Shadowrun 01 - Never Deal With A Dragon (22 page)

Sam scrambled to his feet and staggered once more toward the burning van. Its roof began to sag from the heat, and noxious smoke poured from the pyre. The interior of the van was incandescent with the heat of the conflagration. A sudden spout of flames drove him back. A large hand closed powerfully on his arm. Sam tried once to tug free before turning to see Chin Lee's tusked face.

"You can't help her now," the Ork yelled over the roar of the fire and the thunder of the circling helicopters. "Come on, head for the trees. The fragging Yellowjackets can't follow us there."

The Ork released him and sprinted for the shelter of the forest. Sam gave the van another look. Chin Lee was right. He could no nothing for Hanae now.

He was alive and she was not, but Sam would make someone pay for that. As they ran for the trees, the second van exploded in a ball of flame that climbed into the sky. Fleetingly, he saw the silhouette of Black Dog scrambling away in the other direction while the angry Yellowjackets buzzed over the clearing, filling it with fire and lead.

Chin Lee was well ahead, just passing the first tree when a slim shape rose up to meet him. The Ork started to swing his assault gun around, but the figure stepped close, brushing the muzzle up and away. A black-clad foot snaked out and the Ork crashed to the forest floor.

The fires revealed the attacker as an Elf. He stood over the stunned runner, panting slightly. Then he casually lifted one hand and sighted down his extended forefinger at the Ork. Arcane energy sparked from his fingertip.

Chin Lee screamed and clutched his arm. The Ork's hand came away slimed with goo. He yowled louder as the goo spread across his chest and up his neck. The cries died in a bubbling wheeze as his face turned to mush and slumped away from his softening torso.

"A fitting end to such an abomination," the Elf mage pronounced.

Sam had not stopped running, his legs pumping, though his eyes were locked on the horror before him. His mind was so numbed by the terrifying display of magic that he didn't realize he was heading straight for the Elf until it was too late. He barreled into the mage and they both went sprawling.

He pushed himself away, kicking at the other to untangle their legs. This Elf had just turned a living person into a puddle of slime. Sam had no doubt that he would gladly hand him the same fate.

The Elf had gathered his wits and was trying to stand. Seeing a fallen branch, Sam grabbed for it. Swinging as he scrambled to his feet, he struck the Elf in the head. The rotten wood of the branch shattered on impact. Fragments and surprised insects exploded in a cloud, sending the Elf staggering back, more confused and startled than hurt.

Sam turned and ran.

"Go ahead and rabbit, renegade. You're meat for the hunter." The mage began a spell chant. He spoke it loudly, obviously intending Sam to hear.

Sam risked a glance over his shoulder. The Elf had raised his hands above his head, a flickering nimbus of ruddy light forming into a sphere around them. The killer mage was readying a spell. Fear lent speed to Sam's pistoning legs.

Then he felt a strange surge inside. Somehow he knew the spell had been completed. Heat scalded his back as the trees around him washed in flame. The hot air seared his lungs and he fell, burning.

The Mitsubishi Nightsky gleamed elegantly in the setting sun. The limousine's sable bodywork drank the light to form deep, distant reflections in contrast to the immediate glitter and shine of the chromed highlights. The rear door gaped to offer access to the cool, dark interior, a counterpoint to the oppressive heat of the day.

A woman and a man walked down the steps of the Jarman Building. Their manner and total indifference to the pedestrians passing between their corporate sanctuary and the luxury vehicle at the curb marked them as the likely owners of the Nightsky.

She wore a conservative suit of the most exquisite tailoring and materials. From the sparkling silver heels that gave a fine shape to her bared legs to the platinum chain glittering within her dramatic coiffure, she moved and breathed corporate success.

He wore a dark three-piecer and moved so smoothly that the suit hardly seemed to crease as he walked. The dark hair that framed his long-boned face might have emphasized the grimness of his saturnine features, but his obvious pleasure in the woman's company rendered him strikingly handsome. He was a dark counterpoint to her sparkle, but in every way a match to her corporate royalty.

Their expressions were relaxed as they laughed quietly at some private joke. Their eyes were only for one another and they seemed to be anticipating an evening of pleasure.

Hart slipped from the crowd to stand in front of the man. It was going to be her pleasure to ruin the start of that evening.

"Hello, Mr. Drake. Surprised to see me?" Drake pulled up. The woman shot him a glance that told Hart she had no idea what was going on.
Not good, chica
.
You should know your bedmate better than that
. "Well, Mr. Drake?"

"You are exceptionally resourceful, Ms. Hart. Why should I be surprised?"

Hart shrugged off his smooth reply. "I guess I'll just have to be satisfied making Ms. Mirin nervous."

The woman shifted her searching look to Hart, who carefully ignored the penetrating appraisal. Hart and the woman had never met, but the Elf knew Mirin would not care how Hart knew her name. She would rather be wondering what else Hart knew about her. Let her. As long as Mirin was confused, her uncertainty would restrain her.

"Young woman . . ."

"Arcstore it, Ms. Mirin," Hart said, earning a sharp, angry look for her interruption. "I am not here for conversation with you. So keep out of it. I also suggest that you not initiate any suspicious gestures. It could cost you your life. I have friends in high places." In reply to Mirin's scornful smirk, Hart added, "One of those friends has a high-powered rifle trained on your head. That person is an excellent marksman. And well aware of your capabilities."

"Is he fast enough?" Mirin said contemptuously.

Drake placed a hand on his companion's arm. "Let's humor Ms. Hart, Nadia. To the best of my knowledge, she is a woman of her word and scrupulous in reporting her arrangements. There is no need for violence at this time.

"Ms. Hart, perhaps you would care to step inside where there are fewer ears?"

Hart smiled, too, aware that fewer ears meant fewer eyes if he really did want to start trouble. "I think not."

"On the stairs, then. Away from the mob. Just you and I."

Mirin seemed ready to object, but Drake forestalled her with a slight shake of the head. For Hart, he had nothing but smiles. "Would it be satisfactory for Nadia to wait in the car? I am hardly likely to offer you violence on this public street, in plain sight of all these people."

That was what she was counting on. "She can go. As long as she cooperates, she will be safe. My friend has explosive bullets and a convenient angle to place them into your limo."

"I don't like threats, Ms. Hart," Mirin stated softly. There was clear menace in her tone.

"And I don't like having to make them. You aren't involved in this yet. We'll all be happier if it stays that way."

"It's all right, Nadia. Ms. Hart and I have had a simple misunderstanding. There will be no trouble."

Mirin's expression made it clear that she already thought there was trouble.

"Go on. I'll be along in a moment."

Mirin acquiesced. Hart started up the steps without waiting for Drake. She stopped halfway up and turned. The sun had slipped out of sight, and the shadows had crept down to where she stood. She shivered, more from nervous anticipation than from the cool breeze that skirted the darkened face of the Jarman Building.

"Now, what is this really about?" Drake asked as he joined Hart. The light tone he had used in Mirin's presence vanished, replaced by a businessman's poker face.

"I think you were trying to avoid completing our contract."

"Why would I do that?"

"I don't really care about your reasons, though I’ve got a pretty good idea what they were." Drake said nothing; he merely favored her with an inquisitive look. He was cool. Too cool to be innocent, she decided. "I was still there when the Tir Tairngire border patrol hit. They used a mage to cover the sound of their Yellowjackets. There was a full squadron; more than enough for a few second-rate shadow-runners and a couple of runaway corporates. They were looking for trouble and expecting to find it. When Sloan panicked and opened fire on them, the patrol blasted us with everything they had. Pure devastation. I could have been killed with the rest."

As expected, Drake's expression changed to one of concern, but he showed no surprise. "Perhaps you should talk to Tessien about that. Creatures of its kind have a reputation for untrustworthiness."

"I did talk to Tessien. It said that you met it in Portland, saying that plans had been changed and I was headed back for Seattle."

"You must decide who you will trust, Ms. Hart."

"I already have," she said, locking eyes with him.

"I see," he said coolly. "I will have a compensatory bonus added to your account."

"That will patch some of the larger holes in our agreement."

"Do you require additional patches?"

"That's not my style, Mr. Drake. I'm a pro. I can keep my mouth shut without special incentives."

"See that you keep silent on our association."

"Look," she said hotly, "you had your shot and you missed it. That was business and I understand. Now I'm telling you that you don't need to silence me. I won't talk because I've got my professional pride. And the same professionalism lets me ignore what you tried to do. Let's call it even."

"As you wish, Ms. Hart, we shall let the past lie." His smile showed his gleaming, perfect teeth. "But let us not part in anger. You have impressed me with your fire and integrity. I wish to continue to retain your services. Say, 25,000 nuyen per month. Call it a retainer."

"I told you that I don't take hush money. You want my services, you pay the usual rates."

"You are a most unusual woman, Ms. Hart. I begin to believe that you will hold to your self-imposed standards of conduct. Now, are we on working terms again?"

She held out her personal comp to him. He smiled in assurance that he had regained the upper hand as he slotted his credstick and made the funds transfer. To demonstrate her trust, Hart ran a confirmation of the transfer as soon as he returned the comp.

"Your money's good."

"Good as gold, Ms. Hart."

"Better," she said hefting her comp before slipping it back into her bag. "Gold's too heavy."

As she stared down the stairs, Drake's hand shot out to grasp her arm in a painful grip. He fixed her with a stern look. "You are
sure
that there is no evidence at the site of our Renraku switch."

She dropped her gaze from his eyes to his hand, waiting until he released her before answering. "The van with our other guest was rigged to explode, per your orders. If there is anything left, they'll probably assume that it was just one more runner."

Drake's toothy smile returned. "And none of the dupes who were supplying the cover for our operation survived? A wounded captive could say too much."

"Last I saw of the man, the Tir mage had fireballed him. The woman went up when the patrol torched a van. The others are all history as well."

"A satisfactory solution. From your report, that Renraku salaryman seemed rather too perceptive in his questions. Had he remained alive, he might have intrigued the wrong people with his tales. It is far better that all witnesses be dead."

All but me
, Hart thought.
But I'm still on the payroll, right? Safe enough as long as I have some value or until you get what you're after
.

"I will allow no one to compromise the plan," was the last thing Drake said.

Sam was surprised to find himself alive.

The flames had flared all around him, igniting the trees and his clothes. He had passed out from the pain and must have fallen, tumbling down an unseen bank into the sluggish stream where he now lay half-submerged. The water must have put out the flames. He was scratched and bruised from his tumble and scorched from the fire, but alive.

He could not have been unconscious long. He heard a voice that must belong to the Elven mage that had burned him. The Elf was probably so sure of his powers that he hadn't bothered to check on Sam. Sam strained to make out the words.

"I've downed the tusker and one norm, Grian."

"Roger," came a reply fuzzed with the static hiss of a radio transmission. "Both vehicles burning. We've got three probable kills, but the clearing's in flames and we can't land there to confirm."

"Want me to do a ground sweep?"

"Negative. You know the procedure, Rory. Nobody goes into an unsecured zone without backup. Besides, you've been pumping a lot of power."

"Null perspiration, Grian. I'm fresh enough. These gutter scum weren't as tough as the briefing indicated. I won't have any problems."

"One more time, Rory. Head back to the rendezvous point. I'm bringing the flight down there. We link up, then we all go in together."

"Don't you think I can handle them? I am a noble class sorcerer."

"That's not the point, Rory. They already winged me. I don't want anymore casualties. Meet us when we land."

"Understood," the mage said finally, but his next words were mumbled, obviously not intended for the other Elves to hear. Sam couldn't make them out either, but the tone was surly enough to guess the meaning.

Sam was suddenly terrified that the Elf might want proof of his kill. He began to pray that the mage would just leave, preferring to let others confirm his prowess. The night grew quiet as the helicopters moved out, their fading sound leaving the forest to its own noises. Once more the leaves rustled in the wind, but the animals, frightened by the noise and flames, were silent. Sam decided to follow their example. It was time for him, too, to be very still.

He waited.

Tense minutes passed and he tired of shivering in the water. He moved his arm, careful to avoid splashing or dripping water as he raised it before his face. The screen of his watch was dark. He tried the reset button, and the light feature activated only long enough to show him that the screen was misted on the inside. Useless. He flipped the toggle to release the catch, only to have the band snap in his hand, Reaching back to toss it away in disgust, he remembered that he was trying to be quiet. He slipped his hand underwater and let the broken timepiece sink to the streambed.