James Swallow - Deus Ex - Icarus Effect

“You really mean that?” asked the woman.

The more he watched D-Bar, the more Saxon saw how shaken he was. “I… I’ve been going through the files we got, the fragments we could salvage. You wouldn’t believe the stuff in there. Hints about the things they got planned. The things they’ve already done. We’re not just talking JFK and Roswell here, I mean this is big…” His eyes lost focus and his voice dropped to a whisper. “Majestic 12, the United Nations, the WTO… They’re so big. Every time you think you’ve seen the top, but it’s all just layers and other layers!” D-Bar caught himself and blinked. “I mean, how can we fight that?”

“We break up their game.” Saxon’s reply was iron hard. “They think they got a clear hit on Taggart? Not today.” He got to his feet. “Today we got the edge.”

“How’s that?” asked Kelso.

He smiled wolfishly. “They think you’re hiding in fear. They think I’m a dead man. So they’ll be looking the other way when we stick a knife in them.”

The countryside was dark and shrouded by heavy storm clouds, masking the approach of the airship. The transfer was swift, the massive craft moving low with all running lights extinguished, drifting along the center of the river to match pace with a long cargo barge steaming north toward the Swiss capital. On descenders, Powell and his men led the group to the deck of the vessel, and Anna looked up as her feet touched the rain-slick metal. In the night’s gloom, it seemed an impossible sight; the airship a featureless black cloud among gray companions, rising in silence amid the wind. In a few moments it merged with the overcast skies and was gone as if it had never been there. The rain came harder, and she pulled her hood tight over her head, hurrying below.

Inside the barge were five more men; they all had the same aura as the New Sons, the same wound-tight aggression simmering just beneath the surface, the same eternally alert manner of the career renegade. All of them were armed and showed off augmentations to a greater or lesser degree. Powell shook hands with their leader, a rail-thin man with unkempt, greasy hair and a ragged beard. He had implants covering his eyes, like frameless glasses. They were dark and reflected no color.

He extended a hand to Kelso and she shook it. “Welcome to Switzerland,” he said. The accent was French, but she picked up inflections that suggested he’d been educated in the States. “I’m Croix. You’ve brought us something interesting. The information on the hit is confirmed?”

“It’s solid,” said Powell, looking around. “Where’s the rest of your people?”

“Standing right in front of you,” said the Frenchman. Before Powell could argue he went on. “We have our own operations in progress. And this is extremely short notice.”

“You understand how important this is?” A nerve jumped in Powell’s jaw. “The reason we’re moving so fast on this is precisely because we have an unparalleled opportunity here. A chance to get the drop on the Tyrants!”

“Uaccord” said Croix, stepping closer to Saxon, “but we don’t have the manpower or the money that you do, my friend. We have to pick our fights.”

“You’re members of L’Ombre,” said Saxon. “I read the file on you guys when I was at Belltower.”

The name rang a bell with Anna; L’Ombre was on Interpol’s watch list as a known militant activist group in mainland Europe, linked to a number of incidents with an antiglobalization agenda. But given what she knew now of a clear connection between them and the New Sons of Freedom, she wondered how accurate that intelligence really was.

Croix allowed a smile. “Do we get good press?”

“Not really,” he admitted. “They wrote you off as day-players.”

The other man’s smile vanished. “Their mistake. We’re in this fight for the duration, believe me.” He looked Saxon up and down. “So you’re the turncoat, then? Lebedev told me you’d be joining us. Should I trust you?” His hand slipped to the revolver holstered at his belt.

“Your call, mate,” Saxon offered. “But I don’t think Lebedev would have shipped me halfway around the world just for you to kill me.”

“True,” said Croix.

“He helped us get the data on the Taggart hit,” said Anna, uncertain why she felt compelled to defend the man.

Croix glanced at her. “And you. You’re the fugitive. Interesting choice of recruits, Powell.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” said the other man. “So, can we cut to the chase here? What do you have for us?”

Croix snapped his fingers and one of his men produced a laptop. D-Bar immediately crowded in, studying the device. “As I said, we lack manpower but we make up for it in other areas. L’Ombre has access to certain sources of electronic intelligence.”

“What do you mean?”

D-Bar sniggered. “According to this, the Swiss sat-comm network has more holes than… well, you know, the cheese.”

“We exploit them,” said Croix. “As such, we’ve been able to track two distinct encrypted communications nodes that have appeared in the Geneva area.”

“They match what we have on record,” said the hacker. “It’s the Tyrants. They’re here, all right.”

Anna felt her pulse quicken, and she stepped closer to look at the laptop. “You’re telling me you can read their communications?”

“Of course they can’t,” D-Bar snapped irritably. “Quantum coding crypto? Don’t be stupid!”

“But we can recognize their presence. It’s a fingerprint,” said Powell.

Croix’s smile returned. “Oh, we’ve done better. We have locations.”

“How’d you manage that?” Saxon raised an eyebrow. “Namir’s team don’t make mistakes.”

“People get lucky sometimes, Saxon,” D-Bar broke in.

Croix nodded to the man with the laptop, who brought up a series of digital maps. “One of the communication nodes remains static at the airport.”

“Must be the jet,” said Saxon. “Namir uses it as a command post.”

“The second,” Croix went on, “is mobile.” He said something in French and the other man used the computer to show grainy footage from what appeared to be a traffic camera. “A delivery vehicle. It’s been making a circuit of the city.”

“Cleaning the route,” said Anna. “Making sure he’s not being tailed, before…”

“Before what?” asked Saxon.

Powell folded his arms. “That’s what we need to find out.” He was silent for a second. “All right. We need to do this right now. Take the vehicle and the jet at the same time. We don’t know what we’re dealing with, and we can’t afford to wait and watch.”

Anna saw something on the video footage that sparked a cold tremor of recognition within her. She moved closer, peering at the images.

“Taggart does not speak until midday,” Croix was saying. “They won’t move against him until then.”

“Are you sure? Do you want to take that risk?” Powell insisted.

“The plane will be the harder target, though, right?” said D-Bar. “And if Saxon is right, if that’s the control…” He swallowed. “Look, with this setup I can monitor the van from here—”

“No,” said Powell. “It has to be a simultaneous takedown.”

“The kid’s right, though,” offered Saxon. “That aircraft will be heavily defended. You try to storm it with anything less than a full team and the Tyrants will cut you to ribbons.”

“Croix.” Powell turned to the Frenchman, considering the other man’s words. “Get us an entry into the airport. Then set up a vehicle so we can at least tail the mobile. I’ll lead the team against the jet. Saxon will come with us.”