Bone Rider (19 page)

Oblivious to the fact that he’d already betrayed his source, the president continued, “This thing isn’t just armor, Nick. If we could study it, recreate parts of it, the benefits could be enormous. Applying the principles of this defense system, we might be able to counter the effects of osteoporosis, eliminate cancer, compensate for damaged nerves with paraplegic patients….”

And, of course, build our own weapons systems based on alien knowhow. Because that was so likely to end well. Not that Young was opposed to the prospect of getting better protection for his men, but armor this sophisticated wasn’t possible without a computer system to match… and a computer this clever scared the crap out of him. The thing would have to be capable of learning and adapting, which made it an AI, and Young had never liked the idea of those. Never make a tool smarter than its creator. That was just plain common sense.

“You want me to capture the entity,” Young said slowly, letting his disbelief ring through loud and clear.

The president didn’t back down from the icy stare leveled at him through the camera. “Yes,” he confirmed, “I do. Do you have a problem with that, General?”

Young’s right jaw muscle twitched. He’d been a soldier for most of his life and was used to following orders, but he had to admit it was somewhat harder now that he was one of the top dogs himself. Nowadays, not many people told him what to do, and those who did usually listened to his advice first.

“No, sir,” he lied, careful to keep his face impassive. “No problem.”

The president let out a snort, not fooled in the slightest. “I’m not an idiot, Nick. I know this is a fucking mess already and keeping the thing alive isn’t going to simplify it.” He rubbed his forehead briefly, his first and only concession to the hours they’d both been working since the first reports about the crash in Texas had come through. “This might be our only chance to find out more about these creatures,” he said quietly. “The ship’s gone. The bodies are too badly damaged for complete reconstruction. We have no idea if there are more of these things coming. We need intel.”

There weren’t many people close enough to the president to warrant an explanation after an order had been given, so Young kept his yap shut and listened, still doubtful, but willing to be convinced. The trust thing went both ways; Young had known the man for years, had seen firsthand how he held up under pressure. Both of them younger then, the man who was president now a senator then, trapped in an embassy under siege. Young had led the team that had freed the hostages. One of his men would’ve died if not for that one senator, too ballsy for his own good, unable to sit back and watch a soldier be slain. Hard not to respect a person for that kind of courage. Hard not to like someone who’d stayed mostly honorable in this kind of job.

“We fired the first shot,” the president continued ruefully. “No use denying it. It’s done. We won’t ever admit to it, but yes, we fucked up. I don’t think the entity’s going to come quietly, so you’re authorized to use whatever means necessary to secure it.” He leaned forward, gaze intense. “But I want you to give this a try, Nick. One try to catch it alive. If anyone can do it, it’s you. This is a once-in-a-lifetime kind of opportunity and we’re not going to waste it because we’ve watched too many fucking movies. If we don’t succeed, or the thing turns out to be an unmanageable threat after all, we can still go after it guns blazing.”

Young relaxed a little. “You know it’s a risk.”

Of course the president knew. He’d known when he’d moved in to punch that terrorist; he knew it now. As then, he clearly believed it was worth it. He tended to be right a lot of times, which made arguing with him a rather tedious experience.

“I know it’s a risk,” his commander confirmed. “I’m not happy with it, either. But Lt. Dr. Butler has a point. Several, in fact.” He must’ve noticed the little twitch of anger on Young’s face at the verification of who’d done the backstabbing, because he added, “Don’t be too hard on her. She didn’t like going behind your back and she had her reasons.”

She also hadn’t known the two of them were as close to friends as they could be given their respective positions, or she would’ve taken her chances with Young. Yeah, that made him feel so much better.

“Yes, sir,” he said blandly. “Too hard” was a satisfyingly flexible and subjective measure. He could work within its boundaries and still make his displeasure unequivocally clear.

“Keep me updated,” the president told him, with a look that said he knew what Young was thinking.

Young appreciated the lack of further involvement in the matter and ended the conversation with a dutiful, “Of course, sir,” and a salute before he went to find Chief Cabrera. If he was supposed to capture, not kill, the alien, he needed more data. He’d have to check the available equipment too. Give the go-ahead to the SOF
{8}
troops awaiting deployment in North Carolina. Also, he had to review Butler’s updated report and deliver a dressing-down. Sleep was overrated anyway.

E
L
P
ASO
International airport looked like most other airports Misha had frequented in his eventful life, which made it easy to navigate and easier to forget once they’d gotten a car and had left the immediate area. The rental was a slate-gray Dodge Journey crossover, not exactly Misha’s usual style. He didn’t care. It was functional and spacious enough for him to finally stretch out his legs a little. Also, the A/C kicked in the second they closed the doors and blasted them with a wave of rapidly cooling air. Which was a good thing, because it wasn’t even nine in the morning and the heat was already rolling in like lava from the surrounding desert.

Andrej sank back against the backrest like a swooning belle, adjusted the mirrors, and then launched the car into the rush hour melee with the absentminded brutality of a born and bred New Yorker. Andrej was scary behind the wheel. It was why Misha preferred to let him do the driving.

“Next time, can you please pick a guy who prefers a sensible climate?” Andrej grumbled as he zipped out of the airport loop and onto the interstate, where they promptly stalled again in bumper-to-bumper traffic. “It’s hotter’n hell out there.”

Unfortunately, some clichés are impossible to resist, so after a moment of fighting it, Misha gave in and deadpanned, “But it’s a dry heat.”

Andrej nailed him with a disgusted glare. “Seriously, man? ‘It’s a dry heat’? That’s all you’ve got? I’m embarrassed for you. You used to be funny.”

“You want sparkling wit, hook up with a comedian,” Misha said, unruffled. He was off the plane and moving again, hopefully toward Riley, so he was feeling a lot better than before. A little punchy, maybe, from too little sleep and too much coffee. Airline coffee at that. Riley wouldn’t have approved. The man was particular about his caffeine.

Misha knew his elation wouldn’t last—not with half the town’s population blocking his way as they snail-crawled along the interstate—but he was determined to make the best of it. He fished his cell out of his pocket and winced when he saw the list of missed calls. His father was not going to be happy with him. His mother either. They’d even recruited Mariya. Misha shrugged it off. Couldn’t be helped. Mikhail Tokarev was officially on a mission and thus on radio silence. Except for mission-related calls, of course. He hit the speed dial.

“Kolya? We’re in El Paso. What’s the situation?”

“That was fast,” Kolya noted, sounding unsurprised. Stoic fucker.

“I got tired of sitting on my ass.” Misha shifted in his seat to get his shirt unstuck from the skin on his back. He wanted a shower and a change of clothes, but it’d have to wait. “Did you find him or has he ditched you again?”

Like most of his attempts to get a rise out of Kolya, it was a wasted effort. “Got him.”

Misha’s body tensed and straightened so fast he almost knocked himself out against the car roof. “No shit?”

“He should’ve given up his truck.” There was a touch of smugness in Kolya’s voice, the deep satisfaction of a hunter finally closing in on his prey. Apparently, Riley’s continued evasion had bugged the man after all. Kolya wasn’t used to being hoodwinked, and the fact that Riley was a civilian had added insult to injury. “He spent the night in a motel off exit eleven.”

Again with the past tense. Misha spared a second to stare at the phone in his hand with a healthy dose of disgust.
Kolya
, he reminded himself. This was Kolya. Annoying son of a bitch, but good at what he did. You had to handle Kolya right or he’d balk… and a balking Kolya could out-stubborn a mule. So Misha thumped his head back against the headrest and forced himself to be patient.

“He still there?”

“Yep.”

Kolya sounded deeply satisfied, but there was something else in his tone that told Misha there was more to come. Kolya didn’t come out with it immediately, though. He was moving around, breathing carefully, apparently dividing his attention between whatever he was doing and the man sitting on tenterhooks at the other end of the line.

Misha waited, grinding his teeth. Sometimes it was hard to tell whether Kolya was being difficult in order to bug the hell out of others or because it was simply his nature.

A nudge from the left made Misha glance at Andrej.

“Well?” Andrej mouthed.

Wait
, Misha signaled.

Andrej’s eyes narrowed. He held out his hand and waggled his fingers, wordlessly demanding conversation time with Kolya. Remembering the last time he’d let the two of them tangle, Misha shook his head and made sure to keep the phone out of reach.

“Where are you?” Kolya asked at last, still sounding distracted.

“Heading west on the I-10,” Misha told him. “What’s going on?”

“He’s checking out,” Kolya explained. “Don’t know where he’s going yet. Want me to detain him or follow?”

Misha hesitated. It would’ve been easier to tell Kolya to move in on Riley, make sure he stayed put and didn’t disappear again. The problem was that Kolya wasn’t trained to be careful with the people he kidnapped. And Misha could order him to handle Riley with kid gloves all he wanted, but Riley wasn’t going to come quietly. He’d run if he could, fight if cornered. To sic Kolya on Riley meant to risk Riley getting hurt. Riley in pain wasn’t likely to listen favorably to the man he’d rightly suspect to be responsible for his predicament.

“Follow him,” Misha said. “We’ll be there—” he glanced at Andrej, who murmured an estimate, “—in about half an hour. Keep me updated.”

He snapped the phone shut and slid it back into his pocket. His fingers stroked restlessly down his side, smoothing a wrinkle in the expensive material of his jacket. It didn’t quite hang right, having been tailored to accommodate concealed weapons. Most of Misha’s clothes were cut this way because he usually carried at least one firearm on his person. He’d tried to break the habit when he’d been with Riley, but his body still felt unbalanced without the familiar weight.

Misha cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders, trying to ease the tension that was creeping back in along with the growing lump of anticipation in his gut. This was a peace mission if there had ever been one, but damn if it didn’t feel like they were about to waltz into a war.

“You expecting a shootout or something?” Andrej asked. “I haven’t seen you this antsy since Boston.”

Misha grunted. He’d rather not be reminded of Boston. Boston had been a mess of bullets, blood, and a body count in double figures. Way too many close calls. The Italians might not have been as disciplined as the Russians under Misha’s command, but they’d done their best to compensate with numbers and firepower. Hadn’t saved them in the end, but it had forced the Russians to step up their game considerably. Though, admittedly, the incident had been a valuable lesson about what kind of damage a handful of trained killers could do when properly motivated. Misha pulled a face. Riley had better never find out about Boston.

“Got a funny feeling,” he admitted.

Andrej glanced at Misha then back at the road, his knuckles whitening briefly. “Yeah, me too,” he said, and stared at the car in front of them with a frown. “Doesn’t make sense.”

It didn’t. Riley wasn’t even close to the kind of bastard they usually dealt with, so far from a player he might as well have been living in a different reality. Not incapable of committing violence, but keeping it on a much lower level as a rule. Riley might punch your lights out if he thought you deserved it, but he wouldn’t use those knives of his or, God forbid, that old H&K semiautomatic of his father’s. In his own way, Misha’s slow-drawling, tough-looking, grits-eating cowboy was a lot more civilized than Misha and all of his refined East Coast buddies combined. Actually, that was part of his appeal.

Misha crossed his arms, staring straight ahead as well. “Might be nothing.”

“Yeah.”

Andrej chewed on his lower lip, fingers drumming against the steering wheel distractedly.

“What was that guy’s name again?” Misha asked, carefully nonchalant. “The one who introduced you to that arms dealer? The crazy one.”

“J.C.?” Andrej grinned reluctantly. “J.C.’s not crazy. He’s just… cautious.”

Misha raised an eyebrow. “What’s he doing again, now?”

Andrej chuckled. “Building a survivalist stronghold somewhere near Carlsbad. So what? Everybody’s gotta have a hobby.”

“He’s stockpiling weapons and digging bunkers. He’s certified.”

Misha’s posture relaxed. Andrej was on the same page. For a second, there, Misha had wondered if maybe he was the paranoid one.

Andrej huffed, but it was mostly for show. “Overcautious,” he suggested, “and considering his history, I can’t blame him. Want me to call him?”

J.C. King was another potential disaster Misha wasn’t looking forward to, but they didn’t have a lot of options. They were unarmed. Technically, they were AWOL, and thus couldn’t call for backup without compromising their operation. Both of them were experiencing rare pre-mission jitters. You didn’t ignore your gut instinct in Misha’s line of work. Not when you had so many years of experience to back it up.