At that, I turn into his arms, and I don’t move away until first light.
In the morning, there are hard decisions to be made. Farah and Loras argue in low tones until he summons the rest of us. I guess she was opposed to whatever he intends to do, but there’s a new hardness in his eyes now, like he’s stepped out onto this ledge with both feet, and he will do whatever it takes to win this war—to free his people—even if it means drowning this world in blood. Unlike the rest of us, his grief hasn’t hit him as pain; in Loras, it has become undiluted rage. The force burns in his blue gaze like twin, white-hot flames.
“There’s only one way we can prove they haven’t broken us,” he says. “We take out a high-profile target in immediate retaliation. Farah has convinced me not to use the MO, for now, but I’m afraid the day will come when it’s unavoidable. For now, this is the new mission.”
“What?” Zeeka asks.
“The governor of Jineba must die.”
CHAPTER 49
This op is risky, and Vel took all the chances.
He crafted a new face and slipped into Jineba to get within short-range wireless bounce so we could coordinate with Tarn for our escape, once the mission’s done. It felt like I couldn’t breathe, the whole time Vel was gone. Even with scramblers, there’s no guarantee of privacy. I hope Tarn and Leviter have been boring enough not to draw suspicion.
They’re our only hope of getting out of this alive.
Now March and I are on a rooftop, preparing to assassinate the governor.
I peer through the scope and check the calibrations. It looks fine to me, but this isn’t my area of expertise. Then I step back, smiling my thanks for the glimpse at a skill set I don’t possess. It’s so odd to stare at someone who’s so far away, but I can see the lines in his lips, the size of his pores, and the hair in his nose. There’s no clear shot at this point, however. The governor is half standing behind one of his aides, chatting with some well-built brunette.
Of us all, March has the most experience with the silent kill. He’s equally proficient at distance or close-up. This time, it must be the former. Silently, I back away; today, I’m guarding roof access. Nobody can slide in behind him, screwing up this day’s work, because I’m here to kill them if they try.
At camp, we argued over who was best qualified, but in the end, Vel conceded he has more experience capturing men. He seemed a little worried about sending me off with March, as he and I haven’t worked together as much as Vel and I. But then, March took him aside and asked him to keep an eye on Sasha. That gave me an odd, warm twinge, as if we’re truly a family, a strange one, to be sure, but we’re learning to function as a unit.
This mission has to be foolproof. In armor, with my helmet on, there’s not enough of my face showing for anyone to recognize me. And besides, if they see me, I kill them. That’s my mandate.
So I station myself beside the door while March studies his angle and compensates for other factors, such as wind speed. The irony is that this rifle came from the cache we stole earlier. Down below, the people scurry like insects. It’s cold enough that I can see my breath, but I don’t shift to warm up. The crowd’s already assembling for the governor’s speech. At precisely noon, he intends to tell them in ringing evangelical tones how the rebellion will soon be over, because of their decisive victory in destroying our hidden base.
Really, there should be centurions guarding every possible sniper’s nest, and I spot a few of them on distant rooftops. I guess it’s been so long since they left active service that they’ve forgotten how to spot the best vantage. Their rusty observational skills work in our favor, so I’m not complaining. I check my weapons. No pistol, just knife and shock-stick. If I kill somebody up here, it’ll be quiet.
Music strikes up below us. The strains sound like a muffled ping of a child’s music box at this altitude, but it means the program is about to commence. I face away from the edge, watching the door with full attention. March doesn’t need my scrutiny to perform.
The floor rumbles, which means the lift is arriving. Damn. I dismissed the centurions as careless too soon. They’re not total idiots; they’re just running late. I fall into a fighting crouch, hoping there aren’t too many. March can’t miss his shot.
There are four of them when the door swings open. Surprise on my side, I take one quickly, a result of the live shock-stick. While he spasms, the others go for their comms. Shit, no, I can’t have that. I lunge and knock the tech out of their hands and then stomp them for good measure. But the maneuver gives them time to regroup. Their hands edge toward their guns. I’m armored, but if the three of them concentrate fire, I’m done.
March’s shot rings out. A single burst, clean and true, I hope. My hope bears fruit when the crowd below shrieks. Pandemonium breaks out, audible even up here.
I glance around for cover; there’s a ventilation unit I can use. As they shoot, I dive. This is a problem because I don’t have a gun. Laser shots slam into the metal, sparking and sizzling; the scent of hot steel scents the air. Fortunately, they can’t get at March for the unit that’s keeping me from certain death. The chaos below covers the noise as they loose a second volley. But I hear one of them moving as the other two lay down cover fire.
March slips up beside me, and I’ve never been gladder to see him. “How many?”
“Four total. One won’t be getting up for a while.”
“Shock-stick?”
I nod. “So three to deal with before we can use the maintenance stairs.”
“Small arms?”
“Yeah, just pistols. We’ve got one incoming to our position, but I don’t think he knows I’ve got company back here.”