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OPERATION: NIGHTFALL
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OPERATION: NIGHTFALL
WRITING
Patrick Kapera
LINE DEVELOPER
Patrick Kapera
COVER ART
A4H Studios
INTERIOR ART
A4H Studios
EDITING
Scott Gearin
GRAPHIC DESIGN
Patrick Kapera
SPYCRAFT CREATED BY
PATRICK KAPERA AND KEVIN WILSON
Authors Forward . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3
I. Liberation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4
II. Automated Genius . . . . . . . . . . 6
III. The Rose . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8
IV. One Thing . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10
V. Come Back to Me . . . . . . . . . . 14
VI. 67-A2 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 17
VII. Paradise Falls. . . . . . . . . . . . 19
VIII. Off the Reservation . . . . . . . 21
IX. Exit Strategy . . . . . . . . . . . . 23
X. Ships in the Night . . . . . . . . . 28
XI. Salvo . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 31
XII. Well Always Have Monaco. . . 34
XIII. Subject Zero. . . . . . . . . . . . . 38
XIV. Unacceptable Losses. . . . . . . 41
Spycraft and all related marks are and 2008 Alderac Entertainment Group, Inc.
and used under license. All rights reserved.
Reproduction without Crafty Games express permission is expressly forbidden,
except for the purpose of reviews and when permission to photocopy is clearly stated.
The mention of or reference to any company or product in this release is not a
challenge to the trademark or copyright concerned.
This release may use governments, intelligence agencies, and political figures
as settings, characters, and themes. All such uses are intended for
entertainment purposes only.
WWW.CRAFTY-GAMES.COM
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OPERATION: NIGHTFALL
Welcome to Operation: Nightfall, a World on Fire novelette. The story
youre about to read was originally developed for the Spycraft Collectible
Card Game and released in regular installments over the summer of
2004. It focuses on a small collection of spies, mercenaries, and grifters
who play a pivotal role in one of the many turning points in the settings
history. Hopefully youll find it exciting to read and inspirational when
you develop your own tales in the setting.
Observant readers may notice some changes since this storys
original release. Some of the dialogue and action is different, plus
the backstory plays into the narrative a little more. There are a couple
reasons for this. First, were at the tail end of world design now the
setting book has been released and the Faction PDFs are nearing
completion. We know a lot more about the setting and the feature
NPCs now and it seems like a good fit to round out their original
appearances. Second, we wanted to give the folks whove been with
the story since the beginning a little something extra for sticking with
it for so long. They deserve some love.
Another novelette, The Extinction Agenda, concludes this chapter of
the saga and presents all the other fiction written for the setting. Like
everything produced for World on Fire, these stories are merely part of
the backdrop for your greater adventures. Weve intentionally left the
biggest and most pressing plot points unresolved so your characters
can guide them to their natural conclusion. One way the story might
continue is presented in the forthcoming PDF release, The Alliance of
Evil Geniuses, which explores many of these lingering story threads as
missions for your teams to undertake. Fans of the CCG may find this
one interesting as well, since its an RPG adaptation of what I would
have done with the card game storyline had that product continued.
The current whereabouts and activities of most of the novelette
characters is presented in sidebars and discreet sections of the Faction
PDFs. Theyre presented as contacts your teams can call upon and
adversaries against whom your teams can square off. In some cases
theyve even gotten themselves in hot water and need help from a
handy PC agent team! Again, CCG fans get the chance to see what
I would have done with Sir Richard Poole, Emilio Thorne, Alexandra
Kolesnikov, and others, and RPG players get tools they can use to
expand their own creations.
For those of you who didnt attend the Crafty Games seminar at
GenCon Indy 2007 (shame, shame!), weve planned World on Fire as
a finite line with a total of ten products, including the setting book,
this novelette and The Extinction Agenda, six Faction PDFs, and
The Alliance of Evil Geniuses, in that order. The settings premise is
fairly focused and we dont think a traditionally open-ended approach
would do it justice. Better that we line up all the powder kegs weve
got, show you how to build more, and hand you a light.
That should about cover the nitty gritty, so Ill take a moment to
do the author thing. Thanks to Alex Flagg and Scott Gearin for letting
me get World on Fire out on my terms; to John at AEG for letting me
bring the funny; to Ken Carpenter for trusting the vision; to Nate for
the awesome logos; to Steve Crow, Eric Steiger, and B.D. Flory for the
last-minute assists; to Nicole Blackman, the current administration,
and the insatiable network news machine for inspiration; and to all
the fans who asked for this. I hope its worth the wait.
Patrick Kapera
April 2008
AUTHORS FORWARD
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OPERATION: NIGHTFALL
Monday, July 19, 2004
1100 hours GMT (12:00pm local time)
London
Sergeant James Abbot anxiously waited for the Big Bens eleventh
ring, his heart keeping time with every toll. He tried to look busy at his
New Scotland Yard post, shuffling paperwork across his desk and idly
tapping at his keyboard. He scanned the faces of everyone passing his
station, watching for any sign that they might know.
They cant know, he thought. Ive got to get a grip.
James eyes returned to the slip of paper resting in front of his
antique desk phone. The numbers blurred together
You really should replace that old thing. The pleasant voice
drawing James attention belonged to Sally Dowd, police aide recently
transferred from Bishopsgate. She was efficient, well organized,
and attractive. James was fascinated with her, though he couldnt
pinpoint why. She wasnt his classic type or even his unrealistic
ideal, but something about her got under his skin.
I can put in an order for you, she said. She might have said more
in-between. James couldnt be sure.
Thanks, no. Ive grown attached to the fossil. Shes been with me
since Snow Hill. He spoke the truth, though it was also a lie in
addition to its sentimental value, the antique didnt play nicely with
the local phone grid, keeping James private calls off the radar.
Years ago, the Service would simply have replaced it without ask-
ing, but since the anarchist hackers calling themselves Banshee Net
launched a private war against the worlds governments, people were
more willing to use equipment that couldnt be as easily corrupted or
subverted. Some agencies even deliberately installed outdated com-
munications gear. Of course, this also made it easier for the Banshees
and their pawns including James to operate in secret.
Whats your take on the new nick? Sally asked. Is he really one
of them?
James counted nine tolls. Time for the brush off.
Ive got a lot of paperwork here, Sally. Maybe we can talk later?
Sure. Lunch?
Maybe. James waited until Sally was out of range and quickly
dialed the number. The echo of the hours final toll was a recent
memory when the last staccato pulse ran across the line. Two rings
later, the line went dead just like they said it would.
James hand shot across the desk, returning the handset to its
cradle. He waited.
most sophisticated clandestine computer suite on Earth, the Chaos
Engine. One hundred monitors. Twelve multi-tasking server farms.
Fifteen thousand secure exchanges per second. Epicenter of the
greatest intellectual pursuit of this century or the last Automated
Genius.
With hundreds or thousands of electronic revolutionaries operating
in concert, and processing power borrowed from literally every
machine plugged into the global network, this dynamic parallel of the
Internet yielded reliable yet unconventional information and solutions
within moments anytime, anywhere, for any need.
At the helm this morning, as every morning, Nathan Sparks, inven-
tor of the Chaos Engine and wanted man in more than thirty coun-
tries. Nathan was once known by the codename BEDLAM, during his
time as a CIA analyst working for the clandestine Cold War think tank,
BRAINCHILD. The United States government would never recognize
his standing, having long since burned Nathan and his compatriots
to cover its own unethical practices, but Nathan remembered, and it
drove him toward a future he could not fathom, a grand landscape
without bureaucracy, without dominion.
Perched upon a foot-controlled, hydraulic cyber-throne of his own
design, Nathan studied the mountains and valleys across the voice
recognition bar. Timbre, pitch, inflection, cadence the software
made a quarter million comparisons in just over five seconds, con-
firming Sergeant James identity. It also measured the mans stress
level, which was far too high for an assignment this simple. Perhaps
theyd brought Abbot on too early. Maybe he needed more time to
acclimate. Nathan flagged the specialists file for future review and
hit the Well Done, Chuck key, or Return, then toggled the pedal
beneath his left foot, sending his suspended chair up past two rows
of screens and over ten feet.
He paused in front of Marvin, double-checking the positions
of all known Crown agents in the area surrounding New Scotland
Yard, then shifted four screens to the right, to Cogswell, where he
secured a direct line.
LIBERATION
The Illuminated Futures building towered over the Amsterdam
cityscape, a testament to the failed entrepreneurial efforts of Gabriel
Sage, dot.com pioneer and world-class mover and shaker. The
ultra-modern obelisks exterior surface seemingly consisted of sheer,
windowless mirrors on all sides, reflecting the city back upon itself in
all directions. During its brief operational period, office lights were
periodically seen through the mirror, though no longer. Today, the
surface was unbroken, a behemoth looking glass through which Alice
and the Queen had long since gone missing.
Beneath the surface, however, the structure literally pulsed with
activity, its top four floors cored out and shielded to make way for the
James Abbot gnawed at the skin on the tip of his thumb (long since
having chewed his fingernails to the root). He was a nervous wreck,
and all because of that blasted Marsha Singer. Hed assumed the
woman was daft when she explained that she was actually a Banshee,
a member of one of the most wanted terrorist organizations in the
world. But after a night of passionate lovemaking and viewing
the videotape shed made of their encounter for his wife he was
willing to humor her.
Now he watched his antique phone and waited for the growing knot
in his stomach to burst. Maybe hed get lucky and bleed out before
The phone rang. James watched the misshapen device in stunned
silence, casting a quick glance across the busy floor. When he was
sure no one was listening, he picked up the handset and raised it to
his ear. Sergeants Desk, he feigned routine.
You were three seconds late, Sergeant, Nathan said into his
headset. Ignoring the sergeants stammered excuse, the hacker con-
tinued, Our people will arrive shortly. Are you ready for them?
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OPERATION: NIGHTFALL
Its rather busy here
Crime never sleeps, sergeant. Consider it job security. You have
twenty seconds.
Nathan closed the line and patched into the remote transceiver.
Sherlock Seven, were good to go. Mind the bellhop. Hes rather
twitchy.
Acknowledged, said Simon Stride from the drivers seat of a
sleek, chrome Jaguar XJ tooling across Westminster Bridge.
In the passenger seat, his partner Amelia Trapp checked their
forged documents one final time and closed the briefcase on her lap.
Theyre always twitchy.
Yes, luv, but at least this time our twitchy friend isnt carrying a
gun.
Amelia instinctively rubbed her shoulder. Blasted amateurs.
The holding cells are that way, James said, pointing toward a
staircase at the back of the room. Down and to the right.
The Banshee Sherlocks werent what James expected. A notably
nondescript pair in pressed Brooks Brothers suits and dark sunglasses,
with perpetually emotionless faces. For wanted criminals, they
werent trying to blend in at all.
Do they want to get caught?
The pair stepped across the room and down the narrow staircase
leading to the holding cells, willing all attention away from them
with a few carefully engineered glares. After all, they were disguised
as operatives of Project: Pitfall, one of the most feared government
agencies on the planet.
Whats this damsels deal? Trapp asked as they descended the
stairs. Another egghead radical?
Not likely, Stride said. He took a trainload of politicians hostage.
Bomb?
Teddy bomb.
What?
Two and a half pounds of ammonium picrate stuffed in a teddy
bear.
Trapps eyebrows shot up in an uncharacteristic moment of surprise.
A second later, she shrugged it off and grinned. Points for style.
Hijacking a broadcast satellite several billion dollars. Publicly
humiliating your nemesis priceless.
The Pitfall operatives moved a little too slowly, and the woman
kept her eyes to the ground and surrounding buildings. Her attention
was a little too fixed, as if she were trying to look through her sur-
roundings. Maybe
Nathan zoomed in as closely as possible to the operatives sun-
glasses, stylish dark-tinted numbers with a ring of light silver around
each lens. He knew these glasses.
He helped to design them.
Crap. Nathan quickly shifted over and up several monitors.
His fingers were already several steps ahead and his mind raced
beyond that. The destination monitor winked to black and then
an ellipse slowly faded into view, a lone cursor pulsing at its end.
Momentarily, Nathans buffered request appeared: NEW SCOTLAND
YARD. ARCHITECTURE BLIND ZONES. GOODCHILDE MODEL 67-R
X-RAY GLASSES.
He waited, tapping the edge of his keyboard with an unlit cigar.
Come on, Opie. Give a dog a bone
Nathan shifted down two rows to another terminal. His fingers
glided across the keyboard, tapping into the traffic cameras near
the New Scotland Yard official visitor parking structure. He shuffled
through the angles and committed each to photographic memory for
later comparison. Two cycles through, he was about to check in with
the Sherlocks when he spotted an approaching Audi A6. He zoomed
in for the closest view of the occupants a man and a woman, in
Brooks Brothers suits. Pitfall.
So sad, Nathan sighed, searching the operatives for telltale signs
of special weapons and gear. Any more predictable and I could start
selling tickets.
Nathans hands slipped over to a secondary keyboard and accessed
the direct feed he set up earlier this morning a live broadcast to
giant video screens and marquees on four continents. Suddenly,
images of the Pitfall operatives appeared over Times Square, the Las
Vegas strip, the Shibuya display in Tokyo, and city centers in Berlin,
Moscow, Edinburgh, Barcelona, Morocco, and a thousand other cities
across the globe.
You have a Stranger in custody. Were here to collect him, said
the male newcomer as he arrived at Sergeant Abbots station. Both
held out their identification: PITFALL Operatives R. Touring and T.
Dorne.
Pitfall. The word collapsed onto James like the Hammer of God,
and in fact, it might as well have been. Formed after Banshee Net
released the Mouthwash Confession thousands of pages of sensi-
tive, stolen intelligence data on the web Project: Pitfall possessed
vast resources and near-unlimited authority to pursue, arrest and if
necessary, exterminate terrorist threats. Unfortunately, their less-
than-subtle methods tended to support the latter most of all. More
often than not, their targets fell to anonymous gunfire or simply
vanished, never to be seen again. Worse yet, with the number of gov-
ernments, businesses, and private parties injured by the Confession,
Pitfall was supported by nearly everyone, and possessed all but carte
blanche to expand its mandate to include any parties even suspected
of promoting global unrest.
James knew he was helping to release a Stranger one of the
untouchables targeted by Pitfall but he had no idea Pitfall was
already aware of the capture. This changed things. Even his dignity
wasnt worth this. I think we have a problem, he muttered.
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OPERATION: NIGHTFALL
Monday, July 19, 2004
1137 hours GMT (12:37pm local time)
London
Come on, come on, come on, Sparks mumbled, staring at the
ellipse and blinking cursor. He transferred to the Sherlock signal.
Harrys in the house, and hes sporting Superman specs.
The cursor blinked for the 467th time, without response
Position? Simon whispered, bringing his fist up to his mouth and
feigning a cough.
Theyre inside. Nathan switched to the Scotland Yard interior
camera, where the Pitfall operatives impatiently stood at Sergeant
Abbots station. Looks like the bellhops keeping them busy, but you
know how restless they can get. Wait
Simon glanced to Amelia, who was signing the stranger out of
holding. She recognized his look something bad was going down.
Time for a few unfortunate steps
The Pitfall operatives stalked away from the frozen desk sergeant,
one speaking discreetly but forcefully into his headset. Nathan
relayed the details, urging the Sherlocks to action. Looks like theyre
calling in reinforcements. Better call for the check.
Abbot picked up his phone, but before he dragged the dial-wheel
all the way around for the first time, the line went dead. He frantically
feathered the cradle to get a fresh line, with no success. Then his desk
computer screen went black and words scrolled across his view: You
share our secrets, James, we share yours.
Seconds later, a video replaced the words that video, the one
Marsha Singer had shown him this morning. His stomach turned.
Across the inspector floor and throughout the building, people
recoiled from their screens, stunned at the debauchery assaulting
them. The images flooded through the hijacked satellite network as
well, seeding tens of thousands of unsuspecting minds everywhere.
Now then, Nathan switched back to Opie and the Sherlock
team, adopting a stern expression. What do we do about our party
crashers?
Unknown demolitions trigger mechanism in Haiti Cant help
there.
Obscure oceanographic trivia in Huh. Someone finally took on
that maniac behind the sea poisoning last week. Too bad no one got
back to him in time. Better luck next time, I guess
New Scotland Yard. Now thats my territory.
Isaac accessed his private FTP server and started rummaging
AUTOMATED GENIUS
Across the globe, Banshees logged on and off their private
Internet. Some called for help. Others answered. None were equipped
to help Nathan, save one. Halfway around the world, at a remote
Icelandic research station, Isaac Crass logged on and skimmed the
open mission files
Incoming! Sparks warned the Sherlocks of the Pitfall operatives
imminent approach.
What have we got? Simon asked. He grabbed the Stranger and
dragged him back into a workstation alcove away from the door.
Any heavy artillery? Behind him, Amelia dumped the last of the
unconscious, duct-taped constables behind a heavy desk.
Through the interior video stream, Nathan watched Operative
Touring take off his watch and place it against the door, activating
a standard magnetic adhesive. Uh, yeah Thats a big affirmative.
You might want to roll out the welcome mat.
Simon pulled two buttons off his suit jacket and slid them across
the floor, into protected corners on either side of the entryway. Any
luck getting us another way out of here?
An image came up on Opies monitor blueprints for the New
Scotland Yard interior, with areas of thick construction highlighted
for easy reference. Bingo! Nathan cried, unintentionally into the
com-link.
I thought you kicked your online gambling habit, Amelia said
flatly, ducking down alongside the captured constables.
You know what they say, Nathan replied. The entryway door
exploded inward, bending in half and landing only a few feet away
from Amelias precarious position. You never win unless you make
the bet.
Simon drew his Glock 28 and pushed into the alcove corner, firing
several shots wildly toward the devastated entryway. With his free
hand, he clicked the lowest remaining button on his suit jacket to
trigger the latest Banshee Net original A translucent sheet of
illumination appeared between the two buttons in the corners and
unfolded to fill the entryway to the ceiling. A half-second later, it
settled into an opaque, semi-transparent veil closing off the room.
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OPERATION: NIGHTFALL
The Pitfall operatives swung around and fired into the room,
angling their fire toward the most visible targets themselves. From
their side, the veil was a fluid, floor-to-ceiling mirror pool, rippling
outward from every shot. Even their X-Ray sunglasses were foiled, for
the time being at least.
Chop, Chop, BEDLAM, Simon tried not to let his growing panic
overwhelm his cool composure. He also held his fire, not wanting to
lead the Pitfall operatives to his position through the mirror-veil. If the
operatives wanted the Banshees, theyd have to come in and get them.
Nathans eyes darted between the blueprints and the IM box where
he questioned Isaac about the structure.
LOCATION? Isaac asked.
CELL BLOCK A. Another burst of tentative gunfire erupted
through Nathans headset. His cigar tapping sped up and grew
erratic. He exhausted his options with the blueprints no doors or
windows, no vents or chutes On the exterior cameras, police trucks
disgorged armored constables and more Pitfall Harrys.
NO WAY OUT, spat the IM box.
Nathan swallowed. Hard. He closed his eyes for a moment, perhaps
in honor of those about to fall in the pursuit of freedom, perhaps
because he was responsible for them. When he looked up, the IM box
contained a new line, a single word in Nathans humble opinion,
the greatest word ever invented
IDEA.
The overhead lights of St. James Park Underground station dimmed
and flickered, and Simon Stride checked his watch. Peace in our
time, he snarked.
Are you always so cavalier? the Stranger asked.
Prides himself on it, said Amelia.
What now?
Delivery.
What?
Time to meet your benefactor. A chain of tube cars approached,
piercing the pensive bubble seemingly protecting the Banshees and
their charge from the outside world. The accompanying rush of wind
kicking up the edges of Simons dripping suit jacket.
The vehicle was a smoke gray affair, unlike anything the Stranger had
seen before, with darkly tinted windows and discreet armor plating. It
came to a stop and the doors opened, revealing a murky interior bathed
in comfortably pale green light. Within the forward car sat a lone figure,
dressed in a casual dinner suit and smoking a thin cigarette.
So this isnt a rescue? the Stranger asked.
Rescue? Simon smiled. No. Merely liberation. At cost.
You should go now, Amelia urged.
The Stranger stumbled toward the forward car but paused halfway
and turned back. You never asked my name, he said.
Technically, you dont have one, said Simon, and its probably
better that way.
The Stranger stepped into the car and the doors closed behind him.
A moment later, the tube chain lurched into motion, picking up speed
as it sped into the gloom.
Monday, July 19, 2004
2054 hours GMT (9:54pm local time)
Amsterdam
Huddled in the dark, Nathan Sparks poured over the Engines latest
findings. But for three glowing panels and a scarcely audible hum,
the digital beast slumbered. At the end of the day, Nathan Sparks
preferred a quiet place to collect his thoughts, without the distraction
of a thousand pressing problems. Banshee Net had long since proven
that it could and did function perfectly well without him, and his
personal endeavors were growing more frequent and complex.
Today, Nathan was stringing together hundreds of seemingly
unrelated facts, figures, and events in the hope that they might
support one of a dozen theories he had about one man Sir Richard
Poole, the Shadow Patriots current Control. Poole had brokered with
Banshee Net to secure the Scotland Yard Strangers release, but
the terms included confidentiality about the Strangers name and the
reasons for his emancipation.
Nathan fed the Strangers profile through every identification
service he could think of, but with the recent (and somewhat obvious)
subterfuge of INTERPOL and like agencies, the findings were rather
sketchy. With a processed Stranger, hed be lucky to find a name.
One row up, a screen blinked into action, displaying a news report
twenty seconds ahead of broadcast. The scrolling news marquee read:
CRISIS IN BRAZIL HUNDREDS DEAD and the scene, the scene
Oh, no, Nathan said, his body cold. No, no, no, no, no
It wasnt possible. Not after sixty years of prevention.
But it was.
Theyve finally gone and done it, he said. Theyve finally doomed
us all.
Operative Touring counted to three and dove into the mirror-veil
with Dorne at his side. They tumbled into a crouching brace and swept
the room to find nothing.
The room was empty. Everyone was gone.
Touring dove through the doorway leading to the holding cells,
sweeping for ambushers while Dorne finished with the entry room.
Behind them, the mirror-veil failed and fizzled out.
Here, Dorne called, pointing to the patch of floor behind the
guard station desk. An irregular, three-foot hole was carved through
the foundation, into a deeper chamber. The edges of the hole were
pulverized dust and a collapsible gadget-ladder anchored to a nearby
radiator and trailed off into the lurking shadows.
Acid bomb, Touring said, recognizing the tech in play. Burned
right into the old Underground.
Both operatives approached the pits edge and peered into the
darkness. They were greeted by a foul waft and faint sounds of water.
This part of the Underground was abandoned long ago and many
parts of it were flooded. The operatives looked to each other and
weighed their options. Behind them, reinforcements flooded in from
the ground floor.
A squad of Pitfall troops dropped into the lower chamber and
fanned out, scanning for the Banshees and their prize. If they were
lucky, this part of the Underground would be cut off; outnumbered
and outgunned, the Banshees would have to surrender, or go down
shooting. Either outcome worked for Touring.
He turned a corner and caught sight of something in the water, a
dull, blinking glow
Everyone out, he screamed. Everyone fall bac!
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OPERATION: NIGHTFALL
Monday, July 19, 2004
1327 hours GMT (9:27pm local time)
Taipei
Deep in Taipeis Hsimenting shopping district, raw tradition col-
lided with the postmodern media binge, forging something new.
Glittering neon danced over handcarts and bicycles, robustly declar-
ing entertainments of the spirit and the flesh. The districts soul was
a live wire bathed in gasoline.
Beneath the canopy of digital indulgence, a shadow moved with
purpose, weaving through the chattering crowd unmolested and
unnoticed. Dressed in simple peasants clothes and wearing a wig of
low-cut black hair, she blended seamlessly with the locals, but most
importantly, she moved like them as well. Anyone could put together
a decent disguise, but to accurately emulate motions and gestures
even cultural ones rather than those of a specific individual took
skill.
The shadow slipped down a narrow staircase wedged between a
nightclub and a video hall, tightly clenching her right thumb between
her index and third fingers. The nail popped two millimeters deeper
into her flesh, bursting a pocket of antivenin solution implanted days
before. At the bottom of the staircase, behind a billowing steam
grate, the shadow approached a snake butcher serving up a wide
variety of reptilian delicacies. Ignoring the shot glass of dark red
blood waiting for her, she slapped her open palm on the wooden
counter and pointed at a squat jug on the back bar.
The butcher eyed her with a blend of suspicion and bemused curi-
osity. You dont want that, he said in thick Mandarin. Poison.
The shadow cocked her head back, wordlessly repeating her order,
and the butcher shrugged, filling a shot glass with the jugs clear
contents. She lifted the glass to her lips and threw her head back,
letting the venom course over her tongue and settle at the front of
her throat. It tingled and left a bitter, greasy film behind, rather like
unmixed Drambuie. Pinprick sensations ran through her neck and into
her chest before settling into a slow burn as the antivenin took effect.
She swallowed.
The butchers eyes lit up and he pelted the shadow with soulful
belly laughter. He raised the untouched shot glass of snake blood
in salute to her fortitude, then kicked it back and grabbed a gristle-
caked cleaver.
What you like? he asked, cleanly separating a pythons head
from its body.
Im here to see Wei-Yung.
The butcher buried the cleaver in his chopping block and leveled an
icy glare at the shadow.
He knew my father, said the woman. Yerik Kolesnikov.
The glare softened a degree. You drink like your father, said the
butcher.
The shadow smiled. Honorable words, but if words are a jail
sentence
then actions are the key. The butcher reached under his
counter and toggled a switch, and the shadow heard a click and
shifting stone behind her. She bowed her head, turned, and strode
through the private entrance into one of the foulest criminal lairs in
Southeast Asia.
Alexandra Kolesnikov! Wei-Yung boomed as the shadow exited
the small elevator. The villains pronunciation was meticulous due
to surprise or hyperbole, Alex couldnt tell. What brings you to
Taipei?
At the other end of the wide, open room, Wei-Yung Sun tapped
a golf ball across the thin carpet of a raised platform into an auto-
return cup. He was surrounded by elegant steel, glass, and leather
furniture, and stood before a wall of video screens, each tuned to a
different daily in his latest gun fu masterpiece, Syndicate: A Tale in
Three Calibers.
Years ago, Wei-Yung had transformed himself from a gun-toting
thug to a crime boss who makes movies about gun-toting thugs,
commonly pitting his main characters against despicable wrong-
doers from regions and organizations he targeted in his private
enterprises. This time, he seemed to be focusing on Europe Spain,
specifically and its booming Mafia presence. In the old Cold days,
this might have been cause for a full-fledged Shadow Patriots inves-
tigation, but since Yeriks post-Soviet alliance had shattered each
faction had to launch its own inquiries.
Today Alex was on a very different mission. You spoke to my
father before he died.
Never one for chit-chat, were you?
Alex approached the enormous bay windows across from the plat-
form and surveyed the Hsimenting shopping district and the blocks
beyond. He transferred one hundred thousand dollars to one of your
shelter accounts during the meeting. She didnt bother to look back,
content that she knew his reaction. Why?
Wei-Yung tapped the golf ball into the cup a second time. It was
as great an insult as not looking upon an equal when speaking
to them. Yet he couldnt tell whether Alex had gotten the message
she remained as inscrutable as her father. Maybe the truth would
get under her skin. He was a silent partner in my latest film
project.
Your latest hit list, you mean. Alex turned. Thinly veiled loathing
crept across her face. Everyone knew that Wei-Yungs movies were a
self-indulgent smokescreen; within weeks of their release, enemies
with an uncanny resemblance to their villains cropped up dead, or
dropped off the face of the earth. No one could prove anything, of
course, and Wei-Yung remained untouchable, a victim of consis-
tently morbid happenstance.
The villain caught the returning golf ball with his putter, images of
brutally slaughtered Mafia Dons hovering around him like a bloody
halo. You film what you know, he said. His words betrayed a hint
of maniacal glee.
Did you ever consider, Wei-Yung asked, lining up another swing,
that perhaps you didnt know your father as well as you think you
did?
He never completed the shot. A split-second later, Alex had him
pinned up against the video wall, his putter wedged beneath his jaw,
crushing his windpipe.
Did you ever consider, Alex asked, applying just enough pressure
to induce panic but not enough to paralyze, that perhaps weve let
you live all these years because youre doing our work for us?
THE ROSE
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OPERATION: NIGHTFALL
More like your father than I suspected Wei-Yung gasped,
struggling for breath, Enterprising yet so unwilling to get your
own hands dirty.
Alex jabbed the putter forward and Wei-Yung spit blood. What
did he pay you for?
He wanted me to add a character.
WHO?
Wei-Yung splayed his bloody hand across one of the monitors,
smearing a sticky crimson trail across the scene. In the shot, a dash-
ing Spanish man left a rose on the pillow beside his latest romantic
conquest and vanished over a balcony, escaping a villa under heavy
gunfire. The villain Wei-Yung spattered. The Rose!
Alex loosened her grip and Wei-Yung collapsed to the floor, heav-
ing and clasping his throat. She studied the dailies The Rose, a
pretty-boy dilettante with Old World Mafia connections. He wasnt
commanding so much as disarming, and his greatest weapon seemed
to be his uncompromising arrogance. How much of this is real, she
wondered, and how much of it is fantasy?
And why did Father want him dead?
Alex grabbed Wei-Yungs abandoned putter and dove into the
melee. She bounded toward a swordsman threatening one of her
fallen allies, and swung the makeshift bat with a full twirl of speed
and force. Before the body hit the floor, she grabbed the fallen punk
by the forearm and dragged him to his feet, ushering him back into
the fray.
A heavy gust of wind unexpectedly blew in through the broken
window, kicking up glass shards and production pages between the
combatants. Outside, an unmarked helicopter dropped into view and
its side door slid open.
A Russian man leaned out. He was tall and muscular, in his 40s,
and he wore a simple, undecorated Russian military uniform (though
anyone familiar with the Russian military could tell it was several
decades out of date). A thin steel plate extended from his left eye
around his head. Alex had always wondered where it had come from,
and how it was attached. It seemed to be riveted into his skull But
thats not possible is it? Equally strange, his face seemed to age
out of sync with the rest of him, or at least half of it did, as if like a
stroke victim or man with nerve damage half his countenance was
slipping father toward an early grave than the rest.
A spike of pain shot into her right shoulder and she instinctively
fell back, behind one of the leather sofas on the platform. A throwing
dagger was buried in her shoulder, but fortunately missed anything
critical. She pulled the dagger free and worked her shoulder in circles
to make sure. When she was satisfied, she drew and readied two
butterfly knives of her own and leapt into action
only to slide to a stop in front of at least a dozen approaching
swordsmen. Behind the enemy line, Wei-Yung slipped away through
the hidden wall panel that had disgorged the assassins.
Alex nodded in appreciation. Brought his own army. Wish Id
thought of that.
The swordsmen closed to striking range.
Oh, wait, she said as the bay windows crashed inward behind
her. I did.
Stylish street punks surged into the room, drawing a variety of
martial arts weapons. The maelstrom of violence that followed was
scored by the sound of colliding steel and flesh. Furniture shattered,
blood was spilled, and epic brutality stole the scene.
To Alexs right, one of the swordsmen tumbled through the air,
smashing upside down into the video wall; there was a flash and a
shower of sparks cascaded over the combatants. To her left, someone
decided to shift the battle into the game room, bringing exercise
equipment into play as improvised weapons. Brutality took five and
chaos stepped in as a stunt double.
Having fun? the man asked.
Beowulf! Alex beamed.
Beowulf rummaged through a rack behind his seat and tossed
Alex a Pancor Jackhammer. Finish up, he said. We have a new
mission.
As one fluid motion, Alex caught the shotgun and wheeled around,
unleashing a concentrated blast of flechette into the two nearest
swordsmen; both dropped in a scarlet haze. She stalked into the game
room, where a swordsman and street punk struggled over a hi/lo pul-
ley machine. Through sheer strength and bulk, the swordsman forced
the punks head and shoulders beneath a 150-pound weight stack.
Throwing all her muscle into a shoulder jab, Alex knocked the
swordsman to the side, simultaneously using her free hand to fling the
punk out from under the falling weight plates. She whipped around
and delivered a solid kick as the swordsman rose to his feet, sending
the minion flailing through the game rooms second-story window.
Thanks, the kid mumbled.
Get back in there, Alex smiled. She nodded toward the far more
favorable rumpus in the main room. Make em proud.
She leaned out the window and raised her right arm, firing a cuff
grapple at the hovering helicopter. A second later she rose out of
sight.
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OPERATION: NIGHTFALL
Monday, July 19, 2004
1517 hours GMT (11:17pm local time)
Kam Ran Fortress, China
Its impressive. Ill give them that, said Augustin de Luna,
leaning over the railing. The mountain aeries foundation was only
sixty feet below him, but beyond that, beneath the natural ledge
supporting this remote military installation, was one of the deepest
gorges in the world.
Seven hundred forty-three feet before you hit the river, replied
Emilio Thorne. Then the Mountain gets serious. His attention wasnt
focused down, however, but across the mountain range. Except for a
few solitary spires, the spectacular expanse was lost under a blanket of
shining fog, a deep white shroud that burned off less than one hundred
days a year. The rest of the time it shielded this and many other sanctu-
aries from casual view, isolating them from the outside world.
Augustin was still fascinated with the architecture: seven temples;
one hundred eighteen rooms; nine wooden structures literally built into
the side of one of the tallest mountains on Earth, standing for more
than a thousand yearsWhat was this place? You know, before.
Before the twins? Monastery. Back then, all they had room for
was the faith.
Id say they still have quite a bit of it. Augustin watched a crowd
of troops march across the structures lowest boardwalk, moving onto
a thin bridge leading to the next structure. You think they realize
theres only four inches of phoenix tail between them and the mother
of all cliff dives?
The Khans plotting a comeback, August, and the last time he
rose to power he lost more men than Paulus at Stalingrad. I doubt his
troops share your vertigo.
Emilio ignored Augustins flat glare, still focused on the sea of clouds.
I have a theory, he said, pausing for a split-second to regain Augustins
attention, that everyone remembers one thing when they die.
Augustin chuckled. Arent you supposed to remember your entire
life?
Sure, but even if you do and Im a skeptic there must be
one thing that stands out. You know, one showcase memory some-
thing, or someone, that reminds you why you went through it all.
Thats rather bleak.
Maybe. I guess it depends on your point of view.
After a moment of introspection, Augustin asked the obvious:
Whats yours? Your one thing.
Dunno. I havent found it yet, but this Emilio turned toward his
lifelong friend with a grand sweep of his palm. This is close.
Youre actually buying into it: the divine power bid, the Agents
of Heaven wrap
Its hard not to. Emilios gaze trailed up a nearby cliff face. He
casually noted three of the Khans ritually scarred assassin caste, scal-
ing the surface without gear. This Edge of theirs Its hard to argue
with it, whether its godly or not. The Khan basically runs China now,
no matter what the communists think. And lest we forget, they did give
everyone a run for their money before the Wall came down.
Augustins spirits started to sink, just as theyd had when Emilio
insisted they leave Rome without backup. Why are we here, Emilio?
What are we doing?
Emilios signature smile returned and his face lit up, his eyes once again
entirely focused. Why do we go anywhere, August? Were on holiday!
The lump in Augustins belly refused to fade. Does Fortune House
even know were here?
Gentlemen! said a pair of approaching voices, in perfect chiming
unison. Welcome to Kam Ran!
No, Emilio whispered in a harsh tone, just out of earshot from
the approaching twins. The others can never know it started here,
with us.
What started here? Emili Ladies! Augustin held his hands out
to greet their hosts, the Khans lovely twin daughters, Mai-Ling and
Tai-Tzu, also known as Mai-Tai. Eleven feet four inches of luscious,
leggy attitude between them, Mai-Tai were infamous party-girls of the
Eurasian club circuit, and lethal mercenaries for hire to the highest
bidder. Beyond their fathers realm, they tended toward skin-tight rave
gear and form-fitting battle dress, but here they wore beige qipao
dresses shot through with craven tiger stripes. They couldnt go entirely
formal, of course their dresses were custom-slit to three inches
below the waist, revealing deeply tanned legs, and as always, mirror-
opposite crimson streaks coursed through their striking black hair.
Augustin cheerfully clasped Mai-Lings forearms, keeping his hands
inside her reach. The greeting was traditional within the Khans sect,
dating back thousands of years. In this position, the visitor placed
himself at a severe tactical disadvantage, inviting the host to snap
both his arms with a basic martial arts maneuver taught to school-
children, should he (or she) be in any way displeased with the visitors
character or composure.
Augustin. Tai-Tzus voice was clipped and careful, and she didnt
take Augustins arms. She wasnt one for formality, or fellowship.
Ling, Emilio said warmly, taking her hand and kissing her knuck-
les. Tzu didnt offer her hand. She wasnt flirtatious, either. Well, not
in the usual fashion.
Care for a tour? Ling asked. She led them down a narrow stair-
case to the boardwalk below. Her sister fell in right behind her an
uncharacteristic move for someone as paranoid as her, but she wasnt
acting entirely like herself today.
Certainly, Emilio answered, falling in a few steps behind them.
Emilio, Augustin whispered over his companions shoulder. We
still need to talk.
Later.
Fine. Are you still good with the thing?
Emilio smiled as Tai-Tzu glanced back over her shoulder. His eyes
danced over her athletic shoulders before slaloming down her silk-
clad curves. Augustin had seen that look before Emilio practically
bristled with the thrill of the hunt.
Of course, August. Anything for a friend.
ONE THING
and here we have our training grounds. We specialize in twelve
ancient forms of combat unknown outside our armies.
Below a stone bridge carved from the mountain rock, within a
wide cavern behind the fortress, hundreds of combatants ran practice
drills with a variety of melee weapons, or none at all. Formations of
thirty to fifty soldiers moved together through regimented stances,
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then collapsed into seemingly non-choreographed pit brawls. At a
command from their masters, they fell back in line, as if the formation
had never been broken.
This series teaches discipline and adaptation, Tzu explained as
they crossed the bridge. It prepares our warriors for the bitter truths
of battle.
Emilio walked beside her, matching her crisp stride but retaining
his cool, casual demeanor. You dont seem to enjoy yourselves very
much around here. Look at their faces. Do those troops look satisfied
to you?
There is more to life than satisfaction, Mr. Thorne.
Famous last words of the discontented.
Tzus stride faltered, ever so slightly. Ive rejected better than
you, she said.
Youve only accepted worse.
Were here, Ling pushed between her sister and Emilio. Maybe
you two can shift to neutral for a while.
Tzu followed and Augustin appeared at Emilios side, his brow
raised in amazement.
You owe me, Emilio told him, his smile only nearly gone.
Augustin chuckled as they entered the Khans audience chamber.
Youre loving this, arent you?
Little bit. Emilio strode into a column of soft moonlight in the
center of the room. A moment later, a metal plate closed under the
skylight, dousing the column as subdued lamps slowly illuminated
the center of the chamber. Per Lings instructions, Augustin took a
position to Emilios right and twenty feet behind, within a dimly lit
area near the door, with the twins standing opposite.
The audience chamber extended over one hundred feet into the
mountain, a wide hallway dotted with alcoves containing sculptures
of tigers locked in mortal combat with Chinese warriors and win-
ning. Emilio heard footsteps on the cold tile floor and soon spotted
the master of the house, Zhang Khan, who walked confidently toward
him from the end of the hall. The warlords hair was characteristically
drawn back into a braided tail and he wore a traditional silk jacket
dyed a deep green. He clasped his hands behind his back and held
his chin high, entering the room with all the regal bearing of Chinas
most powerful Emperor.
I have pressing matters beyond your understanding. You have two
minutes, the Khan announced.
My Lord, I have come to deliver a gift. Emilio held out a PDA.
A guard appeared out of the shadows to Emilios right, clamed the
pocket computer, and walked it to the Khan. The warlord scrolled
through its contents and his face clenched tightly until his eyes were
painfully small.
Where did you come by this information? he asked.
If I told you I stole it, would it mean any less to you?
A silence fell over the shadowed chamber, and Augustins attention
roamed. Emilio counted on him to watch their backs when they were
in the field. Though not a trained bodyguard, Augustin was quite
accustomed with the signs of ambush and unwanted observation, and
his natural apprehension served him well in this capacity. He scanned
the edges of the room for more guards, noting five in hiding who
didnt seem to be positioned for an attack, but found the rest of the
room empty until he glanced upward, almost offhandedly.
Above the hall, within a dimly lit nook eighty feet above Emilios
conversation, Augustin spotted a figure a female dressed head to
toe in black or blue-black, carrying a pair of binoculars. Instinctively,
he looked to the twins, searching for some sign that they knew about
the unexpected guest, but instead he found Tzu watching him, per-
haps for the same clues. She followed his gaze when he looked back,
but the shadow was gone and the nook was empty. Tzu and Augustin
silently regarded one another for another lingering moment before
they turned back to the proceedings.
Likely not, the Khan replied after some consideration. Why
show this to me? You lost all leverage when I read the contents.
Because I know you to be an honorable man, and know that if
someday I should ask a favor, you would be all too willing to help, if
you could.
The Khan didnt answer, merely affording Emilio a languid, shallow
nod.
If you have no more questions, My Lord
The Khan turned and strode away. Daughters! See to it that our
guests are well attended this evening, and that they have all they
need for their return journey at first light.
We are the Pillars of Heaven, My Khan!
The moon rose high over the mountains as the twins led Emilio and
Augustin across one of the narrow bridges separating the cliff-side
structures. True to form, Emilio hadnt let up since theyd left the
audience chamber, and he made his move as they reached the end of
the bridge, slipping ahead and sidling up to Tzu.
We can go the rest of the night without Ling, dont you think?
The whole night? Ling asked, unable to ignore the opportunity.
Youre brave or a glutton for punishment.
Well, I am known for my voracious appetite. Emilio never shifted
his eyes from Tzu.
You sure thats not hunger? Tzu asked. You know what they
say about a starving man
Emilio allowed his composure to slip, his face to beam with a wide
smile. The militant twin amused him. Throughout the exchange, hed
been slowly closing on her, pressing his body forward so impercepti-
bly that it nearly interlocked with that of his prey. Tzus eyes dropped
to the wafer-thin gap between them and she instinctively snaked her
tongue across her suddenly parched lips.
Ive broken men like you before, Mr. Thorne. Many times.
Youve never met a man like me before.
Mai? Tzu said. Show Mr. de Luna the rest of the way to his
quarters, wont you?
Of course, Ling replied. Tzu missed the slightest hint of a smile
creep across the edge of her sisters mouth. Augustin followed, and
before they rounded the nearest corner, he shot Emilio a quick wink.
Alright Mr. Thorne, Tzu purred, closing the gap. Lets discuss
the merits of stamina.
And humility, he said, lowering his lips to hers.
Maybe if Ling were here to help you Emilio chided as he
buttoned his shirt. Tzu lay on the bed behind him, wrapped in a
Queen-size sheet. Both were flushed, but somehow he wore it with
more style. She wore it like battle sweat, which while appropriate
for their lively lovemaking seemed more feral than anything else.
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Emilio leaned over her and, gently kissing her forehead, decided to
press the issue. You alright? You seem a little winded.
She gaped at him, her blood aboil. I think I held my own, thank
you.
Emilio shifted uncomfortably within his shirt. Even against the
custom Italian silk, the welts down his back flared and ached. Still, he
refused to let her win. You held more than yours, he said, brushing
her hair away from her face. So thank you.
He ducked to pick up his pants just as one of Tzus enormous
pillows sailed over his head, slamming into a lamp across the room.
Temper, temper, he called back to her. Ive got to go. August gets
nervous in strange beds.
A high-pitched siren wailed through the fortress, originating from
somewhere in the mountain. Several guards ran past Tzus bungalow,
rounded the structure, and headed back toward mountain entrances
Emilio noticed when they stumbled inside.
Tipping an invisible hat toward Tzu, he stepped outside and
vanishing to the left. Ninety seconds later, she leapt out of the room
behind him, dressed in a thin combat leotard and carrying her favorite
submachinegun. She couldnt make out any fighting nearby, and
except for the heightened sense of impending trouble, the fortress
exterior seemed calm. She turned and headed toward the guest
bungalows, planning to lock her latest conquest and his mutt in their
rooms before
A burst of three silenced gunshots pierced the night, followed
abruptly by someone collapsing onto an adjacent boardwalk. Dropping
her slung SMG to her belly, Tzu hopped into the air and leapt off the
nearest wall, lunching herself across the intervening chasm. She
landed without a sound and immediately rolled toward the nearest
structure, pushing her back flat against the cool wood. A few seconds
later, when she was confident she wouldnt be caught in reactionary
gunfire, she peeked around the corner. She braced her off hand on the
boardwalk in case she needed to push back away from intended fire,
but found none of that, either.
Mai! she cried. Her sisters body lay still on the boardwalk. She leapt
to her siblings side, rousing her and gripping her shoulder to staunch the
bleeding from a deep bullet wound. Lings eyes fluttered open and she
struggled back to her feet, blood staining her matching BDUs.
Who did this? The fury was palpable in Tzus voice.
August her sister seethed. We have to find him!
The guards collapsed, one plummeting off the mountains edge and
vanishing into the mist below. Emilio kicked the other into a patch of
shadow as they entered the hangar.
Ahead, two guard teams ran toward a waiting plane. It was ready for
take-off, its propellers already in motion, but no one was visible through
the cockpit window. Another guard flew out from behind the vehicle,
plowing into one of the approaching teams and bowling them over like
ten-pins. The opposite team fell into a tactical high-low position, half
of them dropping into a low crouch so they could all fire together, but
as they unleashed a hail of bullets toward the unseen aggressor, their
target leapt up out of the line of fire and onto the planes fuselage.
The target was female, dressed in a blue-black cat suit, with a
mane of radiant chestnut hair flowing behind her. She was a well-
oiled machine, grabbing the planes tail and using her momentum to
twirl 240 degrees into two of the standing guards. Both fell out of
sight, and Emilio was certain they must be unconscious, or worse.
The woman dropped to the ground, planting her lithe and shapely
body between the four remaining guards, and collapsed into a spinning
foot sweep. The legs went out from under two and the others flooded
the vacuum between them with bullets, exploding in clouds of sticky red.
Dispatching each of the guards with rapid punches, the woman picked up
one of their SMGs and moved around the back of the plane. Recovered,
the first team approached, splitting in two groups to outflank her.
Augustin recognized the dazzling combatant. It was the woman
from the audience chamber.
We should help. Emilio stalked toward the combat.
Wha What? Are you crazy? Real guns, real bullets soft bodies!
Augustin spotted the marching approach of several more guard teams
from a nearby structure. Oh hell
The woman crept back onto the planes fuselage as the remaining
guards rounded the plane. She waited until they nearly completed
their circuit and slid off the vehicles backside, collapsing one guard
underfoot and snapping anothers jaw with the butt of her weapon.
She turned to face the third guard behind the plane, but just a second
too slowly; he jabbed the butt of his gun into her stomach and she
went down, spitting blood onto the stone runway.
The last three guards approached, training their weapons and call-
ing for the woman to stand down. The man who dropped her let his
weapon fall to his belly and, as she tried to rise to her feet, delivered
a swift roundhouse kick to her shoulder. She went sprawling and the
guards collected her weapons.
Up! one of them screamed, in heavily accented Chinese.
Now, now Is that anyway to treat a lady? At the planes nose,
Emilio took a long drag from a lit cigarette, arrogantly blowing a long
plume of smoke in the air.
The guards whirled around as Emilios cigarette seemingly exploded,
sending a .22 caliber slug into ones neck. He exploited the momen-
tary distraction and whipped his pistol into position, planting a bullet
into the arm of a second, then leveled the weapon at the others.
The woman kicked up from her prone position, connecting with a
third guards jaw. His teeth slammed together and his eyes rolled back
into his head. The last guard reached for his SMG, only to find the
warm barrel of a pistol pressed up against his temple.
Ah, ah, ah Augustin warned, then clipped the base of his skull
with a rapid motion, knocking him unconscious.
Regaining her balance, the woman scanned her rescuers. They
raised their pistols toward the roof, but kept their fingers inside the
trigger guards, just in case.
You alright? Augustin asked. He peered around the dark bun-
galow where hed taken refuge with Emilio. Beyond, a portion of the
mountain was carved out and converted into an air hangar.
Im fine. Emilio shook off a moment of lightheadedness and a
tingle at the edge of his eyes. Just a little dizzy.
One of them finally broke the stallion! Augustin quipped. He
held up two fingers to indicate two guards at the edge of the hangar,
and invited Emilio past with an open palm. Age before beauty.
Cute. Emilio rose and started calmly walking toward the hangar,
Augustin falling in beside him.
How were your evening plans, Emilio asked. Any battle scars?
A few.
The hangar guards raised their SMGs as they spotted the approach-
ing men, but before they could fire Emilio and his ward snapped
their pistols into position and casually plugged two shots into each.
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Emilio.
Sh.
We need to leave, Emilio. Augustin nervously watched the
hangar entrance.
I know.
Now. Augustin had lost count of the guards there.
Emilio ignored the mounting opposition, still focused on the girl.
Augustin shouldnt have been surprised Emilio always focused on
the girl.
How about we get on this plane and fly out of here together? We
can be in Shanghai by dawn.
Usually, Emilio could read women. It was a gift hed exploited since
his teens. Now he found himself unsure, unable to read the striking
beast before him. Maybe he was distracted by her eerie, athletic
beauty, or flustered by the evenings adventures (though neither of
those things had ever hurt his performance before). Maybe he really
was just getting old
Something changed in the womans eyes, something Emilio hadnt
seen in a long time: rage. Not against the situation or the world, but
against him. This woman despised him.
But Ive never met her before, he thought. Have I?
She pulled back under the plane, grabbing one of the scattered
guns in mid-roll. Emilio moved to follow her, but she loosed a burst
of automatic fire past him, ripping into a fuel tank twenty feet away.
The resulting fireball flared out across the hangar, knocking the men
off balance and forcing the guards back from the entrance.
By the time Emilio clawed his way back to his feet, the plane was
already in motion, the mystery woman at the controls. The vehicle
taxied down the runway, streaking into the air past the recovering
guards, and dipped into the night sky above the range.
Augustin was not the picture of hope. We cant be caught, Emilio.
The Khan will blame us for this.
Emilio nodded, letting Augustin pull him to another nearby plane.
Remember when I said I hadnt found my one thing yet? Emilio
mumbled.
Sure.
Things change.
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OPERATION: NIGHTFALL
Monday, July 19, 2004
1449 hours GMT (10:49pm local time)
Kam Ran Fortress, China
The Rose? Mai-Ling slipped three slim throwing daggers into
sheaths strapped to her thigh.
The one and only. International man of lechery. Lings sister,
Tai-Tzu, checked her machine pistols firing assembly one last time
and tucked it between rows of concealer and blush.
What could he possibly want with Father? Ling bunched her hair
up and pinned it down with a disguised fighting spike.
Who cares? Tzu shook a bottle of cherry red nail polish taken
from a steel case near the back of the table and flashed a wicked
smile. Hes our in with the new clients.
Ling hesitated, then checked the spring-loaded holsters along her
forearms. So, the new assignment came through.
Tzu let the uncomfortable moment linger as she carefully painted
her nails. She knew her sister was nervous about the new clients, but
something else was going on here.
Whats the mission? Ling asked. She ran her index finger along
the hooks in her jewelry case. Over a billion dollars in unclassified
technology hung within, disguised in over twenty brilliant housings by
Europes most fashionable gadgeteers. Tonight, though, she wasnt
dressing to impress so much as to Who was she kidding? She
reached for the most attractive item in the case, a pair of diamond-
strung earrings, and fixed them in place, twirling her head back and
forth to see if they fit her look for the evening.
Discreet plant, Tzu answered, blowing across her finished nails.
She watched her sisters reaction in the enormous mirror, noting
relief. Troublesome You all right? You seem off
Fine, Ling answered, avoiding eye contact. Shes lying Any
unwanted pests in the mix?
Tzu silently shook her head, hoping Ling would look at her, but she
didnt. No. Hes traveling with a bodyguard one of his Syndicate
dogs. If you can keep that one busy, I can handle the drop on my own.
Good, Ling finally looked up from her primping and offered a
shallow smile. She noted the open bottle of nail polish and reached
for it, but Tzus elbow jerked out, upending it over the table. Ling
rushed to move Tzus pistol out of the way as her sister nudged the
bottle off the table, spilling the rest of the polish onto the floor.
Sorry, Tzu said. Muscle spasm. Must not be fully recovered from our
last session with Go. She grabbed a towel and wiped up the polish.
The color soon returned to Lings face. Distract and drop, huh?
Seems a little low-key for Hellmans crew.
This isnt going to be a problem for you, is it? I know how you can
be with flirting
Ill be fine. Ling answered, warmer now. I assume Father
doesnt know.
Positive. Hes a little annoyed at the interruption. Hes leaving the
Rose entirely to us.
Perfect. You ready?
Always. On the way out, Tzu tossed the polish-stained towel into
the living rooms giant fireplace. The flames licked at the fibers until
they hit the polish nearly a minute later, then turned a pale green and
withered out.
Thirty minutes later, Tai-Tzu observed the meeting in the moun-
tain fortress enormous audience chamber. Her father was keenly
interested in the contents of the PDA the lech handed him, and she
wondered if they were connected to Hellmans rather bizarre request
for the Syndicate leader
Where did you come by this information? the Khan asked.
Tai-Tzu glanced over at The Roses bodyguard, the man named
Augustin de Luna. He was sizing her up, maybe wondering if he could
take her in a fight. He seemed arrogant enough to try.
de Luna looked to the ceiling above the Khan and Tzu followed
his gaze, but found nothing strange about the ornate overhang. Hes
paranoid, too. She scanned the room once more, just in case, and
casually looked to her sister.
Better, she whispered in approval, noting the warm smile Ling
beamed toward de Luna. Lings performance during the fortress tour
was woefully subtle, scarcely registering in the face of the Roses shame-
less display. For a moment, I thought you were already bored.
Seduction is a delicate task, sister. Some people respond better to
feathers than hammers.
Tzu stifled a snorting laugh. Youve been reading too many trashy
novels, Ling. These dogs have been in heat since the womb. All they
need is a scent.
Perhaps. Lings smile broadened.
Youre too happy to pull this off. Maybe its better the whelp eat
something disagreeable. That should keep him busy long enou
No need, Ling interrupted. She vainly fought another smile
down. Some people just enjoy their work.
The meeting ended and the Khan headed out of the room.
Daughters! The Khan called over his shoulder, see to it that our
guests are well attended this evening, and that they have all they
need for their return journey at first light.
COME BACK TO ME
The moon rose high over the mountains as the twins led Emilio
and Augustin across one of the narrow bridges separating the cliff-
side structures. True to form, Tzu hadnt let up since theyd left the
audience chamber, playing hard to get every step of the way, and she
made her move as they reached the end of the bridge.
Your bungalow, Mr. Thorne. She opened the door for him. If
you need anything, please hesitate to ask.
We can go the rest of the night without Ling, dont you think?
The whole night? Ling asked, unable to ignore the opportunity.
Youre brave or a glutton for punishment.
Well, I am known for my voracious appetite, Emilio said, never
shifting his eyes from Tzu.
You sure thats not hunger? Tzu asked. You know what they
say about a starving man
She nailed it. For just a second, Emilios perfect faade slipped and
a genuine smile surfaced. She had him right where she wanted him.
Throughout the exchange, shed been slowly closing on him, pressing
her body forward so imperceptibly that it nearly interlocked with that
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OPERATION: NIGHTFALL
of her prey. Coyly, she dropped
her eyes to the wafer-thin gap
between them and snaked her
tongue across her lips. It was
one of her signature moves, but
she knew it wasnt enough.
Ive broken men like you
before, Mr. Thorne. Many
times. There. That should
strike the right chord
Youve never met a man like
me before. The words rang in
her ears like a symphony bell.
Mai? Tzu kept her eyes on
her overconfident victim. Show
Mr. de Luna the rest of the way
to his quarters, wont you?
Of course, Ling replied. For
a moment Tzu through she saw
another smile at the edge of her
sisters lips. She didnt want to
break eye contact with Thorne,
though, so she let the matter
drop for now.
Ling and de Luna werent five feet out of sight before she whipped
him around and pinned him against the bungalow wall with a slow
wet kiss. She lingered in his arms, suddenly shivering in the cool night
air. The world paused around them.
When she finally let him go several hesitant moments later, he
swallowed hard. He dropped the evenings uncomfortable deception
and let loose the raw, wanton nerves held in check by so much childish
flirting. Because, really, theyd left flirting behind a long time ago
Ling exhaled, collapsing into Augustins arms. Fiiiiinally.
Augustin laughed gently, nodding toward the bungalow corner.
Hard to hold back with those two pawing at each other all night.
Does your sister know?
She knows enough, Ling lied. We should have the entire night.
Come on. Let me introduce you to one of Shiatsus latest inventions
You sure? Last time I lost peripheral vision for a week.
Come oooon.
Seriously. I kept running into things.
Ling glared at him, barely containing a laugh.
I have scars!
Ill give you scars She dragged him into the darkness of his
guestroom and shut the door.
I know, he said, searching for his shirt.
Head around the commissary. That should get you to the hangar
without too much trouble.
Thanks.
She scooped up her sheaths and holsters and headed for the door,
but stopped mid-stride. She turned and leveled a sullen gaze at her
one true love. Be careful, she said.
Never, he joked.
Come back to me.
Always.
She slipped out the door and into the night chaos.
The sudden shriek of a siren woke the pair from a deep, contented
sleep. Startled, Ling leapt out of bed, pausing only long enough to
double back for a quick passionate kiss.
I need to go, she said. Augustin heard troops outside.
So go. He kissed her back.
They lingered at the beds edge, every nerve ending alive with
electric thrill.
I really need to go. She pecked him on the cheek and withdrew
toward her clothes. You shouldnt stay here. Anything that hap-
pens Father might assume youre to blame.
Ling pulled herself onto a nearby bungalows roof and flipped open
a ceiling vent. There she found a small bundle of clothing one of
the battle leotards shed hidden around the complex for just such an
event. She quickly donned the outfit and watched Augustins guest-
room until he slipped out and headed into the shadows. When he left
her sight, she stood and scanned the nearby platforms.
All the guards seemed to be converging on the mountain entrances,
shutting them down. Are they keeping someone in, or out?
She got her answer a moment later when she spotted an open
exhaust grill high above a neighboring bungalow platform, and Kai,
one of her fathers assassin caste, fleeing the scene. She traced ahead
in Kais direction to another figure running low along the opposite
rooftops, a blue-black clad woman with a billowing mane of light
brown hair and a sniper rifle slung across her back.
As Ling grabbed two of her throwing knives, she silently wished
shed included a machine pistol in her hidden stockpile. Live and learn,
she thought, and buried one of the knives in the roof just in front of
the intruder. The woman swung out of sight, below the bungalows
roofline, a second before the second dagger left Lings hand.
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OPERATION: NIGHTFALL
Kai arrived on the scene a second later, drawing her blade and
delivering a powerful strike to the intruders position. Ling drew
her last dagger and waited, fixed on the opposite roofline. Nothing.
Neither Kai nor the intruder emerged. She slowly rose to her feet and
heard a familiar voice below her.
No, this way, came de Lunas voice. Its safer this way
Emilio Thorne trailed behind him.
A burst of three silenced gunshots pierced the night, and fire
flooded through Lings shoulder. Her body froze, but she managed
to whip her head in the direction of the attack, where the intruder
looked up from her rifle. The womans expression was lost in a haze of
shock-numbed pain, but Ling was sure she must be smiling. A moment
later Ling toppled forward, collapsing onto the boardwalk.
She forced herself to a sitting position and applied pressure to
the wound. The figure was gone from the roofline, but reappeared a
moment later on the opposite boardwalk, heading in Augustins direc-
tion. Panic and adrenaline battered through the pain and Ling worked
her shoulder, testing it for strength. She flexed her fingers.
Itll do, she thought, and she gathered the will to stand.
She heard a thud and someone rolled to her right. Whipping her
good wrist back, she revealed a spring-loaded ACCU-TEK AT-32 and
raised the weapons custom red dot laser sight toward the approaching
figure
Mai! Tzu cried as she rounded the corner. Who did this?
August Ling seethed, her mind gripped with blood and fear.
We have to find him!
Tzus face twisted into a mask of rage. That beas
Ling shook her head, It isnt what you think. We have to save them.
Tzu followed Lings pointing figure to the open grill, kicked out
from the inside. She knew where it led, and what the intruder must
have seen. Father will not be happy
We can still stop her, Ling said. She grabbed one of her sisters
pistols out of its holster. This way Shes headed for the hangar.
How do you know?
I know. Lets move!
An explosion ripped through the hangar as the twins approached,
forcing back or bowling over several units of the Khans guards. The
girls waded through their fallen underlings, emerging in the hangar
just as a plane sped past, dropping off the runways end and sailing
over the mountain canyons. The intruder was at the controls.
Tai-Tzu braced her machine pistol and loosed a wide stream of
automatic fire at the fleeing vehicle. Two shots caught, plugging deep
into the planes rear and eliciting a trail of dark smoke in its wake.
Ling lifted her pistol toward a second plane rushing through the
hangar, but soon realized who was inside. She pulled the weapon up,
pointing it harmlessly at the roof, and watched the plane sail out after
the first. It cleared the lip of the runway, banked, and sped into the
sky, away from the intruder and toward the high moon.
Ling watched the second plane shrink in the distance, mouthing
four all-too-familiar words: Come back to me
Time to fly! Tzu grabbed her sister mid-run as she headed
toward the runways lip. It was only after they cleared the edge that
Ling realized they werent alone in their plummet Tzu had collected
one of the Khans scouting gliders, and leveled it out along a steady
angle toward the first damaged plane.
Soon, the girls dipped into the vast cloudbank beneath the for-
tress, guided only by a stream of pitch-black smoke rising from their
wounded prey
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OPERATION: NIGHTFALL
Monday, July 19, 2004
1245 hours GMT (1:45pm local time)
Bern
Slow day. Minion 68D6 waved at 68D8 as they passed at shift
rotation. Hope you had your coffee.
Better than getting shot at, D8 replied. They shared a half-
hearted, uncomfortable laugh.
D6 approached the reinforced vacuum door leading from the motor
pool to the rest of the complex. Patting his pockets, though, he real-
ized he didnt have a keycard, and turned back. Hey, D8! You mind
letting me out? My partners already off shift, and Ive misplaced my
card.
D8 frowned and swiped his card through the reader. After a deep
hiss, the heavy door slid open.
Better find it, D8 said. If Jacob found out
Im sure itll turn up. Always does. D6 stepped through the door,
mock-saluting and rolling his eyes on his way out. D8 rolled his eyes
and set about his first patrol of the grounds. The motor pool was
one of the least secure parts of the installation necessarily, with
all the supplies coming in lately and required round-the-clock
observation.
Something big must be going down, D8 thought. This is the most
action weve seen in months.
High above, D6 opened the motor pools catwalk door or
at least, the installations security system registered that he did.
Minion 67A2 slipped through the portal and onto the catwalk,
pocketing D6s stolen keycard. D6 was always losing his keycard, and
wouldnt worry much about it for at least another few hours more
than enough time.
A2 quickly scuttled into a pool of darkness and peered over the
catwalk railing, searching for the two guards he knew would be on
duty. A sudden bout of vertigo gripped his senses and his hand shot
out, scrounging for the metal rail. His vision blurred.
It was getting worse.
D8 completed his rounds of the floor and started up the stairs to
the second floor, signaling to his partner, D9, that his area was all
clear. As D9 rounded a row of front-heavy transport trucks, an electric
cord noose dropped over his head and jerked upward, catching him
beneath his chin. He instinctively grabbed for the noose, trying to pry
it free, and his submachine gun fell to his side, noiselessly bobbing at
the end of its sling.
Above, at the other end of the noose, A2 struggled to keep hold of the
line. Even though it was well anchored, he was having trouble supporting
D9s weight. His muscles twitched uncontrollably, threatening a seizure.
Im sorry, A2 thought, throwing all his strength into one final pull.
He heard a crack, followed by a sound not unlike wax paper being
crumpled into a ball. He let D9s lifeless body drop to the floor and
collapsed, fighting to regain his strength.
It was a shame that D9 had to die, but in his weakened state, A2
could never have overpowered him. And I have to get out, he thought.
Someone has to know before its too late.
A2s hands were numb. He expected them to burn from the
struggle, and he could see the ladder-like lacerations over his swollen
palms and fingers, but felt nothing. Oh God
He whispered a prayer for D9 and moved to the ground floor.
All clear on this side too, D8 said into his radio. He headed back
to the guard station but heard no response by the time he reached the
small shack. Repeat, all clear. D9? Report.
Light suddenly flooded the shack and an engine roared into action
from the same direction. D8 instinctively leapt through the door,
tumbling onto the cool cement outside. A moment later the shack
exploded to his left, countless shards of wooden shrapnel raining
down around him. He rolled onto his side and grabbed for his weapon
as the transport truck that had run the shack down burst through the
cargo door and onto the street outside. It made a hard right, narrowly
clipping a parked car, and accelerated into the distance.
The installations alarm sounded and klaxons flared in response.
The motor pools vacuum doors flew open and more minions spilled
into the room, rushing toward parked trucks. The protocol was clear
and the minions were well trained drivers leapt into cabs and
the rest took positions in the passenger seats and on the flatbeds,
readying their weapons. One by one, five trucks full of minions formed
a rushing convoy through the cargo doors, scaring away curious
passersby and speeding out into the city.
A2 pulled hard on the steering wheel, sending the truck into a
hard-angle turn round a corner and through a thin, low-hanging
chain cordoning off a pedestrian walkway. Foot traffic was light this
time of day, but he still had to swerve twice to avoid hitting anyone.
Screams trailed behind the vehicle and from his side mirrors A2 spot-
ted bloodstains on the grills of the pursuing vehicles. He braced and
hoped for the best as his truck barreled toward the only exit through
the walkway the wooden backside of a magazine stand.
67A2
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OPERATION: NIGHTFALL
The center of the stand vanished in a scattered haze of glossy covers
and flittering newspaper pages, one of which slipped under the trucks
windshield wiper, boldly displaying the days top headline across
A2s field of view: TYRANT KILLED IN IRAQ RUSSIAN
GOVERNMENT CLAIMS RESPONSIBIILITY.
They got him. A2 said in surprise.
Good for them!
far off, he spotted a sign: Deutsche Museen mit Bezug zur Industrie-
und Technikgeschichte the Museum of Science and Industry.
Oh, he realized. I always wanted to come here.
Someone approached from the street: soft footfalls through thin
soles not another minion. More followed: heavy, scuffing footfalls
and obvious, ragged breathing. The Whitlows.
A2 dragged himself to his feet and reached into the breast pocket
of his tattered uniform, revealing a thick mixing vial of viscous green
fluid. Jacob Whitlow, a lanky man in his late thirties with a receding
hairline and a worn business suit, stepped carefully through the
wreckage, slowly screwing a suppressor onto a sleek black service
pistol. Behind him, his massive brother Jeremy trundled through
the devastated Museum, obliviously displacing rubble
in his wake. And behind them, at least twenty
minions, laser-sighted submachine
guns searching for a target
He tugged the
truck into traffic, slalom-
ing through the sluggish after-
noon drive. Behind him, the other minions
pulled out onto the sidewalks, scattering phone
booths and caf tables in all directions. They pushed into
flanking positions and opened fire, peppering A2s truck with holes
and blowing out its windows.
A2 ducked down in his seat, his eyes level with the dashboard, and
punched it through a red light. He heard several vehicles brake hard
and crash and the gunfire lessened, but he didnt chance a glance
back to see what happened.
He scarcely registered the shadow approaching from the left, a
tall rig pulling a refrigerated car at top speed. The broadside impact
plowed A2s truck through several chiseled pillars and into a tall brick
building. The rig jerked sideways and broke but A2s truck kept mov-
ing, propelled onto its side and across the interior structures floor.
A2 clambered out of the cab, heedless of the wounds he knew he
must have suffered in the crash. He fell to the cool steel floor and rolled
on his back, staring at a ceiling of interlocking gears and machinery. Not
Stay back! A2
screamed, holding the vial
over his head. Ive got nothing left
to lose!
I know, A2, I know. Jacob leveled his pistol and
dozens of tiny red dots simultaneously trained on the minion.
Stephen.
Jacob tipped his head inquisitively.
Its my name, A2 said, Stephen.
I dont care.
The last thing Stephen heard was a click.
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OPERATION: NIGHTFALL
Monday, July 19, 2004
1937 hours GMT (5:37pm local time)
Paraiso Caidas, Brazil
The Brazilian town of Paraso Cadas died on an otherwise pleasant
Monday evening.
From his hillside backyard, Silvio Veda watched the long line of
commuters trapped in gridlock hell and chuckled. It was a ritual for
him. Since his retirement, hed lounge on a pool chair and watch the
unfortunates still living his old life, look to the evening sky, and mouth
a silent prayer of thanks that hed been spared. Then hed head back
in for another of his wifes much-envied dinners.
With the sun already low over the hills, tonight was no different.
Silvio scanned the parked cars and allowed his vision to blur, becom-
ing lost in the trail of honking steel coffins. His thoughts fled to the
world beyond this remote industrial outpost and the wonders it
contained. As was often the case, they drifted to his younger brother
Emilio, who had long ago left for a grander life abroad. For a time,
Silvio allowed himself to dwell on darker times...
You dont think about it, Silvio? What it would have been like if
theyd stayed? Emilios pace was as spirited as ever, and Silvio had
to step lively to keep at his side. This wasnt unusual; Emilio was
always rushing through life, never quite content with the present. It
was one of the many ways he didnt fit.
It was the summer of 1987 and the boys were returning home from
an afternoon at the bullfights. The nearest stadium was over two
hours away by bus, and many promises had to be made before their
father, Csar, would let them make the trek on their own. The biggest
one, the one theyd had to repeat over and over again, was that
theyd be back before dark. Silvio watched the last slip of orange drop
below the horizon and resigned himself to another punishment.
It was Emilios fault, of course he wanted to stay for the final
match but somehow he never saw the blame. He was just too...
likeable.
Imagine... Emilio was talking about Europe again. The family had
moved back home to Brazil before he was born and yet he wouldnt
let it go. All those beautiful, romantic places. All that excitement!
Sure. At least they were almost home. They rounded the last
corner and started up the short hill on which their house stood, and
Silvio looked for his mother at the kitchen window. She would be
there anyway, preparing another incredible meal, but with them being
so late he expected to find her scowling, considering inventive ways
to discipline him. Instead, he found the window empty. His stomach
tightened. Something was wrong.
Hurry. He grabbed Emilio by the shoulder and dragged him
quickly up the hill, past the yard, and through the front door. Were
home! Mama? Papa?
Nothing. They rushed into the kitchen, but the plates werent set
out yet. The stove was still cold. The tightness in Silvios stomach
became a growing knot.
Panic and the smell of kerosene drew him into the living room and
all but blotted out Emilios warning cries. Silvio, wait! He heard
the words but didnt process them not before something small and
heavy connected with the base of his skull and consciousness fled.
Silvio drifted back to the waking world slowly, hesitantly.
Somewhere close he heard the gentle clatter of tools and a rising
hum. Like some long-forgotten lover the melody taunted him, daring
him to open his aching eyes, but fear won out and he kept still, wait-
ing for the world to stop spinning. The tense hum reached its driving
climax and another voice joined in, revealing the song and the
scene. Silvios heart sank, for in that moment he knew that his parents
were dead, and that he and Emilio would soon follow.
It was Rachmaninoffs Piano Concerto No. 2 in C Minor, the First
Movement. One man hummed the keys and the other the strings. They
had no names, but their brutal talents were in high demand by the
extended Family of Silvios youth. They were called the Choir Boys,
or sometimes the Bloody Choir, for they had the voices of angels,
but also the hands of devils. They were what Silvios father called
cleaners. Hitmen.
Assassins.
The humming reached a crescendo and the men chuckled, clearly
pleased with themselves.
This one was hard to catch, one of them said. Silvios eyes jerked
open to the jumbled thud of a body only a few feet away. It was
Emilio. He didnt look injured, but to Silvios horror, the same could
not be said of their parents. Crimson welts circled their necks and
their mothers eyes bulged out of the sockets, fixed on faraway sights.
Silvio hoped they were happier than these.
He doesnt look like much. The second assassin rose from the
radiator. Silvio couldnt see what hed been doing, but thought he
saw the end of a wrench handle past his fathers still foot.
The little rat tried to crawl through the walls.
Well then, maybe we should snip his whiskers. The second assas-
sin produced a switchblade and flicked it open. The moonlight glinted
off the steel like the flare of a starter pistol. Run! But Silvio couldnt
his arms were tied behind him and the blood had been cut off too
long. His wrists and forearms were already starting to feel numb, and
he wasnt sure he could still move his fingers. They might be quivering
and hed have no idea.
It hadnt occurred to Silvio how he looked to Emilio, but it must
have been bad because the younger boy sought out his attention
and locked eyes with him. It was the first time he remembered Emilio
being perfectly calm. Every nerve and muscle in Silvios body had
seized, but his brother remained the proverbial rock, unmoved and
unfazed.
Silvio found his own calm somewhere in Emilios chestnut eyes
and felt his fear drain away. His focus and the clarity of the scene
returned, and in that moment he realized that Emilio had a plan. The
younger boys confident expression never shifted, not even when
the second assassin pulled him to his knees by the hair and held the
switchblade less than an inch from the bridge of his nose. This also
revealed their fathers face for the first time, and a new set of eyes
searching for Sylvios attention
Papa! Silvio almost cried out in joy and relief. His father was
alive!
Csar blinked once, slowly. The message was clear: stay calm and
stay ready. The elder Vedas muscles bunched and his arm shifted almost
imperceptibly, revealing a gift Emilio had brought him the miniature
estoc blade hed given Emilio for his last birthday, the one Emilio hid
PARADISE FALLS
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behind his bed so their mother wouldnt find it. Silvio would never make
fun of Emilios unhealthy fascination with bullfighting again. But
That blade was nearly a foot long! How? Ah I see Apparently all
those years hed spent learning the old ways from their father had
paid off. Silvio was surprised, and more than a little proud.
So, little rat The second assassin waved the switchblade
across Emilios field of view, drawing it closer with each pass. You
like to hide in the dark, yes? You wont be needing those pretty eyes
then will yAAAAHHHHaia! Figlio di puttana!!!
The assassin crumpled sideways, the estoc shot through the soft
part of his right knee. Csar caught the wrist holding the switchblade
and wrenched it the wrong way, eliciting a second howl, and the
weapon scattered across the carpet. Emilio yanked the mans head
back by the hair just as hed been held a moment earlier and
using another of Csars tricks aimed the base of his palm for the tip
of the mans nose.
STOP! Right. There... Emilio paused and glanced sideways. The
barrel of the first assassins gun pressed against Csars temple.
Your father taught you well, rat, but unless youd like the rest of his
knowledge delivered ballistically, I suggest you unhand my associate.
Emilio discarded the man, funneling as much disgust into the action
as he could muster.
You can have me! Csar spat. I wont fight you. Just let the boys
go. This isnt about them.
Ah Csar, thats where youre wrong. The assassin leveled his gun
at Emilio, finding a mark just north of the nose. This has everything to
do with one of them.
No! Sylvio rallied, launching into a run toward the gunman.
He kept his head low, intending to ram it into the mans gut but instead
he offered a perfect target. With a casual swat, the gunman pistol-
whipped Sylvio into the nearest wall. Silvio collapsed, his world a blur
of indecipherable noise.
Csar seized the opportunity and delivered a disarming kick to the
assassins hand. The gun sailed out of the fight and the Choir Boys took
stock. A moment later they both broke into a run, smashing through the
living room window. Farewell, Csar! one of them called.
Papa! Emilio ran into his fathers arms, hugging him like it was his
last chance. He felt Csar take two quick sniffs and glance toward the
radiator. Something was wrong.
Emilio! The bathroom! Run! Csar scooped Silvio up and followed.
He shoved his sons into the heavy iron tub and draped himself over
them, just as a rush of force and fire rocked the foundation and blew
out the walls.
Silvios memory of the next few moments was never better than hazy,
but he never forgot his fathers last act twisting his blood-stained
head, hairless and somewhat skinless from the blast, so he could
whisper a parting message to Emilio.
Emilio, who unlike Silvio, turned out not to be Csars son at all...
The funeral was closed-casket, and no one from the Old Country
came. Silvio didnt recover from the ordeal for many years, and he
only spoke to Emilio once after the last earth was filled over their
shattered lives. As requested, he met Emilio at the old rose garden
where their mother had gone to read, and pray.
Emilio... Youve been so distant. Was it what papa said to you?
Emilio nodded, his eyes cold.
Tell me. What isnt letting you grieve?
He told me why they came for me. Emilio locked eyes with Silvio
again, but this time with no strength to offer. He was hidden, deep
behind walls of guilt and rage. He told me Im not your brother, not
fully. My father still lives, and he wants me dead.
But... how?
Only mama knows. And it doesnt matter.
Youre not making sense, Emilio. Why?
Because I know who he is, and Im going to kill him.
Emilio...
But first Im going to teach him to feel loss.
The sun fled behind a dark cloud and a chill wind blew through the
garden. A storm was coming.
Where is this man? At least tell me where you going.
Its better that you dont know.
Youre my only family, Emilio.
Jeny will be coming home now. Lie to her, Silvio. Spare her this.
How are we supposed to survive this apart? What are we supposed
to do?
Live, Silvio. Just live. The rest of this is my burden, and mine alone.
A paz do senhor seja sempre com voc, Emilio. He blinked back
to the string of vehicles inching their way home.
But they werent, not all of them.
The cars farthest out from the city centre, toward the hillside
suburbs, were quiet. No horns. No shouting. No movement. They were
deathly still, cast in shadow beneath the suns waning hilltop crown.
As if to make up for the unnerving calm, the drivers behind the wall
of silence leaned into their horns and peppered the air with strings of
frustrated profanity. Within moments, however, the first of them went
quiet as well, then more.
Silvio stood, acting on instinct alone. The wall of silence spread,
consuming cars in pairs or groups of three or four, creeping across the
freeway with the advancing twilight
The shadow. Silvios attention shifted to the surface streets, and
the pools of light cast by street lamps there. He prayed he was
wrong.
A figure lay in a gutter. Not five meters away, he found another.
Me do dues.
He grabbed a pair of binoculars. Both bodies were still, splayed
out across the pavement like discarded rag dolls. They were swollen
almost to bursting, blood and pus spilling out of every orifice and
what appeared to be many fresh and rather violent wounds. Strange.
It was almost as if theyd clawed each other to death
An explosion rocked the town from somewhere to Silvios left,
beyond the now silent freeway. Periodic screams rose from all direc-
tions, only to fade or suddenly go silent.
The cresting sun was little more than a faint glow over the trees.
Silvio fought a wash of stark terror, turned, and ran for his house,
ripping open the screen door leading to the kitchen.
Minha menina. He felt his legs give way beneath him, partly from
the numbness spreading throughout his body, but mainly, he knew,
from the sight in the kitchen, where two dinner plates recently piled
high with meat and vegetables lie smashed and scattered across the
floor. He couldnt register the rest; his eyes just scanned past the
grotesquely swollen figure between the plates as if a hole had been
bored through his mind.
The next moment he was prone on the floor, though he couldnt
remember falling. None of his muscles worked, not even his eyes, and
soon, even they went dark
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OPERATION: NIGHTFALL
Monday, July 19, 2004
2201 hours GMT (11:01pm local time)
Wormwood Location: CLASSIFIED
Sir Richard Poole observed his guest with amusement. The foie
gras was excellent, as always, and the whole of the third car of the
Patriots private ghost rail was thick with the scent of lavender honey,
yet the stranger still blanched. Hed hardly touched his meal, and
squirmed in his seat like a teething child.
At least have a drink, man. Youve had a harrowing day. Poole
lifted his glass of Hennessy Prime Reserve by example. Oh, come on!
Tell me you drink! What proper soldier doesnt drink?
Why? the Stranger asked.
Why else? Every wound has its bandage, every memory its
salve
Why am I here?
Poole rolled his eyes. Enjoy the moment, son. Youre free!
Am I?
Poole lifted the glass to his lips and drained the first third of his
cognac, letting it settle on both sides of his tongue.
I know who you are, the Stranger continued. Im not a terrorist.
Poole paused for a long moment, then swallowed. I think several
Cabinet officers would take issue with that assertion.
It was the Strangers turn to listen.
I know who you are as well, Mr. Coldwell. Or should I call you
Marcos? Or perhaps Demi
Never mention that name, the Stranger interrupted. Again, why
am I here?
You made quite a bit of noise with that little stunt of yours.
Quite impressive. What was the housing again? A carnival prize or
something
A teddy bear.
Ah, yes. It talked!
The Strangers lips curled upward. One of those old Ruxpin clones.
I rigged it to do the talking for me.
News across the world, that. Using a childs toy to rattle off a list
of demands It was inspired.
They werent demands.
Really? Poole took far too much pleasure wearing his disbelief
on his sleeve. He pointed a remote control at a discreet video moni-
tor on the rooms forward wall and it flickered to life, displaying a
recorded news broadcast of the captured toys message
I am unknown to you because you are blind to me.
Apathy is tacit consent, and youre too confused by the smallest of
crimes to notice the greater horrors around you.
Ask yourself If I could insert an explosive device into this gift
bought by a high-ranking British politician, how can any of you be
safe?
If you wish to protect yourselves from escalating violence, you
will excise the corruption from your police, your legal systems. Now.
Today.
Begin with INTERPOL. Ask them about the Syndicate. Press them
about Taipei.
Do not assume they fight for you. They are not your friends.
Poole upended his snifter, letting the last of his cognac glide
warmly into his belly.
They werent demands, Coldwell said. They were reminders.
Reminders dont typically come with ammonium picrate
chasers.
I needed to be heard.
Well, that you were, my boy! That you were
The train pushed up an incline and the cars windows previously
tinted an impenetrable pitch-black faded to smoke gray, revealing
a picturesque nighttime forest scene. In both directions, enormous
eucalyptus trees towered over the terrain like mythic titans guarding
some impossible secret. Maybe they did.
Where is this? Coldwell asked.
Somewhere you can be safe for the moment. Welcome to life
off the reservation.
Coldwell looked past the engine car. The trees parted ahead,
revealing a shadowed clearing around a stout three-story castle. Each
corner was a defensive tower and ramparts lined the roof, though no
guards were visible. Only a few of the rooms were lit and whole place
weighed heavily with the lonely air of solitude. It was like Heaven
dropped a kerchief over the clearing to hide a stain on the world.
The train lurched to a stop at the clearings edge, beside a dishev-
eled, restless man whose curly, strawberry-blonde hair was rolling
back its front line in a losing battle with his forehead. He wore no tie
and his shirt and slacks were rumpled and ragged, matching the wear
and tear evident in the hard lines around his eyes and knuckles. The
trains steam vent exhaled and the man outside plucked a cigarette
from behind his ear and a steel lighter from his pants pocket. He
cupped the lighters flame as Poole led Coldwell out of the car, puff-
ing several large plumes of smoke into the crisp-peppermint-scented
air.
I see you two have the same tailor, Coldwell sniped.
Now, now. People in glass houses Poole quickly dove into
introductions. The man outside was Felix, and Poole referred to
Coldwell as our new man in Porto Cristo.
Hold on Coldwell started, but Poole trampled his objections.
Coldwell, meet our man down under.
Coldwell grabbed Felixs hand and matched his firm grip. He
couldnt quite manage the mans irreverently casual handshake,
though nor did he want to try. Felix?
Just Felix, mate. The rumpled greeter had a thick Australian
accent. He looked to Poole. Glad to see you back, Dick. We have a
situation in Brazil.
How bad?
Bad.
All right then, the short form. Coldwell, we liberated you from
Pitfall because we need you to keep tabs on a situation in Europe
specifically, in Italy and Spain.
Im listening. Coldwell tried to retain what he thought was a
bargaining position.
The Marino Crime Family is making inquiries in Asia. We need to
know what they are.
Coldwells face dropped. You bastard.
Poole grinned. Ive been called worse.
By friends, Felix added.
OFF THE RESERVATION
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OPERATION: NIGHTFALL
Coldwell was stunned. Youre sending me to the wolves?
Dont worry, mate! Youve got the home court advantage!
I just outed one of their biggest assassin rings on worldwide
television! I pointed Pitfall at INTERPOL, for Gods sakes! You think
theyre going to just cry omerta and forgive it all?
Thats exactly what I think, Poole said. Felix is right. The
Syndicate likes a bold show. To them, its all an ego parade. You stroll
in there like you were trying to get their attention all along and youll
have them eating out of your paw.
Youre mad.
Ive seen you in action, Coldwell. I know you can do this.
What if I refuse?
Pooles grin vanished. You dont want to do that.
Humor me.
Youd still go to the wolves with a raw steak tied to your
neck. You dont do this for us, you turn on us, or you run, and Ill find
you Ill hand you over to them myself. And if you think they have a
grudge against you now, just wait until they see the parade my ego
can put on.
Do we understand each other?
Coldwell nodded and Poole stalked toward the castle. Felix fell in
behind him, speaking of bad situations and worse solutions. Coldwell
thought about running, just racing out of sight or grabbing hold of
the train as it slowly pulled away. Then he realized that tomorrow
morning, hed still be running from the good guys and the bad.
There wouldnt be a continent on Earth where someone didnt want
him dead. So he waited until the train once again vanished into the
ground, though another tunnel to God knows where, and followed his
new benefactors inside.
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OPERATION: NIGHTFALL
Monday, July 19, 2004
2244 hours GMT (11:44pm local time)
Illuminated Futures Building Amsterdam
Nathan Sparks poured over monitor after monitor of bare statistics,
hunting similarities. The Banshee Net was on fire, information stream-
ing in from all corners of the globe with facts and figures related to
the Brazilian crisis the Brazilian plague.
Several feet above and to Nathans right, Pigpen winked to life.
The workstation was typically dark these days it had been for over
three years, ever since
Nathan directed his hydraulic seat up to the special workstation,
which reached out from the rest of the Chaos Engine to partially
envelop him. The machinery interlocked with the seat to form a cocoon
of electronic wizardry, an isolating cockpit with one of the most state
of the art communication suites in existence. Audio baffles and triply
redundant encryption software spun up to filter all audio, video, and
data traffic into and out of the station. Tucked within, Nathan waited
to hear from the long-defunct Shadow Patriots response network
Sir Richard Pooles face blinked into view. What do we have?
You got me. All we know for sure is that its a point-lethal conta-
gion with a photosensitive trigger.
Sunlight.
Or lack of it, yeah. The good news is that the incubation period
seems to hover around 60 hours. Sparks shot a quick glance at a
side monitor, made a mental note to check it more carefully later, and
turned his full attention back to his British guest.
You assume no other locations are already infected, Poole said.
Yeah, but Ive got my people testing all over the world, and so far
theres no sign of it outside of Brazil.
Small mercies. No ones claimed responsibility?
Nope. My guess is theyre waiting for people to panic first.
Nathan glanced to another monitor that displayed advanced news
footage of sealed body bags at a temporary research shelter.
Shouldnt be long now
Whats the bugs pedigree? Does it have any relatives?
Looks like an only child, Nathan said gravely. Its taking my
best people just to figure out who its friends are. We have one thing,
though
Whats that?
It looks like something Ive seen before.
BRAINCHILD?
Yeah. Something the CIA gave us to study.
Pooles eyes narrowed.
Nathan sped up, the way he always did when he felt guilty. We
only had the data the postmortems, the RNA analysis I could be
wrong.
Where?
Even in the security of his quiet shell, Nathan felt naked, vulner-
able. It was irrational, but he couldnt help thinking that if he didnt
say the words, they might not be real
Poole didnt care. He pressed. Where did it come from, Nathan?
Russia. It was based on something the Red Army developed in
World War I. They tried again in World War II, but
Ill get Alex. You find an antidote.
Good luck with that. Shes incommunicado.
What?
Last we heard, she was pulled off R&R in Taipei. The Sherlocks say
it looked like a recall.
What the hell was she doing in Taipei?
Give you three guesses
Why the hell were you spying on her.
Please. Dont tell me you havent done the same. Until we know
what happened, shes our best lead. We all want to be there when she
cracks it. I need to be there.
Shes grieving, Nathan. She needs her space.
And the Emperor needs some new duds. We all have our crosses
to bear.
This isnt helping. We have a virus to stop. What else you got?
EXIT STRATEGY
Monday, July 19, 2004
1554 hours GMT (11:54pm local time)
Kam Ran Fortress, China
Alex Kole slipped noiselessly to the stone floor as one of the Khans
uniformed flunkies rounded a nearby corner, out of sight. The corridor
would only be empty a moment she didnt have any time to lose.
She drew her stealth-holstered SIG Sauer P-229 and braced, then
whipped open the areas only door, lifting the weapon to the average
eye-level of a young Chinese male. In the balcony beyond, a lone
guard rose and grabbed his slung submachine gun, twirling to find
himself face-to-face with Alexs barrel. She brought her left index
finger to her lips and watched him carefully for signs that he might
unwisely call for help.
A second later, just before he drew a sharp breath, she arched her
left eyebrow, the same way her mother used to scold her, and by the
time hed filled his lungs, the butt of her pistol grip collided with his
temple and his legs gave way. She caught him on the way down and
deposited him in the corner, out of sight from the floor below, then
moved to the balconys edge.
The scene below was an enormous audience chamber, its edges
shrouded in darkness except for pools of soft glow from discreet,
subdued light panels. The Khans semi-dutiful twins led two men into
the room and positioned one near the door, the other in a central
pillar of light. Everyone watched a hallway that branched away from
the chamber, disappearing beneath Alexs current position
Right on time, she thought.
She pulled a set of binoculars from her tactical pack and focused
on the man in the pillar of light, flashing back to two hours and over
a hundred miles previous.
The villain Wei-Yungs words echoed through her restless mind.
The Rose.
Why on Mother Earth was he here, in the mountain fortress of one
of the greatest threats of the 20th and 21st Centuries? Alex had to
know but to do that, shed have to get closer. Shed never hear
anything from up here.
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OPERATION: NIGHTFALL
She stowed her binoculars and quietly scrambled onto the balco-
nys rail. To her right, the balcony met with the audience chambers
northern wall, which dipped down almost fifty feet and featured an
enormous ornamental carving of two tigers locked in mortal combat.
She grabbed the closest handhold one of the tigers tails and
slid down thirty feet to a nook nestled between the same tigers fangs
and its opponents neck.
Huddled behind cover, she waited a moment before checking to
see if anyone had spotted her. Fortunately, all eyes below were fixed
on a new figure whod entered the room from the northern hallway
Zhang Khan, Emperor of the Nine Tiger Dynasty.
I have pressing matters beyond your understanding. You have two
minutes, the Khan announced.
My Lord, the Rose said, I have come to deliver a gift. He held
out a PDA, which one of the Khans guards retrieved and delivered to
the mastermind.
Alex grabbed her binoculars again and focused on the pocket
computers screen. She had trouble making out many words, but
Khan, bloodline, and atrocity stood out. The Khan progressed
to a second screen and Alex nearly gasped aloud it was a picture of
Yerik Kolesnikov, her father and founder of the Shadow Patriots.
Where did you come by this information? the Khan asked.
If I told you I stole it, would it mean any less to you? The Rose
was as cocky in person as he seemed in the movies.
Alex scanned the others in the room. The twins watched the floor,
one paying a great deal of attention to the man across from them
no doubt one of the Roses paid killers.
Damn! Alex cursed her inattention as she noticed the hitman turn-
ing away from her position! She dropped down into a ball within the
nook, waiting for the scene to explode. This was usually where the
bullets started flying.
She listened, cataloguing everything she could make out I know
you to be an honorable man (Ha! The Rose must be as ignorant as
he was arrogant.). If someday I should ask for a favor (What was
he planning?)
We are the Pillars of Heaven, My Khan! The meeting seemed to
be breaking up. Maybe the hitman hadnt spotted her after all.
Alex gave it a full minute before checking to make sure the coast
was clear, then silently snuck away. For a moment, she struggled with
whether to head toward the outer halls, where she might catch up
with the Rose. Maybe she could arrange a private chat about why
shed never heard of him before, yet now he was everywhere, like a
bad smell she couldnt identify
Sadly, that wasnt her mission, and time was short.
Theres nothing here. Alex double-checked that her secure head-
set was set to burst-transmit. She pulled away from the computer
and scanned the Khans private office again. Nothing interesting in
the file cabinets, the wall safe, or the waste bin. Even the operations
center behind the self-aggrandizing statue was a wash. If the Khan
was planning an operation as large as the Koffin suggested he was
keeping it pretty well hidden. Maybe their intel was flawed
Get out of there, Beowulf said.
Just one more thing I want to check. Alex went back to work on
the computer.
Negative, Alex. Pull out now.
Almost done. She completed a search for Yerik and
Kolesnikov. Nothing.
Alexandra
Just one more thing One more shot in the dark:
FOUNDER. It was her fathers codename as head of the first
Shadow Patriots.
The progress bar shot across the screen and Alex was already tap-
ping into the security feeds to check her exits when something came
up one file, entitled Project: ETERNAL.
Surprise, surprise, she whispered, and copied the file to disc.
Beowulf, Im on my way. She flipped through the security channels
one last time. Looks like everythings clea Oh God, my eyes!
Whats wrong? Are you injured?
Alex recoiled from the screen, desperately trying to cast the foul
image from her brain, but she already knew it would follow her to
the grave: the Rose, writhing in passionate climax with one of the
twins. The girls fingers raked down his back, literally drawing blood
along the way.
Could this get any worse? she blurted.
Very likely, for you. The Khan stood in the office doorway,
flanked by uniformed minions and the scarred behemoth martial arts
trainer known as Grandmaster Go.
You know, the Khan continued, Ive seen more of your
wretched bloodline today than Ive thought about in the last three
years. Why is that?
Whats Project: ETERNAL? Alex didnt honestly expect him
to answer; she was biding time so she could mentally plot her
options.
Intriguing, the Khan said. Of all people, I expected you would
know. Perhaps you werent all that close to your father after all
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OPERATION: NIGHTFALL
Yeah? Hows this for father-daughter bonding? Alex twirled the
computer monitor around so it faced the mastermind. His shock was
obvious, and Go instinctively embedded a throwing knife in the screen.
Alex smiled and dove behind the wide desk, rolling underneath.
Whats the problem, Khan? Given your viewing habits, Im surprised
you dont have a stronger stomach!
Kill her, the Khan ordered, but leave her face intact. She must
be recognizable when delivered to Moscow. The mastermind fled the
room and Go silently ordered his minions around the desk, flanking
Alexs position.
Sloppy, sloppy, Alex thought. She drew her pistol and, dropping
to her side, capped both minions ankles. They fell, howling in pain
and clutching their shattered feet. She moved to curl up and out from
under the desk, but she came up short as Gos monstrous nine-ring
sword pierced through the wood, neatly cleaving her headset in two.
Not so sloppy, she amended, and unloaded her weapon through
the desk. The sword retreated through a large cleft in the wood and
Alex felt Go shift away, though she couldnt pinpoint where. She
took a gamble and pulled her legs up against her chest, lodging them
beneath the wood and shoving with everything she had. Her legs
and lower back exploded in fiery pain, but the wide desk lifted up off
the floor and flipped forward, toward the office door.
Go grunted in pain as the desk collapsed on top of him. Alexs
gamble had paid off. She rolled backward, somersaulting into a
run over the desk and out onto a platform above the operations
center. The fortress alarm sounded and bullets riddled the walls all
around her.
She ducked down into a roll and led the bullet streams in a merry
chase, saved from a few leading shots by the nearby railing. At the
platforms edge, where a ladder descended into a maintenance area,
she picked an exit, launching herself into the air and triggering a
grapple line. She felt it connect and let the line carry her over the
operations center in a wide circle.
Mid-swing, Alex fired a few warning shots at the minions and
while they sought cover she checked her mooring. The grapple line
had lodged just where shed wanted in a steel grate in the ceiling.
She jerked the line down and the grate popped open, allowing her to
scramble up and out of the room.
A female figure landed close behind, drawing a katana and cleav-
ing through the air just over Alexs prone form. She was dressed in the
black folds of the Khans assassin caste.
Pretty light on your feet there, Alex said. Lets see if you can
fly.
Alex clamped her ankles around one of the assassins feet and
flipped herself over, chucking her off the roof. Her screams echoed
away for a moment, then abruptly stopped.
Guess not.
Alex rolled up to the roofs edge, searching for more attackers.
The dagger didnt come from behind her. There had to be another
opponent nearby.
Nothing. She swung her sniper rifle into play and checked the
scope, but as she zeroed in she caught sight of something far more
interesting the Rose and his hired gun on the boardwalk, slipping
through the chaos and headed for the hangar. Her crosshairs lingered
on the despicable playboy but she fought the urge to grip the trigger
and swung the rifle out of play. After all, if she killed him, shed never
have the chance to interrogate him and she really wanted that
chance.
Another figure came into her sights and her trigger finger jerked
three times. She didnt even wait to identify it she knew that it was
standing where the dagger came from and that outside Emilio Thorne
she didnt particularly care if anyone here lived. She followed the
figures collapse onto the boardwalk and smiled when she realized
it was one of the twins (shed ignored the part of the briefings that
explained which girl was which).
Satisfied that the wound was serious enough to keep the girl
from interfering, Alex rose to a crouching run and set off toward the
hangar. With luck, she could get there before her prey
Alex kicked open the last in a long series of ventilation grates and
leapt out into the night air. Her muscles cramped and ached, and she
was pretty sure shed strained something diving through an enormous
set of fan blades, but she instantly broke into a run across the bunga-
low roofs. Scanning the fortress exterior, she searched for the most
direct exit a hangar Beowulf had reported from his initial recon.
There! She spotted a deep horizontal gorge dug into the mountain-
side, propped open by enormous pillars of undisturbed rock. Several
minions guarded the location, and she could see a small plane parked
just inside.
Alex diverted her run toward a point where she could leap to the
next fortress platform, just as a dagger dug into the wooden roof at
her feet. She instinctively dove sideways, seeking cover., but landed
awkwardly. Her pistol hand shot out to steady her position and the
weapon skittered off the roof, vanishing silently through the clouds
below.
Alex started up one of the planes and headed back out through
its side door. Too bad there wasnt anywhere to hide on board or
she would have just stowed away until she could take Thorne and
his sidekick by surprise. As it was, shed have to attack when they
boarded and count on neither of them besting her in close quarters;
she figured the smart money was on her.
Close gunfire drew her attention. Two teams of minions charged
the hangar, presumably to stop whomever was stealing their plane.
Their funeral. Alex dropped to the stone floor and rolled under the
plane. She knew theyd seen her and she was counting on at least one
of the teams coming after her. Minions always did. It was something
they learned at Stupid Camp.
She didnt have to wait long. One of the teams made a beeline
for her hiding place, and as an added bonus one of its troops was
a sprinter, arriving a full two seconds ahead of his allies. The others
caught up a moment later or rather, he caught up with them, as
Alex swung around the plane, using the tail as leverage to deliver a
powerful kick into his chest. He left the ground and flew back into his
team as Alex leapt up onto the planes fuselage.
Gunfire erupted from the second team, riddling the plane, but Alex
was already out of the line of fire and swung around the tail to fell
two more. She landed between the remaining four, each of whom
was armed with an SMG, and immediately collapsed into a spinning
foot sweep. The legs went out from under two and the others flooded
the vacuum between them with bullets, exploding in clouds of sticky
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red. Alex hammered a debilitating blow into each of the remaining
guards and retrieved one of their guns, moving around the back of
the plane.
The first team recovered and approached, splitting into two groups
to outflank her. She crept back onto the planes fuselage and when
their circuit was nearly complete, she slid off the vehicles backside,
collapsing one of them underfoot and snapping anothers jaw with
the butt of her weapon. She turned to face the third, but he jabbed
the butt of his SMG into her stomach and she went down, spitting
blood onto the stone runway.
The last three guards approached, training their weapons on Alex
and calling for her to stand down. The man who dropped her let his
weapon fall to his belly and, as she struggled to her feet, delivered a
swift roundhouse kick to her shoulder. This sent her sprawling to the
ground again, disorienting her long enough for the guards to collect
her weapons.
Up! one of the guards screamed, in heavily accented Chinese.
Now, now Is that anyway to treat a lady? Alex heard the
Roses voice from a location toward the front of the plane. Her vision
was blurry, so maybe her hearing had failed as well. He couldnt be
helping her!
No, she realized. I must be concussed. Its the only logical explanation.
Motion all round, and by a pop like gunfire, but too weak to
matter. Still, one of the guards screamed, then gurgled, then fell.
Seconds later, a real shot was fired from the Roses direction and
Alex dropped and flattened against the ground. The scum! He was
trying to kill her while she was blind!
No, thats fair, she admitted. If I didnt need him alive, I might do
the same.
More chaos as her vision started to clear and a shadow fell over
her. She leapt up, kicking toward what she assumed was its jaw. She
felt the satisfying clack of teeth snapping together and heard the
body hit the ground. She searched for more guards, but found only the
Rose and his loyal lapdog, standing beside the planes nose.
We need to leave, Emilio. The lapdog nervously watched the
hangar entrance.
No sense of adventure. Alex half-expected the lapdog to wet him-
self. The Rose, on the other hand, was keeping it together remarkably
well. If she didnt know better, she might actually mistake him for a
professional.
I know, he said.
Now. Thorne didnt seem to mind the mounting opposition at
the hangar entrance. He was oddly focused disturbingly so, Alex
thought.
How about we get on this plane and fly out of here together? We
can be in Shanghai by dawn.
Alex gaped. The nerve! The animal! Hes a rapid dog in heat! She
flexed her fists, cursing fate. If only she had a weapon, any weapon.
Maybe she could distract him long enough for the Khans forces to
capture them both. Shed happily spend a few days in a Dynasty cell
if she could share it with him. Three days, no weapons, and no rules
She beamed at the prospect
Another time, she sighed, and pulled back under the plane. She
grabbed one of the minions scattered guns in mid-roll and when
the Rose tried to follow her, she loosed a burst of automatic fire into
a fuel tank behind him. The resulting fireball flared out across the
hangar, knocking the Rose and his hired gun off balance.
Let the Khan soften you up first, she thought. Then well talk
Alex leapt into the plane and slammed the door shut, pressurizing
the cabin, then stalked to the cockpit and dropped into the pilots
seat. No time to check the instruments shed have to fly blind.
No problem she only had to get far enough to radio Beowulf
anyway
She raced the plane past the remaining guards, picking up speed as
she approached the runways end. She only caught sight of the twins
at the last moment, as one of the girls loosed a burst of automatic fire
at the plane and the instruments went wild. She tried to pull up as the
plane left the hangar, but she couldnt manage anything better than a
somewhat-less-than-level glide which wouldnt do in the canyons
below. The radio was dead, too, shorted in the attack.
Cant a girl catch a break? Alex slammed her fist into the control
board and allowed herself a moment of rage. Then she focused her
attention on not crashing too badly
Pao, nineteenth in command of the Khans minions at Kam Ran,
directed his hovercraft along the shallow river, toward a plume of
dark smoke rising above the canyon. Ten minutes before, hed spotted
one of the Khans planes clearly damaged streaking over his
watch station. Its pilot tried to level off but couldnt keep the nose up,
and the vehicle went down less than a quarter mile away.
The hovercraft rounded a tall rock pillar spiking up through
waist-deep water and Pao spotted the plane, wedged precariously
on a narrow ledge twenty feet above the canyon floor. He couldnt
imagine anyone surviving the crash the cockpit was shredded and
wide gashes ran along the fuselage. Fortunately, it didnt look like
the vehicle was in danger of exploding, so he sent his team of four to
inspect the remains.
Two of the minions started the short climb while the others checked
the seats and cargo that had spilled out its side and belly. After a
cursory inspection the ground forces shrugged; their casual search
was fruitless. Pao was about to tell them to join the others when the
plane groaned, tilted, and rolled off the ledge, flattening both where
they stood.
Alex leapt down to the planes sky-facing belly and slid down
its mangled wing, swiping at one of the climbing minions with a
makeshift lever shed pulled from the wreckage. The minion lost his
grip and fell, going limp as he slapped a field of squat rocks poking up
through he water. Alex landed beside him and unhooked his sling, fir-
ing his weapon at their leader. Paos chest exploded and he collapsed
forward, onto the vehicles controls.
The hovercraft lifted up and sped toward Alex. Typically, she would
have had little trouble jumping onto something moving less than
fifteen miles an hour, but in her dazed, battered state She gauged,
balanced, and leapt landing on the steel rim above the vehicles
skirt, just forward of its huge propellers. She awkwardly sidestepped
until she could scramble up onto the control deck and kick Paos body
aside, taking the wheel. With a hard bank, the hovercraft narrowly
missed the ruined plane, speeding along the clear waters surface,
and as an added bonus, a drowning scream beneath the craft alerted
her to the last minions unfortunate demise.
Sometimes, at Stupid Camp, they handed out merit badges.
Alex clutched her left arm as the vehicle leveled off. The limb had
been pinned between the flight chair and a window mounting during
the third collision, before she was thrown free of her harness. She
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didnt think it was broken, but she was pretty sure the bruise would
break records. For the time being, shed have to power through the
pain that is, if she wanted to make it out of China alive.
She directed the vehicle away from the Khans fortress and picked
up the pace. When she was sure she was out of visual range from the
plane, she grabbed for the radio and played with the frequency until
she found Beowulfs channel.
Alex! Thank God! What happened?
Little trouble on the way out.
Weve got troops fanning out in every direction. Where are you?
A canyon due
Gunfire sparked across the hovercrafts hull and trailed into the water.
Just over a hundred yards behind her, two jeeps sped along the rivers
edge, each armed with a heavy pintel-mounted machine gun. Worse,
just above the pursuers, the twins soared into the scene on a hang
glider. They dropped close to one of the jeeps and leapt off, dislodging
and replacing both the driver and gunner with one fluid motion.
Alex? the radio squawked. Are you there? Alex!
Ling floored the accelerator and
drove the jeep onto higher
ground along the rivers
edge. Tzu lined up her
target and unleashed
the guns full fury. The
world seemed to go
silent as the second jeep
its drivers head and
shoulders now a low-rent
condominium for high-
caliber bullets swerved
wildly and launched up over
a ridge, flipping and sliding into
the canyon wall.
What the? What are they doing? Alex was so busy trying to work
out the twins bizarre attack on their own minions that she nearly
missed a turn, clipping a spiky outcropping dividing the river. She
twisted the wheel right, but her left arm momentarily lost strength
and her hand slipped, letting the wheel spin wildly back to center.
The hovercraft righted itself, grinded against the outcropping, and
twisted sideways.
A shower of water kicked up alongside the vehicle, dousing Alex as
she struggled to regain control. She was only scarcely aware that the
gunfire had stopped though the high whine of the jeeps engines
hadnt. Indeed, it sounded very, very close
She downshifted the hovercrafts engines to lessen its drag,
which broke the vehicles sideways slide. Slowly the vehicle rotated,
responding to her frantic actions, and as its nose lined up with the
river again, she shifted back up. It was then that the twins jeep sped
past her on the right, jerking uncontrolled into a boulder and launch-
ing high into the air. The girls were nowhere in sight.
Behind her, Alex sensed light footsteps and the sound of sharply cut
air. She powered the engine down
and engaged its brakes, brac-
ing as the vehicle came to a
sudden halt. The footsteps
stopped and shadows sailed
overhead, the twins antici-
pating her action and leaping
off the vehicle as it stopped.
They landed on the forward
hull, right in front of the
wheel, Ling carrying a pair of
steel war fans and Tzu wielding
a double-bladed kusari-gama.
Alex reached for the radio again,
but Tzu swept her weapon over the console, clipping the cord. Alex
responded with a hail of bullets that tracked Tzu from the radio across
the hovercrafts forward deck. Ling flipped forward, closing with
Alex and forcing her to take the defensive. She swept and slashed
with both fans, which gave Tzu time to close. Soon, the control deck
became a frenzied whirlwind of glistening movement.
Ling feinted then carved. Tzu sliced then parried. Alex blocked then
bashed. The dance continued with no one seizing a clear advantage
until Alex, feeling the strain and knowing the twins didnt, chanced
a desperate move. She pushed at one twin, then the other, swinging
and kicking to draw them close. When they were right on top of her,
she overextended, planning to let the thrusts momentum carry her into
a roll out of the melee and hopefully leave the twins at the mercy
of each others attacks. Mid-maneuver, though, she felt first a knee
and then a heel connect with her torso. The twins were too practiced
at fighting together to fall for such a simple ploy; indeed, Grandmaster
Go had offered them a dozen different ways to counter it.
Alexs strength failed and she collapsed onto the slick control deck.
The twins moved in over her, their weapons at the ready
Thanks for the dance, Nikita, one of them said.
Except for that last step, her sister added. That was a bit clumsy.
They smiled, speaking together: Father will be pleased. Youll
make an excellent trophy.
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OPERATION: NIGHTFALL
Tuesday, July 20, 2004
1422 hours GMT (3:22pm local time)
Cote DAzur, 20 miles outside Monaco
I dont know, said Augustin de Luna, leaning over the luxury
liners railing. Youve had crushes before.
Emilio stood beside him, facing the ships pool. This isnt a crush,
August. I I dont know what it is, but it isnt a crush. Shes just
Incredible, I know. I was there, and you didnt shut up about it
once the whole flight back to Shanghai. Augustin sighed and turned
to his best friend. He smiled and shook his head. You gotta get a
grip.
Hey, now. I indulge your fantasy life.
Thats different.
Why? Because youre soul mates?
Because Lings never tried to kill me.
She shot the fuel tank, August. She got us out of there alive.
if a little shaky in the memory department.
Emilio shot Augustin an amused grimace.
Im just saying! Augustin laughed. You dont know anything
about this woman, except that shes a questionable marksman and
she hobbies in Third World war zones. She could be an assassin, or a
thief or worse, she might hunt assassins and thieves. You need to
move on, find yourself a distraction: a desperate gold digger, a skinny
blonde with a full bikini and an empty skull, a neurotic, co-depen-
dent emasculator with a knife collection You know, something
harmless.
Emilio fell silent, lost in thought. Probably about her, Augustin
thought. Lord, it never ends.
I know losing the Princess was hard for you, Emilio, but is it
necessary to fish quite so far afield? I mean, were not even talking
the same ocean anymore. Hell, this one might not even be a fish.
Maybe one of those scavenger sharks Or a lobster Hey, are you
hungry?
Maybe youre right
Of course Im right. Augustin didnt realize at first that Emilio had
walked away. Wait, about what? Emilio! Where are you after now?
Just a little distraction
Long ago Emilio got in the habit of idly scanning those around him.
It started with him scrounging for opportunities in the big cities of his
youth, always on the lookout for his next mark. Today it was as often
about sating his insatiable ego, particularly with conquests of the
gentler persuasion. For this purpose he found sailing the least confin-
ing, though trains had their appeal as well. Planes were horrid; when
a potential liaison went south say, the woman was prohibitively
married, or emotionally crippled there wasnt really anywhere to
go. But on a ship particularly one as large as the Morning Star
fertile, fallow opportunity was always just around the corner. It
engendered a sense of romantic liberty, of latent, unbridled passion
in every new encounter, every conversation.
Emilio knew that Augustin was right, that he had to put the mystery
woman out of his mind, quickly and decisively, and that the only
chance of that was finding a replacement so ravishing, so enchanting
that hed have to concentrate on the hunt. As luck would have it, he
was pretty sure the right prey had just sauntered by
She owned the scene and everyone in it, an imposing breath of
spicy Italian arrogance poured into a stunning shoulder-less Anand
Jon masterpiece. Her raven black hair was bunched high and off-
center so it cascaded down the left of her radiant face, and her skin
was flawlessly tanned, unblemished without cosmetics (though she
wore just enough to perfectly accent her beauty anyway). Her figure
Emilio was sure it transcended the dazzling image in his mind. He
resolved to witness it firsthand before the ship came in to port.
The object of Emilios latest affection strode across the pool deck,
disappearing down a flight of stairs to the dinner hall. It would be
empty this time of day the ideal setting for a chance rendezvous.
He headed down the opposite staircase, coming out across the dance
floor from her, and checked his look in the freshly polished mirror wall
to his left. The frothing ocean was louder here, and the sunlight was
pleasantly muted. Better still, the staff had already lit the rooms soft
string-lights in anticipation of early evening guests. Even by Emilios
high standard, the room was magical.
I think were early, he called to her in an unassuming tone.
Women of her caliber were pursued all the time; most of them
appreciated a little breathing room. Theres a lounge upstairs. We
could
You dont want to be here right now. She briskly pushed past
him, glancing over her shoulder and back toward the stairs shed
descended. Despite the harsh words, her voice was captivating. It
hinted at sensual nights and lazy sunrises, and expertly scored the
racy interludes forming in his mind.
Sorry?
Get down.
Emilio found himself shoved to the ground, pinned beneath his
lovely distraction as a sliver of sharpened metal streaked overhead.
It sliced to the hilt in the far wall as several light-footed runners
approached.
Not quite what you were expecting? She wasnt the least bit out
of breath an auspicious sign of things to come.
Cant complain. He took a moments pleasure in the unexpected
position. Though theres always room for improvement. You mind
shifting a little to the left?
He thought he sensed a smile forming maybe she wasnt the
challenge he needed after all.
Hold that thought. She leapt to her feet and deflected an
incoming karate chop, jabbing her palm into the attackers jaw. A
second man came at her with a quick punch-and-kick combo, but she
deftly dodged both, swinging around his torso and taking his arm
with her. He twisted unnaturally, screamed, and collapsed over his
companion.
Augustin arrived and helped Emilio to his feet. Seriously? Twice in
one trip? How is that even possible?
Again, Emilio wasnt listening. This new prey might not be his usual
challenge, but she had his full attention.
Two more attackers converged on the beautiful brawler and the
first two scrambled to their feet, dusting off their well-tailored
suits. All four were well built Asians with trendy sunglasses and no-
nonsense expressions, and they clearly meant business despite their
comically uniform appearance.
SHIPS IN THE NIGHT
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This is usually the part where the gentlemen step in and throw
down. Augustin looked to Emilio, but he wasnt moving. He was
transfixed by the rapturous, explosive violence unfolding before
them.
One of the attackers lunged, only to wind up tossed over the
womans shoulder and sliding the full length of the dance floor into
the stage, where he went limp. Effortlessly, and without missing a
beat, she kicked a second of the attackers over the rail; his brief cry
was quickly highlighted with a splash, then silence.
Augustins eyes bolted open. Okay, maybe not.
The last two attackers leapt at the woman together and she fell
back on the defensive, keeping their fists and feet away from her
torso and face. She matched every blow, waiting for one of them to
slip up, and the very second one did she elbowed his Adams apple,
crushing his windpipe.
Augustin unconsciously recoiled a little.
The woman smashed a dinner plate over the last attackers skull
and he crumpled to the floor. She glanced about, made sure no more
were coming, and brushed down her dress. With a single shrug it was
as if shed just stepped out of a spa, the glow of limitless possibility
upon her. She retrieved her small matching purse and swaggered over
to Emilio.
You really prefer all this, Asia? he asked.
Its Ahh-sia, she said. And yes. Its more alive. You dont
agree?
The skylights impressive.
Asias playful laugh, so buoyant and lively, was more than enough
to keep Emilios mind off the Rooms coarse clientele.
Le banque pass. The tables croupier slid the shoe in front of Asia
and she dealt out six test cards, flipping them over for the table to
see, then pushed them to the side. She dealt two hands, one for her
opponent and one for herself, and bets slid forward. Emilios was the
only bet on her side of the table.
Her opponent looked at his cards and flipped them over. A natural,
the croupier announced. Five and three.
Asia flipped her cards over and smiled confidently at her opponent.
Claps and a few exhilarated cries rose up around the table as the
croupier announced her hand: A natural, six and three. Bank wins.
Asia dealt a second hand and bets slid forward. This time all sided
with her.
Carte, her opponent said after looking at his cards. She slid
his third card across the tables velvet surface, taking her time. She
relished the feel of a fine table.
She checked her cards: double twos. Carte, she said, drawing a
third card without looking at it.
Her opponent flipped his cards. A king and two nines, the
croupier said.
Asia revealed her cards, still not looking at them. The growing
audience told her enough, applauding her second win. A five and
two twos, the croupier said. The bank wins again.
Well done, Emilio applauded her.
You were saying something about a lounge?
Emilio looked uncomfortably around the boisterous casino room,
failing to conceal a rising sneer. Hed never cared for the American
Room. The Casino de Monte Carlo had so many more refined options
available.
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I always win, Mr. Thorne. She passed him the shoe. Le banque
pass.
Emilio cocked an eyebrow in surprise.
I also know to quit when Im ahead, she said.
I can think of a game or two we could both win. He pushed the
shoe aside. Le banque pass.
Asia collected her tall stack of oblong chips. You appear to be
missing a travel companion.
Oh, Im sure hell be along shortly. August tends to drop in when
you least expect it.
Twenty feet away, a door
leading to the presumably
empty Salle Blanche smashed
open, hinges and splinters
exploding in all directions.
Speak of the Devil. Asia
noted the makeshift ram a
flailing, shrieking bundle with
a suspicious resemblance to
Emilios mislaid friend and
winced as he sailed into a
blackjack table, scattering a
4,000 pot.
August! Emilio leapt to his
friends aid. He was plainly in
bad shape; his entrance was
just a brief segue, or maybe an
abrupt end, in a longer fight.
Remember what I said
about the Khan blaming us for
Kam Ran? Augustin struggled
to rise to his feet as clouds of
machine pistol fire ripped through
the closest wall, shattering hon-
ored hardwood fixtures that had
survived since the dawn of Frances
Third Republic. Like twin chainsaws,
the streams wrapped around and
converged over the doorway, sepa-
rating it from the greater structure.
Then, a moment after the shooting
paused, the doorway burst up and
inward, arcing end over end across
the room and bowling over a bank
of slot machines.
Two figures stepped through
the ruined wall, twin beauties
draped in long black hair, high-
lighted red in the shape of inverted
lightning bolts. Mai-Tai.
I dont want to say I told you so, but
We should go. Asia displayed a stunning lack of alarm so
stunning Emilio found himself momentarily frozen. Only his head
moved, swinging slowly to meet her frantic gaze.
Move! she screamed, and pushed them up into a low run. The
twins sidearms belched a wide hellstorm across the room, forcing
Emilio and the others into the center of the room, between roulette
tables and other cover.
Yours? Asia cocked her head toward the twins.
Weve met. Emilio ducked as a bullet ricocheted off the table
just above him.
What now? Augustin screamed over the din.
Scatter! Asia grabbed Emilios lapel and dragged him into a
roll. A second later, one of the rooms enormous chandeliers crashed
down onto the roulette area, launching crystal shards across the floor.
Asia directed their roll down a shallow flight of stairs and the shining
debris harmlessly shot past overhead. Once again, Asia
was splayed over Emilio, pinning
him down.
This is familiar, Emilio
said.
Hey now. Theres still
plenty of fresh territory
here.
Get us out of here
and maybe Ill let you go
exploring.
Asia chuckled, shaking her
head. Youre impossible.
Wheres August? Emilio
suddenly realized he wasnt
with them.
He zigged, apparently.
August Emilio scolded
his friend under his breath.
He was near the money cage,
squarely in the twins lines of
sight, his hands raised in high
in the air.
Does he know what hes
doing? Asia asked. Emilio
didnt answer. He closed his eyes
and waited. If he believed in
a higher power, he might have
prayed, because ultimately, what
happened next would be entirely
up to which twin moved first.
Ive got this one, Ling said.
Emilio exhaled.
Then the Rose is mine, Tzu
brightened. Again.
Asia twisted around to face
Emilio. When this is over,
were going to have a long
talk about your break-up
strategy.
Do you trust me? Emilio
asked her.
Youre sizing me up like your next meal and your ex wants you
dead. Whats not to trust?
Thats the spirit. Emilio led Asia in a breakneck run toward a
tall frosted window overlooking the front parkway. She realized his
intentions at the last moment, hugging him close and burying her face
in the folds of his suit. Tzu whipped her machine pistol into action,
trailing bullets behind them, but she failed to catch up before they
dove through the glass, out into the cool Monaco night
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OPERATION: NIGHTFALL
Tuesday, July 20, 2004
0758 hours GMT (3:58am local time)
Atlanta, Georgia
Eighteen thousand. Not too shabby. Ill congratulate Olivia the
next time Im in Madrid. Jason Hellman tossed the Headlines section
onto the floor of his pristine 1932 Auburn and picked up Business and
Finance. Huh. World Governments to Jointly Computerize Health
Records Little late. Oh well! You snooze, you lose.
Hellman discarded the last of the paper and twisted around in his
seat, toward his cohort, the mercenary called Virus. He leaned his
head on his fist and casually glanced out past the parking structure,
toward the world headquarters of the Center for Disease Control and
Protection. The incomplete structure buzzed with activity, most of
it around the Infectious Disease Laboratory. The Brazilian outbreak
really had them hopping.
I wonder what itll be like after you know, without all the noise,
all the voices. Can you imagine?
Virus turned and leveled an icy stare at Hellman.
Yeah, I suppose you can, Hellman said. Have you received your
gala invitation yet?
Virus turned back to the CDC building, ignoring the question.
Well, with that cheery demeanor of yours, Im sure the inks drying
on it as we speak.
Except for the low-volume radio relay from the Clifton Road guard
shack, where one of Hellmans men stood in for the recently departed
regular man, the interior of the freshly detailed convertible fell silent.
Two men sat motionless in the front seat, both in environmentally
sealed JSLIST suits. Hellmans eyes shifted back and forth between his
cohorts, keeping time with the maddening tick of his watch.
He shifted uncomfortably and his seats leather upholstery groaned
beneath him.
You really have to give it to the old boy, though, dont you? If only
for his sense of scale.
Calm was not a word in Hellmans vocabulary.
Virus silently looked back to Hellman or rather, past him, at a
pair of interns passing the vehicle on their way across the parking
structure. His right hand twitched, almost imperceptibly, ready to
launch toward the dart gun holstered along his thigh.
Relax, Wild Bill. This babys outfitted with the best cloaking sys-
tem money can buy. Hellman patted the back of the passenger-side
seat. No ones going to notice us unless they trip over a fender.
SALVO
The interns car started up and trekked through the parking struc-
tures cavernous descending ramps. Moments later, it exited onto the
facilitys main thoroughfare and disappeared toward Clifton Road.
The history books might talk about those two as the ones that got
away, Hellman said. He checked his watch. Assuming, of course,
theres anyone left to care.
One of the headquarters wide, second-story windows exploded
outward and two figures, locked in a mortal grapple, plummeted onto
the buildings concrete pavilion. The impact split them apart, sending
them tumbling in opposite directions. They quickly recovered, spring-
ing back to their feet with strength and agility beyond their meek
appearances, and charged toward one another in a frenzy of irrational
raking and pummeling.
The figures wore research jackets, long white emblems of their
commitment to save people, liberally splattered with each others
blood. Soon, their attacks slowed and their balance waned, and they
collapsed into angry jerking puddles of their former selves, still vainly
swiping at each other even as their glands and muscles expanded
grotesquely beneath their skin. Like two insane balloon animals, they
wrestled in place until they lost all momentum, the weight of their
bloated limbs pinning them in place.
Thats our cue. Hellman donned the last piece of his JSLIST suit, a
gas mask and protective hood. The others in the vehicle did the same.
Below them, screams rose from the CDC building and victims of
the viral attack flooded out the front doors. They made it less than
100 ft. before the first symptoms stymied their escape, and by the
time Hellman, Virus, and their crew exited the parking structure, the
victims were in the final stages of shredding each other, moments
before merciful death.
Virus was stunned by this contagions gruesome effectiveness.
Accelerated beyond its base model and stripped of the Nightfall trig-
ger, it was the most virulent strain hed ever encountered (and hed
spent his entire life investigating the limits and qualities of natural
and chemical poisons). The old boy had certainly outdone himself
this time, despite his penchant for dramatic flourishes, he might
actually achieve his ultimate aim. All the noise, all the voices might
soon be history.
Virus followed the crew into the buildings lobby, where two
afflicted guards huddled in opposite corners, each sizing the other
up. Both were in the infections earliest stage, their minds consumed
by senseless aggression. They leapt into motion and charging the
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gunmen, their own weapons still holstered, forgotten. Neither made
it within five feet of the intruders, each felled by a lone bullet to the
head and left to bleed out onto the polished floor.
Hellman flipped open his cell phone, speed-dialing as his crew
swept out to clear the rest of the ground level. The phone rang three
times, then cut to an international relay. On the fourth ring, a man
answered: Speak. His voice was an uncomfortable crow, like nails
across a chalkboard, fed through a sound filter to drop the pitch.
Were in, Hellman said.
Excellent, the voice responded. There were sounds of quick
movement in the background. Proceed, the voice said to someone
at the other end of the line.
Hows Geneva? Hellman asked.
Hot. Pretty. Too many clocks. I cant wait to get back up north.
Hellmans crew returned and signaled that the ground level was
clear. The henchman headed for the security office, carefully stepping
over several contagion and gunshot victims along the way, and sat
down at the security camera controls. He kept the cell phone to his
ear the entire time.
Did the old boy give you a talker or a watcher?
Talker, the voice replied, exasperated. I now know more than
anyone should have to endure about bubble-sorts and the healing
properties of Red Bull. You?
Mines quiet, and a little high-strung.
At Hellmans feet, one of the security guards whod managed to
don a chemical defense suit came to. He waved his arms around,
trying to find purchase. One of Virus tiny knockout darts protruded
from his shoulder, piercing through the suits thin protection. Without
consideration, Hellman slammed his boot down onto the mans chest,
pinning him to the floor, and fired two 9mm rounds into his head.
Virus stepped in, alerted by the gunshots. He spotted the fresh
corpse and his face twisted into a disgusted scowl.
What? Hellman challenged.
Virus shook his head and disappeared deeper into the complex.
You know, for a guy with, like, 14 ways a kill a man strapped to
his belt, youre pretty uptight about violence.
Hellman finished disabling the buildings digital recorder and
erased the last hour, leaving the cameras live. He stepped out into the
lobby, drew a tiny gadget pistol out of his breast pocket, and fired a
specialty bullet into the wall adjacent to the security room entrance.
I gotta go, the voice said through the cell phone. The police are
here and I told Blitz not to toast them until I could enjoy the show.
Fry one for me. Hellman flipped the cell phone closed and strode
down to the main computer room. His crew was already set up there,
downloading and wiping the mainframe. Virus was nowhere to be
seen likely already on his way to the sample labs. Strik-9 sends
his love, everyone! Where are we?
Ive got nothin, Sparks said. Oscars choking every time I log in.
What are our options? Poole asked, observing the site from 500 ft.
Below, Atlantas CDC world headquarters was a total kill-zone,
bloated, ravaged bodies everywhere, as if the building had gorged
itself on the population of a small suburb, taken ill, and lost its cook-
ies all over the grounds.
Uh, jack over squat? Weve got no intelligence, other than the fact
that the U.S. militarys viewing this as a full-scale biological attack
which, by the look of CNN, was old news when Lothar the Amateur
Blog-Master broke the news on his myspace page. ETA is about 20
minutes, by the way, and theyre pulling out all the stops. Mobilizing
across three states. If youre thinking of getting out under the radar,
you better leave now.
Poole regarded his pilot, Lynx. She was a recent recruit and still
had fire. She nodded quickly, once. She was ready to back Poole up,
no matter what.
Get me floor plans, Poole said. Im going in.
On the way, Richard. Hope you know what youre doing.
Poole ran through a mental checklist, making sure he hadnt missed
any important steps when applying his suits chemical seal. I know
we cant sit on the sidelines this time, he said. I also know Ive seen
this before.
Pooles PDA chimed in the dashboards communication cradle.
The blueprints. He grabbed the mini-computer, checked his H&K USP
service pistol, and kicked the passengers ladder roll out the door.
In the CDCs sample labs, Jason Hellman toppled a computer
monitor off its desk. The monitor exploded into a satisfying shower of
sparks, but Hellman was too distracted to find pleasure in the destruc-
tion. He resisted the urge to check his pager again.
Youre new, Sir Richard Poole calmly declared. He strode into
the room with one of Hellmans flunkies in tow, holding his USP to
the mans skull. He knocked the flunky unconscious with the butt
of his pistol and retrieved the mans weapon, an unimpressive P9,
chambered for the lighter 7.65mm ammunition. Too bad the old
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mans still buying from the same low-rent supplier. I tried to warn
him, You get what you pay for, but hes all about penny-pinching
the apocalypse.
As I live and breathe! Hellmans arms shot out wide in mock
welcome. Sir Richard Roswell Poole. Now its a party!
Where is he?
Who?
Roswell?! blurted Sparks. Find out who this guy
is so I can send him a Thank You card. Poole didnt
like where this was going at all. Sparks sounded
like a dog thrown a new bone.
Pooles right eye twitched, but he forced
himself to keep his attention on the new
player. You bloody wanker, Ive been at
this longer than youve been chang-
ing your own knickers! I know one
of Kholeras operations when
I see it.
Who now? Hellman
squinted to drive the joke
home. He couldnt keep it
up, though, and his lips
curled into a bemused
grin.
I see Poole stalked
toward the henchman.
Youre not the helpful
incarcerate, youre the
hospitalized vermin.
Poole felt a sting at his
ankle and something warm
crawled up his leg, through
his leg. His determined gait
wavered and he reached for
the dart protruding through
his suit, but his vision
suddenly twisted wrong
side up and he toppled
sideways onto the labs
sterile floor.
Meet Virus, Hellman
said.
Im new, too. Virus
reloaded his dart gun.
Kholera sends his
regards. Hellman squatted
beside the former Majestic.
He regrets that he couldnt
be here to see you off person-
ally, but hes occupied with
pressing matters of global devas-
tation. He said youd understand.
Richard? Sparks tried in vain to hail him. Whats happened?
Poole!
It wouldnt have mattered, by the way if youd managed to stop
us. The damage is already long done, and as Im sure you noticed on
your way in, Kholeras latest opus has much more personality than
that petty bug we released in Brazil.
The pager at Hellmans waist vibrated. Someone tripped the laser
tripwire hed shot into the security room wall. All units withdraw,
he said into his encrypted radio. He turned back to Poole. As for you,
benighted hero, diligent dinosaur I think its time for your twilight
hour.
Poole still couldnt move. Sparkling needles coursed through
his veins, but his limbs felt detached, like mannequin
parts left on for show. He was vaguely aware
of klaxons flaring to life around him, of steel
shutters crashing down in all directions, cutting
him off from the rest of the building, from the
villains escape route
Talk to me, Poole. Sparks
voice echoed down the well
of Pooles conscious mind.
Later, when Poole finally
managed to drag himself
to his feet and the triple-
rooms in his vision slowly
merged together again, he
found himself entirely alone.
He scanned the labs for a way
out
This is Pitfall Commander
Stephen Century. The voice
came through the labs inter-
com. This facility is in lock-
down. All intruders are ordered
to remain at their present posi-
tions. Disarm yourselves or you
will be shot on sight.
Fantastic, Poole mut-
tered. He radioed the helicop-
ter. Lynx?
Yeah, boss.
Where are you?
Ten miles out. I had to pull
back when the Army showed
up and we couldnt raise you.
Should I
Sweep for a couple hench-
men with big, bloody grins on
their faces. Chances are theyre
in some kind of camouflaged or
cloaked vehicle. Theyre dim, but
their employer isnt.
Got it. What about you?
Stephen Centurys voice invaded
the facility again, quickly at first and
slowing as the realization settled in. Is
that? Richard Poole!
Poole didnt like where this was going, either.
We have control of the buildings security cameras, Poole. We
know where you are and we know youre alone. Do us all a favor and
surrender now.
Please dont give my men a reason to kill you.
Go ahead, Lynx, Poole said. It looks like Im going to be tied
up for a while.
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Tuesday, July 20, 2004
1922 hours GMT (8:22pm local time)
Monte Carlo, Monaco
Long acknowledged as the diamond throne of the Mediterranean,
Monaco was also fast becoming a hotspot epicenter for business and
the arts, hosting one of the latest and most impressive destinations
for both: the Grimaldi Forum. This ultra-modern affair, exalted as the
convention center of the third millennium, had all the space and
amenities for the most elaborate, cutting-edge conventions in the
world, and performance halls ranging from intimate one-man stages
to thunderous amphitheatres playing to thousands. Years of planning
and millions of dollars in the making, it stood as Monacos greatest
opportunity to rise above chest-puffing adrenaline junkies and mega-
rich party people that had come to define the city through much of
the 20th Century.
On that fateful night in July, however, the night humanity almost
gave up its place in the food chain, the Forum became known for
something entirely different. That night, a Stranger came knocking,
and Hell was right behind him
The cresting sun gave way to the blanket of night and the Forums
surface of steel and glass, which dazzled by day like a shining jewel,
started to glow from within. The pleasant, diffused luster of the
buildings interior fixtures mingled with thousands of meticulously
chosen spotlights, each just the right color and intensity to promote
the days festivities. It was time for the International Fireworks
Festival, a remarkable showcase of pyrotechnic excellence that drew
specialists from across the globe.
Within an hour the heavens would erupt with explosive splendor,
raining every vibrant color in the spectrum down upon the city, and the
streets were choked with euphoric crowds angling for a good view of
the glooming sky. Only a few of the excited spectators noticed the sleek
military helicopters skirting the skyline, and fewer still watched closely
enough to spot the Pitfall troops leaning from their open doors, scanning
the city through night vision scopes. None knew what they were after,
or rather who: four suspects connected to a firefight at the Casino de
Monte Carlo, three of them tentatively identified as Strangers.
You have any idea where youre going? Asia struggled to keep
hold of Emilios hand as he dragged her through the crammed, wind-
ing streets.
North, he answered. Avenue Princesse Grace leads out of the
city.
They intersected a parade weaving through the city and fell in line
behind an enormous three-story showboat float, slowing to keep pace
amidst several confused acrobats. Emilio searched the throng for
any sign of the twins, timing his glances with preliminary starbursts
igniting overhead. They bled all color out of the scene, but offered
an excellent view of the spectators immobile, pale-stricken faces.
Two figures darted through the frozen snapshot, slicing through the
audience with lethal confidence. Their clothes were different but their
parallel features were unmistakable.
Keep moving! Emilio dragged Asia behind him this time
over the floats rail and past lines of topless dancers. They rounded
a corner and climbed one of the floats many staircases, toward its
top level.
The twins burst out of the parade line, shoving spectators aside.
They leapt in tight somersaults, cleared the floats rail, and headed
for the staircase, knocking dancers aside along the way just as
Emilio hoped.
What now? Asia screamed. The high whine of a sparkler-driven
windmill nearly drowned out her question, but Emilio expertly picked
it out of the clutter. He looked past the floats centerpiece a giant
laughing balloon head and tracked an approaching helicopter. He
also noticed the Forum closing on the east, and smiled. Since hed
first seen the building he hadnt been able to shake the image of a
gigantic, perfectly cut gem struggling desperately to break free of an
earthly prison, nor the impulse to aid its escape.
We jump, he said.
Youre kidding.
Emilio led Asia out onto one of the floats enormous pneumatic
arms, a leisurely flapping contraption lined with swirling, flaming
pinwheel propellers. They felt the arm start to give under their weight
but Emilio kept them moving, holding one eye on the forum as it crept
slowly underneath. He waited, waited
Now! They tumbled off the end of the arm and onto the flat
exterior of the Grande Verrire, Emilio wrapping his arms around Asia
to protect her from the roll. He broke into a run and didnt look back
at this point he was only concerned with clearing the opposite end
of the rooftop. If they didnt get to some cover, nothing else would
matter.
The twins followed out over the arm but it was already too weak
from Emilios stunt and cracked in half, its outer end plummeting to
the street in a shower of flame and sparks. The twins righted them-
selves mid-air, pushed off the wreckage and skidded to a stop on the
roof, where they broke into a run of their own.
WELL ALWAYS HAVE MONACO
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Emilio led Asia in a quick slide down the buildings 45-degree rear
windows, drawing attention and applause from those inside. Gasps
and a moment of morbid silence followed as they tumbled onto the
Esplanade Princesse Grace plaza and into a bright spotlight from a
helicopter hovering above. Emilio froze, and for a brief moment Asia
thought she saw fear in his eyes.
Asia fought for his attention. Theres a plan, right?
Of sorts.
An amplified voice boomed from the helicopter. Move and we will
open fire! Surrend
The helicopters windows exploded in, shattered by steady streams
of machine pistol fire. The bullets ripped across the copters broad-
side, tearing through the shell and into the rotors. The vehicle belched
black smoke and twirled in place.
On the Verrire, the twins paused the onslaught and turned their
attention to their prey, swiveling their pistols toward the plaza.
From China with Love, Emilio said, with just a hint of hunger in
his voice.
Now? Seriously? Asia exclaimed. When arent you in heat?
There are moments.
Asia pulled Emilio into a roll this time, out of the path of the hur-
tling copter. It smashed into the plaza behind them, sending flaming
debris safely over their heads.
Now isnt one of them, he added, and she felt his meaning.
Rolling her eyes, she guided them out of the plaza, just ahead of
another stream of pistol fire. They used the guests parked town cars
and limousines as cover, and ducked back into the crowds when they
once again reached the street. From there they angled toward trees
lining the bays edge, and doubled back under the canopy, toward an
aging church at the southern cusp of the sea.
Sir Richard Poole once frequented Marseille, when he was young
and unknown, unconcerned with the troubles of titans. He enjoyed the
citys disarming, picturesque scenery, its meandering, cliff-side roads
and endless, unassuming horizon. He marveled at the citys incredible
bouquet, the smells of lavender, provincial herbs, and bouillabaisse
drifting through the streets and settling into everything, everyone.
He loved the pervasive sense that nothing terrible could ever happen
here, despite warnings to avoid the outer quartiers at night.
But just as history had stolen the citys strategic importance, it had
also made off with Pooles innocence. Visiting once cherished holiday
sites, trying to reconnect with fond memories, old friends It rang
hollow for him now. In the twilight of his life, the ruins of his youth
were just empty scenery, places to lament and people to doubt.
This visit was all business. Poole hunted his Kane, his World-
Serpent the most horrific creature hed ever encountered, who
both disgusted and defined him: Dr. Friedrich Kholera. Poole always
knew theyd eventually square off again; their last affair had ended
abruptly, and lacked the satisfying climax of death at least, for
either of them. In its wake their bitter feud had forged a twisted trail
of fractured governments, broken lives, and not a few bodies. The
seemingly unconnected aftershocks of each encounter rippled out
across the globe, sending the fragile Cold War era spinning wildly off
course, toward this strained, worrisome present.
The worst part? Poole never fully understood why the fight
escalated so sharply, why it became so personal. Certainly, Kholeras
extinction agenda had to be prevented, but so little of the fight-
ing actually had anything to do with the masterminds ultimate
aims. Somewhere along the line, their rivalry shifted from civilized
skirmishes to crude, spiteful campaigns of private destruction. Lines
were drawn. Bystanders were forced to take sides, and many of them
perished for their convictions. In the end, Pooles only bond with
his noble, deluded past was anchored firmly in a sea of his closest
friends blood.
At the basilicas foot, Poole approached the edge of a wide stone
rail overlooking the southern end of the city. He produced a pair of
binoculars and feigned a shy smile at the couple to his right. They
returned to their vigorous embrace and he activated the binoculars
military-grade magnification, scanning the footpaths and streets
around the Parc Borly. He picked out all the people lounging beneath
the gently waving plane-trees and memorized the faces and clothing
of everyone laughing and clapping at the ptanque field. When he
had a running tally of every variable in the area, he switched on his
earbud transceiver.
Tuesday, July 20, 2004
2148 hours GMT (10:48pm local time)
Basilique Notre Dame de la Garde, Marseille
From the majesty of her Romano-Byzantine pedestal, the Virgin
Mary observed creation. Her view was unparalleled, the whole of
Marseille seemingly within her grasp, but most nights she enjoyed it
alone. Tonight was different underfoot, a legend stalked the city.
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He didnt bother to say anything; he knew Sparks was listening,
watching for the GPS signal, and he wasnt disappointed. Its about
time you checked in, Ros. How was the mother ship?
I need a sat-tap, Sparks. Anything over the French coastline,
specifically Marseille.
Suuure. Ignore the geek until you need help with your
homework.
Sparks
You didnt have to go silent, Richard. I could have helped you out
of Atlanta.
Lynx needed you more. How is she?
Shes fine. Hellman clipped her with a Stinger on his way out, but
she limped to a friendly airfield. How about you? Howd you make it
out?
I burned Chaos.
The line went quiet. Over 1,000 kilometers away, behind the reflec-
tive Illuminated Futures faade, Sparks fumed. You what?
That Harlequin Quite the womanizer. You should be more care-
ful choosing your handlers. Poole allowed the slightest trace of spite
to slip through just enough to get the point across.
Chaos was my last insider with Pitfall.
And now hes a field agent Or he will be, once you spring him
from Guantanamo. Id see to that quickly, by the way. He doesnt
strike me as the most level-headed bloke under pressure.
Poole took a moment of perverse pleasure in Nathans speechless-
ness before getting back to business. Hows that sat-feed coming?
he asked.
Close. The irritation was still clear in Sparks voice, but Poole
knew he could count on him to keep a level head. It was one of the
reasons he continued to work with the Banshees. You might find this
interesting Sparks continued. Quite a few operatives have gone
missing in your area over the last 36 ours.
Makes sense. The hired hands are out in force. Poole clicked
several silent pictures with the binoculars hidden digital camera,
then uploaded them through its internal satellite relay. Two figures
started moving across the park, one a lithe, weasel-like fellow in a
threadbare suit, the other a lumbering giant threatening to prove
evolution wrong with every ungainly step.
The pair unceremoniously made its way to a park bench, where
the smaller of the two sat, suspiciously checking to see if anyone
nearby was watching them. Before he could confirm their anonymity,
however, the giant started rummaging around under the benchs
wooden slats, eventually lifting the entire seat including his cohort
above his shoulders. The giant peeled a small envelope from the
bottom side of the slats as his partner frantically clutched to the
bench and pitched wild obscenities at him.
Law of averages demands that at least a few are competent,
Poole said.
Sparks received the pictures. The Whitlows. Guess your instincts
about Kholera using his old channels were right on the money.
Ill see where theyre going, Poole directed. You see where
theyve been.
Tuesday, July 20, 2004
2258 hours GMT (11:58pm local time)
Saint-Barnab, Marseille
Emilio and Asia fell through the safe house door, locked in a playful
embrace. He only scarcely managed to slam the door shut before she
dragged him into a roll along the front corridor wall. They collapsed
on the living room sofa and she found his lips, drawing him into a
lengthy, spirited kiss.
Thaaat waaasss incredible, she purred.
To be fair, I didnt arrange the gunfire. Or the twins.
Well, they didnt exactly throw off your game, either.
Sure. His tone shifted.
Whats wrong?
Emilio didnt answer, instead distracting her with another attentive
kiss. They fumbled at each others ragged clothing.
I saw you out there. You were decisive, poised Easily distracted,
sure, but it clearly wasnt the first time someones tried to kill you.
Asia slipped her hand between the buttons of Emilios shirt. How
many scars will I find under here? Her fingers danced across his
chest, but despite the soothing trails they left behind, he couldnt
relax. His pulse hadnt slowed to less than a throbbing charge since
Kam Ran, and the welts on his back still ached.
A cuckoo clock in the corner struck twelve, pulling both of them
back to reality.
We have to get ready. Emilio pulled out of her arms. Augustin
will be here soon. He stalked over to a desk and flipped open a
hidden cavity behind several small nooks, producing a package
wrapped in waterproof fabric. He unrolled it to reveal an elaborate,
personalized disguise kit, and started brainstorming their new
identities.
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Asia leaned over him and draped her arms over his shoulders.
Youre a peculiar one, Mr. Thorne.
Hm?
All that debonair charm, the ship, the casino, this place
Youre about as confident as they come, but give you a sure
thing
She felt him tense up, rose, and pulled her
hands to his shoulders.
Who is she? she asked, after a long
pause.
Emilio turned to face her. He didnt
appreciate interrogations, especially at
the hands of someone hed met the same
day. I wasnt the only one attacked out
there today, he said.
Her teasing smile dipped.
You give me my space, he said,
Ill give you yours.
So The dashing rogue has a
past
And a future, one hopes. Now,
who would you like to be today?
The front door smashed inward,
splintered and nearly pulled off its
hinges under the weight of a powerful
attack. An enormous figure stepped
into and occluded the corridor, quickly
approaching the main room. He coarse-
ly gulped air like an angry bull and
his footfalls landed like falling bricks.
Behind him entered a smaller blood
relative, a frail, shifty villain brandish-
ing a sleek black service pistol.
From a rooftop across the street,
Poole observed the Whitlows crude
entry. Theyre making their move, he
relayed to Sparks. Im headed in.
Richard The speaker was behind
him and all-too-familiar. Im sorry,
Richard.
He whipped around and a meaty
hand wedged under his chin, lifting him
off his feet and pinning him against a
wall. His breath failed him, his wind-
pipe collapsing beneath the vice-like
grip. His attacker looked like one of
the Krypts shadowy back alley enforc-
ers, but above the mans high collar
his skin was slate gray and pitted with
deep, weeping abscesses. Something
was literally eating him alive
The enormous bruiser sent Poole
sprawling at a womans feet. Poole
lifted his gaze, fighting to clear his
vision, but all too soon he wished he
hadnt.
Hunched over him, afflicted by the same appalling malady, stood
Alex Kole, her face twisted into a mask of tear-streaked anger. She
seized upon Pooles stunned surprise, hammering her clenched fist
into his jaw and sending him careening off the roof
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Tuesday, July 20, 2004
2307 hours GMT (12:07am local time)
Saint-Barnab, Marseille
Poole smashed into the roof of a parked Volvo, his shoulder digging
into the thin metal. He focused and exhaled, letting the pain spill
away from him, and tried to gather his wits, not to mention his pride.
Sadly, both had gracelessly bled out over the cars windshield.
Above, he heard Alexs battle cry as she dropped from the second-
story rooftop, toward his prone position. He bit down and braced for
the explosive burst of pain as he launched into a roll off the right side
of the vehicle. Collapsing onto the sidewalk, he was vaguely aware
of Alexs clumsy landing, and her roll off the back of the car. She
sauntered around to him, approaching with a predators gait as he
forced himself to his feet.
Alex Stop, he said.
Fear and regret washed her face with a stain of fresh tears, but
her gait never slowed. She stalked up to her fathers best friend and
back-fisted him across the jaw. He staggered, his vision blurred, and
his mind raced. He felt Alex grab him by the shirt and drag him to
knees.
Alex, he slurred through swollen gums. Whatevers happening,
youre stronger. You can beat this.
She whirled into a roundhouse kick he was too dizzy to counter.
The side of her heel pummeled him, lifting him up off the ground and
onto the cars hood.
Okay, he thought. That could have gone better.
Inches behind the monstrous attacker, Emilio waved for Asias
attention, pointing to a portion of the apartments back wall. He
flipped a hidden switch and the wall silently slid open, revealing a
panic room embedded in the rear of the building.
Asia gave a shallow nod as Jeremys roar segued into a furious
charge across the room.
SUBJECT ZERO
Across the street, inside what Emilio assumed was a safe house,
another tussle ensued. The Whitlows entered and flanked the
entryway, Jacob covering Asia with his pistol and Jeremy mashing his
impossibly meaty fists together.
Jacob nodded toward Emilio. Take him. He adopted a lewd grin.
Ill get the girl.
The behemoth lumbered forward as Jacob motioned for Asia
to face the wall. She turned, slowly, keeping an eye on the mirror
hanging over the rooms fireplace. She watched for the lanky mans
tell. As when playing cards, there was a moment in every fight when
someone gave away how strong they thought their position was. It
was generally when they were weakest.
Jacobs eyes darted to his brother for a second and Asia dropped to
the floor, kicking out at the elder Whitlows ankle. He crashed down
alongside her and she grabbed his gun hand at the wrist and twisted.
He shrieked and let go.
I dont know what they taught you at Hillbilly High, she knocked
him unconscious with the pistol butt, but guys like you never get
the girl!
Unexpected sounds of fighting registered somewhere deep in
Jeremys dense reptilian mind and he wheeled toward his brother.
The sight of Asia hovering over Jacobs motionless body toggled
something primal in him and a ferocious bellow escaped his throat,
rampaging through the building like a triumphant dinosaurs roar.
Poole righted himself, pushing off the Volvo as two more of the
afflicted soldiers appeared on the sidewalk behind Alex. All of them
wore the same mask of unmitigated rage, though only Alex showed
any sign of remorse. As one, they advanced on him, their intent clear
and unmistakable.
He backed into the street, toward the safe house, and searched for
options. He still had his gun, but it wasnt an option. He was pretty
sure none of them were in control of their own actions, and though
Alex sometimes deserved to be shot
An inhuman bellow rose behind him, rattling his already shaken
nerves. Alex was running on little more than adrenaline and instinc-
tively glanced toward the safe house, finally giving Poole the oppor-
tunity he needed. He clasped his hands together and blindsided her
with a double-fisted strike. She fell and, as the other two pounced
toward him, Poole dove toward her, grabbing her and sliding back to
the battered car.
Alex! He shook her until her eyes focused. He clenched his fist
again, just in case. You in there, Alex?
The mask of tear-streaked rage returned and her muscles flexed,
but she didnt rise.
Talk to me, girl.
Her eyes refocused and her hand shot out, into Pooles trench
coat.
My gun! He tried to pull back but it was too late. She held his
Browning level at his chest.
Down! she screamed, and Poole dropped without thinking. She
fired twice and Poole heard the dull clatter of two bodies hitting the
cement behind him. He chanced a peek and found Alexs diseased
cohorts rolling in pain, each clutching a winged shoulder. Reason had
returned to their faces. He glanced back up, half-expecting to come
face to face with the barrel of his own gun, but instead found it lying
in Alexs lap.
She massaged her throbbing jaw and tried to smile. So much for
the gentleman-spy.
Poole found himself breaking into a chuckling smile of his own.
He wouldnt admit it, but it was the greatest feeling hed allowed
himself in years.
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OPERATION: NIGHTFALL
Wednesday, July 21, 2004
0349 hours GMT (04:49am local time)
Illuminated Futures Building, Amsterdam
You lie! Poole boarded the elevator.
Nope. His companion, the Banshee called Sandman,
stepped in beside him. The rugged, tanned hacker was in
his mid-30s, with long black hair cascading over a casual
shirt and vest. Poole shared a long history with the man,
and had called upon his special skills more than a few
times. Sandman was an expert cover identity special-
ist; indeed, he was responsible for most of the original
Shadow Patriots falling off the global record.
Poole slipped Sandman 100 Euros. Worth every penny.
He entered the security code and the lift car started up
toward Nathans penthouse suite.
Moments later, they entered the cavernous home of
Sparks Chaos Engine, where the Banshee leader was
already hard at work piecing together the latest facts.
Wherefore art we, Nathan? Poole proudly strode
toward the towering workstation. He had to admit, it was
starting to feel like the old days.
Sparks paused, turned, and glared at Sandman. You
told him.
Sandman grinned but avoided Sparks gaze, taking
roost in one of the Chaos Engines many support terminals.
What can I say, Nate? He met my number.
Sparks sighed and went back to his work.
Cheer up, Romeo. Pooles smile was wide and toothy.
I can keep a secret. Can you?
What secret? Whatd I miss? Alex swung in, perched on
crutches. She moved stiffly, and gauze covered the shallow
wounds on her face and arms.
Poole rushed to her side, all humor drained from his
features. Good God, woman! What the bloody hell do you
think youre doing?
Relax, old man! She pushed him away, smiling, and
plopped down in one of the Engines free chairs. Where
are we?
Sparks nervously glanced to Sandman, who shrugged, and
then to Poole, who held his hands up in surrender. Okay, he
exhaled. Heres what we have so far
The Chaos Engine shot a holographic projection out over the
assembled agents. It began with two faces: a handsome, somewhat
smarmy Brazilian man and a striking Italian woman with a piercing
gaze. It continued a moment later with pictures of the Khan twins,
Mai-Ling and Tai-Tzu, and finished with running surveillance footage
of a gun battle exiting the Casino de Monte Carlo and spilling through
the International Fireworks Festival.
Alexs eyes went wide but she quickly recouped and nervously
gripped her side, as if shed felt a twinge of pain.
You alright? Sandman asked.
She shook her head. Fine.
Poole wasnt willing to chance it. Come on, Alex, back to bed with
you. He reached for her arm, but she recoiled.
Im fine, she repeated. We have work to do.
In fact, she wasnt fine, but she wasnt about to drag Poole into
her personal life. Again.
She turned her attention to nearby screens, where the images were
transferred after they cycled out of the hologram. She leveled and
narrowed her eyes at one in particular.
What are you up to, Mr. Thorne, and why do the Khans daughters
want you dead?
She glanced at the twins.
Okay, you slept with at least one of them. I suppose thats reason
enough.
Thornes companion is a blank.
Alex and Poole gawked at Sparks unlikely comment, like hed
grown a second head or blurted out something in Klingon. Again.
No seriously, we got nothin. She might as well have been born
yesterday.
They blinked, practically in unison.
In Siberia.
Still with the silence, and the deafening.
To apes. Look, I dunno what to tell you. This woman doesnt exist.
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Poole glowered at Sandman, as if he were somehow responsible.
What? he asked. Whatd I do?
You tell us, Poole said. Youre supposed to be the authority on
names and backgrounds. How is it weve found someone you cant
identify?
Sandman rubbed his temple. Whoever buried this womans past,
they buried it deep. All I can tell you about her right now is that shes
never worked for us, or any of our allies.
And she has lousy taste in men, Alex silently added.
Sparks continued as images of the Whitlow brothers joined the
presentation. We know two of Kholeras mercenaries are tracking
them, but we havent determined why.
The dullards Thorne trapped in his panic room, Poole said.
Fancy maneuver, that.
So what exactly does this Rose have to do with the virus? Alex
asked.
Thats where it gets ugly. Beyond the outbreak in Paraso Cadas,
weve got infections spreading from Shanghai, Monaco, and every
other port the Morning Star visited.
The Morning Star?
The cruise ship Thorne took from Shanghai.
Thats it then, Poole concluded.
Sparks nodded. Yup. All the evidence supports it. Hes the carrier.
Thornes Subject Zero.
Alex froze. Oh God, she realized.
Okay, enough fun for you. Poole reached for Alex, but again she
pulled away. This time she hobbled closer to the screens. She watched
the satellite footage of Mai-Tai chasing the Rose and the mystery
woman, then the Whitlows doing the same.
They werent hired to kill him, she said, or capture him.
What? Sparks asked.
Theyre driving him, she said. To spread the virus. The Whitlows,
the Khans girls Theyre all working for Kholera.
Thats a pretty big leap, Poole said.
I was there when it started. I know how he was infected. Ive
know where they created the virus.
Everyone waited for the other shoe to drop.
Before Marseille, I spent some time in China. Its where the twins
captured me. Theyre the ones who exposed me to Kholeras flesh-
eating rage bug.
Poole fumed, barely keeping his voice in check. You said you
didnt see who captured you. You said you were blindsided.
I was on a mission. Some of us are still loyal to our governments.
Some of us still keep secrets.
Some of us keep more than their share
All right! Sparks tried to intervene, but Poole brushed him aside.
When were you planning to say something, Alex?
Eventually.
When? Poole thundered.
If the Khans girls are working for Freddy Genocide
What? Enlighten us, girl. What does that mean?
It means I know how they infected him.
Better and better. Poole turned away from her, disgusted.
One of them raked her fingernails down Thornes back. Whi
While they were together.
How the hel Forget it, I dont want to know!
We have to get into that base. Sparks tried to redirect the
conversation.
Right then! Ill call my people. Poole lingered an icy gaze on
Alex, then marched away.
Actually, I was thinking you might want to collect Plague Boy.
Poole waved his hand dismissively over his shoulder. We know
where he is, right? Anyone can handle it. Send Felix.
You might want to hear where he is first. Since you have a per-
sonal history with his new friend and all.
Yeah? Poole said, turning around. And whos that?
The projection shifted to a recent satellite feed over Nice, where
two figures entered a tall, elegant office building. The image magni-
fied, focusing on the name over the buildings entrance: Goodchilde
Exports.
Poole shut his eyes to blot out the image. Better and better, he
sighed.
The projection vanished and Sparks went back to work.
A moment later, after Poole was gone, Alex leaned in close to
Sandman. She whispered and made sure to keep her lips out of
Sparks line of sight.
Seriously, what secret?
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OPERATION: NIGHTFALL
Wednesday, July 21, 2004
0811 hours GMT (10:11am local time)
Old Town, Nice
Tony Marino yanked Jacob Whitlows face out of the oil drum and
repeated his question. Where is he?
I told you, I dont know. Jacob gasped for air and tried to shake
the slick coat of used grease off his face. Were looking for him,
too.
Why?
Jacob shook his head, blinking to clear his eyes. I dont know that,
either. We were just
Tony shoved Jacobs head back into the drum, effortlessly pinning
it in place as the Whitlows lower half frantically jerked about to gain
leverage. Several seconds later, when Tony hauled Jacob back out,
the mans shoulders drooped and his eyes sagged. He was close to
fading entirely. Time for some additional incentive
Tony shifted Jacobs view toward several unconscious spooks
sprawled across the workshops concrete floor. We know you broke
into one of our residences in Monaco. We know Emilio Thorne trapped
you in our panic room. We know these gentlemen brought you here,
and we know they dont exist not according to any public record,
anyway. But you You have fingerprints on file. You left them all
over our property.
Tony leaned in close to drive his point home. We know who you
are, Jacob, and we know you work for any dog with a few pennies to
spare. You have a criminal record and youre terrified of prison. But
Im willing to bet that youre even more terrified of dying. Slowly.
Behind them, Jhonny Costello lit a cigarette with a gold-plated
zippo. He let the flame dance for a few extra seconds before flipping
the lighter closed.
Jacob shivered, glancing toward the unconscious guards who ques-
tioned him before Tony and his friends arrived. Then he looked to his
brother, Jeremy, who twitched inside a coil of electrical cord binding
him to a nearby chair. A young woman with pale skin and long, dark
hair stood over Jeremy, brandishing a cattle prod.
Who are you people? Jacob sputtered.
We spook the spooks, Jacob. Were the stuff of their nightmares.
Tony leaned in close and triggered a spring-loaded switchblade not
two inches from Jacobs left eye. Care to dream?
Planes roared overhead, a fleeting and bizarre glimpse of some-
thing strange going on over the city
In the rear cockpit of the second Harrier jump jet, Sir Richard Poole
raised Nathan Sparks on the comm-set. Weve got him. How are
things in China?
Not so good, Sparks replied.
What happened?
They had some trouble on the way out. We lost The line went
to static.
Nathan? Nathan! Poole hammered his fist into the jets console.
Dammit!
Lynx called back from the front of the plane. Hang tight, boss.
Time to dive.
The forward Harrier led the chase down to mere feet above the
crystal blue waters of the French Riviera, then out to sea
UNACCEPTABLE LOSSES
Wednesday, July 21, 2004
0717 hours GMT (3:17pm local time)
Tibetan Plateau, China
54 minutes earlier
Romeo, huh? Jessica Styles quickly stuffed the last of her
HALO chute into a crevice along the hillside and followed Alex Kole
under a canopy of nearby trees. Wouldnt have been my first guess.
Or my fifth.
Nathan Romeo Sparks Alex stripped off the unnecessary parts
of her jump suit. Americans are cruel to their offspring. In Russia, no
one grows up with that kind of stigma.
Yeah, well, most of us arent raised anarchist, either.
Their radios flared to life and Sparks voice interrupted. Hate to
spoil the fun, Jess, but your chatterbox is open. You might wanna
keep the line clear unless o course youre wanting to get up close
and personal with a few hundred PLA hard-asses.
Jessicas eyes bugged and she quickly flipped off her radio trans-
mitter, but Sparks didnt let up.
I mean, I dunno what youre into
Thought you wanted to keep the line clear.
Relax, its secure.
Too bad the same cant be said about you.
Alex smiled at Jessicas jab and pulled off her neck guard, wincing
as pain shot around her bruised collarbone. She quickly motioned to
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keep Jessie from making a fuss, and shot her a look to explain why.
The girls were good at reading each other, and Alexs intent was
clear: she didnt need any more grief right now and she wasnt about
to back out of this op.
Were on the move, Nathan. Jessica jerked her head toward
the hills to get everyone mobile. We should be on site in about 20
minutes.
And this guy youre after? Hes one of them?
Poole softened his voice. Hes the carrier, Helen.
The limousine turned onto the rue de Congrs, away from the
beach and toward the city centre. Trevor Goodchildes chateau was
still miles inland. Helen watched the passing parks, museums, and
houses Schools
Its here then? All these people are infected? She turned back to
Poole, her expression sullen, drained of all fight. Were infected.
Help us, Helen. This shouldnt be the last time we see each
other.
At the Illuminated Futures Building, Sandman downloaded the last
of Anne Goodchildes profile into Janus systems, offering a private
prayer to the computer gods that nothing got lost in the transmission
and that her prototype programmable smartskin held up under the
pressure. The Banshees hadnt field tested it yet, and there was no
telling how it would react to the myriad actions the agent would have
to take to keep up her ruse.
Another of the Patriots handlers, Cornerstone, arrived with new
satellite images and handed them up to Sparks. Koles team is in the
complex, he said. Radio communications holding strong. Believe it
or not, we might actually have a ball game, for now anyway.
Sandman didnt dare jinx the op with a response.
Wednesday, July 21, 2004
0732 hours GMT (9:32am local time)
Promenade des Anglais, Nice
Sir Richard Poole sat across from Helen Goodchilde in the back of
a glossy black limousine cruising the Nice boardwalk. Despite the
temperate weather, she was still wearing her ski clothes. They hadnt
given her a chance to change before they left the lodge.
He waited impatiently for her answer.
You dragged me away from the best powder in years for a god-
damn fashion show? Helen uncomfortably eyed the woman sitting
beside Poole the spitting image of her eldest sister, Anne. Its
a good disguise, but itll take more than smoke and mirrors to fool
Daddy.
I assure you, its much more than smoke and mirrors. The Anne-
a-likes voice started out hollow, metallic, but quickly modulated to
match the real McCoy. It was uncanny, actually. Flawless. The tone,
the cadence, the inflection All perfect. Helen gaped.
Poole continued. All we need from you is a little information.
And to distract dear old Dad long enough for us to abscond with his
guest.
Why do you want this guy so badly? Did he break one of your
unwritten spy codes or something?
Hes a terrorist, Helen.
Youre a terrorist, Richard.
Dont believe everything you read. A fourth speaker: well dressed,
English, dressed in a light brown blazer, and sitting to Helens right
holding an apple martini. Poole had referred to him as Clearwater
undoubtedly another of his crowds fancy codenames.
See, actually. Helen mustered the sternest look she could man-
age and leveled it squarely at Poole. I saw it, Richard. They have you
on camera attacking the CDC.
Wrong place, wrong time. Poole casually waved his hand for
emphasis. I was after the people who let the virus loose.
Wednesday, July 21, 2004
0746 hours GMT (9:46am local time)
Chteau des Goodchilde, Nice
Daddy! Helen bounded out of the limousine toward her waiting
father, hopping up and wrapping her arms round his neck. Trevor
faltered, fighting to disengage her, and spotted others approaching:
Anne, his most devoted and successful daughter, and another he
didnt recognize. He sensed trouble.
Father Helen feigned a formal tone. This is David my
fianc.
Clearwater stepped up and offered his hand. He chose his most
annoying accent and projected like Trevor was in the cheap seats.
David Cook, sir! Very fine pleasure to meet you!
Janus adopted her most convincing look of disapproval. Trevor
tried to smile, but it came off as a poorly disguised scowl with a side
order of scheming manipulation. Already he was searching for a way
to correct his youngest daughters latest blunder.
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So, Mr. Cook, tell me about yourself. What do you do?
This was Clearwaters favorite part. Ah! Well, I dabble... Last year
I was in hotels.
Really... Trevors eyebrow rose. Perhaps there was hope for this
one yet.
Cooks Carnie Cruiselines! All the quirky charm of backwoods
America on the high seas!
Trevor audibly groaned.
Market wasnt ready, though. Another idea ahead of its time! Im
sure you know plenty about that, though, eh? Enterprisin man like
yerself! Clearwater jovially jabbed Trevor in the shoulder.
Forty feet away, in her guise as the chauffer, Lynx closed the lim-
ousine door and headed for the drivers seat. Inside the vehicle, Poole
crawled out of a hidden compartment between the passenger area
and the trunk. He chuckled at Clearwaters performance and checked
the hidden firing chamber in his umbrella, making sure it was clean
and ready to fire. He didnt expect to use it, but in his experience,
missions had a way of venturing off the beaten path.
Pooles mind drifted to his first encounter with Trevor Goodchilde,
when they were less gray and more nave. The Shadow Patriots
were new to the world then, owning their steps and everyone who
stumbled across them. They were on the trail of the worlds most
notorious assassin the sniper Jericho, otherwise known as The
Triggerman whose harassing annual kills had most recently stolen
the life of one of Englands most esteemed barristers. By intention or
happenstance, the shooting had undermined the prosecution of sev-
eral Nazi war criminals, extending their stays at private and Poole
thought somewhat posh prison facilities. In at least one case, the
shooting provided time for ambitious domestic scientists to barter for
restricted asylum in exchange for knowledge about a mysterious Third
Reich research program called Messiah.
The Patriots were less than pleased, and shifted many of their most
capable operatives to the task of apprehending Jericho. Unfortunately,
they made little progress in the weeks leading up to the so-called Day
of the Bullet March 20 when the assassin made his single,
decisive move each year. It wasnt until the eve of Jerichos 1995
attack when they scored their first coup, or so they thought. They
stumbled onto a group of what appeared to be mercenaries hunting
a Belgian physician named Kerel Termeulen, who was promoting a
soon-to-be-published DNA theory that certain super genes could
be identified and toggled to improve, or even expand, the human
condition. Though the theory was largely ignored, the recent advent
of gene therapy was stunning the world and Dr. Termeulen had man-
aged a meager tour to promote his idea.
Poole believed the mercenaries worked for Jericho, scouting
prime kill zones along the tour route, and he focused the Patriots
on learning all they could about them. He was wrong, however, and
the distraction kept them from leads that might otherwise have led
to the real killer. While the Patriots shadowed the mercenaries, the
Triggerman struck, killing Dr. Termeulen in his sleep. The physicians
theory never made it into the journals and vanished from confused or
complicit editors offices. His notes were never found.
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Days later and much to his surprise, Poole discovered that the
mercenary team was actually hired by a relatively new player on the
espionage scene: Trevor Goodchilde, billionaire CEO of Goodchilde
Industries. Poole knew the family; hed been close with Trevors father
Gregory, whod launched the CIA think tank codenamed BRAINCHILD
and mentored Nathan Sparks through his early days in the spy game.
Gregory was killed two years earlier and hed left most of his vast
fortune to his exuberant son. At the time, Poole was sure theyd seen
the last of the Goodchilde legacy Trevor was, after all, a reckless
playboy with a shameful brood of illegitimate daughters sired over
years of dalliance across the globe.
Instead, it seemed Trevor had embraced his fathers passion for
a better world, perhaps out of guilt after Gregorys violent death. If
only hed embraced his fathers restraint and collaboration as well
Trevor saw the world careening dangerously off the rails and made it
his single-minded mission to right the course at any cost.
Wednesday, July 21, 2004
0759 hours GMT (3:59pm local time)
Tibetan Plateau, China
This is crazy. Jessica stood over several fallen Dynasty guards,
watching a bank of monitors, searching in vain for other options.
Across the screens, the rest of the insertion team simultaneously
approached two other objectives the bases biochem and a loading
bay where Dynasty laborers filled cargo trucks with unmarked barrels.
At the former, Alex hugged a wall and inched toward several guards,
while at the latter, Raven and Clean Sweep planted the last of several
bricks of C4 on the cargo trucks fueling tanks.
Behind Jessica, Felix rigged the control room to go up with the rest
of the base. Its your plan, Jess, he said, and as times for second
guessing go, this aint the best.
She broke into a smile, surprised by his casual rhythm. Sure,
she said.
The Dr. Termeulen debacle was just the beginning. Over the next
decade Trevor continued to meddle. He made rash assumptions and
took irresponsible actions, constantly getting in the way and upset-
ting Patriot operations. Worse, he dragged most of his daughters into
the chaos, appointing them heads not only of Goodchilde Industries
public divisions but also their clandestine counterparts, where they
realized his private ambition. Only Helen, the youngest of the litter
and Trevors unabashed favorite, was spared.
And now Ive gone and cocked that up as well, Poole thought. He
afforded himself a glance through the limos tinted glass. Clearwaters
ruse seemed to have worked he swung his arm around Trevor with
all the familiarity of a tactless stranger and led him into the chateaux.
Janus and Helen were close behind, effortlessly faking the real sisters
chilly rapport.
Im sorry, Gregory. I wanted to protect her from all this.
Boss? Lynx drew Poole back into the moment. You all right?
Fine. Back to business then. Poole scanned the rear of the
chateau. Stone steps led from the parking lot to a high grassy ridge
behind the building. From there Lynx could cover three escape routes.
Janus had orders to watch the front of the building while the others
kept Trevor busy. That left the rest of the house.
Poole grabbed his umbrella and headed up the steps. As he crested
the ridge, memories of Yerik fleeted across his minds eye, and he
realized that he still hadnt talked to Alex about her father, about
Taipei He made a mental note to give her some hell about it when
the current crisis ended.
If the current crisis ended
He came up beside her. Its a good plan, actually. The best we
could hope for, given the circumstances.
No one expected to find the base prepping a massive worldwide
delivery of the contagion, let alone a fleet of duster-bombers and
cargo trucks ready to head out the door. The team had to act fast and
that meant splitting up and taking on a small army with no backup
and in some cases alone...
Alex readied two SIG-Sauer P-229s, one in each hand, and took a
deep breath. She swiveled around the corner and launched out into
the lab, each hand instinctively drawing a bead on one of the two
closest guards. Both dropped instantly. She trained on new targets
and squeezed the triggers a second time, relying on the weapons
double-action to carry her through before the last of the enemies
could grab their slung assault rifles.
A third guard fell, but the fourth did not; a researcher collapsed
behind him instead. It was her off hand, but still shed missed by
three inches. Might as well have been ten feet.
She dropped into a roll and focused the momentum to bowl past
the remaining guard and into another room. She came up into a
crouch behind a thin metal gurney and waited for the sputter-spray
of the guards Daewoo to follow, but instead she heard a heavy
metallic thud, followed by the sound of a body collapsing to the cold
stone floor.
She tentatively glanced out from behind cover to find the fourth
guard lying unconscious in the doorway, the last researcher rushing
toward her, unarmed.
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Thank God! the researcher exclaimed, in clipped English. They
force me to help! I want to leave but they force me to help! Please,
take me with you!
The words became a hollow echo through the silent corridors of
Alexs mind. Her eyes fixed on the gurney and she was suddenly
overwhelmed with a sense of helplessness. She was strapped in place
as sterile, uncaring men with needles infected her with vile, flesh-
consuming chemicals men like the researcher pleading with her
now. Men including this researcher
Do you know how to cure it? she asked him.
The researcher came up short. No, he said after some time. No
one doe
His sentence ended with a metal crack and the dull thud of another
body collapsing to the floor: his own. Alex set the last brick of C4 and
dropped it onto the researchers body. It was a few feet from opti-
mum placement, but anointing the lab with the blood of her captors
seemed like a pretty strong tradeoff.
She stalked toward the door. One minute, she said into her mike.
One minute before all hell breaks loose.
Alex almost smiled. She was finally starting to feel like herself
again.
Helens face broke into a wide smile. She positively beamed.
You pleased with yourself? Poole asked from his hiding place,
only a few feet away.
I am, she grinned. Its always so much more fun in his house
when youre around.
He realized a second later how vulnerable his position was, that he
should have stepped out into the open before he talked to her. She
slipped into the shadows with him, sliding between his tense body
and the rear of the statue. The move was slow and she made sure to
hug all the right parts along the way.
Remember the first time I brought you home to meet him?
He smirked, pulled away, and stepped out onto the landing.
Having my fourth bicuspid in a jar is a pretty clear reminder.
She smiled. Shed always appreciated his dark sense of humor. We
were a good match, she pressed, closing on him again.
He held her at bay, but only just. Helen, you know theres only one
woman for me these days.
Lucky girl, she said, playfully. Call me when you get her killed.
If she doesnt beat me to it, he thought. He set about searching
the rest of the second floor, slipping into one of the guest bedrooms
and, finding no occupants, heading for the closet. Halfway across
the room, he heard something hit the concrete through the rooms
open balcony doors. He moved to the railing, where he spotted two
Wednesday, July 21, 2004
0803 hours GMT (10:03am local time)
Chteau des Goodchilde, Nice
Poole slipped behind a statue of Lilith the Temptress, in a shad-
owed alcove at the head of the chateaus grand staircase. Moments
later, Trevor Goodchilde reached the top of the stairs, turning toward
his second floor study. Helen trailed close behind.
Father, I love him! she cried. Poole silently nodded to himself.
She wasnt half bad.
You loved the bullfighter, too.
Clearwater called up from the foyer. Yo dad! he said. Mind if
I poke around the wine cellar? I could use a touch and a drink, if
ya get my meanin!
Trevor sighed. His eyelids dropped and his shoulders sank. He didnt
look back at his youngest daughter, speaking over his shoulder. Get
that idiot whatever he wants to drink and get him off my property.
Next time you come home, come alone. He stormed into his study
and slammed the door shut behind him.
figures, a man and a woman, fleeing across the rear lawn. Ahead of
them, the tennis court was literally opening up, splitting apart and
sliding open to reveal a gaping rectangular pit threatening to swallow
them whole.
Ive got them! Poole said into his headset. He leapt to the ground
as guards appeared from inside the building and across the field.
Got it. Lynx headed back to the limo.
Poole fired his umbrella gun at the nearest guard and turned his
attention to Thorne and his companion. Theyre headed for the ten-
nis courts. I think Oh, Trevor, this is impressive, even for you
What is it? Lynx asked.
Two Harrier jump jets rose into view, priming for lift-off on a
massive platform rising through the pit. Emilio and his companion
made for one of them and two of the guards on the field broke away,
heading for the other.
Forget the limo, Lynx. We just scored an upgrade.
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OPERATION: NIGHTFALL
Wednesday, July 21, 2004
0804 hours GMT (4:04pm local time)
Tibetan Plateau, China
The explosions in the control center and the labs had drawn most of
the troops away from the loading bay, but several lingered at the exit,
including the Dynastys champion swordsman, Grandmaster Go. Most
of the virus was already on board and drivers and pilots were already
in many of the cabs and cockpits, readying to depart for uninfected
areas across the globe
From their hiding place, Clean Sweep and Raven nodded in agree-
ment they couldnt wait any longer. They opened fire on the lead
vehicle, focusing their shots on the tires and drivers side window.
Return fire forced them back behind cover, and they gave the guards
a few seconds to waste ammo. Raven cocked her head toward a stack
of crates closer to the trucks and leaned out to provide cover fire
as Clean Sweep made the run. She strafed Gos
former position, noting with a chill that he
was no longer anywhere in sight...
Clean Sweep had never had the
greatest respect for melee special-
ists. He mocked members of the
Krypts Cadaver Corps, like
Raven, who trained with Close
Quarters Battle techniques
and specialized in knives
and garrotes. He assured
them he could cut down
any poker or slasher
before they got close
enough for their primitive
weapons to matter. To Clean
Sweep range was everything, and
today he was elated to once again be
proven right, mowing down two ranks of
the Dynastys pathetic guards before he even
reached his new roost.
He slid into place behind a large crate and paused for a moment
to let his pulse and breathing synchronize. It was an old snipers trick
that applied just as well in combat: it kept you calm and helped you
pace your fire, time your shots, and even track the rounds left in your
magazine. He took the moment to visualize the room again where
hed last seen the remaining guards and where theyd likely be in two
seconds when he came up for another round of fire.
It was his last thought. At the count of one a distracting flash verti-
cally sliced through his field of vision and Gos sword cleanly severed
his face and skull, bisecting his brain. The death strike shattered
the cap of his spine, leaving the hemispheres of his head to topple
sidelong into his lap like melon halves.
Raven was accustomed with Clean Sweeps field regimen and rose
from cover a second later, when he would have hit the count of two.
The gory mess beneath Gos perch drew her attention and she missed
a beat, affording the guards time to open fire. The crates around
her exploded, showering her in wood fragments, and she was vaguely
aware of the bullet that tore through her right side. She let the
impact carry her to the floor, shifting only slightly so her left shoulder
would buffer the fall. She went limp, hoping theyd assume she was
down for the count, and exhaled in relief as the shooting stopped a
second later.
The following sound wasnt quite as welcome: the roar of truck
engines as the convoy moved out. Raven mustered her strength, rolled
to the edge of the available cover, and launched into an open run. She
lined up her shot, whispered a prayer she learned at grammar school,
and pulled the trigger. Maybe those sharpshooting tips Clean Sweep
had passed along on the flight over would prove useful after all...
She heard the bay doors tension chain snap, followed by the grati-
fying rattle of the door sliding shut in front of the first slow-moving
trucks. She nearly hollered in celebration but knew she couldnt afford
the moment. Instead she whispered a quiet thanks to her God above,
twisted, and slammed her back against the door, unloading across
the first three trucks. The drivers bodies jerked within the cabs and
then splayed out across the wheels, sending the vehicles rolling away
at odd angles.
Another unexpected sound, though one Raven recognized instantly:
the whistling spin of a thrown dagger.
She tried to shift position but it
was already too late the
blade wedged under her left
shoulder blade and punched
through the bay door, pin-
ning her in place.
Go closed the distance
between them with prac-
ticed follow-through,
casually tearing the SMG
from her shaky grip. His left
hand shot out to clutch her
throat and her breath fled.
His other hammer-like fist
crashed across her temple
and her vision blurred. She
struggled, digging her nails into
the hide along his fingers, but he
merely growled and pummeled her
again. She felt light-headed.
Another crushing blow and something went limp. It might have
been her legs. She wasnt aware that she was fighting back anymore,
so it might have been her arms as well.
Another. Something cracked near her ear. It had to be near her ear.
She couldnt have noticed anything much father away.
Another. Her fading pulse was all she could hear now that, and
the booming thunder of Gos fist pulverizing her head and chest.
Everything grew cold.
Ano What little remained of Ravens senses noted a curious
pause, or maybe theyd failed altogether and she was shuffling off to
meet Clean Sweep...
Go felt the familiar sting of a fresh wound open up along his left
shoulder, a bullet grazing the meat and deflecting off his fifth cervical
bone. He turned to find Alex Kole aiming her P-229 at his head, her
face a blank, emotionless mask. Hed seen this in the Dynastys finest
warriors. She was beyond emotion, beyond provocation. In her mind,
at this moment, everything was merely action and reaction.
Perhaps she was finally ready to face him. Perhaps, after all this
time, the student was ready to challenge the master... He might even
have indulged her, if it werent for her poor choice of weapon. A
handgun! Had he taught her nothing?
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OPERATION: NIGHTFALL
Go spun toward Alex, hurling Ravens limp body toward her. She
let go of her weapon to catch her protg on the off chance that
she still lived and felt Go breeze past her. She didnt put up a
defense; she knew he wouldnt dishonor himself with an attack when
she was aiding a fallen ally. She heard her pistol scatter across the
rooms cement floor and understood the challenge. He darted toward
Clean Sweeps body and wrenched his sword out of the mans face,
whipping the blood from its edge.
A trail for you to follow, my little cub
Alex laid Raven gently on the floor and did all she could to stabilize
her. She whispered a silent prayer because although shed abandoned
her faith long ago, Raven still believed. Then she rose, drew her dag-
gers the very same weapons Go gifted to her when she first drew
his blood and followed his crimson path...
Sparks shifted to Oscar and called up a corporate profile: Themis
Enterprises subsidiary: Children of Tomorrow Foundation sub-
sidiary... He saw the words before the read them.
Goodchilde Industries.
Why am I not surprised? Why am I Never. Frakking. Surprised?
Back at Opie, Sparks found that occasionally, he was: I can help
you.
Sparks stared at the cursor. Blink. Blink... He sensed the hammer
falling.
There are conditions
Wednesday, July 21, 2004
0813 hours GMT (10:13am local time)
Cote DAzur, 10 miles outside Nice
The jets leveled off just above the water, cutting wide swaths
through the lapping surface as they raced out toward a picture-
perfect horizon of unbroken blue. They darted and drifted, fighting to
gain and spoil the attack vector. With identical gear, it came down to
the pilots, and whoever was with Thorne certainly had the chops; try
as Lynx might, she couldnt manage the upper hand.
The forward plane pulled up and flew toward the morning sun.
Lynx fell in behind, fighting the sudden rush of G force. Behind her,
Poole eyed the radio. He hadnt been able to raise Nathan in several
minutes...
What the hell? Sparks searched for another connection but every
time he found one, it quickly shut down as if all communication
from his point of origin was being systematically silenced in transit.
Of course! He shifted to Opie and patched in.
OWNERSHIP: he typed. GROUND RELAY STATIONS
FRANCE.
Fourteen seconds later, one of the Nets local specialists tapped in
Hopscotch, aka Vivienne LeVan. Sparks had never worked with her,
but he knew her by reputation. Territorial mistress of the European
telecommunications arena, shed been instrumental in developing
the electronic underground railroad through which many of the
Banshees had initially escaped prosecution after the Mouthwash
Confession was released. Shed also spearheaded a divergent faction
of the Banshees when BRAINCHILD fell apart, a group that retired to
southern France and refused all communication. By all accounts, she
disagreed with Sparks views about changing the world, about having
to tear down the system before a new one could be built in its place.
Rumor had it that shed spent the last several years seeking ways to
prove him wrong.
LeVans response was one word: Private.
YOURS?
More private. Illegal monopoly buy. Hours ago.
WHO?
Nathan started to wonder which end of todays sting he and the
others were actually on.
Themis Enterprises.
Wednesday, July 21, 2004
0815 hours GMT (4:15pm local time)
Tibetan Plateau, China
Drivers and laborers watched nervously from hiding at the edges
of the room. Every so often they spotted one of the combatants and
withdrew if the cat-and-mouse game got too close. The rest of the
time the room was deathly still, possessed of an unearthly calm. It
was as if time itself was waiting to praise the victor and mourn
the victim.
Alex cautiously stepped through an intersection between tall cargo
containers. She glanced in both directions but saw no sign of Gos
presence. Still, she knew he was close. Even now, years after her
training had ended, his disapproval hung in the air like fresh sweat.
I see few scars, young one! Gos voice echoed between the
containers, making it hard to pinpoint his location. Im not surprised.
Your whelp didnt seem worthy.
Some students respond better to encouragement, Master.
Only the timid and the weak! Like a raging phantom, Grandmaster
Go swept past her, stressing each point with a clean cut through
Alexs cat suit. Then he was gone again, vanished in the haze of
pain and gushing blood. Alex pushed both aside and let her eyelids
drop, focusing only on the sounds around her. She dropped out the
whimpers and scuffle of fleeing observers and picked out the subtle
vibrations beneath them. Thats where shed find Go.
For the student to become the master, she must accept the
masters burden. Go knew what she was trying to do, and he raised
and threw his voice to confuse her. Youve never been ready to carry
that weight, young one. Perhaps you never will be.
Alex made out a subtle pressure, a foot pushing off one of the con-
tainers above her, and as one fluid motion she drew and loosed a thin
throwing dagger. She smiled at Gos involuntary grunt as the blade
struck home. He landed across the aisle and pulled the dagger from
between his ribs, noting with grim amusement that the blade had
failed to hit anything vital. It wasnt an attack, he realized, it was a
message: shed disagreed in the only language he really understood.
Go rose and surveyed the room, but Alex was gone. Shed used his
moment of distraction to reposition. For the first time in the fight she
had the advantage. Now she was the hunter.
You were always good at disappearing, young one. Never ready
to face your demons. How many times have you run so you wouldnt
have to prove yourself? How many people have you abandoned,
seeking forgiveness over respect? Me? Those lawless dead in Russia?
Your father.
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OPERATION: NIGHTFALL
Gos eyes darted from one huddled observer to the next until he
found one that wasnt watching him: a young female researcher star-
ing up into the rooms rafters. His left hand shot down to his thigh,
seeking a dagger, but it never arrived. Alex landed beside him, her
blade shaving down the left side of his head, and his hearing went
haywire. He lost his balance and staggered, collapsing at her feet.
I dont want your burden, but Ill carry this. She plucked his left
ear out of a pool of blood and held it aloft for him to see. When
youre ready to take it back, Ill be waiting.
Her headset crackled to life. Alex, status! It was Jessica.
Im just about done here, she said.
We gotta move! She felt the first rumbling explosions deep
within the complex.
Another day... master.
Alex tumbled off the containers and out of sight.
What the hell are you doing? Lynx asked.
Harriers dont have self-sealing tanks. Maybe if I can nick the fuel
line
Are you crazy? Even if that could work Oh God
The Harrier had swung around and presently closed with them. At
a hundred feet it slowed to a still hover. Lynx closed her eyes and
waited for the familiar whoosh of ignited missile fuel.
It never came. Lynx blinked and found the plane just hanging there,
like a wild animal savoring its next meal. It gentle back-and-forth bob
was like measured, menacing breath.
Pooles gun was at his side and his eyes were narrow; if Lynx didnt
know better, shed swear he was staring the pilot down. Actually, she
didnt know better.
Boss? she asked, but he ignored her.
The Harrier gracefully dropped to earth, landing. Pooles eyes
didnt leave the cockpit until the occupants jumped out onto the sand.
The pilot reached up to remove her flight helmet, revealing a cascade
of scarlet hair and a round, playful face.
Wednesday, July 21, 2004
0818 hours GMT (10:18am local time)
Cote DAzur, 10 miles outside Nice
As their Harrier punched through the cloud blanket, Lynx and
Poole scanned the puffy expanse. The other jet was nowhere in sight.
Thornes plane had banked hard 1,500 ft. below and Lynx had tried
to undershoot, picking up speed beneath the clouds to come in right
on the preys tail. Unfortunately, it seemed Thornes mystery woman
had seen that coming.
The second Harrier lifted up out of the blanket right behind the
Patriots and loosed a Sidewinder missile. Lynx throttled hard to stern,
pulling back down into the clouds. Poole loosed a string of flares
behind them but all that managed to do was set the explosion close
behind. The force of the blast shot the Harrier into an uncontrolled
barrel dive, out the bottom of the clouds and falling, toward a small
island breaking up the endless waves.
Lynx fought the death dive but by 1,500 ft. she knew it was futile.
She triggered both ejection seats and braced for the drag out of her
cockpit. With no one at the helm the Harrier dropped like a stone,
smashing into a lightly forested section of the island and sending a
fireball into the cool morning air.
The moment they landed and freed themselves of the jettisoned
chairs they ran for cover, but the treeline was still a hundred yards
away as the other jet roared overhead. Poole reached for his sidearm
and took aim.
Hello Richard, she said.
Barbara, Poole nodded.
Wheaton! the pilot gestured back to her passenger. Meet
Sir Richard Poole, former MI6 superstar and... other things. She
smiled.
Lynx pinched her leg. Nope, she wasnt dead. This was actually
happening. Um, boss? Whos this? And why arent you shooting
her?
Lynx, Poole answered, meet Barbara Goodchilde.
Another one? Lynx said. How many are there?
Eight, Barbara said, but Richard only amuses three of us. The
other five want him dead.
An aggravated smile crept across Pooles face. All right Barbara
If youre here, tell me, where is Emilio Thorne?
Wednesday, July 21, 2004
0835 hours GMT (10:35am local time)
25,000 ft. above France
and as the death toll rises across the globe this morning, opera-
tives of Project Pitfall promise a swift resolution to this latest string of
terrorist attacks, assuring the public that the perpetrators are within
their grasp. Director Stephen Century had this to say about the notori-
ous Shadow Patriots, who are believed to be behind the campai
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OPERATION: NIGHTFALL
Asia Aragassi reached over and turned the radio off. She looked
to Emilio, whod collapsed into a deep sleep in the chair beside her,
his adrenaline rush undermined by the low rumble of the private jets
engines. It was a masterstroke for him to seek Trevor Goodchildes
help, and a stunning turn of events for the mogul to go so far out
of his way for the Syndicate figurehead. Asia wondered whether this
was just good fortune or something more... sinister. Shed come to
expect absurd coincidence from her employer, but this was elaborate
even for him.
She rose to her feet and quietly slipped off, heading for the lava-
tory. Inside, she flipped the face of her watch aside to reveal a tiny
prism. The jewel flashed, scanning across her features for confirma-
tion, and several seconds later it projected a holographic cone of light
before her.
Your progress is appalling. The screechy male voice belonged
to a figure dressed in stark white with tiny round goggles. His aged
skin hung on him like a badly fitted coat, and wild, colorless hair shot
out from the crown of his head like a small torch blaze. Beside him
stood his closest personal protector, the mutant mercenary known as
Strik-9, whose blood coursed with a unique poison, one of the most
virulent killer contagions on earth.
Dr. Friedrich Kholera waited for Asias unacceptable excuse.
We ran into a little more resistance than expected. Pooles people
arent working alone. The Banshees and the Krypt are helping them.
Thorne must not fall into their hands! Kholera screamed. It was
unnerving. Something else must have gone wrong for him to be this
emotional.
Asia hesitated. When will I be extracted? she asked.
When the process is complete, my dear, and no sooner. The
Ark awaits, but everyone must serve to board. What is your next
destination?
The Americas, she said.
Excellent. Ill send the Khans daughters to intercept you.
Remember, my dear I have shown you the future. Do not fail me,
or Ill take it away.
The hologram vanished, leaving Asia in the coolly lit stall. Her heart
raced and her hands shook. She looked into the mirror and everything
was different. For the first time, she didnt recognize the fearful
woman staring back. She wiped her face but all it did was burn.
She cupped water in her hands and splashed it over her cheeks and
forehead, but nothing worked.
For the first time, she realized she might not survive this, and
worse she realized that Emilio wouldnt either.
To be continued in...
COMING SOON!
David Durrett (order #5794999)