Chapter 6
Sigma had their central command in a partially-constructed building downtown, which was their first mistake.
Their second, Delgado noted as he was brought into the fishbowl, was that they weren’t changing chatter channels every few minutes.
Yoshi. Dammit, man, be listening. Get a lock on them. Please.
He could remember the thin, quiet Japanese man and the General’s steely eyes. He could remember Cath’s punk haircuts and Zeke’s blunt fingers. He could even imagine Brew’s wide white smile and soft, crisp accent.
But he couldn’t remember her, no matter how hard he tried. The wall he’d pushed himself to erect stood firm. Frustration tasted bitter and familiar, hopelessness acrid like tar.
One of Andrews’s two bullyboys pushed Del forward. “Go on.”
The man was grinning. He’d been one of the ones administering the initial beatings to soften Del up.
Thickset and broken-nosed, he looked a little like Zeke, but he had none of Ezekiel’s careful movements or self-deprecating humor.
For a moment Del considered striking out with fist and mind, killing the man with a quick upward strike to the nasal promontory, simultaneously ripping his mind free of its moorings.
The thought sent a warm, gratifying feeling through him, almost like the oozing fire of Zed.
But his veins were creeping with the slow, painful needling of his addiction, so he walked slowly across the unfinished flooring, stepping over thick cables running to the computers.
This would be an employee lunchroom when completed.
One end of the room had a half-finished wall through which late afternoon light bounced.
When done, this place would have no light at all save fluorescents.
You couldn’t expect people to eat under buzzing tubes every day. It would drive even deadheads mad.
Two horseshoe-shaped banks of monitors, hard drives, and keyboards hosted the nerve center of Sigma’s local operations.
Andrews’s team was in one horseshoe, murmuring back and forth.
Papers were signed and the chain of command machinery went on.
The other horseshoe held shaven-headed commtechs with handlers and psychometric or precognitive Talents, monitoring and searching for any disturbing trace in cyberspace or the city’s grid, any sign of the vanished Society members.
Andrews leaned over a commtech, watching as the shaven-headed kid spider-tapped at two separate keyboards at once, his jaw slack and the monitors bathing his face in spectral green glow.
A thin thread of drool wandered down the kid’s chin.
His handler, a tall chestnut-haired woman, stood with her arms crossed, scowling at Andrews.
“Get a lock on them,” Andrews snarled. “Do it now. If they haven’t gone past the checkscans they have to be in the city.”
Not necessarily. You’re an idiot, Andrews. This isn’t like you. He must be frantic to catch them. This Price girl was making him look bad.
Del should play it safe, keep his head down and try to get as much information as he could. But he knew, miserably, that he’d made up his mind to escape ahead of schedule.
Now it was only a question of how.
The third mistake was almost imperceptible—Andrews didn’t immediately notice Del approaching. That meant two things: that Agent Breaker was temporarily not considered a threat, and that Andrews was severely distracted.
The skinny, shaven kid began to make a small moaning noise, though his fingers didn’t stop blurring over the keyboards.
“That’s enough,” the handler said. “He won’t be useful if you keep pushing him. Lay off, Andrews.”
Andrews’s upper lip pulled back. “He’s finished when I say so. You’d better watch it, or I’ll have Breaker convince him.”
The handler seemed supremely unconcerned. She reached down, her fingers circling the boy’s wrist.
“Come on, Jarrod.” Her tone was kind; the boy stopped moaning and froze. “Let’s go get you something to eat.”
“I didn’t—” Andrews began, but two of the monitors began to flash red. “Aha! Fine, take him.”
Delgado watched as the boy made it to his feet and shambled away, grinning vacantly while his jaw worked, drool coating his chin. Everything burned out but psychic talent, harnessed to his handler’s voice.
I could have ended up like that. I still might. The thought he’d cherished ever since they’d recaptured him—I will do whatever I have to do to escape you—returned, circled his mind once, and vanished. Now he had to work.
His skin chilled slightly, Zed addiction kicking up a notch.
“You’re jonesing.” Andrews tossed a small black medical pouch; Delgado caught it reflexively. “Here. Have a ball, and make it last. Go back to your room. We won’t need you until we’ve brought her in.”
Del nodded. Are you insane? You’re giving me my own stock of Zed? “You’ve got her?”
“As good as. They’ve split into two—” Andrews glanced up as another monitor began to flash red. “Three—” Another. “What the hell?”
The rabbits have divided, or they’ve found a way to trip all the checkpoints at once.
Good thinking. He weighed the bag, backing up while he looked at the monitors.
More began to glow red. There’d be no reason for them to trip a bunch of checks unless they’re getting out.
If they’re getting out, I could lose them.
It’ll take me too much time to track them down again.
There would never be a better chance.
“What the hell—” Andrews was just a fraction of a second too slow. Agent Breaker was gone before he finished the sentence, slipping out of the command center and into the hallway beyond.
With any luck, the sadistic bastard would have his hands too full to notice Del’s absence, would assume he was holed up in his airless little room hyping on Zed.
Delgado unzipped the bag, moving down the hallway. Three hypos. Enough for six days, twelve if he stretched to the point of pain. He had a few weapons—two knives and two guns—and his talent for cracking minds. Plus his wits.
It would have to be enough to escape a full-scale appropriations team and track down the foes who slipped so smoothly through Sigma’s nets.
The first order of business was getting out of this building. He would have to take the stairs.
Chaos erupted behind him, Andrews barking orders. It wasn’t like him or the Colonel to let Del out of their sight without an armed guard, but Agent Breaker had his veins full of Zed and had shown none of his former defiance since recapture.
Besides, Andrews had lost sight of the mission. He was now emotionally invested in Rowan Price.
She seems to bring that out in a lot of people, Del thought, already mentally running over the building layout. There were some unfinished stairs on the east side, but they was chancy at best.
Del turned east, slipping the bag with the hypos into a small loop attached to his rig that would keep them safe.
“Rest easy, sweetheart,” he muttered, hardly aware he was speaking. “Agent Breaker’s coming to get you.”