Read Online Deus Ex - Icarus Effect by James Swallow - Free Book Online
Authors: James Swallow
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credit chip imprinted with the logo of the People's Republic. The arfid strip in the card
had been scrambled—a low-tech approach, to be certain, but enough that it rendered the transaction untraceable. The hacker made it vanish.
"How long is this gonna take?" Anna went on, her tone turning brittle.
"Not long," he offered, eyeing her, catching her manner. "Hey, Kel... If you, like, need something, I can speak to some of my people—"
She turned away, walking toward the fabric walls of the dome. The offer tempted her more than she wanted to admit. "You know what I need,
Denny," she said over her shoulder. "I need a name for that face."
Aerial Transit Corridor—Smolensk Oblast—Russian Federated States
Through the oval window of the pressure door, Saxon could see the morning light crossing the landscape far below, chasing the aircraft as it flew
eastward. By the time they reached their destination, the dawn would have overtaken them, but for now the rising sun was still at their backs,
visible in lines of color that illuminated the thin strips of clouds passing beneath. The view tilted as they banked gently, and Saxon put out his
right hand to steady himself. He was still being careful with the cybernetic limb; it was a military specification model manufactured by Tai Yong
Medical, one of—if not the—biggest augmentation conglomerates on the planet. Along with new Hermes legs to replace those he'd damaged in
the veetol crash six months ago, the upgraded Samson-series arm and a few other implants were all part of what Namir had called his
"welcome bonus" for joining the Tyrants. The arm could be twitchy, though. Twice now, on the first few operations Namir had deployed him on,
the Samson had shown a trigger delay. Saxon reckoned he had it tuned well enough by now, though. Still, he resolved to up his neuropozyne
dose a little, just in case.
"Thinkin' about a skydive?" said a voice. "You itchin' to try out that new high-fall aug?"
He turned. Filling most of the corridor behind him, Lawrence Barrett had Saxon fixed with a wolfish grin. The American was big, and he was
ugly. A flat buzz cut framed features that were burn-scarred and bold about it. The only part of the man's face that was unblemished was the
synth-skin along a reconstructed jaw. Saxon understood that Barrett's looks had been given to him by close proximity to a bomb blast, but he
knew little more than that. The big man wore his disfigurement like a badge of honor, highlighting it with a brass bull ring through his nose.
Saxon wasn't a small guy by any means, but he carried himself differently from Barrett, with this thuggish swagger; he didn't feel the need to
look threatening every second of every day. But then again, men who looked as tough as they were could be a useful tool in the spec ops game.
Saxon was more a student of the subtle approach, though.
"I don't like flying," he offered. "Bores the hell out of me, yeah?"
"I hear that." Barrett nodded, toying with the wrists of his black-and-steel cyberarms. "This is the shittiest airline ever. No damn stewardess
and the in-flight movie sucks." Outwardly, the jet they were aboard resembled any one of a number of conventional private airliners—but
under the mimetic fuselage was the mobile operations center for the Tyrants, easily the rival of any military forward air command unit in the
world.
Barrett wandered toward the galley and Saxon fell in behind him. He'd been on a couple of sorties with the American—surveillance jobs in
Bucharest and Glasgow—and all along he'd felt like he was being watched himself. It wasn't surprising, Saxon thought. They'd invested time and
money in headhunting him from Belltower, so it made sense to have him pass through a few rookie assignments before stepping up to the real
thing—but to be honest, he chafed at it. He wasn't just some grunt in off the street. He knew how to do the job as well as any of them. He was
tired of the
had been scrambled—a low-tech approach, to be certain, but enough that it rendered the transaction untraceable. The hacker made it vanish.
"How long is this gonna take?" Anna went on, her tone turning brittle.
"Not long," he offered, eyeing her, catching her manner. "Hey, Kel... If you, like, need something, I can speak to some of my people—"
She turned away, walking toward the fabric walls of the dome. The offer tempted her more than she wanted to admit. "You know what I need,
Denny," she said over her shoulder. "I need a name for that face."
Aerial Transit Corridor—Smolensk Oblast—Russian Federated States
Through the oval window of the pressure door, Saxon could see the morning light crossing the landscape far below, chasing the aircraft as it flew
eastward. By the time they reached their destination, the dawn would have overtaken them, but for now the rising sun was still at their backs,
visible in lines of color that illuminated the thin strips of clouds passing beneath. The view tilted as they banked gently, and Saxon put out his
right hand to steady himself. He was still being careful with the cybernetic limb; it was a military specification model manufactured by Tai Yong
Medical, one of—if not the—biggest augmentation conglomerates on the planet. Along with new Hermes legs to replace those he'd damaged in
the veetol crash six months ago, the upgraded Samson-series arm and a few other implants were all part of what Namir had called his
"welcome bonus" for joining the Tyrants. The arm could be twitchy, though. Twice now, on the first few operations Namir had deployed him on,
the Samson had shown a trigger delay. Saxon reckoned he had it tuned well enough by now, though. Still, he resolved to up his neuropozyne
dose a little, just in case.
"Thinkin' about a skydive?" said a voice. "You itchin' to try out that new high-fall aug?"
He turned. Filling most of the corridor behind him, Lawrence Barrett had Saxon fixed with a wolfish grin. The American was big, and he was
ugly. A flat buzz cut framed features that were burn-scarred and bold about it. The only part of the man's face that was unblemished was the
synth-skin along a reconstructed jaw. Saxon understood that Barrett's looks had been given to him by close proximity to a bomb blast, but he
knew little more than that. The big man wore his disfigurement like a badge of honor, highlighting it with a brass bull ring through his nose.
Saxon wasn't a small guy by any means, but he carried himself differently from Barrett, with this thuggish swagger; he didn't feel the need to
look threatening every second of every day. But then again, men who looked as tough as they were could be a useful tool in the spec ops game.
Saxon was more a student of the subtle approach, though.
"I don't like flying," he offered. "Bores the hell out of me, yeah?"
"I hear that." Barrett nodded, toying with the wrists of his black-and-steel cyberarms. "This is the shittiest airline ever. No damn stewardess
and the in-flight movie sucks." Outwardly, the jet they were aboard resembled any one of a number of conventional private airliners—but
under the mimetic fuselage was the mobile operations center for the Tyrants, easily the rival of any military forward air command unit in the
world.
Barrett wandered toward the galley and Saxon fell in behind him. He'd been on a couple of sorties with the American—surveillance jobs in
Bucharest and Glasgow—and all along he'd felt like he was being watched himself. It wasn't surprising, Saxon thought. They'd invested time and
money in headhunting him from Belltower, so it made sense to have him pass through a few rookie assignments before stepping up to the real
thing—but to be honest, he chafed at it. He wasn't just some grunt in off the street. He knew how to do the job as well as any of them. He was
tired of the
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