Cutting Edge

61

Lund could breathe again. The big man behind her had abruptly turned and left.

Had he been waiting for Patel’s speech like the rest? She had noticed him a few minutes ago when she’d turned around. Even half hidden behind a wall he was hard to miss — broad chested in a full-length coat, his face and head obscured by a hat tilted low. Was it the man from the station? She’d caught only a glimpse of him then, little more than a meaty face behind an outstretched gun. There was also the grainy picture Jim Kalata had sent, the one that had mysteriously been wiped from her phone.

Was it him, or am I only seeing ghosts?

She’d been worried enough to keep watching the man — on the column in front of her seat was a polished steel chair rail, and in its reflection she’d watched him closely. It was imprecise, like surveillance using a funhouse mirror, but if the man moved she would know it. And move he had.

She’d watched him shoulder away from the alcove and step slightly closer. Lund had no weapon, but she knew there was an exit at the other end of the room. She was seconds from bolting when the man had gone still. He didn’t move for nearly a minute, then rushed away in a flurry of coattails and felt. He was surprisingly quick for a big man, and left the room with a purpose. She’d caught but one direct glimpse as he disappeared out the door, the back of his coat and hat, an amorphous dark mass turning left into the outer hallway.

That had been two minutes ago.

Lund got up slowly, no longer concerned about the appearance of Dr. Patel. She went to the entrance, leaned carefully out into the corridor, and looked left.

She saw no sign of the man in the overcoat.

DeBolt and Patel spotted him at the same time.

Delta.

The two remained a few paces apart along the high balustrade, a grand seating box from which emperors and queens had watched the Riding School’s stallions parade through routines.

Delta had emerged from a side entrance, and he was coming at them now. Slowly and deliberately, like a machine building steam. He took an angle that stranded them, penning Patel and DeBolt between two ornate walls and the gilded balcony railing. Effectively blocking the only way out. Delta came to a stop, and for the first time DeBolt saw expressiveness in the killer’s face. But what was it? Pain? Anger? Whatever the source, it was hateful and murderous … and fixed very clearly on Patel.

“What is wrong?” Patel asked. He looked at DeBolt. “What have you done?”

“You should know,” said DeBolt. “You gave me the ability to transmit audio in real time. How does it work? The cochlear implant you mentioned? I actually researched that. It’s essentially a microphone, and using META I can upload sounds for analysis — words to be translated or voiceprinted. A very useful function.”

Patel’s gaze switched back to Delta.

“He heard everything you said,” DeBolt assured him. “He deserves to know the truth.”

Delta took a step toward Patel.

“No! It’s not like that at all! I can repair your speech … if anyone can, it’s me! I promise you, I will never stop working until you are made whole.”

Delta kept coming, and soon the three men formed a perfect triangle. All at once, Patel seemed to remember the gun in his hand. Synapses connected, and signals were sent through his unaltered brain. He lifted the gun until it was level on the assassin’s chest. “Stop!”

Delta kept coming.

Patel fired, the sound of the shot thundering through the great hall.

DeBolt saw a tiny explosion on Delta’s chest, smoke and a confetti-like burst of fabric. The killer only moved faster. Patel got off three more rounds, all striking Delta in the torso, before the two men met chest to chest. Delta wrapped his massive arms around Patel and began to squeeze. The engineer flapped his arms and legs as he was lifted completely off the ground. He gave a visceral scream, desperation echoing through the hall, and then all the air seemed to go out of him. His mouth remained wide in agony, but no further sounds came. DeBolt heard a terrible crackling sound, like a dozen tiny balloons popping, and Patel seemed to fold in half, his head bending back toward his heels.

The assassin’s face was red with rage, his mouth open in a soundless scream as he lifted the lifeless engineer over his head and threw him over the rail. Patel’s body thumped onto the dirt floor three floors below, his spine creased at an impossible angle.

DeBolt quickly spotted the gun on the floor nearby. With one step, it was directly at his feet, yet he made no attempt to bend down and retrieve it. Strangely, Delta didn’t try to intercept him. Instead, he moved back to where he’d been moments ago — a position to block any escape. With the gun at his feet, DeBolt kept his eyes on Delta. Patel had struck the killer with multiple rounds — DeBolt had seen the bullets strike home — yet he appeared uninjured. But he wasn’t invulnerable.

Body armor, thought DeBolt. It was the only explanation. If DeBolt took a shot, he would have to aim for the head. But that wasn’t what he wanted. He ignored the weapon and tried to read Delta. Whatever frenzy had possessed him was gone, and DeBolt was again looking at an expressionless mask. “There’s no need for us to be against each other,” he said. “Patel was the enemy. You and I … we didn’t ask for any of this.”

He waited. Delta didn’t respond. No nod, no shoulder shrug. No transmission through META.

“We both served our country,” said DeBolt. “We’re on the same side.”

The big man looked at him thoughtfully, as if weighing what DeBolt was saying.

“You and I are casualties of META — none of this was for our benefit. I only want it to end, and I think you do too. No one else on earth can appreciate what you’ve been through — not like I do. I understand!”

Finally, Delta opened his mouth, and without making a sound he mouthed three words DeBolt could easily read: No, you don’t.

DeBolt saw the big man tense, saw his body lower slightly, like a massive cat ready to lunge. DeBolt looked down at the weapon, and when he did his spirits sank. The gun’s slide had locked back. Which meant it was empty.