Chapter 12
Delgado found the payphone, fed in quarters, and dialed. No answer. Tried another number. It was only a vanishing possibility, but one he had to explore.
The truck stop lay under a coat of thick dust and evening blur.
The Taurus he’d paid cash for in Flagstaff—a necessary indulgence—hunched tired and green under a streetlamp.
Its paint job was suffering but the engine was good, and the little tingle in Del’s hands told him it would go until its heart gave out.
Kind of like him. He’d always liked mechanical things. They were far less messy and judgmental than people.
And then, miracle of miracles, the phone was picked up. No sound, not even breathing.
“Delgado,” he said. “Code in alpha-zulu-henry-bravo, 31142.”
“Jesus Christ!”
He recognized the voice. Wanted to smile, dispelled the urge. “Hey, Yosh. How you doin’?”
A click, while Yoshi scanned for traces. Del could almost see the slim man’s fingers tapping over a computer keyboard, his face bathed in monitor glow.
“I thought you’d call in. Rowan swore you were alive.”
“Did she?” His heart gave one shattering leap, commenced pounding fit to burst. He leaned against the side of the phone booth, blinking at the omnipresent dust. “Good girl. Takes more than Sigma to keep me down.” His arm burned, reminding him he would need more Zed soon.
The back of his throat was slick and dry.
“Thought you’d like to know they’re bringing in Carson to hunt my girl.
I’m tracking right now, going to do all I can to throw him off. ”
“Ah.” Another click. “The line’s clean.”
Good man. Yoshi wasn’t committing to anything. He had no way of knowing if Del was talking with a gun to his head, or looped out on Zed and reporting every bit of information to Sigma handlers.
The mistrust still hurt a little, even though it was what Del would have done himself. “Of course it’s clean. I’ve slipped the leash again. If they catch me they’ll kill me for sure, not just hook me on Zed and give me some love taps.”
“SOP says for you to come in from the cold, operative.”
“This isn’t standard.” Delgado swallowed. He needed food and rest. He would only get dinner, too far behind Rowan for resting. “I’m looking for Rowan. Care to give me a hint?” You can’t. Tell me you can’t.
“You know that’s a no-go.”
“Come on, Yoshi. I’m calling in on a clean line and obviously myself. Just give me a goddamn clue. A name, a sign, anything. Please tell me she’s not on a fucking run.” His voice cracked.
There was another click. Then another familiar voice, crackling with impatience. “Del, where the hell are you?”
“Fifty miles out of Vegas, General.” It was closer to fifteen, but old habit made him mislead. “Tell me you didn’t send my girl in there.”
“You’re supposed to come in the approved way. If you do, you can see Rowan, Del. That’s the only offer you’re going to get.” Harsh, but with an undertone.
Come on, old man, I’m tired and blunt, give me a little something here, anything? “You think I’d do anything to endanger her?”
“I’m going by protocols you yourself laid down, operative. Come in. That whole sector’s crawling with Sigs.”
Aha. Very tricky, old man. And very nicely put.
“There’re three blind mice on her trail, General.
I’m not coming in unless it’s with her.” You sent her on a fucking run.
Dammit. Fresh on the heels of that thought arrived a wave of almost-panic.
The situation must be incredibly bad. Tell me you gave her Brew as backup.
Tell me you’ve sent her in with a full team. Goddammit, General, talk to me!
He knew the old man couldn’t. Couldn’t take the chance, couldn’t trust Del’s voice on the phone. He wouldn’t have trusted Henderson if the situations were reversed, especially not with Rowan’s safety on the line.
“Let us bring you in, Del. Nice and easy. We can bring you in and you can see Rowan’s pretty face again. She’s been missing you.”
Even if it wasn’t true, he still wanted to believe. “Likewise,” he managed. “Just so you know, I’m tracking her. I’ll come in when she does. Warn her to be on her toes.” Carson’s after her. Andrews as well, but now he has a big hard-on for me, too.
“You’re wasting your time, Del. Come in.”
“See you soon.” He laid the phone back in the cradle, listened as the box clicked with change. It was getting harder to find payphones; maybe they’d go the way of the dodo soon.
Night was cold out here, under the hard jewels of desert stars. Las Vegas was a volcano of light in the near distance, especially the sword of the Luxor’s spotlight.
Delgado rested his forehead against the chill glass of the box, keeping the door open with one foot.
Sagebrush and diesel, plus heat simmering away from cooling pavement.
He was running on nerves and instinct, rubbed raw by the aftereffects of the push and Zed addiction.
He only had one hypo left. He needed food, some kind of ballast. He suspected he’d pulled a mental muscle or two.
Didn’t matter. What mattered was finding Rowan and watching over her until she could bring him back to the Society.
Hyperventilating, he realized. Bad, the first stage of withdrawal. He wasn’t going to last much longer.
Not without her. Making himself forget had served one other purpose: Sigma was unaware of Rowan’s ability to nullify Zed addictions. Maybe Jilssen hadn’t known either; Del had certainly done his best to keep it quiet.
If they’d known, he would never have escaped them.
Something about his escape bothered him too. It had been too uncharacteristically easy.
Don’t start getting paranoid now. Focus on what matters.
What mattered right now was getting something to eat, and then driving into Vegas proper to take a look around. He’d need to figure out which casino they were most likely to hit, see if his luck and his instinct held.
Or maybe he was just chasing his own tail?
No. He knew, a clear, deep, undeniable knowledge settling in his gut and twisting, hard. She was probably asleep in a motel room right now, with whatever backup Henderson had managed to send with her. Please, not Cath. The goddamn punk girl will get them both killed.
He stepped out of the phone booth.
First things first. Some stick-to-your-ribs road grease, and then he’d be on his way. He would have to replenish his cash posthaste. Impossible to hide without money.
Just stay safe, angel. Now that he did remember, there was precious little else he could think about. Just stay safe until I can get to you. I’m on my way.
Nice to be back in the city again; he worked best in an urban setting.
There wasn’t much room to hide in small towns or the vast stretches of wasteland that were America’s heart.
Mom and Pop and apple pie, and Sigma working behind the scenes to scoop up every psion that wasn’t nailed down.
Wipe ’em with Zed and put them to work for the American dream.
Nobody was even sure what war they were fighting now, since the Russians had started cannibalizing themselves.
It made his mouth sour, just thinking about it.
Morning dawned bright and clear, but he didn’t think she’d be out that early.
There was no crowd cover. It was afternoon when he drove the Strip, obeying every traffic law.
Two things became immediately apparent: he was feeling better and better about this every time he saw the Luxor, and Sigma was in town.
Please don’t tell me Rowan’s hitting the giant pyramid; the security is too good.
Stick with the smaller ones, what do you say?
Except the smaller ones will get sticky over the type of payoff we’re talking about.
Or are you doing the horses, angel? With your precog it won’t be hard to pick a winner or two.
No, that felt wrong. It was the casinos, and in particular, the one that looked like Ramses had thrown a despotic fit in the desert again.
Great.
He almost didn’t spot the three black vans tucked into alleys at even intervals down the Strip, almost didn’t catch the crackle of psychic electricity from some of the strolling tourists.
Most were free ops like Andrews; they wouldn’t bring in the brainwiped until they had a lock on her and wanted the heavy guns.
He left the car in an underground parking lot, deciding to penetrate on foot. It was problematic; they might need a fast getaway. Still, he couldn’t afford to have the Sigs recognize him first-off while driving right into their critical zone.
T-shirt, jeans, rig, and boots, not to mention the loose leather jacket. He would simmer in his own sweat before long; he wandered with the flow of the crowds on the hot pavement, tourists coming to see the big pile of neon and broken dreams.
You don’t belong in this town, angel.
She belonged in some Ivy League, ivy-covered northeast village, where the houses were old and there were bookstores on every corner.
He remembered her arriving home with bags of books and stacking them in his room, rescuing plants and nursing them back to health.
Remembered her house, quiet and trim and neat before Sigma destroyed everything with bullets and tear gas.
Remembered watching her while she slept, a book on her chest, her face quiet and serene in the wash of winter sunlight through his window.
That had been the best winter of his life—squiring her around Headquarters, watching her learn to use her talent. Thank God he had pushed himself to forget. If they had caught her…
Del almost shuddered, controlled the movement. He didn’t want any passersby to register him.
The pyramid towered above; he caught the flow of people pressing in through the front door.
Cavernous lobby done in tawny with touches of royal blue, palm trees in pots, the smell of air conditioning.
Welcome coolness made him more aware of how the Zed tracks on his arms were itching.
He would start to twitch before long, withdrawal torturing his nervous system, begging him to jack out.
Slot machines whizzed and burped. The mood of the place—savage and desperate, with a thin veneer of fun—washed over his raw psyche. He needed a hypo of Zed, but couldn’t afford to use it now.
More necessary to get a zero on a pale head of hair, a slim, small, graceful woman with wide green eyes.
What if Henderson had made her dye up for camouflage?
It would be the smart move, but Del’s heart hurt to think of that long pale mane altered.
Hurt to think of it cut short, although he would still be able to run his fingers through the silky mass and—
Wrong thing to think. He’d end up distracting himself.
He drifted to the buffet, found nothing but hungry tourists and gamblers.
The vast open space above—each floor with its own balcony looking down into the well of the pyramid—pressed down, cavernous and cool.
Cigarette smoke, sweat, heat, perfume, carpeting, reheated coffee.
He worked his way into the pit, ignoring the décor. It meant nothing except for possible cover and escape routes. He brushed past a heavyset woman with her arm around a teenage daughter.
The daughter, wearing a tight pink Freezewire T-shirt, rolled her eyes. “It’s Vegas, Mom. Live a little, will you?”
Goddammit. He ducked into the bar, ordered a double Scotch to calm his nerves and tipped the bartender almost too well before bolting the alcohol. It would dull him a bit, but that was to the good since his nerves were starting to burn from Zed and crackle with…
What was that? Felt like a lightning storm coming, little bits of electricity dazzling over his skin. Electric honey, a sensation he remembered.
Goddamn. He ordered another Scotch, downed it as fast as he could,, then left the bar, plunging into the crowd and working his way to the pit. They’d chosen a good time. Everyone was looking for a giveaway at the buffet and a few minutes of gambling. She was here; he’d bet his life on it.
He was betting his life on it. Because not only was he almost out of Zed, but he had the sneaking feeling Sigma would close in on this place too, unless she was very, very careful.