James Swallow - Deus Ex - Icarus Effect

Then Anna realized she was looking at something she didn’t recognize. She didn’t get a lot of paper correspondence, maybe the odd circular or item of junk mail, but there on the desk was a pile of items, doubtless placed there by one of the investigators Temple had sent to search the apartment. The largest was a plastic box, postmarked from the city that day, but with no return address details. She shook it gingerly, and then, with care, used her thumbnail to peel back the wrapping. Inside was a courier case with simple print lock. Anna tapped it with her index finger and it opened with a click; the noise seemed like a gunshot in the quiet of the apartment, and it made her flinch.

Inside there was a commercial data card, coded with a one-way rail ticket from Washington, D.C., across the border to Quebec. She found a Canadian passport with it, a high-grade fake using her face and a name she’d never heard before. The rest of the box was taken up with a flat, slab-sided device that resembled a rifle magazine; a Pulsar electromagnetic pulse grenade. She drew out the weapon and weighed it in her hand. It was a military-grade item, and possession of it alone was a felony… but that was hardly a concern for her now. Who had left her this gift, she wondered? Was it some contingency plan by D-Bar and his Juggernaut comrades, or a clever trap left behind by the Tyrants? She put the grenade back down and sighed.

For a moment, she thought the fatigue was playing tricks on her, but when it happened a second time, Kelso was certain she had heard someone say her name. She gave a start when she realized it was Eliza Cassan, the Picus network’s ever-present anchorwoman, voicing a breaking report on the Nightly World News. Anna fumbled for the television’s remote and turned up the volume. She saw her own face there on the thinscreen, a still from the agency’s press file. A line of text ticked past at the bottom of the image, the words talking about a multiple murder in Grand Falls, a manhunt getting under way…

“…at this hour. The Picus News Network had learned from sources within the Department of Justice that Agent Kelso was on suspension pending an investigation relating to an incident several months ago, when Senator Jane Skyler of Southern California was injured during an assassination attempt by members of the ruthless Red Arrow triad.” The picture was replaced with quick clips of Skyler, then FBI agents raiding the home of the senator’s maid. Cassan’s face reappeared, growing concerned. “ Some viewers may find the following footage disturbing. We have just obtained security recordings of the events at the Temple house that appear to incriminate Agent Anna Kelso in the brutal attack that took place earlier this evening”

Anna felt the blood drain from her face as grainy white-and-green images unfolded before her. She saw herself stalking through the halls of Temple’s home, a heavy weapon cradled in her arms. She gasped as the figure on the screen entered a room full of people and gunned them down with quick, callous motions. The image froze and zoomed in; the face looking back was very much her own.

“No…” she muttered. “That’s not me… They faked it…” She trailed off as the weight of her own words bore down. It made terrible, perfect sense. All the way back to the apartment, she had wondered why the Tyrant soldier who saw her hadn’t opened fire and gunned her down. She couldn’t understand why he had let her flee, but now she understood. It had to be part of this! They let her go so she could be framed for the killings, and she had played the part for them perfectly. Anna reeled with the sense of it; no one would believe her claims of conspiracy now. To the rest of the world, she would be seen as a violent criminal. A murderer and a traitor.

The screen showed the file photo of her face once more, this time captioned with the words Anna Kelso—Wanted Fugitive.

Panic boiled at the edge of her thoughts as she snatched up the daypack, the ticket, and the passport. She grabbed the EMP grenade and thrust it into the bag. Anna took two steps toward the front door and froze. A sense, an impression that years of training and expertise had instilled in her, pushed through the web of fear clouding her thoughts. A cool breath of air brushed her bare neck, and she turned slowly to look through into the dimly lit bathroom. Reflected in the mirror, she saw that the frosted window in there was open. It was closed , she told herself, trying to be sure of her own thoughts. I know it. I’m sure of it. When I came in here, it was closed—

Static prickled the hairs on her arms and Anna had the sudden, immediate knowledge that she was no longer alone. She spun, pulling the bag off her shoulder to swing it like a weapon, in time to see a lithe figure emerge from thin air, sketched in by ripples of silvery light, like oil on water. A woman, made of glass, becoming real.

Anna saw her face, the dark doll’s eyes and the predator’s smile on her lips; then she was coming at her, a wicked blade flashing though the air.

Romeo Airport—Michigan—United States of America

Saxon crossed underneath the fuselage of the jet, looking back and forth across the open space of the hangar. He should have known that Hardesty wouldn’t let the incident at the house pass without trying to turn it to his advantage; if the sniper had decided to use Saxon’s apparent insolence against him, there was no knowing how Namir might react to the situation.

As he reached the pools of shadow at the far edge of the hangar, he heard someone say his name, very clearly; the voice was unmistakably Hardesty’s. A moment later, Namir’s low tones reached him; the two men were outside on the apron. Saxon caught the familiar scent of Hardesty’s acrid cigarettes.

By reflex, Saxon shrank into the gloom, placing himself behind the bulk of a low-slung aircraft tractor—the dense construction of the service vehicle would hide his heat signature if either of the men chose to sweep the area with his optics. Dropping into a crouch, Saxon forced himself to slow his breathing and become as silent as possible. After a moment, their voices came to him on the faint breeze. He strained to hear what was being said.

Hardesty was speaking again. “I’m not trying to second-guess you, Namir. I know you got your reasons.” He turned away to exhale and Saxon lost the next few words. “… Don’t trust the limey, period. He’s a liability.”

“So you keep saying,” Namir replied, his voice level. “But your personal aversion is not my concern.”

“This isn’t personal!” Hardesty insisted hotly. There was a moment’s pause. “Okay, screw it. Yeah, it is personal. The son-of-a-bitch walks around like his shit don’t stink, with all that noble-soldier, honor-of-the-regiment crap. I’ve seen his kind before. I don’t like Saxon because he thinks he’s better than the rest of us.”

“He’s good at what he does. More than a match for you.”

Hardesty was silent for long seconds, and Saxon wondered if he had been spotted; but then the American went on. “That’s not the problem. It’s not that he’s a threat. He’s weak inside. I know what happened in the fight room. When push comes to shove, he’s going to fold. Believe me.”

Saxon’s lips thinned, but he kept his silence.

“We’ll see,” offered Namir.

But the next words Hardesty uttered froze Saxon’s blood in his veins. “You should have let me deal with him after Rainbird.” Just hearing him say the name of the grisly failure made Saxon’s gut twist with anger and sick dread. Namir’s reply was lost as the wind dropped for a moment, but Hardesty’s answer was clear. “We don’t need them both. Gunther’s the better choice. I say we put Saxon down. He’s never gonna be a cold-eyed stone killer. He just doesn’t have it in him.”