a friend to get a ride out to—”
“No.” Makeda held up a hand to interrupt the mage. “Don’t plan in front of me. Just do it, and I’ll see you in Belgium in a week or so. Do what you need to do to survive.”
HiddenPlath took MissTree’s hand and led her from the room. The last thing Makeda heard was Plath saying, “—so she can’t be tortured into revealing where you are.”
Makeda turned to Saladin and opened her mouth to give him the same instruction.
He mimicked her “stop” gesture. “Don’t. I’m sticking with you. You’re going to need me. They’ll be looking for you to travel alone or with another woman. They won’t look for you to travel with an Arabic man. You need me as cover and to watch your back.”
Makeda’s heart filled with his words. She was relieved she didn’t have to go alone. She could and would if she had to, but it was better to have a trusted companion to guard her blind spots. “Thank you.”
“What? No argument?” A smile played about his lips. Though, the question was a serious one.
She was quiet, trying to capture what she felt in words. “You’re my best friend, Saladin. You helped me more than anyone after Zaria.” She stopped then, not wanting to think about her still missing, probably dead lover.
“And you’re mine. It’s more than what happened in Fleming. I’ve got your back, Makeda.”
It’d been almost a year now. Makeda frowned. Almost a year and still nothing. It was time to accept the truth and move on, out of Belgium. Tears sprang forth and threatened to spill over. She dashed them away and repeated, “You’re my best friend.”
Saladin walked over and bumped his shoulder into hers. “None of that. No tears. We’re still in crisis mode. Time enough for a breakdown later, as you like to say. Now, we have to figure out where to get you a burqa.”
Makeda cocked her head. “Why a burqa?”
“What better way to hide than to play into the stereotype of the Arabic man and his hidden, silent, dutiful wife? Emphasis on silent.” He grinned, pushing back the mournful mood that followed every thought of Zaria.
She faked a smile. “Hate to admit it, but it might work.” Makeda pulled herself together. “Right. A burqa. That won’t be hard to—”
“Enemies!”
They both heard MissTree’s shout in the hallway at the same time HiddenPlath comm’d, “Incoming.”
Makeda opened the hotel door as Saladin pulled his pair of smartlinked Ares Predator pistols. MissTree was halfway down the hallway with HiddenPlath at the end, already exchanging weapons fire around the corner and down the stairs.
“Go!” Plath danced back from a couple of shots and grabbed one of the shooters, pulling him into sight. Black-clad, armored, ear wire, and armed to the teeth. No symbols, corporate or otherwise.
The two of them shoved each other, punching and kicking. HiddenPlath used her enemy like a shield, keeping the other shooters off her. He punched her twice, knocking her against the railing and following up with a rush. The ork twisted and used her attacker’s momentum to throw him to the courtyard below.
Makeda ran to MissTree. “C’mon!”
HiddenPlath backed up, but couldn’t dodge the hail of gunfire that filled her with bullets. She stuttered and jerked as automatic weapons fire pierced armor and ruined flesh. Three black-clad human men came into sight as the ork crumpled to the ground.
“NO!” MissTree’s shout came at the first volley of bullets from both sides with the women in the middle—two three-round bursts and two aimed shots from Saladin. At the same time, MissTree threw a manaball at the trio.
Makeda yelped as two of the bullets grazed her hip. MissTree stumbled into her, bleeding from the leg and stomach. Makeda yanked her back toward Saladin. Behind them, the three enemies became two as Saladin focused two more shots on the lead man, destroying his face.
* * *
“Move it!” Saladin gestured for the stairs.
Makeda almost dropped MissTree as a porpoise manifested in midair and swam into the mage. The two women scrambled for the stairs as Saladin gave them cover fire. Halfway down the stairs, healed, MissTree regained her feet and stood. She turned to watch the top of the stairs. The porpoise swam around her.
Makeda grabbed MissTree’s arm. “She’s dead. If she’s not dead, she’s going to go out the front or hide.”
MissTree shook Makeda off. “I know. Let me do my damn job.”
Makeda let go, her Colt aimed at the top of the stairs as Saladin cleared the way.
As soon as the two attackers reached the corner and took cover, peeking around the wall, MissTree pointed and whispered, “Echo, brûlez-les.” Then she ran past Makeda, following Saladin to the back parking lot. Makeda continued to aim.
The dolphin swam to the top of the stairs and waited for the two men to look around the corner. It splashed itself over them as they did. Both of them caught fire. Everything the spiritual water touched flamed.
Makeda fired three shots. One of the men fell, still burning. She sprinted for the exit, jumping down the last two stairs. She stumbled, her right hip screaming its pain. Saladin pulled her from the building and pointed her at the SUV. Makeda half-stumbled, half-ran for the vehicle.
Saladin fired four more shots. Makeda turned. The last black-clad attacker, still burning, was on him, a sword in hand. The augmented man moved fast, slicing at Saladin’s arms. Saladin dropped both empty guns and pulled a pair of long knives. The two men were a whirling dervish of flashing blades, clashing metal, and blood.
Makeda aimed and aimed again. She fired as Saladin stabbed a knife hilt-deep into the man’s throat. She followed this up with a bullet to the head.
MissTree, already in the SUV, honked the horn and leaned out the window. “Dépêche-toi!” Makeda ran for shotgun and Saladin for the side door. As they got into the vehicle, MissTree turned. “I’m going to drive to—”
The rest of MissTree’s words were lost as her left shoulder disappeared in an explosion of flesh, bone, and blood.
22
MissTree’s eyes blinked wide with shock. She didn’t have time to scream. Saladin pulled the mage into the back of the SUV as another shot came through the window. Makeda crawled to the driver’s side and slammed on the gas. Blind, she turned the wheel hard to the right, putting the rear of the vehicle in the shooter’s path before she climbed into the driver’s seat and narrowly avoided the corner of the building.
Two more bullets slammed into the driver’s side. Makeda’s enhanced reflexes saved her from the first as it hit where her shoulder and neck had been, but not the second. Hot, searing pain stabbed deep into her left thigh. She jerked the wheel to the right again, speeding onto the road. Ignoring traffic, she forced the other cars to swerve to avoid her. Horns blared. People gestured.
Makeda bled a steady, throbbing stream. “Galen! Bat signal! Galen, call them off. Make something else happen. Set off fireworks in Málaga. Do something!” Makeda didn’t care if she sounded panicked. She was panicked and hurt in body and soul. HiddenPlath was dead or captured. MissTree might be dead. Both she and Saladin were bleeding.
“Makeda, calm down.”
“Don’t tell me to calm down! Plath is dead. Everyone else injured!
Get them off us!”
“There are no calls out for you.” Galen kept his voice low and modulated. “Relax. Just relax. There’s a
couple of emergency calls to your hotel, but that’s it. What happened?”
“We just got hit by an assassination team.”
“Police don’t assassinate. They capture and question. Let me see if there’s something in the data havens.”
“First, get me a route to the safest part of town. Send it to my eyes.” She was driving blind. She had no idea what parts of the city were good to run to and which should be avoided. Everywhere she turned, there were more cars with angry drivers.
“Done. Sent.”
The map appeared in her left eye and overlaid the actual street. There were three color-coded routes with arrows pointing the way. Makeda picked the green one. She liked green. “Got it.” Checking the rearview mirror, no one followed. She couldn’t decide if this was good or bad.
Behind her, MissTree gave a small cry of pain. Makeda glanced over her shoulder. “How is she?”
Saladin hunkered next to the mage, supporting her and keeping her from sliding around. “Her spirit has her. I’m watching her heal. I think she’s going to be okay. Focus on driving.”
“I’ll head to a Stuffer-Plus. It’ll be open. We can clean up and regroup.” Makeda grit her teeth and breathed in small, shallow breaths, trying not to move her left leg. The less panic ruled her actions, the more her leg hurt. The pain grew with every movement. It took most of her concentration to drive and not throw up.
Three klicks and five turns later, Makeda drove them into the almost empty parking lot of the Stuffer-Plus. She headed to the darkest corner of the lot. It wasn’t that dark, but it was enough.
MissTree gasped and cried out as Makeda parked the SUV and turned off the engine. “Non, Echo! S’il vous plaît, Echo, ne me quitte pas!” Makeda looked back to see MissTree reaching for the porpoise spirit as it swam away and disappeared. She and Saladin exchanged a worried look as the mage, now fully healed, burst into tears. “Saladin…is there a medkit in here? I’ve been shot.”
He gave her a startled look that morphed into his neutral we’re-going-to-talk-about-this-later face. “I think so.” He rummaged around, looking under the seats and in the wheel wells.
MissTree pulled herself into the passenger seat. “Let me see.” She hiccupped, tears still rolling down her face.
“Are—are you all right?” Makeda didn’t know what to make of the mage and her tears.
She nodded. “Fully healed. But Echo said he wanted to go find his friends. It was his last promised service.” She rubbed the heels of her palms against her wet cheeks. “He’s been with me for a long time.”
“I’m so sorry. Will…Echo…return?” Makeda bit back a curse when MissTree reached across her lap and grabbed her wounded left leg. She gripped the steering wheel tight to keep from smacking the mage.
“I don’t know. Maybe. I never forced him. He agreed to the binding. He’s a friend. All my spirits are friends.” Her hands glowed as MissTree spoke in a soft, heartbroken voice.
Makeda relaxed as the stabbing, searing pain receded into a dull, thudding ache. “Oh, thank you. That’s better.” Even her right hip stopped hurting. She shifted the jeans fabric and saw a new scar on her leg. It faded as she watched. The ache turned into the memory of pain and the soreness of a newly mended muscle.
MissTree moved to the back of the SUV to where Saladin sat, watching out the windows, looking for signs of pursuers. “What about you?”
“Mine’s mostly cosmetic.” He raised an arm to show bleeding skin with chrome underneath. “Probably best for me to stick to conventional medicine.” He pointed to the medkit.
She nodded and dug into it, getting out everything she needed to patch him up.
Galen reappeared on comms. “Good news: no one hired a shadowrunner team to take you out. Bad news: either it was a merc unit or corpsec. No way of telling, and no one is talking. Even the emergency calls to the police have been muted. Someone big called them off.”
“Any word on HiddenPlath?”
“No. Either she’s dead or she’s hidden deep. I’m not getting anything to or from her on the comms.”
Makeda nodded, not looking at MissTree. “I need a clean, secure e-mail account. One I can burn after tonight.”
Thirty seconds ticked by. “Done.” Galen sent her the details. “Right. I’m going to take a long shot here. I’m going to e-mail
Imre. If he was involved, we’re screwed. If not, he’ll help us.”
“Why not use MissTree’s contacts?”
Makeda gazed at the mage as she answered Galen. “Because they knew I’d be with her, not anyone else. You don’t send four with one in the nest to take out four enemies. You send four to take out two. So, they know about her and will be watching her contacts. They didn’t know about Saladin or HiddenPlath. That’s why we’re still talking.”
MissTree nodded, agreeing.
“So ka. Let me know if there’s anything else I can do.”
“We will.”
Makeda considered the e-mail for a couple of minutes as her team cleaned themselves up as best they could, wiping the blood from their faces and adjusting their clothing to cover the stains. It didn’t help that they looked like they’d been hanging out in an abattoir. That gave her an idea.
She typed: Dollface–Calling in that favor. Me and my friends went dancing in a blood-rave. Need to clean up. Love, your AlphaGhoul.
The e-mail sent, all she and her team could do was wait. Contacting Imre was a risk. She didn’t know where he stood. Sometimes, you had to take a blind leap of faith from one shadow to another and trust that there would be a ledge in the dark to catch you. He had not responded to her original message about Schmidt.
Makeda wondered if he would respond to her at all.
23
They waited in the Stuffer-Plus parking lot with their lights off and everyone in the back of the SUV. Makeda had made an attempt at cleaning up the driver’s seat. She’d only succeeded in smearing the blood—hers and MissTree’s—around until it made her want to throw up. She conceded to the failure.
Outside the sky had deepened from orange into dark blue. It was fast becoming night. The traffic lightened, making their parked vehicle all the more obvious.
Six minutes later, her internal comms binged that she had an e-mail from Imre’s address. Now was the time to see if his “I owe you one” actually meant anything.
Makeda read his answer: Meet me at Bar Moraga at the Plaza de los Blanes. Come now. She pulled the bar’s page up and got the address. “It’s not that far. Twenty minutes.”
MissTree, still despondent, shrugged. “Never been there.”
Saladin shook his head. “You know as much as I do.”
“It’s a plan. Better than none.” Makeda sent the message: 3 of us. Black SUV. You’ll know it when you see it. “Right, current resources? Saladin?”
“Two knives, one pistol with eight bullets. Nuyen. Some corp scrip. Fake SIN. And half a medkit.” He held it up. “Not much.”
Makeda nodded. “MissTree?”
The mage blinked at her a couple of times. “Some magic, but not much without passing out.” She patted her body. “Nuyen. Smart glasses. That’s it. Everything else is back at the hotel. I told my friend we were running. I’m pretty sure any devices I left behind are slag now.”
Makeda checked her Colt out of habit. She already knew she had four bullets left and no more magazines. Credsticks in her pocket. Clothes on her back. She’d been in worse situations, but not by much. “Saladin, go buy shirts for me and MissTree. Something that will hide blood.” She looked at her pants. Not much she could to about it.
“Long skirt for me, maybe? Towels to cover the front seats so we’re not sitting in semi-dried blood.”
Saladin stretched forward and looked at the damage. “Easier for me to cut the pants legs off and make shorts.”
“Shorts and boots. What a combination.”
He shrugged. “It’ll look good. I’ve seen the style around town.”
“Leave a knife. I’ll d
o it while you’re getting the towels and shirts.”
Ten minutes later, with Saladin driving, all three of them were in tacky tourist shirts, looking almost respectable and mundane. Makeda hoped that Bar Moraga was the type to take in tourists as well as locals.
The front of it looked normal enough. Not too nice or too seedy. They found a parking spot in the middle. As Saladin turned off the SUV, Makeda reached a hand out and touched his elbow.
“I want to go in alone. I need to. I know Imre. He knows me. If it’s a trap, I want you two to go. No fighting.” She poked his elbow again at the storm clouds brewing in his frown. “No fighting. Listen in. It may be noisy. I don’t know. If I tell anyone that I’m ‘all by my lonesome,’ you run. Got it?” She quoted the warning phrase with finger quotes in the air. “‘All by my lonesome.’”
“We got it.” MissTree had the calm, cool look of a woman who had just lost everything and decided to deal with it later. “We’ll go. I’ll make him go.”
Makeda knew the look well. She’d seen it enough times in the mirror. “Merci.” She ignored the flat glare Saladin gave them both.
As did MissTree. “De rien.”
Makeda didn’t know what Saladin would actually do if she sent the order to run. That wasn’t her concern right now as she slid the side door open, half expecting to be shot as she did so. When the death blow failed to show, she put on a slow swagger, giving her hips an enticing roll, and walked into the bar.
Its inside matched its outside. Just enough kitsch to please a tourist, but not enough to irritate the locals. The bar had five stools, three of them occupied. Small tables with chairs were dotted around a jukebox. About half the tables were filled. Most of the people at the tables had a mixture of cyberware, and most were human. A good third of the bar watched her with open curiosity.
At the jukebox, a slender man with short dark hair stood in jeans and a gray form-hugging shirt with his back to her. She didn’t recognize the hair color, but she recognized the shape. She smiled at his back.
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