The Firebird Deception

by Dermody, Cate

  Nor was it the blunt-winged aerial surveillance design she’d expected. The machine, even half wrecked, was sleek and brilliantly white in the peculiar light afforded by the night goggles. The curve of its wing was as much artistic as functional, bringing the idea of a death glider to Alisha’s mind. The technology behind it was clearly not from any CIA-or U.S. military–sanctioned specs or programs.

  But she recognized it with a painful jolt, a familiarity that made her heart feel as though it’d been yanked lower into her chest. The damaged blasters that dangled from the aircraft’s wings brought visceral memory to mind, blood-pounding fear and excitement of facing those same lasers on a ground-based combat machine called an Attengee. That drone had been the handiwork of Brandon Parker, her handler’s son. The Attengee drones had a frightening lifelikeness to them, not in their spherical metallic bodies or the long ratcheting legs that propelled them, but in the artificial intelligence that drove them. The AI had been built for the purpose of warfare, and was remorseless in its dedication.

  The smashed glider in the mountain gully below was younger brother to the Attengee drones, the next generation of intelligent combat machines.

  Alisha’s fingers cramped against the cold stone, making her aware she was holding on to the earth as if she might fly away from it. Brandon Parker had been taken into custody over a year ago, pending an investigation of his loyalties. Greg had never mentioned Brandon’s release from custody, or that he might be working again. Had never mentioned the outcome of the investigation, even though his own allegiance had been in question. His resumption of his duties as her handler indicated that he’d been cleared, even if Brandon, whose purported mission was much deeper than Greg’s, hadn’t yet been. Bureaucracies moved slowly, so Alisha hadn’t pressed the point.

  Bureaucracies moved slowly, she thought now. Military tribunals—which was much more like what Brandon would have faced—often moved very quickly indeed. It was possible it had been concluded months ago.

  More than possible. The shattered drone in the gorge told her it was almost a certainty. The only other possibility was that someone else entirely had developed the new robot. That someone might be the man whose trail had forged ahead of hers, and her mission cover might be nothing more than that: a cover, because she didn’t need to know. Alisha flattened her mouth in annoyance, then let it go with a shrug. It was one of the prices paid for working in espionage. She didn’t always know the truth behind what she did, and had to put her faith in the hierarchy she belonged to, trusting that her actions were for the greater good.

  And for the moment, she had a mission. She drew herself over the ravine’s edge, muscles relaxing in a moment’s relief for the change of position. Even slithering her full length down the canyon’s side left her several feet above its floor. Alisha cast a glance over her shoulder, judging the texture of the rocky earth. A boulder was lodged near the mouth of the gully, a few smaller stones scattered around it, but no shale; perhaps winter runoff had taken all the broken rock away long ago. Alisha gave a brief nod and pushed back from the wall, making a jump to reach the ground. She grunted out a soft breath as she landed, absorbing the impact with her knees, and took another instant to study the gulch.

  She was alone. The switchback trail must have been longer than she’d guessed it to be: the man hadn’t yet reappeared. Alisha pressed her lips together, deciding on a course of patience. Whatever her rival wanted, she didn’t like the option of leaving her back to him as she scavenged the aircraft’s remains. She could keep the element of surprise by hanging back now, and disable him once he’d gotten what he wanted from the glider. If it was delicate, all the better: he’d react like someone with something to protect, making it easier for her to achieve victory.

  Footsteps, almost noiseless against the rock, sounded behind her. Alisha faded farther into the shadows, hidden behind the boulder. Peering out afforded her a view of most of the canyon. It was only moments before the man appeared, dark haired and broad shouldered in the green vision of Alisha’s night goggles. He hesitated just beyond the boulder, studying the ravine as Alisha had done. She drew in her next breath slowly, deliberately, as if doing so might turn her invisible to his gaze and ears.

  Instead he turned toward her more fully, still examining the canyon, as if she’d betrayed herself with that breath.

  And she did, as his profile came into focus, pale against the dark green sky and mountains. Good sense and training were thrown away in a wash of anger and disbelief. Alisha stood, yanking the night goggles off and throwing them to the side in pure outrage.

  “Reichart.”

  Chapter 2

  Reichart startled gratifyingly, jerking toward her even as he first reached for a weapon, then aborted the action in almost the same movement. “Alisha? Jesus Christ, what are—” The question, too, was cut off, as he flicked a look over his shoulder at the ruined aircraft. For an instant the fight seemed to go out of him, his shoulders loosening as he dropped his chin to his chest. More quietly, though still loud enough to echo against the gully walls, he repeated, “Jesus Christ.”

  Alisha stalked toward him, deliberately stopping far enough away that she couldn’t reach him, not trusting her already balled fists not to take on a life of their own and punch him in the nose. Feelings that should have been buried—feelings that should have been gone—bubbled to the surface, frustration and anger and exasperation so powerful she couldn’t form words.

  Way to compartmentalize, she congratulated herself. Very professional. Her feet took her one more step forward and she threw the punch that her muscles were aching for, a wholly telegraphed act of violence that Reichart, almost to Alisha’s relief, blocked easily.

  The solid connection of bone and flesh broke the dam clogging her ability to speak, letting her burst out with, “You son of a bitch!” She fell back a step, exhaling hard, and turned her shoulder to Reichart, breathing through clenched teeth. New frustration knotted her stomach as she recognized what her own body language said: that she did not believe Reichart would strike her from behind. That, in essence, she still trusted the bastard.

  “It’s nice to see you, too,” he said mildly. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him rubbing his wrist where he’d knocked her punch aside. It gave her a bloom of satisfaction that took some of the edge out of knowing how her body language betrayed her. “How’ve you been?” he asked, still mildly. As if there weren’t oceans of bad blood between them, Alisha thought, and tilted her face up to the stars glittering beyond the canyon walls.

  “Fine, thanks. You?” There was an acid edge to her response that she didn’t bother washing away. It helped to prevent her from turning and trying to deck the man again.

  “Busy,” Reichart admitted. “Saving the world, all that. You know how it is.”

  “I never had the impression saving the world was on your list of things to do,” Alisha said through her teeth. “I thought you were more of the he who dies with the most cash wins philosophy.” She could still see him from the corner of her eye, short waves of his dark hair knocked askew by a mountain wind that the gulch protected them from. His expression was as neutral as his voice, no hint of concern or curiosity in his eyes. Keeping the mask on, Alisha thought. As she ought to have done, though even as she thought it she dismissed it with an almost imperceptible shrug. For better or worse, Reichart pushed her to do things she shouldn’t.

  Pushed, or provided the excuse. Alisha looked over her shoulder at him, then beyond him at the downed glider. “That thing yours?”

  Surprise darted through his eyes, a slight widening as he, too, looked back at the aircraft. “It’s yours. Didn’t they tell you?”

  “Yeah, but who can trust the Agency?” Alisha exhaled and looked up at the stars again. “I saw somebody—you—on the other side of the switchback. Made me wonder what they’d really sent me after, that’s all. Then when I saw the flyer I knew I could be dealing with something built from the plans you stole from me.”
/>   Irritation filled Reichart’s voice. “They were corrupt. Useless. You saw me?”

  “Oh,” Alisha said, filling her voice with brightness. “Didn’t I mention that part? Jesus, Reichart, did you really think I’d offer functional AI software up to the black market?” She glanced at him, watching his expression sour, and breathed out a smile. “You did. How flattering. You didn’t rub off on me that much, Reichart.”

  “Evidently not.” The sourness was in his voice, too, the emotionless mask he’d had in place allowed to slip. And it was allowed, Alisha had no doubt. She preferred to permit herself the dangers of sentimentalism, but she could certainly keep it off her face and out of her voice when she chose to. Reichart’s control wouldn’t be undone by a chance meeting in the mountains, no matter how complimentary the idea of being able to affect him that much might be to Alisha. “How’d you get past me?”

  “I came up over the ridge.” Alisha lifted her eyebrows. “If I’d known it was you I would’ve dropped a rock on your head.”

  “You would have, too, wouldn’t you?” Sourness was replaced by wry admiration. Alisha exhaled another smile.

  “Probably. Shooting you would be too loud up here. What are you here for? The glider?”

  “The box.”

  There was no point to schooling her features; doing so would be as much betrayal as the resignation that slid across Alisha’s face. Reichart saw it and pursed his lips. “Does this mean we have to start fighting?”

  “You could be a gentleman and let me have it.”

  “No,” Reichart said. “Not really.”

  “How much are they paying you, Frank?” Alisha shook her head and finally turned back to him, to walk past him toward the ruined aircraft. “Better yet, who’s paying you? The FSB says you weren’t on their payroll for the Attengee auction.” She crouched by the glider, putting one hand on its cool silver surface. “Grab my night goggles, will you?”

  “Yeah.” Reichart did, as Alisha examined the glider. It was partially lodged in a crevasse in the gulch wall, metal edges smashed and sharp against the stone. Alisha slid her backpack off, rooting through it. She hesitated at the butt of her gun, fingers caressing the roughened texture of the grip, then sighed and left it alone as she continued searching for a pair of heavy gloves. They reminded her of a chef’s cutting glove, puncturable but difficult to cut on a sharp edge. She slid them on, flexing her fingers inside the gritty material, then took her goggles from Reichart and pulled them back on again, as well. “You need a hand?” he asked. Alisha shook her head.

  “I’ve got it.” She heard Reichart step backward, taking her at her word, as she worked her fingers into a gap between shredded metal and blackened stone. She put one foot against the gulch wall for extra heave, then drew a long breath of the crisp air through her nostrils, feeling oxygen flood her bloodstream. Her fingers tingled with it, making her feel lighter and less connected with her own body.

  Breathing is the center of yoga. The words ran through her mind like a mantra, allowing her to focus more fully on her breath and the oxygen she felt preparing her muscles for a moment’s overexertion. Breathing is the center of yoga, and yoga is the center of my strength.

  Metal edges made pressure dents against her fingers even through the protective gloves. Alisha could envision the red depressions in her skin as muscle in her arms fired, popping and burning with glorious physical intensity. Oxygen-rich muscles along her spine worked together, bunching and straining. Alisha was overly aware of her posture, of keeping her stomach solid and her shoulders open, encouraging the easy breathing that allowed her to haul back on the glider with unexpected vigor. Rock and steel alike shrieked protest as she used the canyon against itself, feeling the solidness of her foot braced on its wall as if she was drawing strength from the core of the very earth.

  The aircraft came loose with a shudder and a crash that echoed through the mountains. Alisha leaped back, the craft’s weight barely missing her toes as it smashed to the stone floor, rocking a few seconds before it settled there. Alisha allowed herself a little puff of breath and a grin at the glider before she looked up.

  Reichart’s gaze was unexpectedly soft, the gentleness in it made vividly obvious by the night-vision clarity the goggles lent her. His smile quirked a little further at some minute change in her expression and he shrugged one shoulder. “I love watching you work. It’s been a long time.”

  Alisha felt her stomach muscles tighten again, this time keeping her from stepping toward the man. After nearly seven years and more wrong turns than she could count, the impulse to take up the challenge that Frank Reichart presented was still there. “Yeah, well, don’t tell anybody I was showing off.”

  She crouched by the glider again, glad of the opportunity to act instead of further regarding Reichart. She had been showing off, taking advantage of a rare moment to use the strength she usually kept hidden in front of someone who already knew about it. Now she could feel the muscles in her legs trembling, their moment of exertion over.

  The exposed innards of the glider were far more densely packed than Alisha had expected. Wiring, no more than differing shades of green through the night-vision goggles, lay tightly bound against solid black—metal; Alisha prodded a stretch with her finger, feeling none of the give she’d expect from plastic. Of course it was metal. Plastic would have melted in the fire that’d scored the ravine wall. She shed her heavy gloves, reaching for her backpack again. Climbing equipment was the least of what she carried, and she hesitated over the gun again as she dug through the dark material, looking for a tiny soldering iron.

  “You’re just going to cut it out for me, then?” Reichart asked. Alisha pushed her goggles onto her forehead, shooting him a brief glare before igniting the soldering iron.

  “Hadn’t really been my plan, no. On the other hand, I see you’re perfectly willing to let me do all the work.”

  “I’m a feminist,” Reichart said with sufficient aplomb to earn a quiet chuckle from Alisha.

  “Just remember this femme kicked your ass last time she saw you, and she’d be happy to do it again.” There was remarkably little sound to the burning of metal, Alisha’s hands steady as she cut an arc down the glider’s width, then a second across its breadth, muttering, “Always be prepared.”

  “I know you weren’t a Boy Scout, Leesh.”

  Alisha cut the heat from the iron, consciously choosing to pull back instead of press forward. Deliberate actions, too deliberate; Reichart would see it, but there was nothing to be done for it.

  Leesh. It was the nickname she had for herself, a nickname that only Reichart had ever landed on. Most people shortened her name to Ali, until Alisha herself was able to define different parts of her personality as belonging to one name or the other. Ali was the softer, pretty side of her; the girl who could work her wiles and get men to do what she wanted. Leesh was the strong, competent woman who risked her life for the Agency. That was the person Alisha more thought of herself as being. Ali was the sugar coating over Leesh, and nobody but Reichart had ever seen it clearly.

  “You don’t like it when I call you that, do you.” Reichart was watching her too closely, picking up on things she didn’t want him to. Alisha glanced up at him, then back down at the cooling steel on the aircraft.

  “You’re the only one who does. Find something to pry with. I’m not much of a Boy Scout after all.” Her handler had considered the soldering iron and the work gloves overkill. According to the mission, there should only have been wreckage at the site, not a damaged but significantly intact glider.

  Reichart slid his own backpack off, zipper loud in the quiet night as he opened it. “Never understood that. I think Leesh comes a lot more naturally from Alisha than Ali does.” He handed her a crowbar that ratcheted out to full length, clicking into place so it wouldn’t collapse again. Alisha pulled her face in a look-at-that moue, and stood to haul one of the quarters she’d cut into the glider’s surface back. It creaked loudly enough to send go
ose bumps over her arms, even beneath the long sleeves of the close-fitting microfiber shirt she wore. Reichart rubbed his hand against the back of his neck, making Alisha smile a little.

  “Ali’s a softer name,” she said, as close as she ever intended to get to confessing the deeper connotations she saw associated with the nickname most people chose to call her by. “Guess people like that better.” She pulled another quarter back, feeling the shiver of metal in her biceps. Reichart grunted and edged forward. Alisha raised the crowbar, vaguely threatening, and glanced down.

  The black box—undamaged, unsurprisingly, given the condition of the rest of the glider—lay settled into the rest of the wiring and metal, directly between the aircraft’s two major thrusters. Alisha sighed and straightened. “All right, now what? We thumb-wrestle over it?”

  “I know how strong your hands are.” Reichart gave her a faint smile that faded when Alisha didn’t return it. “No, we don’t thumb-wrestle. You’re just going to give it to me.”

  Alisha changed her weight just slightly, settling into her center, more than prepared to fight over the topic. “Or what, Reichart? You’ll shoot me again?”

  “No.” Reichart’s gaze flickered up to the edge of the canyon wall. “But she will.”

  Chapter 3

  Emotion tied a knot in Alisha’s belly, dread and dismay, but mostly self-disgust. She looked toward her backpack, where the gun still lay safely tucked, and behind her, a woman clucked her tongue. “Don’t be silly, sweetheart.”

  The cocking of the woman’s weapon sounded like nails being driven into a coffin. Alisha closed her eyes out of irritation rather than fear, then carefully lifted her hands away from her body, fingers spread. Only then did she dare to turn and look up at the gulch’s lip.

  A lovely Asian woman stood highlighted by the crescent moonlight, her full mouth curved in an anticipatory grin. “I’ve reconsidered,” she said. “Be silly.”