Run Hard, Die Fast Read online

  Holstering the empty Ingram, he turned his attention to the maglock holding the cargo vehicle's rear doors closed. He straightened his free hand, then popped the retractable punching dagger free of his wrist. The triangular blade extended nearly ten centimeters beyond his fingertips. He rocketed his arm forward, shearing into the plastisteel door. He retracted the blade and shoved his fingers through the opening, ripping it larger.

  Equipped with sensors sensitive enough to allow him to read Braille if he needed to, the cybernetic interface linking Argent's meat body to his bodyware also gave him the choice of how much sensation came charging back through his nervous system. He'd chosen to feel only the impact of his hand driving through the doors, nothing that his mind could have comprehended as pain.

  Although his arm was joined to a flesh and blood body with a reinforced spine and joint and other structural supports, he still didn't possess the leverage to throw cars around the way street sams did on the trid action shows. With his cyberware, his already considerable strength did double. And the grip in his hand, depending on leverage, was incredible, like the jaws of a vise.

  He closed his hand around the locking mechanism holding the door closed. One quick squeeze later, all that remained of the lock was a handful of metallic and ceramic splinters.

  The shriek of the collapsing lock was still in his ears when Argent pulled the door open and stepped into the back of the Roadmaster. Bullets smashed into the kevlar covering his chest.

  Five men occupied the vehicle's cargo space, dressed in nondescript coveralls that Argent assumed disguised the street clothes worn under them. Shaundra Merlini, blond and disheveled, her left hand wrapped in a heavy pad of blood-spotted gauze, sat tied to one of the built-in cargo securing hooks on the side wall. She wore the same chartreuse Vashon Island skirt-suit that she'd been wearing when she' d been abducted. Her father had shown Argent a pic from the sec cam loop of her departure. Her head swiveled weakly in the big samurai's direction, a scream parting her lips.

  One of the young woman's kidnappers rushed toward her with a monofilament knife glinting in his fist.

  Argent sprinted to intercept the man wielding the knife. To his left, one of the other men broke into a reflexive offensive move that was so smooth it told Argent immediately the man was equipped with a move-by-wire cybernetic system. The man's hand flashed for a Colt Manhunter snugged up under his left arm.

  Letting his own reflexes take over, guided by experience and his own move-by-wire system, Argent shifted points of attack. The move-by-wire system kept the individual equipped with it in a constant state of readiness, almost like a seizure, but resulting motion was simple, direct, and unbelievably fast to anyone who didn't have it. The only drawback was the slight tremors Argent experienced when his muscles were relaxed—an unfortunate side effect.

  Argent watched the kidnapper's Manhunter pull free of the holster before the man with the knife could take one more running step toward the defenseless young woman. Argent accessed the BrightLight system built into his left eye and triggered the Flash-pak.

  The sudden glare of the intensely bright light strobing from the samurai's eye filled the Roadmaster's cargo space. No matter what kind of cybered eyes any of the kidnappers had, Argent knew the Flash-pak was going to have an effect. His own vision, however, remained unaffected.

  In the brief flicker of confusion that followed, Argent closed on the man holding the knife. The joker had staggered, hammered by the painful intensity of the Flash-pak, stopping short of his intended prey. Ripping the Guardian free of his shoulder holster, the big street samurai brought the pistol up. The smartgun link built into the handle of the weapon transferred information through Argent's hand, allowing his move-by-wire system to incorporate all the specifics of the weapon in a nanosecond.

  Squeezing off his first shot, Argent put the round into the move-by-wire equipped kidnapper's gunhand.

  The heavy-caliber bullet split the hand open, reducing it to metal splinters. He'd had to aim for the weapon because geeking the kidnapper might not have stopped his cyber-systems from flatlining the young woman.

  Unable to take another clear shot and not wanting any more bullets whizzing around in the back of the cargo vehicle than necessary, Argent concentrated on the knife man. He stiffened the fingers of his free hand and shot them into the man's throat, driving the tips through flesh to the spinal column.

  The kidnapper's charge broke into a loose collapse of limbs. Catching the dead man still a meter short of Shaundra Merlini, Argent wheeled with the man's body before him, holding the corpse up to use it as a shield to defend the woman.

  Bullets thudded into the dead man's back.

  At a glance, Argent saw that the shots came from one of the other surviving kidnappers. The heavily cybered man had moved from his position, lost for a moment in the confusion of bodies shifting in the Roadmaster's cargo space. Targeting the shooter, Argent placed a single round between the mail's eyes that voided his brain pan in a glistening rush.

  A shadow flicked into motion at the periphery of Argent's vision, followed immediately by a foul collection of curses. The Merlini woman screamed behind him, her voice sounding lost and pathetic. She was still under the blinding effects of the Flash-pak, totally panicked.

  Before he could bring the Guardian around to face the new threat, the razored joker dropped an arm like an iron bar across Argent's wrist, knocking the corpse from his grip. Without wasted motion, the razorboy shoved the mangled remains of his hand at Argent's face.

  3

  Argent twisted, narrowly avoiding the knot of shrapnel the razorboy's arm had become. He shoved the Guardian's blunt snout into his opponent's wide mouth, breaking teeth, then pulled the trigger. Even move-by-wire reflexes couldn't avoid the bullet that blew through the back of the gillette's skull.

  The dead man stumbled back, propelled by the large-caliber round.

  Even before the corpse could fall, Argent moved on the remaining two kidnappers. A backhanded blow took down the man on the left, the metal cyberhand shredding flesh to the bone with the impact.

  The last man set himself up in a martial arts kata, his arms whipping around as he positioned himself for Argent's attack. He gave a yell, meeting the street samurai halfway with a front snapkick that snaked through Argent's defenses.

  The kick collided with Argent's face, popping his head back. Pain flared through his face, but he forced it out of his mind, automatically grabbing his attacker's foot with his left hand before the man could pull it back to safety. Argent brought his other hand across, defending against a flurry of punches, then smashed the Guardian down on the knee of the captured leg.

  Bone crunched, and Argent's enhanced hearing picked up the sound of reinforcing ceramics and metals in the man's joint architecture giving way as well. The kidnapper screamed in pain but tried to continue the fight. He reached, bending from the waist. Razors popped free of his fingers, licking for Argent's eyes.

  Argent held onto the mangled leg, twisting to gain leverage and to keep his opponent off balance. The man yelled, but swiped the finger razors again. Lifting the Guardian, Argent squeezed off a round that impacted in the center of the man's face. He dropped the corpse and turned his attention to the door shutting the cargo space off from the Roadmaster's front cab.

  The door opened easily at his touch, but the way the Roadmaster swerved let him know the driver was aware that things had gone to hell in the cargo section. As Argent moved into the cramped cab area, the kidnapper riding shotgun fired his Manhunter from point-blank range.

  Only Argent's reflexes, honed from dozens of battles, and the move-by-wire system saved him. He dodged to one side, his free hand arcing out to grab the pistol barrel.

  Before another round could be fired, he squeezed his hand, smashing the barrel together.

  The kidnapper pulled the trigger anyway, not knowing the damage that had been done to his weapon. The Man-hunter exploded, blowing the slide backward into the man's face and tu
rning it into a mask of blood.

  Shoving his way into the cab, Argent brushed aside the driver's attempt to aim a pistol at him, causing the man to fire a round through the windshield. Argent squeezed off two rounds into the wounded man's face to make sure he was down, then turned his attention to the driver.

  The Roadmaster rushed through the streets of Lower Queen Anne, drawing a number of frustrated and angry horn blasts from other vehicles. The driver pulled on the wheel hard, ramming the Roadmaster into a Metro Transit bus, driving the bigger vehicle onto the sidewalk along Union Street. Scattered pockets of the sprawl's night life ran for their lives as the bus and Roadmaster fought for control. The bus plowed through a small group of umbrella tables at an open-air Thai restaurant. Luckily, the diners all got to safety. Some of them even put a few shots through the Roadmaster's windshield. It was no real surprise, Argent reflected grimly. In the Lower Queen Anne District a chummer watched his or her hoop as a full-time job.

  Clenching his fist in the driver's coverall, Argent lifted the man from behind the wheel and swung him toward the pistol-blasted windshield. Already weakened from the bullets that had struck it, the windshield gave way at once.

  The driver tried to grab a secure hold as he slid over the Roadmaster's blunt nose, but failed. He dropped in front of the big cargo vehicle as Argent holstered the Guardian and slid into the seat.

  The street samurai fought the wheel for control, pulling away from the bus. There was only one more tick of resistance as the wheels rolled over the kidnapper. Reaching down to the gear shift lever between the seats, Argent shifted into a lower gear, then put his foot heavier on the accelerator, controlling the vehicle.

  Activating the commlink, he said, "Groundwire."

  Peg came back on-line at once, a calming influence inside his busy mind. "Here, Skyhook."

  Argent scanned the line of traffic ahead of him and in the oncoming lanes. "There was another vehicle running blocker." The other Americar was no longer in front of him.

  "The second car is coming up beside you." Peg replied coolly. She was tied into the action by the drone over the scene, scanning the vid it relayed. "It dropped back as you were getting control of the Roadmaster."

  Argent glanced in the side mirror, recognizing the other Americar at once from the autofire flaming from two of the windows. "Got it." he said. "Can you contact Lone Star?"

  "I've already alerted them." Peg answered. "And given them the specifics of who you are and what's going on. Estimated time of arrival is seventeen seconds. They have a unit en route."

  Driving expertly, Argent used the traffic against his pursuers, filling the middle of Union Street when the flow of traffic backed off. He watched the digital readout of his retinal clock as it counted down, then noticed the fat shape of the Chrysler-Nissan G12A hovercraft in front of him as it plowed through traffic with full light bars blazing to announce its presence.

  Heavily armored and distinctly marked, the Lone Star SWAT unit looked like a mechanized predator on the prowl. Traffic readily made room for it, cringing to the sides of Union Street as the whirling light peeled away the layers of neon spilling from the various businesses lining both sides of the thoroughfare. Lone Star's SWAT teams had a reputation for getting a job done quickly in spite of unfavorable conditions.

  Argent glanced in the side mirror, watching the Americar swing out wide behind him, intent on overtaking the Roadmaster. This time, the street samurai let the vehicle come, knowing the SWAT unit had to be locked onto the American

  The hovercraft sped down Union Street, scarcely more than fifty meters away. Guns mounted on firm points on the G12A glinted against the hide of black armor. A Victory rotary assault cannon kept a low profile above the black-lensed glass of the hovercraft's windshield.

  Gunfire raked the Roadmaster's side in a sudden drumming din. Argent hunkered down low behind the steering wheel, dodging a car in front of him that had come to a full stop. He edged to the left, keeping the attention of the men in the Americar, watching as the hovercraft settled in the middle of Union Street atop its cushion of air.

  He recognized all the telltales of the hovercraft's gunners, knowing they'd locked onto their target.

  Without warning, he hit the brakes and pulled the steering wheel hard right. Since the cargo area was virtually empty, making the back end of the Roadmaster light, the vehicle fish-tailed, the back end coming around like it was racing the front end.

  Argent had timed the move well enough that the Road-master's heavier bulk caught the Americar from behind, batting it forward and to the left. The Americar driver fought his vehicle for control. The men inside the car were close enough for Argent to see. As he continued shutting the Roadmaster down, he watched the men's faces swivel toward the waiting Lone Star hovercraft.

  A micro-tick later, as soon as the Americar was clear of the Roadmaster, the SWAT craft's rotary cannon opened up with a thunderous roar. A full salvo of five cannon rounds slammed into the Americar, reducing it to a tumbling ball of fire and wreckage that pummeled the side of a coffin hotel, shedding bits of flaming scrap.

  Miraculously, the hotel wall held. Fire washed over the windows when the Americar exploded in a heated rush.

  Argent knew most of the hotel's guests shunted away in their small, stacked cubicles with the simsense rigs or gooned on the what-me-worry of their choice wouldn't even have registered the impact. The Roadmaster quivered to a halt.

  Sliding from behind the wheel, Argent returned to the compartment area of the vehicle. Shaundra Merlini wept openly, her mouth working continuously. Tenderly, he freed her from the restraints, then picked her up in his arms. She folded in on herself like a child, arms crossed, her chin tucked down on top of her hands.

  Carrying the young woman's weight easily, Argent strode to the back of the Roadmaster. "You're going to be okay." he told her in a soft voice. "Your father sent me to bring you home. And I'm going to see that done. No one else is going to hurt you. That's a promise."

  She pressed against his chest, shivering.

  Argent held her and forced himself to keep his distance, didn't allow himself to think of all the things she'd been through since she'd been taken. Success in his line of work all too often resulted only in keeping a bad situation from getting worse, not by saving the weak and the innocent from what they'd already experienced. He couldn't change history; only influence the future. A soldier learned where the lines were between what was possible and what wasn't. Personal involvement had gotten too many good men dead, and he knew that from experience.

  The SWAT members ringed the Roadmaster, pointing their rifles and pistols at Argent. He remained standing when he was ordered, then told them to contact Victor Merlini to check on his involvement.

  "Argent." Peg called over the commlink.

  That surprised him. This deep into an op, without knowing whether they could put a handle on all the elements,

  Peg knew better than to break the communication blackout. He waited as the SWAT members came for him. One of the first things they would do was slap a headjammer on him to block out whatever internal commlinks he might have.

  "I knew you'd want to know." Peg went. "I just received a message from Brynnmawr."

  And that act, Argent knew, was even more dangerous than staring down the muzzles of a dozen adrenaline-charged Lone Star SWAT members. Brynnmawr was part of his past, one of a number of pasts.

  Only Brynnmawr was more dangerous than all others put together. If everything had gone right, Argent knew he'd never have heard from the man again. Even as Shaundra Merlini was taken from his arms and containment manacles were snapped around his wrists, he couldn't help wondering what had gone wrong and who had been flatlined.

  Or who was going to be.

  4

  [Chip file: Argent

  [Personal log and review file: Classified]

  Security access: ******—22:43:43/10-9-60]

  BEGIN UPLOAD

  Location: Everett Safe House
r />   Lone Star didn't try to detain me long. Or if they did, they didn't get to. Victor Merlini saw to that. An exec with his kind of power and political clout is going to get what he wants. Of course, if things had turned out differently with his daughter, I'd probably still be buried deep in the slammer. I kept a realistic view of the world.

  After I got away from the Star, after I cleared Victor Merlini's Toyota Elite limo with a certified credstick in the amount we'd agreed on, I took a half-dozen cabs to the rented doss in Everett that I had waiting. At least, almost there; I walked the last three klicks after being let out at the main gates to the Federated Everett Boeing Facility on 84th Street SW.

  Merkhur had disappeared before any of the Star fly-boys could run him to ground. A quick wash in one of the units down near the docks in Elliott Bay and he was as gone as they got. He'd gotten paid half his fee up front, and Peg had transferred the other half to the bank he was using once I'd dropped from the helo.

  The biz I do is by the numbers and on time. I even paid up front for the drone he left behind so there'd be no hard feelings.

  The Everett doss wasn't home; it was just a flop, a place to go to ground. When I pulled the kind of high-profile shadowrun the Merlini kidnapping turned out to be, I stayed away from my homeground for a couple days, maybe even a couple weeks. Sometimes the trouble I took on had a habit of following me around for a time.

  Everett was a good location for cooling out, and the doss itself was a few blocks down from Casino Corner, the only red-light zone in the district. I took the four flights of stairs up to the doss because the elevators didn't work. The bruising I'd taken during the Merlini recovery burned with a slow flame across my chest, tightening up over my ribs.

  A wave of stale, humid air slapped me in the face as I stepped into the room, like the liquid stench from a jungle soldier's athlete's foot gone near to gangrenous rot. I dropped the duffel on the sway-backed bed and got serious about the room's security.