The Phoenix Law Page 12

  Then, finally, came the whine of bullets and the ripping of plastic and metal as the men giving chase realized they were going to lose her. Alisha ducked down, barely able to see over the dashboard as she raced forward. Firing a handful of return shots out the destroyed window was tempting, but odds of hitting a terrified civilian were too high. If someone was to be hurt in the scenario playing out, better it be Alisha than an innocent literally caught in the crossfire.

  The van dove nose-first into a ditch of muddy water, sending a cold splash over Alisha’s arm and wiping out any view the windshield offered. Mud spattered as the wheels churned, digging the van deeper into the hole. Alisha’s laugh broke with frustration as she shoved the door open and burst out into cold water. One break, she pleaded silently. All she needed was just one break. And preferably, she found herself compelled to specify, not a leg or an arm.

  The ditch wasn’t that deep, only shin-high as she climbed out of it, but it was more than enough to founder the van with its low axles. Alisha was running again before she’d completed the thought, keeping as low to the ground as she could, expecting to hear more gunshots following her. The motorway beyond the snarled-up roundabout might provide her with the chance to—well, there was no good way to phrase it. Steal a car. It wouldn’t be on her list of top ten most glorious moments, but if it got her away from the predators on her tail, she’d find a way to live with it.

  She’d lost precious seconds in the ditch, and could hear the broken stagger of racing footsteps behind her as the men chasing her leaped it and came on hard. She wanted to cast a look back, wanted to send back a few warning shots to help fend them off, but the teenage boy’s delighted commentary stayed her hand. There was no point in risking the faceless kid, nor any of the others who might find themselves in a bullet’s trajectory.

  There were times, she thought, when it would be useful to have less conscience. Then again, it was that determined belief in what was wrong and what was right that separated her, Alisha believed, from people like the ones chasing her.

  Her lungs burned, discomfort coming on suddenly as adrenaline began to run out. She could feel the weight of her legs and the heaviness of oxygen deprivation in her muscles, and pushed herself harder. It would fade if she could run long enough to reach the so-called athlete’s zone, where it felt like she could keep going forever, so long as she never stopped to rest. She reached the crest of a hill in a burst of speed, the motorway lying just a few hundred yards ahead.

  The weight that took her in the back of the knees was completely unexpected. Traffic, her own breathing, the soft earth—some or all of it took away from the preternatural hearing she so often relied on in battle and in flight, allowing one of her assailants to come closer than she’d realized. She hit the ground with such finality it seemed as if she might go plunging through it. Drying grass prickled her chest and belly, a sudden reminder that she’d stripped her shirt and had made her wild run wearing a bra and jeans. At least no one would remember her face.

  The weight that had borne her to the ground changed from her calves up to her mid-back, a knee pressed there as heavily as the gun barrel pressed against her skull. “Did it occur to you at all,” a man’s heavy Russian accent asked drolly, “that we might be the good guys?”

  The voice—the unexpected good humor lacing the thick accent more than the voice itself—struck a memory so sharply Alisha relaxed into the ground in surprise. “Anton?” The name came out of memory, less called than simply there on her lips. Disregarding the gun against her head, Alisha twisted her head to try to look at the man sitting on her back. “Anton?”

  “She remembers,” he said in delight so transparent Alisha couldn’t tell if it was genuine or not. “Ms. Elisa Moon, I think, da? Only you have not come into this country under that name, and MI-5 is looking for you, Ms. Moon.”

  “Anton?” Alisha said one more time, incredulously, then got her hands beside her shoulders and pushed up, less imagining she could dislodge the big Russian than hoping he’d be willing to move if she encouraged him to. “What in hell—?”

  He did move, chuckling, though he put a foot down on the barrel of Alisha’s gun as she tried to lift it. He waggled his own gun in admonishment, then nodded as Alisha let go of the butt and stood. “Better,” he said, then gestured with his gun to encompass the second man with him. “This is Ivan.”

  “Of course it is,” Alisha muttered.

  “Really,” Anton said, eyes wide with half-serious injury. “I do not lie to you, Elisa Moon. Agent MacAleer.” The hurt faded from his eyes and was replaced by a broad, rakish grin as he took in Alisha’s outfit, or lack thereof. “I try never to lie to beautiful women when they are half naked. Unless to be lied to will help them decide to go to bed with me. This is Ivan. We are the good guys.”

  “The good guys,” Alisha said through her teeth, “don’t usually shoot at me.”

  “We didn’t,” Ivan said without the slightest trace of Anton’s humor. “We shot at the van. This is not a good place to talk. You will come with us.”

  “Or what?” Alisha demanded. “You’ll put me back in the van and shoot at it some more?”

  “No,” Anton said. “MI-5 will come and arrest you for being in their country under a false name and false papers, without your country’s approval. It comes from all the sources, Alisha MacAleer. You have gone rogue and are to be apprehended and brought to the authorities at once. MI-5 are only minutes behind us.”

  “Britain is a friend of the United States.” Alisha flexed and tightened her hands, staring between the two Russian men. She had saved Anton’s life once, in the midst of his bid for the Attengee drone software in Russia. Two of his comrades had died that day, a burden Alisha had felt less strongly when she’d believed them to be Russian Mafia. They had proven to be Russian FSB, the intelligence agency that had grown up after the KGB was dismantled, and Alisha felt the responsibility of two agents’ deaths more keenly than she might have wished. Anton, even in the midst of a firefight, had retained a boisterous good humor that went against every stereotype of a Russian-born spy, raising his bid with every shot fired. He had massive shoulders and an openness to his expression that hid dangerous intelligence, Alisha suspected. Whether it was his oddly placed sense of humor or something else, her first instinct was to trust him. She didn’t trust that.

  Ivan looked more the part of a post-Soviet spy, dark glowering eyes and dark hair a marked contrast to Anton’s broad cheerful countenance. He looked far less trustworthy, and Alisha was utterly aware of the irony that it made her want to trust him more than blond, bright-eyed Anton.

  “Britain is a friend of the United States government,” Anton agreed. “And they will do as the U.S. tells them when an agent goes rogue on their territory, as much because no one likes to find their allies spying on them as they are very curious about the thing that has brought you here.”

  “A 747?” Alisha snapped. “They should go visit Boeing in Seattle, then.”

  “We are moving now,” Ivan said in a low voice. “We have wasted too much time, and the van is still stuck.”

  Though reluctant, Alisha found herself walking with the two big men, just as glad they shielded her from curious motorists on the roundabout.

  Ivan pulled a wallet from his breast pocket, flipping it open to wave at a handful of men whose curiosities compelled them to approach. “Move along, lads,” he called, Russian accent suddenly swallowed whole by a light upper-class British one. “The kafuffle’s all said and done with, and we’ve got our girl. Thanks very much for your help in slowing her down. Watch the broadsheets,” he added with a wink, and threw a leer at Alisha’s half-dressed form. “I’m guessing we’ll be seeing plenty of this lass there.”

  A laughing cheer went up and the small crowd scattered, returning to their vehicles. Ivan put Alisha in the driver’s seat of the blue van, leaning in to speak to her. “You will steer as Anton and I lift the van out.” His Russian accent was back, deep and warning. “Do n
othing foolish, Agent MacAleer, or when I next fire, it will not be to shoot the van.”

  Alisha banged the heel of her hand against the steering wheel, swearing under her breath, and did nothing foolish as the two men heaved the van out from its ditch. Seconds later, they climbed into the front seats, sending Alisha scrambling into the back. She waited until they’d left the roundabout and pulled into traffic before leaning forward, deliberately folding her arms beneath her breasts to create cleavage, and said, “Now will you please tell me what the hell is going on?”

  Chapter 13

  “We have said,” Ivan replied. “Your government has betrayed you, Agent MacAleer.”

  “Or you have betrayed them,” Anton amended cheerfully. “You have developed a career of doing so, da?”

  “I’m not an agent anymore,” Alisha muttered. “I left the CIA almost a year ago.”

  “No one ever really leaves,” Anton said with a sudden dourness that made Alisha snap her gaze to him. “It is the nature of our beast. We cannot escape what we do. And,” he added more lightly, “if you had truly left, you would have entered England under your own name, and you did not.”

  “I had my reasons.”

  “Da.” Ivan, in the driver’s seat, looked at her sharply in the rearview mirror. “And we, too, are interested in those reasons. We have seen your American war robots, Agent MacAleer. Like MI-5, like your own government, we would like to have the second generation of that technology. This is what scientist Brandon Parker has built, da? An intelligence smart enough to protect. Perhaps something capable of reasoning. His war machines have that in rudimentary form. The next step is sentience, and that would be reason enough to run.”

  Only one response worked when confronted with bald truth that required refuting: lie. Lie like a son of a bitch, and make them believe it. An adulthood of training and working had taught Alisha how to do just that. It was on her lips, in her body language, in everything that she knew how to do: I have no idea what you’re talking about. A what? A sentient artificial intelligence? It’s not even possible, is it? A thousand astonished arguments to convince the enemy she didn’t possess the knowledge they wanted. All that skill was there, waiting to be used.

  Instead, Alisha threw her head back with a throaty laugh, then dropped her face into her hands. “What?” she asked her palms. “Did somebody send out a memo?”

  She heard the indrawn breath of both men, glancing up in time to see them exchange a guarded glance. Oh, Leesh. The silent reprimand was accompanied by a tsk she almost gave voice to. Too many lies, she thought. Too much time spent pretending. She’d lost her stomach for it, and there couldn’t have been a worse time to do so.

  Ivan scowled, first at Anton and then at Alisha, then spoke in Russian with no indication he thought she might understand. “It’s a trick. She wouldn’t tell us the truth so easily. Even the United States government does not admit what Parker has done, only say that MacAleer has stolen confidential material and must be stopped.”

  “If it’s a trick,” Anton said easily, “then perhaps everything the U.S. government says is a trick. Perhaps our friend is not the fugitive they say she is. You must choose what to believe, Ivan.” Older mentor to a younger brother, Alisha thought. Ivan apparently felt similarly, giving Anton another hard look.

  “What do you believe?”

  “That the government lies,” Anton replied, “and that Agent MacAleer speaks the truth. They want something she has, perhaps even this artificial intelligence, but she did not steal it and she is no longer an agent for the CIA.”

  “I’m flattered,” Alisha mumbled into her hands, in the same language the men spoke. “But all I took out of the States was a man.” Technically, it was true. Brandon had carried the quantum drive that Lilith was stored in. “He worked for the CIA and wanted to leave. They just don’t want to lose him.” Lies, she thought again, though lies ingrained with the truth. “They’re afraid of what he might do for someone else. Like the German scientists who defected and built the bomb.”

  “Parker,” Anton said. “He has been badly used, yes?”

  “He’s a spy,” Alisha snapped. “Aren’t we all?” Her own bitterness surprised her and she passed her hand over her eyes as if she could wipe away that anger. “He came to me because I’d left the Agency,” she added more dully. “He thought I wouldn’t notify them he was trying to leave the country.” She shrugged, stiff motion. “And I didn’t, because I know what it is to try to leave this life behind. I’m lucky.” Her laugh went bitter again and she tried to temper it. “A man like Parker is all about the mental faculties. He’s hard, maybe impossible, to replace. I’m just brawn. They could afford to let me go.”

  “You don’t believe that,” Anton said with a touch of amusement coming through.

  Alisha lifted her gaze to give him a brief smile. “I was a good agent,” she confessed. “But I lost my taste for it, and it’s easier to find a replacement for someone like me than someone like Brandon.” Parker, she thought a moment too late. She should have called him Parker. Her training deserted her at every turn.

  “Brandon,” Anton echoed, and Alisha winced again. “Maybe there is more than one reason he came to you, da?” He slipped back into English to emphasize the words, almost as transparent as Alisha’s slip.

  “Maybe.” Other things she wanted to say—that the infatuation was on his side, that it meant nothing—smacked of too much protest.

  “Where is he, Agent MacAleer?” Ivan finally interrupted.

  “I don’t know,” Alisha whispered. “I left him days ago, Ivan. He asked me to get him out of the States and I did. Trust me.” Her voice went edged again. “Trust me, I owe him less than even that. He’s been on his own for days. He’s his own problem now.” Three times you’ll deny me whispered through her mind, and Alisha wondered if her denial would be as effective as that darkly legendary one had been. She hoped not.

  “And the AI?”

  “I have heard,” Alisha said with absolute honesty and frustration, “about this artificial intelligence from the Russians, from the Americans, from crime lords, from every damned agency and consortium I know about. Did somebody send out a memo?” Her voice broke, despair and amusement both coming through.

  “No memo,” Anton said with his usual good humor. “Only great consternation on the part of your government. Demands to capture you and Brandon Parker. Everyone knows he is the mind behind the war drones, Agent MacAleer. His sudden decision to flee your country, your government’s agitation—the deduction is not so difficult.”

  “If Brandon had a second-generation artificial intelligence, wouldn’t he either be keeping it totally under wraps or auctioning to the highest bidder?” Even as she asked the question, Alisha wondered if she was protecting Brandon or the personality-filled computer program she’d spoken with briefly.

  “Do you know what I think?” Ivan asked. Alisha spread her hands, invitation to his explanation. “I think he is on verge of breakthrough.” His English, which had been flawless, if accented, became harsher as he warmed to his topic. “I think he distances himself from United States, so he may claim his work belongs to only him. So he can sell it, da, to highest bidder.”

  “And you what?” Alisha asked. “Want him in your labs before he makes that last breakthrough?”

  Ivan looked at her in the rearview mirror, glance as eloquent as any words.

  “I can’t lead you to him,” Alisha said. “I’m sorry. Let me off somewhere, Anton. I’m out of this business. I’m of no use to you at all.”

  Anton twisted in his seat, looking back at her. “If we let you off, MI-5 will find you next. We went to some trouble to…dissuade one of their operatives from finding you already.”

  “Do I want to know? How did you even know I was here?”

  “A woman who hijacks very expensive war drones has to go somewhere, da? The southern coast of England was closest. MI-5 had eyes on the CIA drop points they know about, as did we. Our man in Dorchester
convinced the MI-5 agent not to follow you, and the FSB flew me in.” Anton smiled broadly. “Because of our history together. They thought you might listen to me.”

  Alisha groaned. “Well, thanks for keeping MI-5 off my back, but I’m not listening to you. Anywhere is fine, really. I can walk from here.”

  Anton clicked his tongue. “I would hate for you to be detained by MI-5. They have reason to be upset with you, Agent MacAleer. Besides the AI, this is their country you are in illegally. For your own good you should stay with us.”

  “I’ll take my chances,” Alisha said dryly. “I can always swim to France.”

  Anton laughed, shaking his head. “I think we cannot take that risk, Agent MacAleer. After all, we are the good guys.” Amusement deepened the words, his smile broad as his shoulders. “We would not want to turn you over to people who were not so open-minded as we. And you may still be able to help us.”

  Alisha let her mouth crease in a smile as she met the big Russian’s eyes, though the thought behind her own eyes was damn. Whether they believed her protestations that she knew of no AI was irrelevant. Brandon had come to her for help, and that made her an effective tool to use against him. A hostage, in effect, and the idea sat poorly with Alisha. Still, in a vehicle on a motorway, there was almost nothing to be done about it. Better to bide her time and wait for a chance to disable the Russian spies and escape. In the meantime… “If you’re going to be so considerate, do you think you could get me a new shirt?”

  Anton chuckled and lent her his jacket. Alisha huddled inside it, watching road signs pass by, her expression blank as she thought through possibilities. She roused herself when the first exit for London flashed by, putting pathos into her voice as she asked, “Could we stop for a bathroom break?”

  Ivan gave her a dirty look in the rearview mirror. “We are driving a van riddled with bullet holes. You wish to stop and allow people a good look at it?”