Cutting Edge

62

Delta came at him fast.

Without a weapon, DeBolt knew he had little chance against the assassin in close quarters combat. He took the only way out. With one great stride back, he vaulted over the rail behind him.

Delta’s hand swiped at his shoulder as DeBolt launched into the air. He dropped twenty feet, his arms outstretched for balance as he tried to set for a landing: legs together, knees bent, ready to roll onto a hip. Thankfully the dirt was soft, but he hit hard and his right knee buckled in a bad way.

The pain was excruciating, and DeBolt instinctively grabbed his leg. He looked up and saw Delta leaning over the rail. For a moment he thought the killer might follow, but then he seemed to realize DeBolt was injured. He disappeared, his heavy boots stomping across marble.

With Patel’s body right next to him, DeBolt rolled away and tried to get to his feet. His first attempt failed as a bolt of pain shot through his leg. The sound of Delta’s footsteps thundering down a staircase made him try again. He managed to stand, and at a glance saw only one exit from the dirt riding floor. DeBolt hobbled toward it and fell shoulder-first into what looked like a barn door.

He burst out into daylight.

Lund was cautious as she canvassed the halls of the Hofburg Vienna, increasingly convinced that she was right — the man who’d been standing behind her in the conference room was the killer. The assassin she’d seen for an instant at the Bundespolizei station. Could he really be responsible for Boston as well? Kodiak? Her cautionary detective’s instincts told her it was improbable that one man could have managed it all. Almost as improbable as human minds networking with computers.

Strangely she wasn’t fearful. He had left hurriedly, and Lund could think of only one reason for him to do so — a more important target had arisen. Trey? she wondered. Or perhaps Dr. Patel?

She moved more quickly down a long hallway, and rounded the castle chapel. She went through doors that led nowhere, and apologized to two Hofburg employees when she interrupted a meeting in an office. Her pace quickened as her conviction hardened. Trey, Patel, the killer. They were all here, somewhere.

Lund was nearly on a dead run when she entered the National Library. Thinking this had to be wrong, she backtracked. That was when the first crack rang down the hall. Lund froze, immediately recognizing the sound as gunfire. After a pause, a volley of three more rounds came in quick succession. She spun a circle at the intersection of four hallways as the report of the shots bounded amid walls and arched ceilings. Which direction had it come from? Finding the source inside these cavernous halls was like trying to trace a lone spark in a burst of fireworks.

She opted for what looked like the least-used path — an entrance to something called the Winter Riding School that had been barricaded off for construction. Two minutes later, she rounded a warning sign, slipped through an unlocked door, and found herself in a great sunlight-splashed hall. Squarely in the middle, on a floor of churned dirt beneath a giant chandelier, was a body so severely crumpled it could not possibly sustain life. The face was turned toward Lund, and she discerned a male with Indian features. Behind a shattered pair of glasses his face was twisted into a mask of pain, the last expression he would ever wear. Lund knew who it had to be — the man who was twenty minutes late for a presentation in the Festsaal Gallery.

Dr. Atif Patel.

She saw no one else in the cavernous hall, but her gaze latched quickly on one other anomaly.

A big door at the back of the riding floor had been left ajar.

DeBolt tried to keep moving. Keep functioning. His right leg was useless, deadweight dragging beneath him. The sidewalks were busy, the boulevards behind the Hofburg bursting with the commotion of a thriving city. He tried to keep as normal a gait as possible, knowing a pronounced limp would act as a beacon, highlighting him to Delta.

DeBolt kept to the flow of crowds, tried to lose himself in small groups. His knee was swelling, tightening with each step like a fast-rusting hinge. Fleetness of foot, the one advantage he’d had over Delta, was now lost. He considered hiding, but knew it was hopeless — no one could hide from META. His only chance was to get away, to create distance. Which meant he had to find a quicker way to move.

He found it just in time, red and boxy, gliding up the street a hundred yards behind him. A city tram. He searched ahead for the next stop and easily spotted it — a sign with a tram symbol next to sheltered benches. He hobbled as fast as he could, not caring how conspicuous he was, desperate to reach the stop before the car arrived.

The tram passed him effortlessly, then drew to a stop. DeBolt nearly fell trying to catch up, but reached the door just in time. He hauled himself up into the car — there was only one step, but his right leg was carrying almost no weight. He collapsed into an empty front seat as the tram started moving. His breathing was ragged, the cold air dry on his throat. He ventured a look back, and for a moment there was nothing, only the buzz of Vienna on midday. Then he saw the unmistakable shape, a wide overcoat bulling through the crowds.

The track was angling closer — it would take the tram to within fifty feet of Delta. The killer’s eyes were scanning, searching, and when they paused on the tram car DeBolt hunched down instinctively in his seat. Had he been seen? He ventured another look and saw the bald head pointed loosely toward the tram. Delta was no longer searching, his features lost to an empty gaze — the same one that was on his own face, DeBolt supposed, when he employed META. What function was he using? Was he commandeering feeds from cameras? Intercepting police communications? If Delta had spotted him on the tram, DeBolt was sure there was a computer network or application that could be used to track individual cars.

He suddenly realized his own screen seemed to be failing, the video intermittently going to snow. What now? Had the hard landing from his jump dislodged something in his head? DeBolt pushed away the ridiculous thought. Striving for logic, he looked outside and saw the problem — the tram was electric, and high-voltage wires were strung above the track. It was no more than signal interference, the same as when he’d gone near the electrical substation in Maine.

The tram rocked from side to side as it made its way up the street. He tried for a map in his head to see where it was taking him, but the feed kept getting interrupted. The same electricity that was taking him away from Delta was also blocking META. He guessed they were running north, toward the Danube.

Soon the tram slowed for its next stop, and DeBolt ventured another look back. His heart skipped when he saw someone running to catch up on the far side of the street.

It nearly stopped beating altogether when he realized who it was.

“I saw you get on the tram,” Lund said breathlessly, “but I didn’t think I could catch up! I’ve never run so fast in my life!”

She was in his arms, her chest heaving into his with the rhythm of a heartbeat. DeBolt kept holding her, his cheek buried in her soft hair while he looked warily out the window behind. He saw no sign of Delta, and wished it were otherwise. A few minutes ago he’d at least known where the man was. He was ecstatic to see Lund, but terrified she was so near the killer.

She pushed away and looked at him, her expression an awkward mesh of relief and desperation. “I got your message about Patel, so I came as fast as—”

“No,” he cut in. “That message wasn’t from me.” They passed through three stops while DeBolt explained everything he’d learned since they’d last talked in Boston. He covered how everyone associated with META had been killed, Patel’s oversight of the project, and its link to the NSA. He told her about Patel’s plans to sell the technology to the highest bidder. Finally DeBolt told her how he’d gotten Delta to turn against his creator.

“That’s why he left the gallery,” Lund said.

“What?”

“I saw him, the killer — he was right behind me in the room where Patel was going to speak, only a few feet away. It was a very public place, so he must have been waiting for the right time.”

DeBolt felt a shudder rise through her shoulders and translate into his hands. He said, “But then I got Patel to confess, and I transmitted it to Delta. When he learned the truth, he ignored you and came after Patel in a rage.”

“I saw what he did — the body in the dirt.”

“He went berserk. I tried to reason with him after he killed Patel. I tried to explain that I was no threat to him. I told him we were both victims of META. He came after me anyway. I jumped over the top-level balcony, landed in the dirt.”

“I saw you limping.”

“Right knee and lower leg.”

“Is it broken?”

“I don’t think so, but I can barely walk.”

She looked outside. “We need to get out of town. Can you get a car, the way you told me you did at that diner in the States?”

“Like OnStar, some European version? I don’t know. Right now I can’t do anything.” He pointed up. “Those high-voltage lines screw up my connection — I’ve noticed it before.”

“Then we have to get off the tram.”

He considered it. “If Delta saw either of us get on this car, he’ll find a way to track it.”

DeBolt looked outside and saw a great basilica-style church. Beyond that the Danube stretched out before them, rolling lazily under a wide double-stacked bridge. The tram came to a stop called Mexikoplatz, and after a careful look outside they got off. DeBolt leaned heavily on Lund as they walked toward the river.

He said, “There’s a big parking lot near the base of the bridge. We can find a car there.”

Progress was slow, and ground they would normally have covered in two minutes took five. They paused together at a deep set of stairs, five flights leading down to a parking lot where at least a hundred vehicles stood in wait. “There’s got to be something we can use down there,” he said. “We’ll start with the luxury brands. I think they’re more likely to have a system I can—” DeBolt’s voice cut off abruptly.

Lund looked at him, saw his distress. She looked all around. “What is it?” she asked. “Do you see him?”

He stood frozen on the sidewalk.

“What’s wrong, Trey?”

He hesitated, then said, “The stairs. It’ll take me forever to climb down with my bad leg. You go down and do some research. I’ll need makes and models, license plate numbers with the country of origin. I’m not sure which will be the easiest for META to hack, so we have to expect some trial and error.”

“But Trey, I can help you down the stairs and—”

“No, go now! Do not question me on this!”

Lund hesitated, taken aback by his sharpness. She said nothing, but started down the long stone staircase.

DeBolt waited until she was halfway down before following the instruction in his right eye.

He saw Delta step from behind a stone column. He was across the street near the church, no more than fifty yards away. It left only one way out for DeBolt. He limped away from the stairs and headed toward the bridge.