James Swallow - Deus Ex - Icarus Effect

In one fluid move, the assassin bent down and snapped the unconscious Frenchman’s neck; then she stalked toward Anna on her slender, silent machine legs.

“Wh-what about me?” D-Bar managed, trying to keep the fear from his voice as he watched Federova drag Anna to her feet. “We had an agreement…”

“Contingent on your continued value to the group,” Namir replied coldly. “Care to prove that?”

Before the hacker could reply, a hiss of static rattled from the radio in his pocket, and he gathered it up. Then there was a voice, wracked with pain “ Kelso…”

Namir stormed forward and snatched the radio from D-Bar’s hand, meeting Federova’s gaze. “The jet…”

“Kelso, do you read me?” said the voice. “ This is Saxon! We’ve been set up!”

“You… said they’d be gone,” D-Bar replied.

“Be quiet,” Namir told him, looking into the distance for a moment. Then he turned his attention to Anna and raised the radio to his lips. “Ah, Benjamin,” he began, “I’m afraid it’s worse than you think.”

“Saxon, no—!” Federova’s hand shot out like a striking cobra and clamped tight around Anna’s throat, silencing her.

“Namir.” Saxon moved away as fast as he could, dropping into the shadows cast behind a dormant runway service robot. “You’re getting sloppy, mate. I’m still breathing.”

“I admire your tenacity, Ben.” The reply resonated through the bones of his skull, making his teeth itch. “It’s one of the things that drew me to you. I’m only sorry I couldn’t find a way to make better use of it.”

“You’re welcome to try and kill me again,” Saxon retorted. “Let’s have a face-to-face and talk about it over a pint, yeah?”

There was a long pause before Namir came back on. “Be realistic, Ben. You don’t have a play here. Even if you make it outside the airport perimeter, where can you go? Geneva belongs to our people. By dawn, all this mess you’ve made will be glossed over and done with.”

Saxon listened to the other man’s words, feeling for a lie beneath them. He’d heard Anna Kelso’s voice, just for a moment, so he knew she was still alive. But there was something else, something in Namir’s manner, the same thing he’d heard when the mission in Detroit had been disrupted. The van… the bomb… If it had gone right, Namir’s tone would have told the tale.

He decided to take a chance. “I’m not the one who just blew his objective. Taggart will be spooked. He won’t show. You’ll never get to him.”

Namir’s reply was all the confirmation he needed. “I beg to differ. Our friend in the Humanity Front has more courage than you credit him for. Believe me, he will speak tomorrow. We’ll make certain of it. Too much has been invested in this for an irritant like you to derail things now.”

Flashlight beams danced on the ground nearby, and Saxon shifted, stealthily making his way around the rear of the robot garage. Across a service road, he could see a chain-link fence and the shapes of cargo warehouses beyond. He sprinted from shadow to shadow.

Namir’s voice dogged him all the way. “I have the woman, Kelso. Your fellow fugitive. I want your full and complete attention, Ben, or she dies. And it won’t be quick. I’ll give her to Barrett to toy with, do you understand?”

“Kill her,” Saxon bit out the bluff, ice forming in his gut. “She’s nothing to me.”

Namir chuckled. “You really are a very poor liar. You won’t let Kelso perish, not while there’s a chance to save her. Let me tell you how I know that.”

Saxon gripped a section of the fence and ripped it open, ducking under. In a moment, he was inside the darkened warehouse, moving away from the airport proper.

“You re guilty.” The ghost-voice echoed through his thoughts. “Guilty about the men you lost during Operation Rainbird. Guilty about those who lost their lives tonight while you didn’t. You’re guilty because you didn’t keep your promises. Am I close?”

“Piss off.” The words slipped from him before he could stop himself.

Namir laughed again. Survivor’s guilt, Ben. It’s what makes you weak. It’s how I controlled you when you were one of us and it’s how I’m going to control you now.” There was a pause, and when Namir spoke again, he was firm and commanding. “You and this little group of troublemakers are responsible for disrupting my line of attack against the target, but the plan is adaptable. You’re going to help me put it back on track.”

“Not bloody likely.” Saxon halted at a window, peering out. A police car raced past and he ducked back into cover.

“I’m not giving you the choice” Namir grated. “When William Taggart walks out onto the steps of the Palais des Nations at midday, he’s going to be shot dead by an augmented killer. Can you see where I’m going with this, Ben?”

A sense of grim inevitability settled on him. “Taggart’s life for the woman.”

“I knew you’d understand. Be at the grounds of the Palais one hour before. If you try anything foolish, I’ll make sure Barrett transmits every last second of what he does to Kelso, so that the only way to silence it will be to dig that comm implant out of your skull. Are we clear?”

“As crystal…”

A click echoed in his head as the line went dead. Saxon sat in the dark and the quiet, the promises he had made turning over and over in his thoughts. Sam and Kano, Anna…

Damn Namir, but the bastard was right. He knew Saxon couldn’t walk away, not now, not after everything that had happened—because for every second he was still alive, there was still a chance he could get Kelso out of there, still a chance he could find Jaron Namir and end him.

He had broken a vow to Sam Duarte, a promise to get him home again. He wouldn’t let Anna down the same way.

Saxon found a door and forced it open, slipping out to the road. A tram terminal, empty this early in the morning, glittered in the dark. He climbed to the platform, finding a shaded corner to wait for the next train into the city.

When he was sure he was alone, Saxon reached for the cracked and scratched vu-phone in his pocket, and dialed a number.

The call was answered instantly by a voice made of echoes and phantoms. “Hello, Ben. Are you all right? I feared the worst.”

“ I need help, Janus.”

“ What can I do?”

Saxon thought about the communications display he’d seen on board the Tyrants jet, and the Icarus ghost-node. “I need you to help me find something.”

Route de Ferny—Geneva—Switzerland

He found a restroom at the terminal where he could clean himself up and take stock of his options. When Saxon was ready, he picked the pocket of an unwary night-shift worker and used her pass to ride the tram to the Nations station.

When he got there, he found a confusion of crowds strung out along the line of the open plaza, leading to the southern gate of the Palais. They clustered around the base of the Broken Chair, a twelve-meter-tall sculpture of a wooden seat with one shattered leg—a symbol for the victims of land mines and cluster bombs. There were two groups, each as loud as the other, each sporting banners and placards in English and French. The first were pro-augmentation, transhumanist activists, rallying around the sculpture as if they could use it as an image to underline their desire for freedom to control the human body; the other, larger group were against them, calling for the regulation of cybernetic enhancements. Their banners read Stop Playing God, Protect Mankind and other familiar slogans. He saw the symbols of Taggart’s movement, the Humanity Front, at every turn.