Rivers and her unhappy companions didn't waste time trying to make Brie talk. They just bundled her up, tied her wrists, gagged her and headed for the door. By the time the two men dragged her into the corridor, Brie had already given up struggling. Rivers knew the guys were right: the hospital cameras would have identified her and alerted the police the fist time she stepped into a corridor. They needed to get out fast and deal with the woman later.
So turning to find three large men staring at them was an unpleasant surprise. At first, Rivers thought they might be more of Celestina's goons, but the three newcomers looked as shocked as she was by the encounter. Everybody drew their guns. Rivers drew both of hers. They all looked at the upload to see what she would do.
To everybody's surprise, she turned her back on the interlopers and spoke to her companions.
“Keep the woman alive,” she told them. “If she dies, I will kill both of you.” Brie goggled at Rivers in horror and began to struggle again.
Rivers watched the woman squirming for a moment, then turned to the newcomers again. Behind her, her companions stared edging backwards along the corridor.
“Who are you guys?” she asked, stepping towards them. “Cordell's people, I would guess. Now, do you want to turn around and run, or would you like to see how fast I am?”
“That's far enough, lady. Just hand over the woman. We don't want no shooting match.”
The speaker sounded nervous. He didn't take his eyes off Rivers for a moment.
“Your boss didn't tell you to expect an upload, did he?” It seemed like a reasonable guess. “Otherwise you'd have come armed with something more than those little pop-guns. Am I right?”
“You ain't indestructible,” the gunman said.
Rivers smiled. “I'll give you points for bravado, but not for intelligence. Now run along. I'm in a hurry. The cops are going to be here any– Oh, shit!”
The clatter of heavy boots coming from the stairwells at both ends of the corridor could only mean one thing.
“FBI! Lay down your weapons! Hands above your heads! Do it! Now!”
Federal agents came storming into the corridor from both directions, shouting the same instructions over and over. Cordell's thugs turned to face the ones behind them. Celestina's men did the same, leaving Rivers and Brie in the middle. It took Rivers a fraction of a second to weigh up the situation. The Feds were wearing state-of-the-art body armour. Neither she nor the hired guns had a weapon that would do more than inflict a few bruises on them. On the other hand, the FBI had clearly been expecting to meet an upload. They had heavy-duty machine guns which could, she knew, be loaded with armour-piercing, explosive munitions. In addition, they had buzz guns, which fired a stream of tiny hypersonic pellets that would cut through her body like a laser torch through tinfoil.
Getting away with the woman was out of the question. She'd be lucky to get away with her life. But she wasn't going to let them take her.
The Feds were still shouting and the goons were still wondering what to do. Rivers raised both her guns, pointed them at both groups of FBI agents at once, and fired.
It took a moment for people to react, and then all hell broke loose. But in that moment, Rivers dropped her guns and launched herself at the corridor wall. It was an internal wall, just studs and plaster-board. Using the grip of her gecko-skin soles as leverage, and the amazing strength of her wonderful new body, she smashed her way through it with very little effort. While the Feds and the goons exchanged fire, she sprinted across the ward in which she found herself, tossed a resuscitation trolley through a window and climbed out through the hole it made onto the outer wall of the building.
By the time the police had fought their way past the gunmen and followed her, she was long gone.
-oOo-
“So who do you really work for?” Rik asked as he and Freymann waited in the van.
The woman looked at him with intelligent brown eyes and gave a small shrug. “MI6. It was Shah's idea. Bring you over here, get hold of the package, and take it home.”
“Shah's Five, right?”
She gave a cock-eyed grin. “Inter-agency co-operation. It happens sometimes.”
“But you're really an American, yeah? No Brit does a New York accent that good.”
“As American as you are.”
Rik wondered if that was a dig at him. He'd taken lunar citizenship when he married the Drew sisters. Now he had dual nationalities. “No conflict of interest?”
“Nya. We're all on the same side these days. Americans, Europeans, Aussies, Canadians, Lunies... Even the Russians are on the side of the Angels since the reforms. The sooner they declare a world government, the better, if you ask me. The real divisions aren't national any more. The lines we draw now are based on political systems and religions.”
Rik took a closer look at the woman opposite him. He was starting to see more there than he had expected to find.
“That still doesn't explain why you're working for the Brits and not the home team.”
She gave him a steady look. “See the beaky nose? The swarthy skin? I got them from my Iranian, Muslim mother, not my whiter-than-white Jewish father. America's still too tangled up with Middle Eastern politics to completely trust someone with my background. For the Brits, petro-politics is all history now. They're not a player any more. Besides, they've got a bigger Muslim population over there than Palestine these days.”
Rik looked at her large, dark eyes, prominent cheekbones and wide mouth, suddenly seeing her Persian ancestry. He'd vaguely assumed her features and colouration were Jewish, biased by her surname, he supposed. Now he knew better.
“And how come you've decided to 'fess up about not being CIA after all this time?”
Freymann actually laughed. “Because it was getting to be embarrassing, and you're not such a big, dumb asshole as you look. Anyway, I figure we can work together a lot easier with our cards on the table. We both want to get that package off the streets and to keep it out of the hands of whoever's looking for it, right?”
Rik was noncommittal. “You got any backup out here?”
“In LA? Hell, no! We've got a listening post and a couple of people to run errands, that's all. So no cavalry, if that's what you were hoping.”
“Something like–”
The van sagged on its suspension as something heavy landed almost silently on its roof. Rik and Freymann had their guns up in an instant; he covered the front and she took the back. Rik's breathing stopped, but his heart pounded on his ribs like a panel beater.
The driver's door opened and the upload slid into one of the bucket seats, her coal-black body sinuous and fast. Rik pushed the barrel of his machine gun into the small of her back.
“Don't turn around,” he told her, seeing the upload's body stiffen. “Just drive us away from here. We've both got Heckler-Koch MG6 light machine guns pointed right at your precious brain-box. I don't really know how fast you are, lady, but these things fire fifteen rounds a second. That's thirty chances of killing you every single second. Do you want to play Russian roulette with a machine gun?”
Without a word, Rivers started up the van, took manual control, and moved off. At the first available turning they took a left. The FBI troops waiting behind the hospital building glanced at them. Rik watched one man put a finger to his ear, obviously asking for instructions. By the time he started shouting at the others to get after the van, it had turned out of sight around another building.
“They'll try to stop us leaving the site,” Freymann said.
Rik shook his head. “This van's tougher than it looks; bullet-proof glass, armoured walls, cellular tyres. It was built to survive a bit of rough treatment. Am I right, driver?”
Rivers shrugged, pushing the van to ever-higher speeds. “Why should I care? You're the ones that get perforated if you're wrong.”
Rik dropped down between the seats, bracing himself with his legs and one arm as Rivers threw the van into a tight turn. Freymann slid to the floor too, landing with a curse and a clatter as she dropped the machine gun and had to scrabble to pick it up again.
Two FBI agents flashed by the side of the van and were left behind. A rattle of bullets against the back doors didn't even leave a dent.
“Where can I drop you guys?” Rivers called over her shoulder. “I'm going as far as the airport, if that suits you.”
“I'm glad to see having a gun at your back doesn't inhibit your sense of humour,” Freymann said. Rik glanced at her as she nudged against him. She was having a hard time keeping herself from falling around. Unlike Rik, she couldn't keep the big machine gun pointed the right way with just one hand.
Rik raised his head and took a quick peek. Up ahead, at the exit, a dozen FBI agents were taking up firing positions, some of them packing more than standard-issue hardware. He cursed under his breath.
“You know,” the upload said, as if nothing untoward was going on, “I was just beginning to think the last twenty-four hours had been a complete wash-out, and then, right out of the blue, you turn up in the back of my van. It's a miracle. The very man I was looking for just walks right into my hands. I can hardly believe it.”
Bullets hit the windscreen like a summer downpour. The glass crazed and powdered where they hit, but it didn't break. Rik and Freymann ducked low, all thoughts of keeping their prisoner covered forgotten. A high-pitched whine cut through the racket of gunfire as a stream of buzz-gun pellets sliced across the windscreen, leaving a metre-wide gash in it. Even the upload kept her head down after that.
The van shot past the blockade at high speed, the buzz-gun slicing through the side windows. A row of holes appeared down the opposite side of the van as armour-piercing bullets crashed through and out the other side, passing just a hand-span above Rik's back.
The vehicle careened into San Vicente Boulevard. Brakes squealed all around them as they crossed the southbound carriageway, trying to make a left to go north. Rik and Freymann tumbled forwards as Rivers hit the brakes. On two wheels, they mounted the pavement and screeched their way along the concrete wall of a Macy's building before Rivers got the vehicle back under control and, eventually, back on the road.
Almost immediately they swung off to the right, then right again onto Beverly Boulevard, and then a hard left. They were off the main roads and were soon driving through quiet, low-rise suburbs with no sign of pursuit. Even so, it would be only minutes before the LAPD traffic AIs put together their route from surveillance cameras and satellite images.
“We've got to ditch this van,” Rik said.
“No problem,” said Rivers, making yet another turn.
“Where the hell are we going?” Freymann demanded.
The upload didn't answer, but pulled into the entrance of a nondescript house and drove the van to the back of the building.
“OK, this is where we change vehicles.” She reached for the door handle, but Rik pushed the barrel of the machine gun into her back.
“Not so fast. Fariba, get out and cover her.”
Freymann looked like she might object, but she climbed out the back and went to stand outside the driver's door. The upload climbed out, and Rik followed behind.
There were two cars parked in the yard. Rik picked the big sports utility. He wanted all the room he could get for handling the long-barrelled Heckler-Koch. Inside, the vehicle had the usual seating: a bench across the back and swivel seats at the front. He made Rivers put the car on auto and sit at the front, facing back. He and Freymann took the bench seat, facing forward. Both guns stayed trained on the upload's midriff.
They set the destination as LAX and the car moved off, in the smooth, unhurried way of robotic vehicles. Leaving the city seemed like a good idea to Rik, and neither of the women suggested a different plan. He figured the upload must have some kind of getaway planned, and he'd be happy to tag along. What he really wanted to do was to keep on calling Maria, and everyone else he might have put in danger, and warn them all to run for cover. But he didn’t dare take his attention off the upload for a second.
“Who's your girlfriend?” Rivers asked as they rolled through the quiet streets.
“I'm more interested in who you are,” Rik said.
“I'm just a girl doing a job.” The upload seemed far too relaxed and confident for Rik's liking. He knew that they could turn their emotions up and down at will. Maybe she had just tuned out the anxiety she should be feeling. He hoped that was true. He didn't like the notion that she just didn't have anything to be anxious about.
“Who are you working for?”
“You'll see. You're invited to come and meet the boss.”
“Thanks, but no thanks. What should I call you?”
“I don't usually give my name out to just any guy who asks, but you can call me Rivers.”
“What's this all about, Rivers? What's in that package that's got everybody so worked up?”
Rivers affected boredom. “I wish I could tell you, Rik, but I honestly don't give a damn. Somebody wants it. Somebody with a lot of money. Somebody who will kill you very, very slowly if you don't tell them where it is.” She turned to Freymann and gave her a smile. “And your friends, and your family, and everybody you ever knew.” She turned her smile back to Rik, but Rik wasn't smiling at all.
Freymann, who had been silent so far, said, “Rivers Valdinger. She's a small-time thief from Chicago. At least, she was until a few weeks ago. That's when she died in a police shootout.”
“Hey, who are you calling dead?”
“What crew was she with?” Rik asked, ignoring her.
“Mostly freelance,” Freymann said, still reading data off the cogplus display on her wrist. “There's a possible connection to the Chicago Outfit. She may have been working with Marcello's crew.”
“What?” Rik could hardly believe his ears. “The Mob wants bioweapons now? What the hell for? Oh, don't tell me. To sell to the highest bidder, right?” He glowered at Rivers, challenging her to deny it.
Rivers just shrugged. “I've already told you. It's just a job. I deliver the package and my end's complete. What's your beef, anyway? You were doing the same job until the cops got hold of you. Just a different client, is all.”
Rik opened his mouth and shut it again. The damned woman was right, of course. He had the moral standing of a small rat right now. His only defence was that he hadn't known what was in the package until Shah had told him. In fact, he still didn't know for sure. It could be Newton Cordell's wart ointment, for all he really knew.
But he'd known it must be something bad, something seriously wicked, or Cordell wouldn't have hired him to transport it.
A thought struck Rik. “Isn't Marcello dead? I read about it some years ago. The guy was a total whack-job.”
Freymann shrugged. “The records still say Marcello is the kingpin. Must be Marcello Junior in charge now. They like to keep it in the family.”
“So you work for the Chicago Mob?” Rik asked. “Is that right?”
Rivers just smiled and said nothing. After a while, Rik eased back into his seat and they spent the rest of the trip in silence.