Hank nods sadly. He could contact Will and see if he’ll come through with the credits he promised, but it would probably be a waste of time. It looks like Will sent him on a fool’s errand once again, just because he can. Hank takes one last look around the clutter of obsolete equipment that almost fills the room then turns back toward the door.
And a voice hisses in the darkness: “Do you have it? Do you have the key?”
It’s Will. And in the eerie stillness of the room, the man’s voice runs through Hank like a thousand volts. “Jesus Christ, Will!” he yells. “You gave me a freaking heart attack.” Hank grimaces. That son of a bitch has got nerve—making demands after he sent me on a damned wild goose chase. But there’s something wrong: an unsettling sensation tugging at the edge of Hank’s consciousness. Will’s voice sounded strange: strained and high-pitched, almost hoarse. And how did his signal get through anyway? Hank was certain he cut the voice channel a while back.
He frowns and looks from Jamie to his Dad. Both men are standing frozen to the spot, their eyes wide in horror. They heard it too! Hanks mind recoils from the certain truth, but the words he cannot bear to think are already forming on his lips. “He’s here!”
And Will’s harsh, rasping voice cuts through the darkness once again. “Do you have it? Have you brought it with you?”
Hank simply stands still, his arms hanging at his side, but everyone else is suddenly in motion. Jamie rushes into the room and makes a beeline for Hank, grabbing him by the arm and dragging him away, pulling him back toward the door. Hank staggers and stumbles over his own feet. Jamie is shouting something in his ear but he can’t take it in, can’t focus on anything except the sound of Will’s voice and the sight of his dad hurtling across the room and disappearing into the shadows.
Mervin rips a flashlight from his vest as he dashes toward the sound of the Will’s voice. The flashlight’s intense white beam carves an erratic pattern through the darkness as Mervin powers forward. No one is going to harm his boy—not today, not ever.
Hank struggles free of Jamie’s grip, pushes him away. “I won’t leave my dad!” he yells. Then he too is sprinting across the room, his heart hammering in his chest, the damp air rasping in the back of his throat. He does his best to follow his dad, homing in on the flashlight. But his dad is weaving around obstacles that Hank can’t see, and more than once, Hank stumbles, cursing as he trips over the tangle of thick cables snaking across the floor.
Jamie hangs back then moves swiftly to the door. “Never rush in,” he mutters. “Control the scenario.” He opens the door wide and slips his combat knife underneath it to wedge it open, then he steps up to the wall on the left of the door and starts searching it systematically with his hands.
“Jesus!” Mervin’s horrified shout sends a needle of ice to stab into Hank’s heart.
“Dad!” Hank urges his legs to move faster, ignoring the cramp in his muscles, the cold, hard knot of fear twisting in his chest. His foot catches on yet another cable, but his momentum carries him forward and he regains his balance, rushes on. There. His dad has stopped running, and Hank is catching up fast. “Dad! Wait!”
“Stay back, Hank,” his dad calls. “I’ve got it covered.”
“No way, Dad. I’m coming. You need backup.” He can see his dad clearly now, and Hank jogs the last few yards. His dad is standing still, pointing his rifle, but he’s only holding it with his right hand. His left hand grips the flashlight, holds it steady, shining it at something Hank can’t quite see yet.
He can’t fire properly like that, Hank thinks. And there’s something very wrong about the way his dad is standing there in silence, as still as a stone. A deep sense of dread stirs in the pit of Hank’s stomach, and he grips his shotgun tighter. He steps forward slowly, cautiously, straining to see what his dad is looking at. He opens his mouth to ask his dad if he’s all right, but when he sees the figure cowering in the flashlight’s glare, the words die on his lips. There’s nothing to say. Not a single word.
CHAPTER 35
Don’t You See?
THE MAN IN THE GAME CHAIR IS OLD. His long gray hair falls in a tangled mess around his face. His skin is fish-belly white, and in the harsh brightness of the flashlight, his wrinkles etch deep gashes into his wizened features. He squints up at the men, and even though his eyelids are almost closed, his beady black eyes glitter with a furious intensity.
“I should’ve known you’d screw it up, kid,” he hisses. “You’re nothing but a worthless punk.”
“Shut up!” Mervin snaps. “Just...” but he has no idea what to say next.
“I don’t understand,” Hank says. “You can’t be Will.”
“Oh really?” he spits. “But it’s all right for little Hank to play at being tough old Sergeant Kilgore.”
Mervin finally finds his voice. “Hank, is this the guy who put you up to all this?”
“It can’t be,” Hanks says. “I left Will way back in the game. He didn’t even come to the minefield.”
The man gives a hollow laugh. “He’s still there, waiting in case you try and escape that way.”
Hank shakes his head. “I don’t—”
But the man doesn’t let him speak. “Will is my avatar, you moron. Don’t you see?”
“Holy shit!” Mervin says. He looks at Hank. “He’s plugged in. He’s using the goddamned chair. He’s playing this Will character from here.”
Hank stares at the man. “Then who the hell is this? Somebody somewhere must be playing him.”
“Yes,” the man says. “And he’s been plugged into a goddamned chair for a long time, so shut the hell up, and give me the key.” He opens his eyes wider, studies Hank’s face. “And you needn’t worry—you’ll get your credits.”
Mervin gives his son a sharp look. “What credits? Jesus, Hank, what have you done?”
“Nothing, Dad. I haven’t done anything wrong. Ask Jamie.”
“I’m not asking Jamie; I’m asking you,” Mervin growls.
Hank looks down, bares his teeth in frustration. This is no time for an argument. He needs to unscramble his brain. He needs something to make sense. But at that moment, the ceiling lights come on, and all three of them are left blinking by the brightness.
“That’s more like it,” Jamie calls. “Do you need me over there? Only, I’m keen to cover the exit.”
Mervin looks back over his shoulder. “Good work, Jamie. You stay there. We’ll join you in a second.”
“No, you damn well won’t,” the man snarls. “I’ve kept the GDL off your back so far, but if you don’t give me the key right now, I’ll call down every man, every drone, every damned thing I can think of, and they’ll wipe you out in a split second.”
“Fine,” Hanks blurts. “Just transfer the credits, and I’ll give you the key.”
The man’s lips curl in a vindictive sneer. “Idiot! It doesn’t work like that.”
“Wait a minute,” Mervin says, his mind racing. He remembers how the comm link broke down just as he arrived. It was just pure dumb luck he was in the building when Hank and Jamie barged in. Everyone else was called away, the whole place in confusion. But how could this man cause such chaos? And how could he breach their tightest security and get into this room? It isn’t possible. Yet he’s clearly managed not just to break in, but to remain here undetected for a long time. Who is he? And with that thought, the final piece of the puzzle drops into place. “I don’t believe it,” he mutters. “You must be one of us. You’re GDL.”
“Was,” the man corrected him. “I got tired of you damned fools years ago.”
The blood rushes to Mervin’s face. “Goddamned traitor! I ought to—”
But Hank takes hold of his dad’s arm. “Listen, Dad. He can probably do what he says. He’s plugged into the game somehow, and he has this mod—it’s very powerful.”
Mervin takes a breath and looks down at his son for a long second. “You don’t have this key that he wants, do you?”
“No wa
y, Dad. I was just trying to get him to pay me what he promised.”
“OK.” Mervin takes in the slump of his son’s shoulders, the unspoken plea in his eyes. “I understand. But you know what? How about we take our chances? I reckon we can give this son of a bitch a good run for his money. What do you say?”
Hank smiles. “I’m game if you are.”
“Oh, I’m game all right.”
“Don’t even think about it,” the man sneers. “Nobody walks away from me.”
A message flashes up in Hank’s HUD:
AIPR0N DEACTIVATED
Hank takes one last look at the old man. “Oh, we’re not going to walk,” he says, “we’re going to run like hell.”
Mervin laughs as they turn away. “I know the fastest way, Son. Just make sure you keep up.”
“You bet,” Hank says, and together they hurtle back toward the door.
CHAPTER 36
Goddammit
FOR ONCE, WILL IS AS GOOD AS HIS WORD, and as Hank, Mervin and Jamie sprint into the corridor, an alarm splits the air.
“This way!” Mervin yells, and he ducks into a side corridor, slamming into the wall as he rounds the corner too fast. Hank and Jamie follow close behind although they do a better job with the sudden turn. The men run in silence, breathing hard, their boots beating time against the tiled floor. The interconnecting corridor is narrower, but it doesn’t slow them down; all three men have pure adrenaline for blood and rocket fuel in their bellies. Mervin feels like he’s strong enough to run clean through a concrete wall if he has to, and Hank is grinning as he gasps for air. Jamie brings up the rear and he’s running hard, but he keeps glancing over his shoulder. They’ve been lucky so far, but if they run into even one GDL soldier, it will all be over. Like shooting fish in a barrel, he thinks. But at least they have an ally in Mervin, and he seems to know where he’s going. What choice do they have but to trust him?
Mervin holds up one arm and jogs to a halt. They’re about to join the main corridor, and it could be swarming with GDL by now. Hank and Jamie understand the signal, and they slow down and hang back, glad of the opportunity to catch their breath. Mervin sidles up to the corner and takes a peek. For a moment it looks good, but then the distant doorway is obscured as a mob of GDL troopers barges through, shoulder to shoulder, jostling for position. A shout goes out, and the soldiers stream into the corridor, the dull rumble of their footsteps echoing and rolling along the passageway. There must be at least twenty soldiers out there, and it’s only a matter of time before they come charging down the corridor, fingers on triggers.
The gear room is nearby, but to get to it they’ll have to cross the main corridor and dash down the side corridor on the other side. Can they make it across in time? Surely, it’s already too late.
No. There is a way. Mervin steps forward and plants his feet squarely in the center of the corridor. He looks back at Hank and sees the confusion, the anxiety, in his son’s eyes. Mervin swallows hard. This is going to be tough. “Go on, Hank. Run straight across. I’ll stay here and cover your six. You get yourself home.”
“What? Dad, you’ve got to show us the way.”
“No, I really don’t. It’s that way.” He raises his arm and gestures into the side corridor. “Take the first right and run to the end. The gear room will be on your left. You can’t miss it. Some joker put a sign on the door.”
Hank shakes his head. “Dad—”
“Just go!” Mervin snaps. “You can make it in time, but only if you go now.”
Jamie cocks his head to listen. “He’s right, Hank. They’re on their way. And we can’t hide. They’ll see us on their threat detectors.”
Mervin grinds his teeth together. This is the hardest thing he’s ever had to do. A scream of pent-up anger and frustration builds in his chest. He has to get Hank out of here. There’s not a second to lose. If they wait any longer, they’re sure to be identified as they run across the main corridor. But raised voices and harsh words are not what Hank needs right now, and Mervin pushes his anger away. “Hank, it’s all right, Son. I’m not making a last stand here. I’m one of them, remember. They’ll see my uniform. All I have to do is spin them a line, and they’ll be out of here.”
“I don’t know,” Hank says.
Mervin looks over Hank’s shoulder and meets Jamie’s eye. The smallest of nods passes between them. It’s enough.
“I’m sorry,” Jamie says. He grabs Hank’s left wrist and twists it hard, forcing Hank’s arm behind his back. Jamie knows the move well, and a burning jolt of pain screams through Hank’s arm, though Jamie stops short of forcing Hank down on his knees. “Ready to go now?” Jamie asks.
“Shit!” Hank hisses between clenched teeth.
Jamie eases the pressure a little. “Are you ready go?”
“Yes, goddammit,” Hank growls. He knows he’s beaten, but a desperate rage burns in his eyes.
“Good. Now move to the corner,” Jamie says.
Hank shuffles forward, despite every nerve in his body telling him not to move at all, and Jamie follows, keeping up the pressure on Hank’s arm.
“I’m going to let you go now,” Jamie says, “and then we’re going to run like bloody hell, all right?”
“All right, you crazy son of a bitch.”
Jamie lets go of his arm and steps back smartly. “Good.”
Hank rubs his arm and looks up at his dad. “Dad... I’ll see you later, all right?”
“Yes, Son,” Mervin says. “Yes, you will.”
CHAPTER 37
For the Best
THIS IS THE PLACE, Hank thinks. There’s no way he and Jamie can miss the gear room. Not only has someone made a simple sign, but they’ve hung it from the handle of a combat knife embedded in the door. Hank and Jamie exchange a look.
“I’ll go in first,” Hank whispers.
Jamie shakes his head and holds up his hand. “This is my area of expertise,” he murmurs. “Stand to the side of the door, and stay there. I might need the exit quickly, so don’t get in the way. Be ready.”
Hank nods, and Jamie steps forward to the door, his handgun ready. Jamie listens, focusing his senses. There’s no sound from beyond the door, but if this is where they can log off, then someone else could log on at any moment. He takes a breath and shoulders the door open, bringing his gun up and stepping forward, scanning the room fast.
He breathes a sigh and holsters his gun. “Clear! You can come in.”
Hank follows him inside, running his eyes across the rows of weapons. The room is fitted out very much like the armory where he met Jamie, but this one is a little more untidy as though it’s well used. He pictures his dad in here, choosing a rifle, but the image is all wrong. It doesn’t tally with the man he knows. Or thought he knew.
“Is there a problem?” Jamie asks.
Hank tilts his chin upward. “We shouldn’t have left him behind.”
Jamie looks him in the eye. “It was for the best. It’s what he wanted.”
“Doesn’t make it right.”
“Maybe not,” Jamie says. “But it was his decision to take, and we have to respect that.” He pauses, softens his tone. “He’ll be all right. He knows what he’s doing. And he’s strong, in here,” Jamie says, tapping the side of his head. “That’s where it counts.”
“Yeah.” Hank looks away for a moment. “I want to ask you something before you go. Dad—he isn’t like this at home. He’s—I don’t know—like he’s half-awake most of the time.”
Jamie frowns and nods. “That can happen. I can’t say I’ve been there myself, but I’ve seen a lot of good men go that way.”
“Is it PTSD?”
Jamie purses his lips, thinking. “I’m not qualified to be sure, but from what I’ve seen of your dad, I’d say no. If I’m any judge of character, what your dad suffers from, out there in the real world, is a good old-fashioned conscience.”
“What?”
“Military life isn’t all guts and glory, you know. Most
of it is a long grind. When the pressure builds up, some men bend, and some break. Men like your dad try to rise above it, and that’s hard work. It takes it out of you. It’s like building a dam. When the water rises, you need to add another brick, and another, and another. But you can’t keep doing that forever. Sooner or later, the dam will burst. It’s better to stop building and let the water flow.”
“So what do I do?”
“Maybe next time you play, take him with you. Let him blow off a little steam.”
Hank shakes his head firmly. “You think I’m playing this game again after all the shit we’ve just been through?”
Jamie raises his eyebrows. “Yes. Yes, I do. I think, in many ways, this is where you belong.”
“Thanks, but no thanks. I’m never going near that damned chair again.”
“We’ll see,” Jamie says with smile. “But time to log off.” He reaches out his hand for a shake. “See you around, Hank.”
Hank hesitates for a moment then shakes the Englishman’s hand. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I sure as hell hope not.”
Jamie laughs. “Goodbye then, and good luck. You go first. I’ll watch the door.”
“Sure. Seems to be your specialty.” Hank closes his eyes. He’s suddenly very tired, but the thought comes easily enough. Log off. And this time, it works.
Jamie waits for a second, just to make sure Hank has gone, then he moves over to a rack of rifles and runs his practiced eye over the selection of weapons. He hates to admit it, but Hank made a good point. It isn’t right to leave Mervin to face the music alone. Good honest soldiers like Mervin don’t make good spooks—they aren’t natural liars. And a situation like this can get out of hand in a heartbeat.
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