Munroe slid open the office window and stepped gingerly out onto the fire escape, before making his way up the single flight to the roof. He covered the walkie-talkie with his jacket in an attempt to dampen the sounds of celebration and cheering and spoke into it. “We need to meet,” he said as he stealthily crept up the steps, pulling out his silenced Beretta with his free hand, “face to face.”
“If we meet face to face, Ethan, then one of us is going to get hurt. And it won’t be me, so let me tell you how it’s going to work.”
Munroe was already at the roof, and as he peered over the brickwork to see a man wearing a knee-length overcoat crouched next to a large silver air-conditioning unit, Icarus continued with his list of requirements.
“I’m going to provide you with an address. An address to the place where it all began. The birthplace of Project Icarus. And once your little band of Disavowed have taken it I’ll be in touch with more information. That’s how we will play our game.”
Munroe had heard enough and he now raised off his haunches so his body was above the brick roofline and aimed his gun directly at Icarus’s silhouette. “Icarus! Don’t move. Time to play the game my way.”
The silhouette turned towards him and the flash of the first fireworks overhead lit up his face. Munroe could now see it was definitely him, still wearing his black contacts and with his hair still dyed brown. At first the killer looked stunned, but a smile began to creep across his face and he let the Motorola tumble to the rooftop and nodded, seemingly happy to see Munroe in the flesh.
“Can’t do that, Ethan. It’s either my way or no way.”
Munroe remained still. Icarus was definitely armed, and the roof’s brickwork could provide cover if needed. As he considered clipping the killer in the shoulder with a single round, another volley of fireworks exploded overhead and it was now that Icarus made his move. He leapt past the air-conditioning unit as Munroe lunged upwards and out onto the rooftop to see Icarus jumping the gap to the adjoining building. He could have taken a shot but it wouldn’t have been accurate, and he needed the killer alive or this whole thing would be another dead end.
Munroe took chase, following over to the next rooftop and then down the long drop onto the next building. He rolled upon impact and using the momentum leapt back into a full stride as Icarus dove off the edge and down into the crowds of partygoers below.
Munroe reached the edge, jammed the gun back in its concealed holster, jumped down himself and joined the crowd as he caught sight of Icarus some metres ahead, frantically making his way past the sea of people.
It was like trudging through quicksand, and as he barged ahead the flickers of Icarus became less and less frequent until he’d lost him completely as bodies swamped his vision. Munroe pushed his way towards the centre of the street and slammed up against a pirate ship float with a large plastic harlequin head perched upon it. He pulled himself up onto it and scanned the crowd ahead. The ship’s occupants, a band of creepy-looking clowns, approached him with raised hands, unhappy with the stowaway, as a young lady wearing a skimpy silver dress and unbothered by his arrival began dumping beaded necklaces over his head. It would only be a matter of time before one of the many police caught sight of him, and Munroe shoved the red-nosed freaks aside and ran the length of the ship, where he leapt onto the next float full of female cabaret dancers wearing high heels and oversized sparkling headdresses. He was met with the same welcome, and as he ignored the hard slaps being thrown at his chest, courtesy of the float’s furious occupants, he scanned the crowd down below.
The key to tracking someone in a crowd is to look for the commotion which usually surrounds the person scrambling to get away, but as Munroe looked across the hundreds of people all crammed together, each one causing their own celebratory commotion, he struggled to see Icarus. In fact the only person he did notice was the policeman up on the sidewalk who was now angrily demanding he come down off the float, his finger jabbing downwards to the road below.
Munroe continued his sweep as more slaps from the entertainers rained down on him, and then he saw what he was looking for. A man in a brown, knee-length overcoat, and the only face in the hordes of people not smiling or yelling fervently.
Icarus glanced back at him as he reached the junction of the road and then disappeared around a corner as Munroe ran to the far edge of the float and jumped down to give chase. Behind him the policeman’s calls for him to stop were drowned out by the raucous crowd.
By the time he had barged his way back to the kerb the crowd was thinning out, and he reached the junction and flew around it to catch sight of Icarus sprinting down the main road and then down an alleyway on the opposite side. Munroe gave chase, and as he darted through the heavy traffic crawling down the main street at a snail’s pace, an overzealous white Cadillac DeVille clipped him, sending him tumbling across the bonnet and landing on the other side with a thud.
The impact was minor, and without even looking back Munroe hauled himself to his feet and took off again, over and then through the same opening Icarus had disappeared down. He raced down the alleyway and came to a screeching halt at the iron sign arched across the black gates, which read LAFAYETTE CEMETERY NO 1.
The sounds of celebrations were still in the air but the noise had faded, and as he focused all his attention on his hearing he heard the faint sound of shoes scraping upon stone. He looked over at the cemetery gates and noticed the left-hand side swinging back and forth slightly. Munroe quickly stepped over to the metal gates and then with his gun drawn at his side, he stepped over the threshold and began to make his way deeper in to the dark, dank confines of Lafayette Cemetery.
For a cemetery the place was impressive, with rows of old tombs and family mausoleums, and except for a sign that read NO SOLICITING IN THE CEMETERY, which must mean that soliciting was a problem here, it appeared the kind of respectful resting place one would expect. The whole plot must have contained thousands of interred graves, and it did briefly cross his mind that it was the perfect place for a man like Icarus to seek refuge, even only temporarily.
Munroe moved from left to right, attempting to look straight down each row for any sight of movement, but there was none. If the place did get visitors then tonight they were all in the throes of Mardi Gras back on the main streets. As he came to the end of the first row he heard a footstep. It was barely audible above the background noise but he heard it, and he now began heading in the same direction, towards a gathering of stone mausoleums. The once stately white residences of families past were certainly no Taj Mahal, but their cracked paint on weathered stone provided a link to the city’s gothic past, and as Munroe reached the centre of them he froze. He was very attuned to the feeling of being watched and it was this feeling that now tugged at Munroe’s senses, and he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
“Hello, Ethan.” A familiar voice called softly, and Munroe slowly brought his Beretta to bear on the silhouette of a man leaning against the furthest mausoleum, also holding a gun aimed directly at him. “Let’s not do anything foolish.”
Munroe watched as Icarus took a step forward so his face was visible in the shard of light from the nearby streets, and he remained calm, holding his aim. “It’s over. You’re coming in with me, and I guarantee your safety. You’re going to tell me everything, and then we’ll go from there. I’ll listen to everything you have to say. You have my word.”
Icarus responded with a nasal chuckle. “Things like this are never over, and you are far from having the upper hand. You’re good, Ethan. But today is not yours to be had.”
“So, what are you going to do… David?”
Icarus’s real name drew a smile from the killer. “Good, we should be on a first name basis. Whether you realise it or not, we’re the same, you and I.”
Any suggested connection was lost on Munroe, but when a gun is being pointed at your chest you play along, and he did just that. “You’ve spent a lot of time and effort bringing us to this moment, David. And you’re right, I don’t know why. But I can tell you what I do know: I know about Daedalus. I know that you were working for them. I know that you killed two DS5 agents and a lot of other innocent people, and I know they’ve turned on you.”
Icarus continued to point the gun at him, but the mention of innocent people had him shaking his head. “No one is innocent, Ethan. And what’s the point of being given skills if you can’t use them? I was bred to be an assassin and gain information using torture. I did everything Daedalus asked of me, and despite all that they have done to me I still believe in the cause… a Fourth Reich… a pure bloodline.”
It almost sounded like the beginning of an apology. “I saw what you did to the people I found in your house. I saw your torture room, your wet room. And the mutilation of their bodies after death? That wasn’t the work of an assassin. That was the work of someone who relished the act of killing and defiling a corpse.”
Munroe realised he was getting a bit close to the bone as Icarus now used his free hand to roughly press at his forehead, as if his skull was causing him pain, and then he suddenly stopped, his demeanour calm once again.
“I’m not proud of everything I’ve done, Ethan, but much of it was necessary. It’s what I was bred to do. But now Daedalus have their new models, with go-faster stripes, and all my brothers and sisters were deemed unworthy and retired. But not me… I was the one who got away, and I will now repay them in kind. With your help, I will bring down what they most hold dear. Project Icarus itself.”
Icarus once again rubbed at his forehead, his eyes momentarily rolling back in their sockets. Munroe considered taking a shot, but instead he held fast and asked the only questions at that moment that mattered to him.
“What is Project Icarus? And why did Daedalus want me dead?”
The two questions had the killer focusing once more, and he shook his head, suddenly looking solemn. Tears were beginning to flow from his eyes when something zipped into his neck, and as he slapped at the irritation, Munroe heard the sound of compressed air and he felt a stinging thud in his own shoulder. Before him Icarus’s legs began to crumple, and as he collapsed to the ground Munroe reached up and plucked whatever had hit him from his skin. As his vision began to blur he found himself looking at a red-tipped syringe dart. The surge of dizziness was overwhelming, and he sank slowly to the floor, the gun slipping from his hand and all senses deserting his body until every muscle became numb. Munroe’s knees thumped down onto the gravel path below him, and then as darkness consumed his mind and vision he felt the gravel hit his face.