David Robbins - New York Run

Farrow tried to pull her arm free. “I’d like to go.”

“I’d imagine you would,” Yama said, his right hand a vise on her arm.

“You’re hurting me!” Farrow objected.

Yama’s right hand clamped tighter. “And how many innocent Family members did you intend to hurt?”

Farrow’s breath caught in her throat. “I… I… don’t know what you… mean,” she stammered.

“I think you do,” Yama stated. He released her arm and gazed at the area illuminated by the lantern. “How will they work it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Farrow cried.

Yama looked at her. “Keep your voice down!” he warned.

Farrow was chilled by the iciness of his tone. She sensed her world was coming apart at the seams, and she was panic-stricken.

“Did you take me for a complete imbecile?” Yama demanded in a hard whisper.

“I never—” she started to say.

“I will admit,” he said in a brittle, incriminating manner, “I was stupid enough to fall for your charade. I actually believed you cared for me! How dumb can I get!”

But I do! Farrow wanted to scream, but she couldn’t bring herself to speak the words. She was overwhelmed by the stunning realization she’d been wrong all along. He did really and truly like her!

“—but I couldn’t understand why you were so tormented,” Yama was telling her. “I tried to reason it out. I concocted a hundred and one excuses to justify your behavior.” He made a contemptuous sound. “I allowed myself to think you were troubled because of your affection for me! You didn’t want to commit yourself, knowing you would be returning to your own people! You already had someone special and didn’t want me to know!”

“I don’t have anyone—” Farrow mumbled, but he ignored her.

“And then today!” Yama said. “I see you at breakfast, and you won’t even look at me, let alone converse! Why? I asked myself again and again.

There was no rhyme or reason to the way you acted. I began to wonder if Plato and Rikki were right. They’ve been suspicious of you from the start, although Rikki gave you the benefit of the doubt. Before he left, Blade told us to keep an eye on you. Not to trust you.” He paused, his voice lowering sadly. “Not to trust you! And I went and developed deep affection for you!”

“But—” she began.

“And now you show up here! This late at night!” Yama cut her off.

“Why? I wondered. You were shocked to find me on duty. You wanted Ares to be here. Why? Because you knew I would suspect something was up.

Ares doesn’t know you as well as I do. He might accept your line about wanting fresh air. But I don’t!”

Farrow fought back an impulse to burst into tears. “Yama…”

“Shhhhh!” he cautioned her.

“Yama…”

Yama glanced at her, his face creased by lines of misery. “Don’t talk!”

“They’ll be using infrared goggles,” Farrow informed him. “They can see in the dark.”

Yama studied her for a second, then took her hand and pulled her down to the third step. He crouched and tugged on her hand. “Get down!”

Farrow squatted beside him. Their heads were now below the rampart and invisible to anyone scaling the west wall. “I’m sorry,” she said in his right ear. “I—

He placed his right hand over her mouth. “Not now. Later.”

Farrow stifled a sob. She felt utterly helpless, a prisoner of her own emotions, unable to intervene, bound by her duty as a Technic soldier on one hand, and her love for Yama on the other. She couldn’t violate her Technic oath, and she wouldn’t betray Yama. There was nothing she could do but ride it out and hope for the best.

Yama looked at her. “Thanks for letting me know about the goggles,” he whispered.

Farrow nodded, biting her lower lip. The demolition team would use a grappling hook and come over the northwest corner, where she was scheduled to meet them. What would Sergeant Darden do when they climbed the wall and discovered she wasn’t there? Abandon the mission?

Not very likely. Darden was dedicated. He would complete his assignment with or without her.

Yama had his left ear pressed to the top step, listening.

Farrow suddenly perceived the reason for the lantern. Yama was brilliant! Anyone coming over the wall would have a dilemma to resolve: what to do about the light? They could shoot out the lantern, but the Warriors would be alerted. They could circumvent the lighted portion of the rampart, but to do so would entail avoiding the stairs. And the stairs were the only means of reaching the inner bank, unless they dropped a line into the moat and swam across, a difficult proposition when carrying a backpack and field gear. No, the wisest recourse would be to leave the lantern alone, and attempt to reach the stairs undetected.

Only Yama was waiting for them at the top of the stairs.

Farrow tensed as a faint scuffing reached her ears. Was it Darden and the demolition team? She closed her eyes and performed an act she’d never done before; she prayed Darden would realize the lantern was a ruse and decide to abort the assignment.

Yama angled the Wilkinson barrel upward.

Her eyes now adjusted to the gloom, Farrow could distinguish Yama’s features. She wanted to reach out and tenderly caress his cheek, to let him know she was sorry for her stupidity. The turmoil in his tone had convinced her of his sincerity. There must be a perfectly reasonable explanation for the incident with the petite brunette. She would ask him about it when this was over.

There was a muffled thump from the northwest corner of the rampart.

Sergeant Darden and the demolition team had arrived!

Farrow could scarcely breathe, dreading the impending conflict, waiting for Yama to make his move. She clenched her hands until her nails bit into her palms.

Yama raised his ear from the first step.

Farrow knew whatever was going to happen was going to happen soon.

And she realized there was a chance Darden was aware someone was on the stairs. His ear amplifier might have detected Yama’s breathing, or hers for that matter. If Darden had, his squad would have their Dakons trained on the steps. They would shoot at anything that moved. Yama would be cut to ribbons.

Something nearby clicked.

Farrow suddenly reached out and grabbed Yama’s right arm. He glanced at her in surprise. “I love you,” she whispered, then, before he could move to stop her, she unexpectedly rose, facing the rampart. Facing Darden and the three members of his demolition team.

Sergeant Darden was nearest the lantern, perhaps four feet to its right.

Private Johnson, the loudmouth, was two feet from Darden. The one whose name she couldn’t remember came next, not six feet from the steps.

And Rundle, the plastics expert on the squad, was only two feet away, her Dakon II leveled, her finger on the trigger. She saw a shadowy form abruptly rise in front of her, and she instantly fired, the Dakon set on automatic.

Farrow was staggered by the impact. She felt an intense burning sensation in her chest, and she was flung across the stairs and against the opposite railing. Her left arm caught on the top rail, at the elbow, and she dangled limply with blood pouring from her wounds, her eyes riveted to the rampart, as Yama rose, his voice roaring a strangled “No!” as the Wilkinson chattered, and Private Rundle was smashed backward by the force of the slugs tearing into her body. Yama swiveled, and the unidentified trooper took several rounds in the face and was catapulted to the rampart. Sergeant Darden and Private Johnson opened up, but their target was already in motion, darting up the stairs and rolling across the rampart, coming erect near the lip, and the Wilkinson burped, slamming Private Johnson from his feet and hurling him over the edge and into the swirling moat below. Farrow saw Darden frantically pulling his Dakon’s trigger, and she recognized the gun was jammed. He dropped the Dakon and went for his automatic pistol. Farrow was amazed by what transpired next. She gaped as Yama tossed his own gun aside and rushed toward Darden, drawing his scimitar in a streaking, fluid blur. She could see the terrified expression on Darden’s face as he drew his automatic and tried to aim at the Warrior. But Yama was quicker, and he slashed the scimitar down, severing Darden’s gunhand from his arm. Darden opened his mouth to scream, and Yama flashed the scimitar crosswise, splitting Darden’s throat wide open, crimson gushing over the commando’s neck, and then Yama sliced the scimitar into Darden’s abdomen, once, twice, three times and tolled, and Darden’s intestines spilled over his pants and legs as he futilely clutched at his stomach. He slowly sank to the rampart, gurgling and spitting blood.