‘Operative,’ Damien whispered. He scrabbled for his pistol, raising it to fire through the rear window.
But the operative was already gone.
Then he heard it: climbing the roof. He fired upward, the sound of each shot making his ears ring.
The Mustang clipped another slot machine. Coins splashed over the hood, followed by a man in a blue hedgehog costume.
‘I think you killed Sonic,’ Aviary said.
‘Gotta go fast,’ Nasira muttered.
The rear window collapsed and fell away in large pieces around the operative, clinging to the trunk. Damien took aim, but the operative caught his firing hand and held tight. He turned Damien’s wrist inward, tearing the pistol from his grasp, then aimed Damien’s pistol at him and fired. Damien ducked and the round went through the windshield.
‘Seriously!’ Nasira yelled. ‘I’m trying to drive through a casino here!’
Aviary looked over her shoulder and saw the operative. ‘Oh crap oh crap oh crap.’
Damien reached for his sword, but the operative gripped his hand and held it away from the hilt.
‘A little help here,’ Damien said.
‘Hang on.’ Aviary worked her smartwatch.
An airbag deployed from the other rear door, doing absolutely nothing to help.
Damien elbowed the operative in the face, stunning him. He leaned forward, unsheathed and stabbed the sword behind him.
The operative rolled across the trunk to avoid the thrust, then clamped his knee on Damien’s wrist, pinning the sword to the trunk. The operative drove his other knee into the back of Damien’s head, but Damien raised his elbow to deflect it.
The operative wrapped his leg around Damien’s neck and clamped hard. Damien couldn’t breathe, couldn’t get oxygen to his brain.
A sword sliced past, cutting the operative’s leg and severing Damien’s seatbelt. Aviary was wielding Nasira’s sword from the front seat.
That helped.
The operative’s hold around his neck relaxed. Blood from his leg soaked Damien’s shirt. His own sword was free now. He slashed it across the trunk. The operative leapt over the blade, bounced off the trunk and disappeared. Damien gripped his sword, lungs burning for air. In the Mustang’s wake, the operative tumbled across the casino floor and slammed into a mock lamppost.
‘Are you OK?’ Aviary asked.
‘I am now.’ He sheathed his sword. ‘How about you?’
‘I’m having constant anxiety attacks,’ Aviary said. ‘Pretty good.’
‘Next stop, Harrah’s Las Vegas,’ Nasira said. ‘Hold on.’
She plunged the Mustang down a flight of stairs, into a palace-like atrium.
‘What’s that?’ Aviary asked, pointing to something near Damien’s feet.
A flat plastic donut lay in the footwell.
The flashbang blasted to life. Unlike the standard pyrotechnic version, this device flooded the Mustang with a high-density array of LEDs, all strobing while a loud high-pitched whine filled Damien’s head.
The Mustang shuddered and turned. Nauseated from the effects, unable to see or hear, Damien clung to his severed seatbelt. His ears rang and the world seared white. The Mustang lurched sickeningly through the air and then smashed into something hard at high speed.
Chapter Twelve
Berlin, Germany
Sophia focused on the mezzanine, on the figure watching from above. She was certain now. He was an operative.
She tapped Czarina on the shoulder. ‘Stay on the Navy women.’
Czarina read her lips and gave an almost imperceptible nod.
Sophia darted across the dance floor and climbed the metal stairs to the mezzanine. The operative was coming the other way when he locked eyes with her. She recognized him.
Tetsuya matched his photo, with slightly longer hair. He wore loose denim jeans, a charcoal t-shirt and a slender leather jacket that crinkled over his triceps and shoulders. The upper level’s light glinted blue in his eyes.
Without breaking his stride, he altered course and plunged deeper into the azure lights. Sophia followed, pushing past patrons and spilling plastic cups of vodka. She lost him in the center of the mezzanine floor, then a moment later caught the shimmering back of his jacket. He entered a small room.
She darted for the room and stepped inside.
No Tetsuya. A dark curtain at the end, rippling. Someone had been through.
On her left, three faucets and three mirrors surrounded by electric blue light globes. The globes dimmed slowly, then illuminated again in a slow pulse. Opposite the faucets, cigarette smoke curled over writhing bodies. Sophia ignored them and strode for the curtain. She stood to one side and carefully pulled the curtain. Inside, she found a slender man patiently wrapping rope in a geometric Shibari style around the freckled body of an undressed woman.
‘You’re not in control.’ She met Sophia’s gaze. ‘Let it go.’
Tetsuya, hiding among the bodies behind her, kicked her leg out. Sophia fell to the floor, entangled in the curtain. She got back onto one knee, but he wrapped the curtain over her head and pulled hard. She couldn’t see through the material. Instead, she inhaled through it. Yelling her programming trigger words, she couldn’t draw breath.
Still entangled in the hanging curtain, she kicked behind, hoping to catch him. Something—an elbow?—cracked hard on her spine and the air shot from her lungs. The curtain wrapped tighter around her chest. Her feet barely touched the floor and hands closed over her neck.
Sophia relaxed, let her body slump. Tetsuya’s hands slipped. Her feet brushed the floor. She kicked and connected with a soft part of his body. He exhaled sharply.
She unwound from the curtain but was still blinded and entangled. Instead, she spun into it and wrapped herself further. Lifting off the ground, she kicked him. He crashed into something, startling the nearby patrons.
The curtain tore from its rings. Sophia landed in a crouch and could see again. The man with the rope paused, then resumed his rigging. Sophia faced Tetsuya. The blue lights dimmed and the room slowly went dark. She needed a weapon, so she grabbed the nearest object she could find and brought it down on his face. He spluttered, kicked for her legs in darkness.
The blue lights glowed again, revealing Sophia’s improvised cosh. It was a Magic Wand, a sex toy shaped like an oversized microphone, except that it was white and sported a silicone head. Tetsuya gave it a moment’s thought, then kicked low. She sidestepped and brought the wand down on his hyperextended knee, forcing him wider still. Then she coshed him with the wand. Across his arm. His face. His ribs. His neck.
He rolled backwards, out of the splits and to his feet. He was almost in the doorway, ready to flee. She lunged, stepped on his foot, pinning him. He reacted with a barrage of strikes—open handed, closed fists, elbows—each of which she deflected with the wand.
The wand’s silicone head suddenly buzzed to life. Tetsuya stared at it, then tried for another strike. Sophia deflected his strike and retreated. She shouted the trigger words at him, but the music rolling in from the upper level dance floor and washed them away.
She struck him again, but he countered with a punch that should have crushed her airway. She turned from the strike—his fist only brushing her shoulder—then turned back into the joint of his elbow and coshed him under the chin. His head went back. She snapped the wand across his neck. He spluttered and fell.
The blue lights dimmed again, and when they brightened he was still on the floor.
From the wall of patrons, a large, bearded man in aviator sunglasses stepped carefully toward Sophia, extended an open hand.
‘Sind sie fertig?’ he asked. Are you finished?
Sophia slapped the buzzing sex toy into his palm.
She checked Tetsuya’s breathing. He was out cold, so she rolled him onto his side and plucked a pair of plasticuffs from her jeans, drawing them tight over his wrists.
Security officers rushed past the doorway in front of her. They
were heading right for the balustrade. She left Tetsuya for the moment and gave chase. As she suspected, they led her back to the lower level dance floor. Between the gaps in the balustrade, she saw the Vice Admiral and Ensign lunge across the dance floor, targeting Ieva. Their limbs were sharp and precise under the strobe lights. In an instant, Ieva was down. They hunted for Czarina next. Czarina was vicious in close quarters, but even she couldn’t engage two operatives at once.
Sophia needed to intervene now, except the stairs were blocked with panicked patrons. Bow Tie Man was sandwiched somewhere in the middle, eyes wide. Under her balustrade was the goggle-wearing DJ and the lighting rig. She leapt over and landed on the lighting rig, then swung from it, kicking the DJ into a pillar.
On the dance floor in front of her, the Vice Admiral and Ensign flanked Czarina, their movements furious and quick. Too many of their strikes made it through. Blood sprayed from Czarina’s smashed mouth. Strobe lights blazed red.
Sophia cut the music and grabbed the microphone.
‘Children three that nestle near, eager eye and willing ear. Pleased a simple tale to hear.’
The Ensign moved for Ieva, who was recovering on the ground, then shuddered. The Vice Admiral, wielding a knife, halted where she stood. Czarina took the knife and cut the operative’s throat.
Sophia cursed, then leapt off the DJ’s platform. She landed on the cleared dance floor and went for Czarina, but security got to her first. Czarina released her knife and let the security officers seize her. One bent her wrist forward until she complied. She relaxed, then with her free hand she pulled her wrist back the right way. With her heel into the side of his knee, she broke his stance and he collapsed. At the same time, she straightened out the other officer’s arm and forced him head-first on the dance floor.
When Sophia reached them, Czarina paused. She tilted her head. ‘I can hear sirens. Not police.’
Blue light glinted off a leather jacket.
The third operative.
He was conscious and moving, shoved Bow Tie Man through the doors with him.
Sophia pushed her way outside, but she was too late. The stolen ambulance tore into the night.
In her wake, Czarina and Ieva emerged dazed and bloody from the Nightcrawler.
‘Are you both OK?’ Sophia rushed toward them.
‘We’re fine,’ Czarina said. ‘I could use a drink though.’
Someone else slipped behind them. Sophia lunged forward and grabbed the collar of a young man with knee-high socks. He struggled, and screamed for security. She slapped both hands over his ears. Stunned, he lost his balance and slumped to the ground. She knelt beside him and searched his pockets, retrieving his earnings for the night.
Bow Tie Man’s wallet. She flipped it open and dug out the driver’s license. Evgeny Sporyshev. He was the operatives’ target, and now they had him.
Chapter Thirteen
Las Vegas, United States
Aviary hung upside down.
She shoved the airbag from her face and reached for her seatbelt. She couldn’t get to it with the airbag in the way. She punched it, but that didn’t help. Blood rushed to her head and she felt dizzy, pressure building behind her eyes. She had to think.
The entire Mustang was upside down and her rucksack was resting below her, on the roof. She reached down and unzipped the ruck, then clawed for her multitool. She flicked the large blade open and punctured her airbag, then used the blade to cut through her seatbelt.
She crashed down on the inside of the Mustang’s roof, her arms protecting her head. She was glad Damien couldn’t see her terrible crash-landing—he’d taught her a hundred times how to do it properly. But he wasn’t conscious, and neither was Nasira.
Aviary’s heart pumped faster. She reached over and punctured Nasira’s airbag. Through Nasira’s window and past a large fountain, Aviary watched marines enter the atrium.
‘Nasira!’ she yelled, her voice dull and distant from the flashbang.
Cutting Nasira’s seatbelt would mean Nasira would fall on her head, but Aviary had no choice: it was that or leave her for the marines. Aviary wriggled under Nasira and cut her free. She braced to absorb Nasira’s fall, but Nasira slid down slowly, her legs caught under the steering wheel. She slumped onto Aviary, pinning her there.
Well, I didn’t think that through.
Aviary shook Nasira. Hard. No reaction. She checked her neck. Still a pulse—strong too.
That’s a good sign, right?
Damien was sprawled in the back seat. His sheathed sword was lying in the center of the Mustang, the hilt resting by her knee. Damien’s chest was rising and falling, but blood was leaking from his ears.
The marines circled the overturned Mustang.
Wriggling her way out from under Nasira, Aviary crawled back to the passenger side, her knee pressing on the sword. That wasn’t going to help her now. She tossed her multitool back into her ruck and slipped it over her shoulders. She thought about making a run for it, but the marines were already pointing their weapons at her. Seeing she was unarmed and her friends were out cold, they closed in.
The leading marine yelled something at her but she still couldn’t hear properly. Something about hands? The marine had two stripes so he was ranked higher than the others and was probably a Gunnery Sergeant or Sausage or something.
‘Hands … in front!’ Gunnery Sausage yelled.
Her hearing was returning—she understood most of that. She reached out for the sun visor in front of her. Through the broken windshield, a figure appeared in the distance.
The operative.
Not a great time, dude. Seriously.
Aviary placed one hand on the sun visor, but the other landed on something else. It was the handle to Damien’s shiny black sword. She closed her grip over the handle and felt the satisfying click as her implant transmitted a signal. That signal would be picked up by the retention systems installed on each of the marines’ carbines, disabling their own fingerprints. Finally, her implant had recharged.
She kneeled harder on the end of the sword and drew it from its sheath. The marines fired. Dry clicks. She reacted without thinking, thrusting the sword through her window. The jagged obsidian cut through Gunnery Sausage’s vest, then stopped, impeded by ceramic. Not enough to wound him, but enough to take him off guard.
She kicked her door open, knocking him back. She pried her sword free and climbed out of the overturned Mustang. The operative in the distance was gone.
What the hell am I doing? she asked herself. Oh nothing, just facing a squad of marines with nothing but a sword I don’t even know how to use.
One of the marines switched to his pistol and took aim—
His leg buckled, the knee shattered.
Nasira was awake and shooting. She fired more shots, hitting two marines in the face. The marine nearest Aviary drew his pistol. They all went for their sidearms.
Shit.
Aviary swung her sword at the nearby marine, knocking the pistol clear and slicing his hand. He screamed and dropped to his knees. A cold chill washed over her.
She ran around the Mustang and tripped, almost toppling into the fountain. Rounds cracked over her head. She dived into the fountain and crawled behind the ornamental centerpiece. Nasira was out of the Mustang, holding a knife to the Gunnery’s throat and her pistol aimed at one of the marines. The marines converged on her, their pistols aimed. She retreated slowly through the atrium, past the fountain and Aviary’s hiding spot. Damien was still in the Mustang.
Aviary had an idea. Nasira didn’t have Jay’s enhanced vision, but she could detect the electrical and magnetic fields of the marines. Maybe that was enough to see them. From behind the centerpiece, Aviary focused on her smartwatch. She found the power grid inside the casino and isolated a nice family of circuits.
‘It’s over!’ one marine yelled. ‘Lower your weapons.’
Aviary pressed the crown on the side of her watch.
The atrium went dark. Eve
ryone started shooting. With loud pops, their muzzle flashes dazzled the atrium. Keeping low, Aviary grabbed her sword and waded through the fountain to the Mustang. She felt for Damien’s door—
Something pulled her feet from under her. She hit the marble floor, her sword clanging beside her.
The lights came back on and the atrium burned fiercely with an array of chandeliers. With short blond hair and ice blue eyes, the operative loomed over her—knife in hand and ready to strike where she’d been standing.
Damien kicked his door open, disarming the operative. With a free hand, the operative drew his pistol and, taking a knee, aimed at Aviary. At the same time, he tossed her sword out of reach.
From inside the car, Damien lunged for him. He pivoted, aiming at Damien.
Aviary hit the crown on her watch and the door’s airbag deployed. It smacked into the operative’s head, knocking him sideways. He landed in front of her with a smack. Out cold.
Nasira helped Aviary up and aimed her pistol at the downed operative, but her pistol’s slide was locked to the rear. She loaded a new mag as she moved for Damien, pulling him out of the Mustang. He was wobbly, but could walk.
More marines poured into the far end of the atrium.
‘There’s more of them!’ Aviary yelled.
Damien snatched something up from a fallen marine—a radio—then stumbled toward a flight of stairs, up to the next floor. Nasira, soaking wet, jockeyed Aviary ahead of her.
‘Run!’ she barked.
By the time she caught up with Damien, he was awkwardly jamming the radio halfway into his jeans pocket and pushing an earphone into his ear.
Nasira steered her into the cover of a maze of slot machines and gambling tables. To her surprise, this casino’s floor was still bustling with patrons and staff. Some of the patrons looked at her, their expressions shifting slowly from confusion to alarm.
‘Where’s Jay?’ Nasira asked between breaths.
Aviary raised her watch to her lips and gave it a voice command. ‘Call Nasira.’
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