Run Hard, Die Fast Read online

  SHADOWRUN : 35

  RUN HARD, DIE FAST

  Mel Odom

  Dedication

  Dear Matt Dain Odom,

  This book is dedicated to you, son, with thanks for sharing your life with me and for introducing me to the rigors of being a wrestling parent! May your world always be as exciting and filled with wonderment as it is now. This book is a toast to that early morning pre-tournament weigh-in filled with Dunkin Donuts, conversation, and just a-borning sun. And to your first pin in the Norman Junior High Duel!

  Love, Dad

  Special acknowledgment to Donna Ippolito, one of the finest editors I've worked with, and the person who helped me bring into clearer focus one of the most interesting characters in Shadowrun.

  And to Nigel Findley: Argent is your creation, buddy, and I regret that this is the closest I can come to working with you. I think it would have been a blast.

  And to the fans of Shadowrun who've written and told me what the shadows mean to them: SeTthSon, Matthew Banning, Buddy Lacey, Robert Doyle, Ron Peterson, Dave, Brandon A. Reed, and STR8EDGBOB! Run fast and true, chummers, or the shadows will get you!

  Prologue

  From transcript of conversation with confidential informant, Bonez. Submitted by Sgt. N. Cooper, Department of Special Investigation

  04:11:23/10-6-60 CC:LTG 2418 (32-0113)

  [Note per Cooper: Cap, I know everybody thinks Bonez is a burnout simsense junkie, but the guy is knowledgeable in what goes on in the shadows, a regular fanboy with a serious jones for shadowrunners. Nobody else had a finger on Argent, but Bonez had this.]

  "Argent? Sure I've heard of Argent. Frag, anybody who's into the serious end of runners knows about this guy. And yeah, he's one guy. Some of the street guff says he's a clone or something; maybe got five or six of him running around at the same time. Not true.

  "Argent is a scary guy. Not 'cause he's one of those sadistic fragging posers that hang out in so many of the flops the shadowfolk have. But when Argent gets down to biz, the hincky guttermeat that goes up against him generally flatlines in messy pyrotechnics if the ops goes bad. Otherwise, Argent's in and out and somebody's slagged before they even know they've been cheated out of their next cardiac bumpety-boom, bumpety-boom.

  "Military training? I've heard he had some tours with Fuchi during their Desert Wars. Then he hung it up and went private in the shadows. Had a group they called the Wrecking Crew. They were a specialty team that handled any kind of project if the credstick was big enough. Very select about what they took on. Argent's got standards. That joker had his flesh and blood arms chopped so he could cyber up. I mean, you know what kind of thinking and self-control that takes?

  You can have an arm augmented with less trauma. 'Course, then you've only got an augmented arm, not a weapon the way Argent went.

  "A few years back, according to a wisp of street buzz I haven't been able to nail down, a run went to squat and two of the Crew got greased in the confusion. Since then, Argent's operated on a smaller scale, only taking on one-man contracts, or two-man if he can fill the bill himself.

  "The gen is that Argent lost some of himself when the Wrecking Crew flamed out. Others say that Argent won't just partner with anybody, so that's why he's working lonesome these days. Nobody much is saying either way anyhow 'cause nobody knows.

  "I go with the first thought. Every runner I know would give their right nut to work with Argent, and half the cred involved. Argent's a credstick in the slot every time. He's staying small 'cause he wants to.

  "Oh, one other word of advice, Cooper: you somehow manage to wind up in Argent's way, get the frag to a new twenty. There's no back-up in the guy, and when he takes something on, his word's his bond. The frag-up that cost the lives of two Crew members? Word I get is that Argent completed the contract anyway. Signed, sealed, and delivered. That's just the kind of joker he is. Real stand-up, you know."

  1

  "Skyhook, I have your target located."

  "Affirmative, Groundwire, bring us onto the target." Argent shifted in the passenger seat of the Hughes WK-2 Stallion helicopter and stared down at the grid of lighted streets through the cool blue polycarbonate glazing of the craft' s cockpit bubble.

  He was a big man with a squared-off face that looked like it had been cast in bronze. His fair hair was cut in a military flat top that he'd worn for years. He went clean-shaven, and the weak moonlight dusting in from outside the cockpit faded against the camo makeup he wore to blunt his features. Dressed in a dark green one-piece with a combat harness over it, his matte-black finished cyber-arms blended into the overall look.

  "Phasing you in, Skyhook." the feminine voice said.

  "Copy, Groundwire. GPS coming on-line now." Argent glanced at the Sony Nav-Dat global positioning system mounted amid the helo's control panel. The glowing orange dot that represented the Stallion held its course while a purple triangle took form ahead and to the left. The big man glanced over at the helo pilot.

  "I heard." Merkhur stated irritably in his clipped British accent over the helo's commlink. His meat body sagged in the pilot's chair, a vehicle control rig plugged into his right temple under the wild tangle of chestnut hair. Long and lean even for an elf, he looked almost uncomfortable folded into the seat, but the Vehicle Control Rig cyberware made him part of the craft. For all intents and purposes, he was the helo. He saw with its cams, heard with its aud pickups, and even felt the air friction against the helo's skin. He wore traditional Japanese robes, soft cream over brown.

  For the moment, the Stallion was covered with the markings of the United Canadian and American States Post Office. The markings were camouflage, though, and a good rain blowing in across Puget Sound would have washed them right off. Argent had known there wouldn't be any rain, and a quick rinse would put the helo back to its original green color, making it harder to trace after the op played out.

  The kidnappers had chosen the Lower Queen Anne neighborhood as the dropsite. They couldn't know it, but he was familiar with the area. Much closer to ground zero now, Argent made out the long, winding route of Union Street threading through the sprawl's other thoroughfares.

  "If Shaundra Merlini's captors get away." the feminine voice of Groundwire said over the Wiremasters Comm-link X, "they'll have plenty of boltholes to rabbit to before you or Lone Star can dig them out. The girl will be dead when she's found."

  "I know, Peg." Argent said softly. "But that's not going to happen."

  Peg was a decker, one of the best at getting into high-tech systems, and Argent wouldn't have felt as confident without her running the data end of the rescue. He hadn't seen a system yet that she couldn't sleaze her way through given the time. The problem was that in their job there wasn't always time.

  This time they'd been lucky. When Victor Merlini had contracted a fixer Argent picked up biz from and explained the situation, mentioning his daughter's amputated thumb as well, Argent decided at once that he'd sign on for the save if he could find a way to get next to the kidnappers. Standing up for an underdog against over-whelming oppressive odds was one of the jobs he took every time.

  He'd combed the streets while Peg had ducked through the shadow information alleys of the Matrix linking Seattle's computers and telecom activity. The closest they'd come to identifying the kidnap ring through whispered rumors was to establish a reasonably certain tie to the Alamos 20K hate groups. Neither of them had turned up names of any of the people connected with the kidnap ring.

  What Argent was sure of was that Merlini had a right to be fearful for his daughter. Argent's research had turned up seven people in the Seattle-based shipping industry who'd lost family members in the last handful of months.

  Merlini's family physician had also supplied a tissue s
ample from the girl, allowing Argent to hire two street mages and a snake shaman to help him look for Shaundra. Escadero, the snake shaman, had gotten the closest to finding the girl.

  While in an induced trance, slithering through the may-bes of what might come to pass regarding Shaundra Merlini's future, Escadero had spotted the young woman in a van in the Lower Queen Anne District. But the foretelling vision wasn't always accurate, as Escadero had pointed out.

  Tonight, it had proven on the mark. And one of the three mages now astrally searching for Shaundra Merlini in Lower Queen Anne using the tissue sample had found her and relayed the information to Peg. It had been a long shot, but it was all Argent had left to play. Lone Star had covered all the conventional routes.

  The Stallion skimmed the canyons of corporate skyscrapers, apartment buildings, and shopping complexes, staying barely five meters above the uneven skyline, juking sideways as Merkhur controlled it.

  The rigger handled the craft with smooth confidence, using some of the buildings for cover as they swooped toward Union Street.

  "Groundwire." Argent said over the commlink. "Can you paint the target?"

  "I'm collating data now." As always Peg sounded cool and assured.

  Argent released the catches on the door, letting the wind whip into the cockpit. Holding onto the door with one hand, he checked his gear with the other, running his palm over the twin Smartlink Level II outfitted Ingram Super Mach 100s riding in crossed bands over his hips. A Smartlink Level II equipped Savalette Guardian was synthleathered in a jackass shoulder rig under his left arm as backup in case the Ingrams didn't quite turn the trick. And he had a monofilament whip tucked away in his boot if things turned truly fragged.

  "Skyhook." Peg called, "stand by for targeting."

  "Get to it." Argent activated the circuitry in his cyber-eyes and brought the thermographic utility on-line in his right eye. Immediately, the sprawl below took on a new look as the thermographic vision picked up heat patterns rather than conventional sight. The signals coming through both his eyes was confusing, but he was used to going monocular when he needed to. It affected his depth perception, but mostly only at distances, and that was why the eye was also equipped with a range-finder to compensate. He carried a lot of cybernetics in his body, but all of it was user-friendly, top-of-the-line deltaware, some of it barely out of the prototype stage. His contacts put him next to a lot of gear that wasn't on the market, and he spent the money for the upgrades.

  Another moment passed, then an oval pale lavender light lit up the top of a charcoal-colored Ares Roadmaster cargo vehicle. The lavender light was the result of thermal imaging projected by a drone locked into a pattern above the target vehicle. The drone, a stripped-down, highly illegal Lone Star Strato-9 surveillance model knock-off engineered by black marketeers in Singapore, had been leased from an outlaw rigger for the night's op.

  "Skyhook, your target has been painted." Peg declared. Operating from information she'd gathered from the mages, she'd managed to ID the vehicle.

  "Affirmative." Argent said. "Skyhook sees the paint. Merkhur?"

  "Got it, got it, mate. I'm not exactly sleeping at the post, you know." The helo lost altitude rapidly, streaking for the Roadmaster.

  Unaware, the Roadmaster cruised easily through the streets, negotiating the intersections without getting hung up. It was coming up on the Seattle Aquarium, crossing Ninth Avenue.

  Argent shifted, opening the helo's door more. He stepped out into the chill wind blowing in from Elliott Bay. Traffic whisked by less than ten meters below as the helo closed rapidly on its prey.

  With the cargo door open, the wind slammed into the helo's cockpit, throwing its aerodynamics off.

  Merkhur struggled with the controls, forcing the Stallion to stay on course.

  "Lower." Argent ordered.

  "Mate." Merkhur protested, "you're about pushing this old lady's limits."

  Argent didn't have any sympathy. His thoughts were on the young woman in the speeding van, and on her father. Corp exec though he was, and used to a daily grind of high-pressure deals and bargaining, Victor Merlini had barely made it through the telecom interview Argent had insisted on.

  The Roadmaster pulled into the right lane again. Argent marked the next intersection as Boren Avenue, and Union Street curved back to the left, straightening out now. From what Peg had learned in the Lone Star files, the ransom dropsite hadn't been announced to Merlini yet. Peg had confirmed that with a call to the young woman's father.

  In each of the previous cases, the kidnappers had stayed on the move with their hostage, allowing them to have contact with a second group of kidnappers. With all the cards in their hands, the kidnappers downloaded the ransom money through a telecom-equipped deck without having to produce the hostage.

  The third kidnapping had resulted in the hostage getting chilled while on-line with her husband, and the kidnappers had disappeared without a trace.

  The only chance Shaundra Merlini had of getting out of the situation alive was if someone could get to her before the ransom changed hands.

  "Skyhook." Peg called out. "The call has been made."

  Argent logged the time on his retinal clock, advanced it two minutes, then started counting down. None of the other ransom transfers had taken more than two minutes. At the end of that time, the hostages had been executed, their bodies thrown out into the streets.

  Merkhur straightened the Stallion again, bringing it closer to the Roadmaster. Now that the kidnapper's vehicle had reached the part of Union Street that ran independent of the other side streets and had a higher speed limit, it sped up.

  A minute flashed by as Merkhur worked to get the helo over the Roadmaster. Out in traffic now, Argent watched the way the vehicle moved, then noticed the two dark blue Ford Americars running blocker and flanker for the bigger vehicle.

  It wasn't a total surprise to Argent, but it did make things more complicated. He spoke over the commlink. "They've got cars running cover for the Roadmaster, Merkhur."

  "I see them. But there's no way they won't see us coming if they're alert."

  The retinal clock was down to fifty-two seconds. "Then we're going to have to do this quick."

  "I know. I'm ready to start my final approach."

  "Go." Argent clambered down the side of the helo until he was at the landing gear. He handled his weight easily, maintaining holds with the cyberhands. The cyberarms more than doubled his original strength and weren't as prone to fatigue.

  The Stallion dove like a hunting hawk, curving gracefully through the area toward the Roadmaster.

  Merkhur handled his craft expertly, matching the helo's speed with the cargo vehicle. Dropping into position over the Roadmaster, he maintained a distance of less than three meters.

  Virulent red tracer fire streaked through the night around Argent, pinging off the armored sides of the Stallion. He glanced down and saw gunners from the rear car firing up at the helo.

  Over the speeding Roadmaster now, Argent released his hold on the Stallion's landing gear and dropped.

  2

  Falling free of the helo and no longer part of its forward momentum, Argent became prey for the vicious wind. It buffeted him for an instant, pushing him like a kite. Then he flailed, regaining control over his body with difficulty. When both his feet missed the Roadmaster, he accessed the circuitry in his left cyberhand and switched on the electro-magnets. He arced his body and slammed his hand against the top of the cargo vehicle. The magnetic field created by the electricity juicing the cyberhand pulled his palm and fingers against the metal vehicle roof, snugging them tight. Even then, it took a moment for his fall to stop, his hand dragging toward the edge, shrilling noisily.

  Argent found purchase with his feet and hauled one of the Ingram Super 100s free of synthleather.

  Bracing himself, the sound of the engine behind him suddenly racing, he brought the Ingram up and twisted around.

  The car behind the Roadmaster sped up, lurching for
ward. A man leaned out of the passenger window and brought up a machine pistol. The pistol's red aiming laser flicked across Argent and the Roadmaster, then ejected brass glinted as the bullets ripped free of the vicious muzzle. The dulled thwacks of the rounds striking the back of the cargo vehicle rattled over the noise of the traffic.

  With the smartlink operational, Argent's cybered eyes became gunsights. Cross hairs appeared in his vision, tracking the Ingram's sweep. He caressed the trigger, expertly unleashing a three-round burst that decapitated his attacker.

  The headless corpse writhed in pain and reflex, tumbling back inside the American Blood filmed the inside of the windshield in haphazard streaks.

  Alarmed by his dead companion, the driver swerved, reaching out with one hand to block the corpse from falling onto him. The Americar veered sharply into oncoming traffic, drawing a series of hostile horn bleats, then came roaring back at the rear of the Roadmaster again.

  Argent shifted the Ingram and squeezed off four sustained bursts that emptied the machine pistol's 60-round, high-density clip. The max amount of rounds that could be fired from the machine pistol in a burst was fifteen. The initial burst starred the Americar' s bulletproof windshield on the driver's side, covering it over with cracks and limiting the driver's vision. The second and third, aimed toward the pavement in front of the car to take advantage of the ricochet potential from the hard surface, chopped the front tires to bits. The last burst sprayed across the Americar's front grill, puncturing the radiator and punching into the engine block.

  Fire surged from under the Americar's hood, trailing black smoke. The car lost ground, rocking out of control.

  Above, the Stallion climbed rapidly into the air, without so much as a fare-thee-well from Merkhur. The comm-link remained silent, with even Peg quiet on the sidelines. Argent felt alone in that instant, missing his dead team mates from the Wrecking Crew as much as he ever had. If Hawk and Toshi had survived the run against the Fort Lewis ISP facility Dirk Montgomery had contracted them for . . . but he checked his thinking, getting back to the biz at hand.