Comeback

by Doranna Durgin

  "Who the hell is Arachne?" Dobry asked, perceiving that the name should have meaning.

  As it did to Selena. And it made a certain twisted sense…Be alert for any references to the code name "A"—now definitely confirmed to stand for Arachne…And the contractor, Scott Hafford, had been listed in the Spider files. And that first attack in the deserted Suwan street, when she'd barely started the search for Cole.

  But there'd been time for someone to observe her meeting with Scott Hafford. To single her out. Single her out, why, she wasn't sure. It didn't make sense to react so aggressively after one chance meeting in a public place. Unless her presence had been misconstrued…

  "The Kemeni who came after me near Agabaji's," she said, and turned it into a demand with a little more pressure of the knife; she leaned closer to the driver's ear. "Was that about Arachne, too?"

  "I don't know," the man mumbled. Selena knocked off his turban to thread her fingers in his hair, pulling his head back and exposing the arch of his neck. Panic fairly radiated from the man. Rock…hard place. She had no sympathy. He cried, "I don't know! Yes! Maybe!"

  "…wasting time," said his bleeding partner. "Too many Kemeni with no cause…Arachne probably uses them as she uses us."

  "Who," Dobry repeated with annoyance, "is Arachne?"

  "Worry about that later." Selena shoved the driver away. He tumbled out the door he'd unlatched and scrambled to his feet even as she rolled over the headrest into the front seat, slamming the front door closed again.

  Dobry pushed the man's bleeding companion out onto the sidewalk. Selena didn't wait for him to close the door before she backed the car away from the curb and threw it into gear, making a wild guess at the shift slot for First gear and ending up with Second. She nursed the car through a near-stall and did better with her guess at Third. By then Dobry had managed the very awkward process of climbing into the front seat, haphazardly dumping magazines into the back.

  "Here." She handed him the knife. "Mind cleaning that?"

  Dobry took it, wiping it against the car seat. "Nice move," he told her.

  He might not have said it if he knew how hard her heart pounded, or how badly she needed to take the urge to act out on something. A punching bag, a hard ran, a bike sprint from here to there. All her coping mechanisms, out of reach.

  But out loud she offered patently false brightness. "And hey, look at this. We needed a car…we've got a car. One tripto Oguzka, coming up."

  Hang on, Cole…we're coming.

  And as for the school with the target painted on the playground…she could only hope they weren't already too late.

  COLE TOOK LONGER returning to Oguzka than he had leaving it. He chose a circuitous route, hauling his satchel into alleys and doubling back and at times simply sitting and waiting out the moment. The moon slowly passed its zenith and headed west, and he finally hitched a ride on a horse-drawn wagon headed to Oguzka. The driver had his own secrets beneath a heavily tarped load, and Cole didn't pry—not that the language barrier allowed it. He did manage to fumble a few Berzhaani words to indicate he'd like to make a casual visit to a doctor, and that got him a sharper look than he'd previously drawn, one he could just barely see as the moon headed down over the horizon with dawn still several hours away.

  But the man gave him a name.

  Good.

  The darkness suited Cole. Once the sun came up, his true ethnicity would no doubt be obvious enough. He'd given up on the colored contacts somewhere between there and here, and the nose and mustache had both already taken a dive. And while his ethnicity wouldn't be an insurmountable problem, the obvious evidence that he'd tried to hide it…

  That was gonna raise some eyebrows.

  The man cleared his throat and offered, in a mix of Russian and Berzhaani, that Cole could trust the doctor.

  Cole, woozy and exhausted, almost let slip the snort of disbelief.

  He'd trusted Betzer to help him out. He'd trusted Aymal to do more than splash alcohol in the general direction of his It's just a flesh wound, ma 'am. He'd trusted the local station to be secure and reliable. He sure didn't feel like trusting a man he didn't even know.

  Not that he had the choice.

  Besides, he'd chosen Oguzka for a reason. Not only could he drop Selena's name if the opportunity presented, but the reason they'd been targeted by the Kemeni eight months earlier—aside from the convenient location as a diversion—was specifically because of the village's reputation as pro-Razidae and antiterrorist. They wouldn't quail at the notion of helping two men on the run, not two men who were fighting for freedom in their own way.

  Well. As long as they didn't figure out that Aymal was a geek terrorist turncoat.

  A mile out from Oguzka, Cole bailed from the wagon, offering heartfelt thanks as the man sent the horse into a trot and away. Cole jogged down the road in the dusty wake of the wagon, feeling every leaden step in his throbbing side. Bleed, sucker, he thought at it. That would at least help clean it out.

  At the marketplace he went back into stealth mode. A few tricky moves meant to flush out anyone following him—or somehow waiting for him—and he made his winding way back to Aymal, desperately wishing the farmers had come early to set out their fall produce, that the butcher had his live chickens hanging around and eggs to sell. Even a raw egg—

  Right. Salmonella on top of everything else. Good thinking, Jones.

  He slipped into the hidey-hole where he'd left Aymal, his first priority to pinpoint the exact location of his Browning and get it out of Aymal's hands. The hint of dawn was all but shadowed out of existence in the stone alcove, but the stench from the public toilets was still very much alive.

  Just like Aymal. He must have been sitting there with his eyes popped open in fear all night, for he leaped up to greet Cole with enthusiasm, loud enthusiasm. "Where were you?" he demanded, in a tone that would have gone better with I'm so ecstatically relieved to see you! I must kiss your cheek! But he limited himself to grabbing Cole by the shoulders and giving him an unfortunately emphatic shake.

  Cole growled a warning, a mere grumble of noise in his throat. Aymal froze and backed up a polite step.

  "Where," Cole asked, his voice still a growl, "is my gun?"

  Aymal's expression in the growing light turned surprised, then abashed. "It's here…" he said, turning this way and that to spot it.

  Could be worse. Could be a hastily hidden body secured back here, victim of accidental discharge.

  Cole spotted the pistol before Aymal, on the ground in the dirt. His growl returned, and he bent to snatch it up—a strategic mistake he instantly regretted. Instead of straightening he just went down in a crouch, quietly reciting, "Shitshitshitshit," through clenched teeth. But he still managed to pull the gun out of Aymal's reaching grasp, and from there he lowered his knees to the ground until he could get his breath back.

  Come to think of it, there was no particular reason to get up right away.

  Aymal gave him a moment and then said, "You were gone too long."

  "Yeah, tell me about." Cole finally straightened a little. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly. "Good news and bad news." He didn't give Aymal a choice of which he'd like first. "Good news—I made it back here to continue covering your butt. Bad news—the cavalry's not coming right away, Kemo Sabe."

  "The cavalry," Aymal repeated blankly.

  "The good guys. The white hats. The ones we'd like to haul our asses out of here ASAP." Another deep breath, and he felt some compassion for the dawning comprehension on Aymal's face. "You had to have suspected we were compromised from within the system."

  At that, Aymal gave a reluctant nod. "I had wondered. But then what—"

  Cole mustered up some devil-may-care. "We're not at a dead end yet. We're in a good place—a place I chose because it is a good place—and I think I can arrange for us to hang out here a couple of days with some like-minded people." If anyone here speaks Russian.

  Hey, it could happen. The Russian occupa
tion of this country had left deep marks, from naming conventions to architecture to language.

  "I think we need more than a place to hide," Aymal noted.

  "Once you're settled, I'll see about food. That's one damn thing that went right." Not much cash in his pocket, but enough. Berzhaan was a cash-based economy, and Cole hadn't hit the streets without it.

  "Not what I was thinking of." Aymal nodded at Cole's side, now fully visible in what had turned into morning. Soon enough there'd be others out and about, ready to spring at the day.

  "Yeah, that." Cole looked down, half-expecting to find some exterior sign of the wound he'd never actually seen—something oozing, or bleeding, or maybe just an arrow labeling the spot ouch. "Got the name of a doctor. He's right up there on the list of things to do, too." He gave the Browning a quick check, verifying that all the cartridges were still where he'd left them, making sure the magazine was pushed home, and wiping off the dew that remained when he'd done so. He tucked it away inside his abaya and dug his fingers into the crevices of the nearest wall to pull himself to his feet and then to steady himself there. "A-hunting we will go," he said, oozing false cheer. And then he held out his hand, palm up. "But not until I have that paper."

  "Paper?"

  Definitely not an accomplished liar, his geek terrorist. Cole held his hand steady, waiting. Eventually Aymal fished the folded paper out of his pocket, handing it over with much suspicion, as if he expected Cole to shoot him then and there and make off with the paper. "I left out details."

  "Of course you did," Cole said in vast weariness.

  "If your people go looking for those details, they'll only alert certain key individuals."

  "Of course they will." And when Aymal gave him a look of patent skepticism, Cole shoved the paper deep into his own pocket and said, "I'm not going to dump you, Aymal. That's not what this is about. This is just covering all the bases."

  Aymal said, "Of course it is."

  "Good one," Cole said. "Smart, snazzy…building on the theme. Now how about we go hunt up a place to hang out for a few days."

  And Aymal, after a few more moments of suspicion, nodded. With equal parts wariness and intent, they went out to make themselves at home in Oguzka.

  Chapter 14

  Selena drove as fast as she could on the long dirt road to Oguzka. It was a decent road and the appropriated car held the ground well enough to allow her some speed. Dawn tinted the sky, illuminating the jagged range of mountains ahead. Oguzka was tucked away between the first collection of ridges.

  "Do we have a plan here?" Dobry asked, his first comment in so long that she'd thought him asleep…or perhaps pondering what had happened in Suwan. They'd worked together; they'd actually done well together. They'd survived, hadn't they?

  Selena only hoped the stabbed man survived as well. Oh, definitely a hired thug who pretty much deserved what he got…but she wasn't sure it'd had to go down that way. That she couldn't have found another way, but that maybe she'd given in to the shrill edge of panic, going overboard.

  Overkill.

  But those weren't thoughts she wanted to share with Dobry. Ever. "We do have a plan," she finally answered. "A proposed plan, in any event. I'd like to ditch the car at the edge of town if not a little sooner—I don't think we want to draw the kind of attention this thing will bring us."

  He grunted approvingly.

  "I've got to go in as me," she said. "Same old, same old—that's how they know me, and that's what I'm trading on." She didn't mention that only two women and a little boy had even seen her, and for all she knew they'd moved elsewhere in the recent months. Even if it had happened, she hoped they'd spoken of her…described her. "I don't see any reason you shouldn't go in as Goff."

  "No reason," he agreed. "And if you're right? If we find him here?"

  "I'm not sure," she admitted, "The obvious answer is that we call TRAMMEL. But if I' m right that Cole thinks the station is compromised—and Cole's right that it is—then that's the last thing we should do."

  "I noticed you didn't tell TRAMMEL we were headed this way." But Dobry didn't sound like he disagreed.

  "I think we should just wait until we find Cole." Until, not if. "Get his perspective before we make any exfiltration decisions. He may have made connections we can use."

  "If he can offer anything thoughtful at this point," Dobry shifted in the hard, thinly padded seat beside her. "I hope you haven't forgotten—"

  "It wasn't that much blood," Selena said, all quiet determination. "And he set up that test meeting last night, so he's still plenty active." Besides, maybe Aymal had been driving. Cole certainly would have preferred to drive, but he might well have been otherwise occupied.

  "If there's a problem with the station, then the best thing to do is simply show up there with our packages. Whoever's causing the trouble won't have time to act."

  "That's an option," Selena agreed, keeping her voice noncommittal in a way that meant she didn't plan to make any decisions without Cole's participation in the conversation. "We'd still have to stay secure until transportation could be arranged." No doubt another chartered private cargo plane, right through the Suwan airport.

  "Sounds like you want to cut the station out of the loop entirely. I'm not sure that's realistic." The habitual disapproval slid back into Dobry's voice, and Selena sighed inwardly. Well, that was Dobry through and through…but he'd handled things well enough so far in spite of the dourness.

  "What I want," she said with some asperity, her hands gripping the steering wheel just a little too tightly, "is to talk to Cole about it."

  Dobry didn't respond. In fact, he settled back into silence, leaving Selena free to concentrate on the driving. Now that she could see the road better, she'd upped their speed. In some ways the landscape reminded her of the area around Athena. No saguaro cactus, but just as stark. This particular stretch of land looked successful at producing nothing but rocks, but Selena knew how misleading that could be. And once they hit the foothills of the Dyek Mountains, the vegetation would creep up on them. Enough vegetation to farm goats and thinly spread cows, and enough water for subsistence farming.

  But still. There were also plenty of rocks, including the substantial formations endemic to this whole region—slabby, chunky sandstones, rounded by age. Some of them loomed close to the road, looking like oversize hitchhikers; others scattered across the flat land as though they'd been crumbled by a giant hand from far above. And slowly, far too slowly, Selena drove past them, bumping over the washboard dirt without heeding it, dodging the occasional pothole that came up on her ever faster as she increased speed in what was now true daylight.

  They flashed toward the final rock formation before Oguzka, having rounded the end of one ridge to drive along the base of it before reaching the next. It crossed her mind that this would be a good place to stash the car, only a mile or so away from the village and—if behind the rocks—out of sight of the local travelers. As they reached the rocks, she opened her mouth to say as much to Dobry and never had the chance. A donkey bolted out from behind the sandstone formation, directly into her path.

  Selena's query turned to a wordless cry of surprise. Dobry shouted, "Watch out!" She hit the clutch and the brake at the same time, wrenching the wheel to the side and knowing the donkey would do as much damage to them as they to it

  The brakes locked with horrifying ease; the car skidded sideways. Selena's stomach lurched as two wheels left the ground and she fought the steering wheel, already knowing it wouldn't be enough. The car teetered another moment, smashing into the donkey with the back quarter before it briefly rode air. Chaos flashed in Selena's field of view, her vision a smear of movement and her ears full of a terrible smash and grind overlaid with the screech of painted metal over sparse, natural gravel right next to her ear. The driver's-side window shattered, peppering her with glass; the seat belt dug into her shoulder and hips and magazines from the back seat scattered throughout the car. And when the world finally s
pun to a stop, all Selena could think of was the look on that donkey's face. The terror.

  But not at them.

  Something had scared it onto the road.

  Right then.

  "Dobry!" She fumbled at her seat belt, found it jammed. "Dobry!"

  He hung suspended above her in his own seat belt, not moving with any particular urgency but deliberately enough so she knew he wasn't badly hurt. She twisted, hunting her backpack—hunting her knives. Didn't matter which knife, so long as it had an edge. But she couldn't twist wildly enough to see the pack in the litter of the back seat. "We've got to get out of here. This was no accident."

  "What do you mean, no—" But apparently he decided not to question her at this exact moment, and realized that her frantic movement had some purpose. He, too, looked in the back—and he stretched an arm far behind her to pull up her pack.

  "Excellent," she breathed. "Can you get to your gun?"

  "Not while I'm belted." He didn't waste time getting to work on it. "Not an accident because—?"

  "That donkey…was timed…and aimed." Her words came in bursts as she came up with a knife and fought for enough seat belt slack to slip the knife beneath.

  Dobry hesitated just long enough to be doing a mental replay of what he'd seen before he muttered an explosive, "Fuck!"

  Selena finally cut herself free, falling against the door; she thrust the knife up toward Dobry and knew she didn't want to be anywhere near his landing zone—time to scoot. She disentangled her legs from beneath the steering wheel with every intent of ramming her feet against the spider-web windshield, simultaneously twisting to look out the back window. Intact but grimy, it nonetheless showed their two attackers clearly enough. Dressed in Kemeni colors and running crouched, they emerged from behind the rock formation and headed for the car, guns in hand.

  She could almost swear she saw the distinctive outline of the faux Lugers that Jonas White had pawned off on the Kemenis as the real deal. And she hoped she was right, for if so their aim was likely to suck little green apples.