Ramez Naam - Nexus

No, he begged her. Don't go out there. They'll kill you.

He knew her answer before she spoke it, knew it before he felt it in her mind. She'd rather die than fall into the Kazakh army's hands. She'd rather die than endure the rapes and tortures at the hands of the dictator's secret police again.

He knew. He'd felt them all, relived them in her memories. Every moment of her abuse. He'd seethed with rage, seethed with helplessness. To her it was a fact of life. To him it was a betrayal. He hadn't fought on the side of rapists and torturers. He hadn't.

But he had.

No, he begged. I'll protect you.

He knew it was a lie, knew he wouldn't be able to. He begged anyway. Don't go. Please. Don't die.

Goodbye, Watson. Remember me. Remember us all.

She clanged the reinforced steel door to the cellar closed. He felt and heard her lock it from the other side. It hadn't been locked in weeks.

He fell to his knees, weeping. No. No. No.

He could hear the gunfire outside. Close, so close. He heard a scream. Had that been Temir's voice?

He rose up. He could feel her still, just outside the door. Something was preventing her from moving on. The gun. She'd picked up the gun. She was loading it. No!

The gunfire was inside the building now.

Wats roared in desperation. He dug his fingers into the tiny gap at the edge of the door. There was no handle to grip. He would make one with his hands. He screamed his need. Steel bent under his fingers. Steel gave, millimeter by millimeter.

He could feel Lunara on the other side of the door. Her gun was pointed up the stairs, waiting. Fear paralyzed her. He would make it through this door. He'd get her out of here, get them both out.

He felt the bullets rip through her body before he heard them, felt the icy pain lance through her before he felt the impacts on the door he gripped. They'd gone through her as if through paper. It took his breath away. He heard marines yelling. He could feel Lunara's life slipping away. He could feel her clinging to the Buddhism her Uyghur mother had brought from Mongolia, feel her clinging to the hope of rebirth, feel her hoping she'd improved her karma, that her next trip on the great wheel of being would be less filled with pain.

No!

"Stand back from the door!"

Wats couldn't comprehend it. He kept digging his fingers into the steel, kept squeezing, kept trying to get a grip that he could use to force it open.

They blew the hinges off. The door exploded inward, bearing him to the ground, slamming his head into the stone floor.

Then there was a Marine Corps medic above him, shining a light into his eyes, yelling into his face. "Can you hear me? Sergeant Cole, can you hear me? Are you hit? Are you injured?"

He could feel Lunara. She was still alive. She was in pain. She was weak, and getting weaker. But she was still alive. There was still hope. He opened his mouth, tried to get the words out, tried to tell the medic.

Then from beyond the doorway: "Hey, this one's still breathing."

The sound of a single gunshot, louder than all the automatic fire before. Lunara's mind disintegrated in a final peal of agony.

"Fucking bitch. No one messes with the Corps."

They were coming for him. The Corps. His brothers. He could hear the choppers…

At 5.39am, a chime went off. Wats rose with a jolt. He was drenched in sweat. Someone downstairs pounded on his floor. Had he been screaming again? The dream. Lunara. It was getting worse.

A chime. A message. He splashed cold water from the sink onto his face, to wash away the horror, then checked his slate. It was a note and a set of photos from his man at the Prince Market Hotel. Kade and Cataranes had returned to the hotel. They both looked rumpled and worse for wear. There was a livid bruise across the side of Kade's face. Two bulky looking Thai gentlemen with crew cuts had checked in shortly thereafter.

He sat down heavily on the bed. He'd slept little, and what sleep he'd gotten had been its own torment. The urge to drug himself into dreamless unconsciousness was strong. But this was not the time for that.

What had he done to earn so much suffering in this life? What had he done that he had the memory of Lunara's death, of her rapes, of Arman's pain at discovering the slaughter of his family, of Temir's pain at the pillaging of his village, of the pain of all the men and women they'd trooped through that cellar and trooped through his mind? What had he done that he had the torment of so many seared into his soul?

Wats dismissed the question. He knew very well what he'd done. He'd killed countless men and not a few women. He'd used violence as a weapon. He'd hurt and killed people for no reason other than the words of his superiors. He'd enjoyed it. It didn't matter that he'd believed what he was doing was right. He'd sewn the mask over his own eyes. He'd been complicit in his own exploitation as a tool of evil.

His karma was black as night. A dozen lifetimes might not be enough to climb his way out of the pit he'd dug for himself in this one life.

The data fob was in his hand, the metal of the chain coiled in his palm. So small. If he could just connect this to Kade… He'd been so close, so close to doing something that could make a dent in his vile karma, that could help redeem him just a tiny bit. So close to be turned away.

Wats dragged himself out of the mire of self-pity. It was beneath him. He was here for a reason. He looked at the message on the slate again, at the images. He pieced together the events of the night before. Someone had tried to abduct Kade. Cataranes had fought them off. They'd spent time in a safe house somewhere. Now they were back. And they were keeping those spec-ops types close. Security around Kade would be tighter than ever.

He should have made his move the first day. He should have shot Cataranes in the head last night and hauled Kade away. They could be in Laos by now.

Wats sighed. Freeing Kade would be harder than ever at this point. It would be a suicide mission. He couldn't succeed. Not on his own. But he wouldn't give up. Not yet.

Someone else wanted Kade. Someone else had tried to abduct him. He wanted to know who. He wanted to know why. He pictured the monk he'd seen twice now. He had one lead.

28

WARNINGS AND DISCOVERIES

Kade woke to the sound of the alarm. With a groan he reached across the bed to slap it off. The clock read 11am. His poster session was at 1 o'clock.

The sound of the shower emanated from behind the closed bathroom door. Sam was in there. She'd slept on the floor in Kade's room, a bodyguard he wished he didn't need, wished he could be rid of. He could feel her mind, calm, thinking about the day, washing herself methodically. He didn't think she could feel him yet.

Kade rolled onto his back, stared at the ceiling. Weak light filtered through the crack between the hotel room curtain and the wall. In addition to Sam, he knew that there were two of the guys with guns in the hotel now as well, posing as Thai businessmen, covertly ready to intercept assailants, and leap to Sam and Kade's aid should anything happen.

He was as safe as he was going to get. Others weren't so lucky.

Narong and his friends… Chuan… Lalana… Sajja…

He knew what he needed to do. He remembered something Wats had said after a few drinks once, talking about a no-win situation he and his squad had found themselves in, deep in the mountains of Kazakhstan, a decision of whether or not to try to rescue a captured squad mate against impossible odds.

When the chips are down, when you have to weigh what you believe in against your own safety – that's when you find out what you're made of.

Kade knew what he believed in. He believed that Narong and his friends were doing nothing wrong. He needed to warn them, have them call off Friday night. He glanced at the door to the bathroom. It was still closed. The shower was still going. How long had Sam been in there? Was she about to pop out? He had to take the chance. He was tired of being passive. He had to make the right thing happen.