Cassidy grabbed his gun, swinging it toward the agent and whistling to get his attention. The agent glanced back, suddenly forced to decide if killing one of the two targets was worth losing his own life. Cassidy didn’t want to shoot him. He wasn’t sure if he would go through with it if the agent forced his hand. He didn’t want to have to decide.

  A tense heartbeat followed before the agent lowered his gun.

  “You made the right choice,” Cassidy said as Mirana and Nicholas reached the agent’s level. “Give her your tranquilizer.” The agent stared at Cassidy still aiming the needlegun at his chest. “Do it.”

  The agent held the tranquilizer gun out to Mirana. She took it from him, glanced down at it, and then turned it on him and pulled the trigger. The agent grunted from the force of the slug hitting him in the chest before his eyes rolled backward and he collapsed.

  “Come on,” Cassidy said, getting up and resuming the descent without another word, mother and son close behind him as they continued down the stairwell. Past floor fifteen. Fourteen. Thirteen.

  Cassidy didn’t hear the goons behind them anymore. They must have given up the chase.

  Ten. Nine. Eight. They were closing on the ground floor, closer to getting away.

  Cassidy knew escape wouldn’t be that easy. The UDF would have a unit positioned on the first floor just outside the stairwell. He needed a distraction.

  The thought came to him almost unbidden, from Hall’s mind to his. Not a distraction. Another way out. Hall had accounted for this scenario too.

  How long ago had he planned it?

  Chapter 14

  Cassidy, Mirana and Nicholas descended to the sixth floor. “This way,” Cassidy said, leading them out of the stairwell and into the hallway. He walked quickly down the corridor before pointing to one of the apartments in the center of the building’s western face. “Nicholas, if anyone’s home, can you tell them you’re locked out of your apartment and you need help?”

  Nicholas still looked pale and frightened, which would only help with the ruse. Hall’s son nodded before tapping the control pad next to the door.

  “Can I help you?” an elderly-sounding woman said a moment later.

  “Hi,” Nicholas said. “I’m sorry to bother you. I lost my ClearPhone with my passkey on it and I can’t get into my apartment. Can I borrow your phone to call my mom?”

  “Oh, of course you can,” the woman replied. “I’ll be right there.”

  Nicholas glanced back at Cassidy, who nodded his approval. The woman answered the door a moment later, shocked when Cassidy rushed her. He grabbed her arm before she could retreat or cry out and pulled her inside.

  “Shhh,” he said. “It’s all right. We don’t want to hurt you. We just need to borrow your window.”

  “My window?” the woman asked.

  “Rana,” Cassidy said, motioning to the tranquilizer gun.

  “Sorry,” Mirana said before shooting the woman in the leg with it. Cassidy lowered her to the sofa as she lost consciousness.

  “I’m glad I had you take that,” Cassidy said, crossing the apartment to the kitchen. He pointed the needlegun at the window over the countertop and fired a round. The flechette made a short, sharp whistling sound before striking the substrate, sticking out of it like a nail for a half-second before the tip exploded. The detonation shattered the glass, allowing the cool, wet air inside. He looked back at Mirana and Nicholas. “Let’s go.”

  “Go where?” Mirana replied. “Jeff…”

  “The break is going to trigger an alarm,” Cassidy explained. “Which means the Police will be on their way if they weren’t already. That’ll make things harder for the Bureau, but it’ll also make things harder for us if we don’t move.”

  “I hear you,” Mirana said. “But where are we going?”

  Cassidy climbed onto the counter and waved them over before removing his raincoat and laying it across the bottom of the frame and the glass shards that remained lodged in it. Nicholas didn’t hesitate, and he helped the kid up to the window. Nicholas took a look outside and then turned back to his mother. “Come see this, Mom.”

  Mirana gave up the argument and squeezed onto the counter with them, now able to see how the layout of the stacked apartments created what almost looked like a staircase leading into the alley next to the building.

  “You go first,” Cassidy said. “I’ll pass Nicky down to you.”

  “I can jump it,” Nicholas said.

  “It might be slippery. I’ll hand you down.”

  Mirana handed Cassidy the tranquilizer pistol before tossing her bag onto the small rooftop that jutted out below the window. Then she climbed through, holding onto the lower sill through Cassidy’s coat to dangle before dropping. Once there, she held her hands up.

  “Here we go,” Cassidy said, putting his guns on the counter. “Same way your mom did it.”

  Nicholas copied the maneuver, with Cassidy holding his wrists until he was in position.

  He let go at the same time the door to the apartment slammed open, another pair of Bureau agents right behind it.

  He grabbed the tranq pistol and rolled off the counter as the agents fired tranquilizer rounds at him. Landing in a low crouch, he quickly returned fire, hitting each of the two agents in the face. The tranq rounds split open on contact, delivering a nerve agent packed in a clear gel into their systems. They shuddered and dropped to the floor.

  Cassidy climbed back up, pocketing the tranq pistol and holstering his needlegun. He took the raincoat from the window sill, shook off the glass fragments that had stuck to it and slipped it on. He jumped, landing on the roof of the lower apartment, immediately rolling forward to absorb his momentum before bouncing to his feet. Mirana and Nicholas were two levels down, getting closer to the alley.

  Flashing lights suddenly lit up the night as police rotos began to close in from the north and south, breaking beneath the traffic lanes and speeding toward the building. More lights pierced the sky above as the goons began clearing out of the area, lifting off in their rotos and scattering in different directions.

  Cassidy moved to the edge of the rooftop and jumped down, Hall’s knees complaining as he landed upright. He didn’t let that slow him down. He ran to the edge of the apartment’s rooftop, and leaped off sideways. Mirana and Nicholas were almost to ground level when he landed on the staggered metal roof right above them.

  “Rana, wait!” Cassidy called out, getting her attention. She paused where she was, grabbing Nicholas’ hand and waiting for him.

  A bright light nearly blinded him as one of the gang rotos came around the side of the building, illegally close to the pedestrians and cars on the ground at the mouth of the alley. The door to the roto swung open and one of the thugs leaned out, clutching an assault rifle.

  “Rana!” Cassidy shouted again, reaching for his needlegun as he ran to the edge of the metal roof.

  Muzzle flashes spilled from the goon’s rifle, aimed downward toward Mirana and Nicholas. Cassidy dropped off the edge of the rooftop, firing at the roto as he fell. The rounds hit the craft’s windshield and detonated, putting holes and massive cracks in the molded laminate. The pilot veered away, barely climbing high enough to avoid the corner of an apartment as he fled.

  Cassidy hit the rooftop feet first, collapsing when Hall’s knees couldn’t take the strain. He hit hard on his shoulder, grimacing in pain as he rolled to his hands and knees.

  “Oh, no...Nicholas,” he sobbed, Hall siphoning through, his chest clenching as his eyes landed on the boy and his mother. They were sprawled in front of him, entwined with each other in a pool of rainwater and blood.

  Cassidy crawled over to them on his hands and knees, looking down first at Hall’s son. His eyes were open. Blank. A thick stain of blood still spread across his stomach, soaking his shirt. “

  Hall’s pain and rage ripped at Cassidy’s ability to keep his repo under control, even though he had trouble looking at the boy without wanting to cry out in rage. He clamped down on the emotions and slid over to Mirana. Her eyes shifted to look at him when he leaned over her. “Rana,” he said. Thick stains of blood plastered her clothing to her leg and chest.

  “Nicholas?” She could barely speak, and she coughed when she finished saying her son’s name.

  Cassidy put his hand down on her chest, applying pressure. “Rana, it’ll be okay. Just hold on. I’ll call for help.”

  “Nicholas?” she asked again, struggling to breathe.

  “Hang in there, okay?” Cassidy said.

  She turned her head to the side, looking at her dead son. “Nooooo,” she moaned, the despairing effort ending with a weak cough. She looked back at Cassidy. “This...your fault.”

  Cassidy felt the accusation like a bullet in his own gut. This wasn’t his fault. It was Hall’s. What the hell was going on here?

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  The apology fell on deaf, dead ears.

  “Damn it!” Cassidy shouted, slamming his fist down on the metal rooftop.

  He looked up as a pair of drones rose over the edge of his position, small machines with rotors on each corner and a bulbous center. They turned their lights toward Mirana and Nicholas. Green lasers scanned the bodies. Satisfied they were dead, the drones flew down into the alley.

  Cassidy stood on pained knees and made his way to the edge of the roof to look down. A pair of agents were in the alley, and they caught the drones in the palms of their hands before looking up at him.

  “Cleanup’s on the way,” one of them said.

  “Sorry for your loss, Hall,” the other one added without emotion.

  Siphoning left Cassidy tempted to shoot the two agents while he still had a clear line of fire. He holstered the needlegun instead, waiting for them as they turned and walked around the corner of the building across the alley before he dropped down.

  Reaching the puddle-strewn street, he looked over his shoulder as two dark vehicles rounded the corner and drove into the other end of the alley. The cleanup crew. Cassidy knew how it worked. They would secure Mirana and Nicholas’ bodies, fabricate a story that matched the cause of death and spread it across multiple channels, both personal and private. There would never be a mention of the UDF, Special Investigations and especially not the Shade Initiative.

  He looked away from the oncoming vehicles, limping in the other direction. They wouldn’t bother him now. They had hit their targets. Or rather, the thugs had. On one hand, the gang’s success was better than failure and would make their lies easier to sell. On the other, it was a bad look for the Bureau.

  It didn’t matter.

  The loose ends were tied off.

  And while Mensah could erase both his and Hall’s memories of the whole thing after the mission, nothing could bring Mirana and Nicholas back to life.

  Mirana had been right.

  This was Hall’s fault.

  Whatever he knew...whatever had led him to take such drastic measures, Cassidy hoped to hell it would be worth it.

  Chapter 15

  Cassidy limped through the throngs of people and vehicles fighting one another for passage along the streets of the city. While he could have circled back to Hall’s apartment and gone to the rooftop to retrieve his roto, the events leading to his current circumstance had left him unsure of who or what to trust, and until he had resolved some of his questions he didn’t need the Bureau keeping tabs on his location.

  Besides, he wasn’t going to get very far in his mission from the air. Not right now anyway.

  His biggest concern at the moment was Hall’s limited funding. Similar to his reasons for avoiding his roto, he also didn’t want to reach out to Nevis looking for an infusion of coin. The fact that Hall had gone so far out of his way to keep the Bureau preventing him from delivering the message to Cassidy, to the point that it had cost him his son, was indication enough that whatever he thought he knew, Nevis didn’t really want Cassidy to know it too. At the same time, the fact that Nevis had transferred Cassidy into Hall anyway suggested Garrett was even more important than Dorne, despite the fact that Hall’s plan had succeeded.

  Maybe.

  Knowing how Unity typically went about its business, Cassidy couldn’t discount that he had played right into the overall plan. The best thing he could do was set a course and stick to it, at least until some of the pieces moved into place and he could get a better read on the overall field.

  The first step was to do something about his knees.

  Hall was in good shape for an older man, but he was still an older man. If he had been a former UDF Marine, he would have surgically inserted stim-chem packs behind the meat of his buttocks that could automatically deliver both stimulant and pain-killer to erase the ache in his legs. Lacking that, Cassidy either needed to deal with the throbbing or acquire an external source of a similar cocktail. The pain itself wasn’t even the problem. He had a high tolerance and a lot of experience. His bigger concern was his physical limitations. He couldn’t even walk normally right now, nevermind fight or flight.

  Fortunately, what Hall lacked in physical resilience he made up for in practical experience. Making his way from the residential block toward the more densely occupied downtown, Cassidy didn’t need to dig into Hall’s memories to pull up a contact who could help him get what he needed. All he had to do was get there before his knees gave out altogether.

  Hood up, face in shadow, Cassidy stayed close to the storefronts along the left side of the wide strip. He had to avoid the small electric scooters that zipped along through the crowds in both directions and the occasional car that split the pedestrians in the center of the street. Everywhere he looked, people carried umbrellas in an assortment of sizes, colors and designs or wore any number of rain-resistant coverings.

  He spotted a couple of passersby who hadn’t bothered to cover up from the rain, their hair saturated and sticking to their heads and necks, their clothes totally soaked through. As he remembered it, the lack of care about the weather was some kind of religious ritual or protestation or something. A submission to the will of God. In this case to His continued dumping of so much rain. Science suggested global warming was the real culprit. That humankind had done it to themselves. Cassidy didn’t have an opinion on the true answer. Knowing the truth wouldn’t make it stop raining anyway. In that respect, getting soaked intentionally was a pointless exercise, made even more ridiculous by the way the pair of believers shivered from the cold.

  Cassidy reached his destination a couple of minutes later, passing through the hologram of a barely-dressed woman advertising a nearby strip club. The pharmacy was typical for the location—a few narrow aisles between lightly stocked shelves—in the lower-crust of downtown. Lit only by the multi-colored glow from the street outside, the shelves carried a little bit of everything. All the items in the front of the place were legal over-the-counter painkillers, birth control pills, mood enhancers and diagnostic testing materials for a wide range of diseases and other generic garbage. He paused at the anti-inflammatories to consider a less powerful and much cheaper solution, only to reconsider when his knee buckled and he had to grab the shelf to stay upright.

  It was worse than he had initially thought. This had to be the lousiest start to a job he had ever had.

  “Hey man, are you okay?”

  The pharmacy clerk approached Cassidy. A young woman with her hair curled like she fell out of a twentieth-century sitcom, wearing horn-rimmed sunglasses to block some of the external light and a floral dress that didn’t fit with the decor at all. At least she looked genuinely concerned by his situation.

  “Not really,” Cassidy replied. “Is Jazz in the back?”

  The woman’s concern vanished, replaced by suspicion. “I don’t know Jazz.”

  Cassidy smirked. “Yeah. Right. Look, kid. I think I tore something in my knees jumping off a rooftop, and I need something a little stronger than what you’ve got out here. Tell Jazz that Brando needs to see him.” Of course Hall didn’t use the same name with any of his contacts. That would make it that much harder to gather intel, especially from conflicting sources.

  “I told you, I don’t know any Jazz.”

  “Brando,” Cassidy replied, not giving an inch. “B-R-A-N-D-O. Go ahead.”

  The clerk looked like she was going to argue again, then decided better of it. She headed to the door behind the counter at the rear of the shop and vanished through it.

  Cassidy continued browsing while he waited. It didn’t take her long to come back out. The clerk emerged from the back and walked directly over to him, this time wearing a pleasant smile.

  “Mr. Brando,” she said. “My apologies. If you’ll follow me.”

  Cassidy tailed the clerk back to the door. She stopped there, waving him through. He moved down a short hallway decorated with cracked, dirty tiles and faded, peeling blue paint. On one side, an opening to a bathroom leaked a sour smell out into the corridor. There were two doors across from it, a simple wooden door that someone had spray-painted with the word OFFICE and a thick steel vault door with a security panel bolted to the wall beside it.

  Cassidy knocked on the office door.

  “Come in!” a deep voice bellowed from behind it.

  He opened the door and limped through. The office was small. An old desk sat against the wall directly ahead. A ClearTab rested on a coffee-stained blotter, along with a semi-automatic handgun, dark and sleek. Jazz was seated behind it, his large frame testing the threads that held his red suit together. It looked one size too small, just like the high-backed faux leather chair he sat in. His large face offered a wide smile, his original teeth replaced with diamond inserts that sparkled against the naked LED bulb hanging overhead.