Operation Nightfall

OPERATION: NIGHTFALL

David Durrett (order #5794999)

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WritingPatrick Kapera

Line DeveLoperPatrick Kapera

Cover ArtA4H Studios

interior ArtA4H Studios

eDitingScott Gearin

grAphiC DesignPatrick Kapera

spyCrAft CreAteD by pAtriCk kAperA AnD kevin WiLson

Authors Forward . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3I . Liberation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4II . Automated Genius . . . . . . . . . . 6III . The Rose . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8IV . One Thing . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 0V . Come Back to Me . . . . . . . . . . 4VI . 67-A . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7VII . Paradise Falls . . . . . . . . . . . . 9VIII . Off the Reservation . . . . . . . IX . Exit Strategy . . . . . . . . . . . . 3X . Ships in the Night . . . . . . . . . 8XI . Salvo . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3XII . Well Always Have Monaco . . . 34XIII . Subject Zero . . . . . . . . . . . . . 38XIV . Unacceptable Losses . . . . . . . 4

Spycraft and all related marks are and 2008 Alderac Entertainment Group, Inc.

and used under license. All rights reserved.

Reproduction without Crafty Games express permission is expressly forbidden,

except for the purpose of reviews and when permission to photocopy is clearly stated.

The mention of or reference to any company or product in this release is not a

challenge to the trademark or copyright concerned.

This release may use governments, intelligence agencies, and political figures

as settings, characters, and themes. All such uses are intended for

entertainment purposes only.

WWW.CrAfty-gAmes.Com


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Welcome to Operation: Nightfall, a World on Fire novelette. The story youre about to read was originally developed for the Spycraft Collectible Card Game and released in regular installments over the summer of 2004. It focuses on a small collection of spies, mercenaries, and grifters who play a pivotal role in one of the many turning points in the settings history. Hopefully youll find it exciting to read and inspirational when you develop your own tales in the setting.

Observant readers may notice some changes since this storys original release. Some of the dialogue and action is different, plus the backstory plays into the narrative a little more. There are a couple reasons for this. First, were at the tail end of world design now the setting book has been released and the Faction PDFs are nearing completion. We know a lot more about the setting and the feature NPCs now and it seems like a good fit to round out their original appearances. Second, we wanted to give the folks whove been with the story since the beginning a little something extra for sticking with it for so long. They deserve some love.

Another novelette, The Extinction Agenda, concludes this chapter of the saga and presents all the other fiction written for the setting. Like everything produced for World on Fire, these stories are merely part of the backdrop for your greater adventures. Weve intentionally left the biggest and most pressing plot points unresolved so your characters can guide them to their natural conclusion. One way the story might continue is presented in the forthcoming PDF release, The Alliance of Evil Geniuses, which explores many of these lingering story threads as missions for your teams to undertake. Fans of the CCG may find this one interesting as well, since its an RPG adaptation of what I would have done with the card game storyline had that product continued.

The current whereabouts and activities of most of the novelette characters is presented in sidebars and discreet sections of the Faction PDFs. Theyre presented as contacts your teams can call upon and adversaries against whom your teams can square off. In some cases theyve even gotten themselves in hot water and need help from a handy PC agent team! Again, CCG fans get the chance to see what I would have done with Sir Richard Poole, Emilio Thorne, Alexandra Kolesnikov, and others, and RPG players get tools they can use to expand their own creations.

For those of you who didnt attend the Crafty Games seminar at GenCon Indy 2007 (shame, shame!), weve planned World on Fire as a finite line with a total of ten products, including the setting book, this novelette and The Extinction Agenda, six Faction PDFs, and The Alliance of Evil Geniuses, in that order. The settings premise is fairly focused and we dont think a traditionally open-ended approach would do it justice. Better that we line up all the powder kegs weve got, show you how to build more, and hand you a light.

That should about cover the nitty gritty, so Ill take a moment to do the author thing. Thanks to Alex Flagg and Scott Gearin for letting me get World on Fire out on my terms; to John at AEG for letting me bring the funny; to Ken Carpenter for trusting the vision; to Nate for the awesome logos; to Steve Crow, Eric Steiger, and B.D. Flory for the last-minute assists; to Nicole Blackman, the current administration, and the insatiable network news machine for inspiration; and to all the fans who asked for this. I hope its worth the wait.

Patrick KaperaApril 2008

AUthors forWArD


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Monday, July 19, 20041100 hours GMT (12:00pm local time)London

Sergeant James Abbot anxiously waited for the Big Bens eleventh ring, his heart keeping time with every toll. He tried to look busy at his New Scotland Yard post, shuffling paperwork across his desk and idly tapping at his keyboard. He scanned the faces of everyone passing his station, watching for any sign that they might know.

They cant know, he thought. Ive got to get a grip. James eyes returned to the slip of paper resting in front of his

antique desk phone. The numbers blurred togetherYou really should replace that old thing. The pleasant voice

drawing James attention belonged to Sally Dowd, police aide recently transferred from Bishopsgate. She was efficient, well organized, and attractive. James was fascinated with her, though he couldnt pinpoint why. She wasnt his classic type or even his unrealistic ideal, but something about her got under his skin.

I can put in an order for you, she said. She might have said more in-between. James couldnt be sure.

Thanks, no. Ive grown attached to the fossil. Shes been with me since Snow Hill. He spoke the truth, though it was also a lie in addition to its sentimental value, the antique didnt play nicely with the local phone grid, keeping James private calls off the radar. Years ago, the Service would simply have replaced it without ask-ing, but since the anarchist hackers calling themselves Banshee Net launched a private war against the worlds governments, people were more willing to use equipment that couldnt be as easily corrupted or subverted. Some agencies even deliberately installed outdated com-munications gear. Of course, this also made it easier for the Banshees and their pawns including James to operate in secret.

Whats your take on the new nick? Sally asked. Is he really one of them?

James counted nine tolls. Time for the brush off. Ive got a lot of paperwork here, Sally. Maybe we can talk later?Sure. Lunch?Maybe. James waited until Sally was out of range and quickly

dialed the number. The echo of the hours final toll was a recent memory when the last staccato pulse ran across the line. Two rings later, the line went dead just like they said it would.

James hand shot across the desk, returning the handset to its cradle. He waited.

most sophisticated clandestine computer suite on Earth, the Chaos Engine. One hundred monitors. Twelve multi-tasking server farms. Fifteen thousand secure exchanges per second. Epicenter of the greatest intellectual pursuit of this century or the last Automated Genius.

With hundreds or thousands of electronic revolutionaries operating in concert, and processing power borrowed from literally every machine plugged into the global network, this dynamic parallel of the Internet yielded reliable yet unconventional information and solutions within moments anytime, anywhere, for any need.

At the helm this morning, as every morning, Nathan Sparks, inven-tor of the Chaos Engine and wanted man in more than thirty coun-tries. Nathan was once known by the codename BEDLAM, during his time as a CIA analyst working for the clandestine Cold War think tank, BRAINCHILD. The United States government would never recognize his standing, having long since burned Nathan and his compatriots to cover its own unethical practices, but Nathan remembered, and it drove him toward a future he could not fathom, a grand landscape without bureaucracy, without dominion.

Perched upon a foot-controlled, hydraulic cyber-throne of his own design, Nathan studied the mountains and valleys across the voice recognition bar. Timbre, pitch, inflection, cadence the software made a quarter million comparisons in just over five seconds, con-firming Sergeant James identity. It also measured the mans stress level, which was far too high for an assignment this simple. Perhaps theyd brought Abbot on too early. Maybe he needed more time to acclimate. Nathan flagged the specialists file for future review and hit the Well Done, Chuck key, or Return, then toggled the pedal beneath his left foot, sending his suspended chair up past two rows of screens and over ten feet.

He paused in front of Marvin, double-checking the positions of all known Crown agents in the area surrounding New Scotland Yard, then shifted four screens to the right, to Cogswell, where he secured a direct line.

LiberAtion

The Illuminated Futures building towered over the Amsterdam cityscape, a testament to the failed entrepreneurial efforts of Gabriel Sage, dot.com pioneer and world-class mover and shaker. The ultra-modern obelisks exterior surface seemingly consisted of sheer, windowless mirrors on all sides, reflecting the city back upon itself in all directions. During its brief operational period, office lights were periodically seen through the mirror, though no longer. Today, the surface was unbroken, a behemoth looking glass through which Alice and the Queen had long since gone missing.

Beneath the surface, however, the structure literally pulsed with activity, its top four floors cored out and shielded to make way for the

James Abbot gnawed at the skin on the tip of his thumb (long since having chewed his fingernails to the root). He was a nervous wreck, and all because of that blasted Marsha Singer. Hed assumed the woman was daft when she explained that she was actually a Banshee, a member of one of the most wanted terrorist organizations in the world. But after a night of passionate lovemaking and viewing the videotape shed made of their encounter for his wife he was willing to humor her.

Now he watched his antique phone and waited for the growing knot in his stomach to burst. Maybe hed get lucky and bleed out before

The phone rang. James watched the misshapen device in stunned silence, casting a quick glance across the busy floor. When he was sure no one was listening, he picked up the handset and raised it to his ear. Sergeants Desk, he feigned routine.

You were three seconds late, Sergeant, Nathan said into his headset. Ignoring the sergeants stammered excuse, the hacker con-tinued, Our people will arrive shortly. Are you ready for them?


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Its rather busy hereCrime never sleeps, sergeant. Consider it job security. You have

twenty seconds. Nathan closed the line and patched into the remote transceiver.

Sherlock Seven, were good to go. Mind the bellhop. Hes rather twitchy.

Acknowledged, said Simon Stride from the drivers seat of a sleek, chrome Jaguar XJ tooling across Westminster Bridge.

In the passenger seat, his partner Amelia Trapp checked their forged documents one final time and closed the briefcase on her lap. Theyre always twitchy.

Yes, luv, but at least this time our twitchy friend isnt carrying a gun.

Amelia instinctively rubbed her shoulder. Blasted amateurs.

The holding cells are that way, James said, pointing toward a staircase at the back of the room. Down and to the right.

The Banshee Sherlocks werent what James expected. A notably nondescript pair in pressed Brooks Brothers suits and dark sunglasses, with perpetually emotionless faces. For wanted criminals, they werent trying to blend in at all.

Do they want to get caught? The pair stepped across the room and down the narrow staircase

leading to the holding cells, willing all attention away from them with a few carefully engineered glares. After all, they were disguised as operatives of Project: Pitfall, one of the most feared government agencies on the planet.

Whats this damsels deal? Trapp asked as they descended the stairs. Another egghead radical?

Not likely, Stride said. He took a trainload of politicians hostage.Bomb?Teddy bomb.What? Two and a half pounds of ammonium picrate stuffed in a teddy

bear.Trapps eyebrows shot up in an uncharacteristic moment of surprise.

A second later, she shrugged it off and grinned. Points for style.

Hijacking a broadcast satellite several billion dollars. Publicly humiliating your nemesis priceless.

The Pitfall operatives moved a little too slowly, and the woman kept her eyes to the ground and surrounding buildings. Her attention was a little too fixed, as if she were trying to look through her sur-roundings. Maybe

Nathan zoomed in as closely as possible to the operatives sun-glasses, stylish dark-tinted numbers with a ring of light silver around each lens. He knew these glasses.

He helped to design them. Crap. Nathan quickly shifted over and up several monitors.

His fingers were already several steps ahead and his mind raced beyond that. The destination monitor winked to black and then an ellipse slowly faded into view, a lone cursor pulsing at its end. Momentarily, Nathans buffered request appeared: NEW SCOTLAND YARD. ARCHITECTURE BLIND ZONES. GOODCHILDE MODEL 67-R X-RAY GLASSES.

He waited, tapping the edge of his keyboard with an unlit cigar. Come on, Opie. Give a dog a bone

Nathan shifted down two rows to another terminal. His fingers glided across the keyboard, tapping into the traffic cameras near the New Scotland Yard official visitor parking structure. He shuffled through the angles and committed each to photographic memory for later comparison. Two cycles through, he was about to check in with the Sherlocks when he spotted an approaching Audi A6. He zoomed in for the closest view of the occupants a man and a woman, in Brooks Brothers suits. Pitfall.

So sad, Nathan sighed, searching the operatives for telltale signs of special weapons and gear. Any more predictable and I could start selling tickets.

Nathans hands slipped over to a secondary keyboard and accessed the direct feed he set up earlier this morning a live broadcast to giant video screens and marquees on four continents. Suddenly, images of the Pitfall operatives appeared over Times Square, the Las Vegas strip, the Shibuya display in Tokyo, and city centers in Berlin, Moscow, Edinburgh, Barcelona, Morocco, and a thousand other cities across the globe.

You have a Stranger in custody. Were here to collect him, said the male newcomer as he arrived at Sergeant Abbots station. Both held out their identification: PITFALL Operatives R. Touring and T. Dorne.

Pitfall. The word collapsed onto James like the Hammer of God, and in fact, it might as well have been. Formed after Banshee Net released the Mouthwash Confession thousands of pages of sensi-tive, stolen intelligence data on the web Project: Pitfall possessed vast resources and near-unlimited authority to pursue, arrest and if necessary, exterminate terrorist threats. Unfortunately, their less-than-subtle methods tended to support the latter most of all. More often than not, their targets fell to anonymous gunfire or simply vanished, never to be seen again. Worse yet, with the number of gov-ernments, businesses, and private parties injured by the Confession, Pitfall was supported by nearly everyone, and possessed all but carte blanche to expand its mandate to include any parties even suspected of promoting global unrest.

James knew he was helping to release a Stranger one of the untouchables targeted by Pitfall but he had no idea Pitfall was already aware of the capture. This changed things. Even his dignity wasnt worth this. I think we have a problem, he muttered.


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Monday, July 19, 20041137 hours GMT (12:37pm local time)London

Come on, come on, come on, Sparks mumbled, staring at the ellipse and blinking cursor. He transferred to the Sherlock signal. Harrys in the house, and hes sporting Superman specs.

The cursor blinked for the 467th time, without responsePosition? Simon whispered, bringing his fist up to his mouth and

feigning a cough. Theyre inside. Nathan switched to the Scotland Yard interior

camera, where the Pitfall operatives impatiently stood at Sergeant Abbots station. Looks like the bellhops keeping them busy, but you know how restless they can get. Wait

Simon glanced to Amelia, who was signing the stranger out of holding. She recognized his look something bad was going down. Time for a few unfortunate steps

The Pitfall operatives stalked away from the frozen desk sergeant, one speaking discreetly but forcefully into his headset. Nathan relayed the details, urging the Sherlocks to action. Looks like theyre calling in reinforcements. Better call for the check.

Abbot picked up his phone, but before he dragged the dial-wheel all the way around for the first time, the line went dead. He frantically feathered the cradle to get a fresh line, with no success. Then his desk computer screen went black and words scrolled across his view: You share our secrets, James, we share yours.

Seconds later, a video replaced the words that video, the one Marsha Singer had shown him this morning. His stomach turned.

Across the inspector floor and throughout the building, people recoiled from their screens, stunned at the debauchery assaulting them. The images flooded through the hijacked satellite network as well, seeding tens of thousands of unsuspecting minds everywhere.

Now then, Nathan switched back to Opie and the Sherlock team, adopting a stern expression. What do we do about our party crashers?

Unknown demolitions trigger mechanism in Haiti Cant help there.

Obscure oceanographic trivia in Huh. Someone finally took on that maniac behind the sea poisoning last week. Too bad no one got back to him in time. Better luck next time, I guess

New Scotland Yard. Now thats my territory. Isaac accessed his private FTP server and started rummaging

AUtomAteD geniUs

Across the globe, Banshees logged on and off their private Internet. Some called for help. Others answered. None were equipped to help Nathan, save one. Halfway around the world, at a remote Icelandic research station, Isaac Crass logged on and skimmed the open mission files

Incoming! Sparks warned the Sherlocks of the Pitfall operatives imminent approach.

What have we got? Simon asked. He grabbed the Stranger and dragged him back into a workstation alcove away from the door. Any heavy artillery? Behind him, Amelia dumped the last of the unconscious, duct-taped constables behind a heavy desk.

Through the interior video stream, Nathan watched Operative Touring take off his watch and place it against the door, activating a standard magnetic adhesive. Uh, yeah Thats a big affirmative. You might want to roll out the welcome mat.

Simon pulled two buttons off his suit jacket and slid them across the floor, into protected corners on either side of the entryway. Any luck getting us another way out of here?

An image came up on Opies monitor blueprints for the New Scotland Yard interior, with areas of thick construction highlighted for easy reference. Bingo! Nathan cried, unintentionally into the com-link.

I thought you kicked your online gambling habit, Amelia said flatly, ducking down alongside the captured constables.

You know what they say, Nathan replied. The entryway door exploded inward, bending in half and landing only a few feet away from Amelias precarious position. You never win unless you make the bet.

Simon drew his Glock 28 and pushed into the alcove corner, firing several shots wildly toward the devastated entryway. With his free hand, he clicked the lowest remaining button on his suit jacket to trigger the latest Banshee Net original A translucent sheet of illumination appeared between the two buttons in the corners and unfolded to fill the entryway to the ceiling. A half-second later, it settled into an opaque, semi-transparent veil closing off the room.


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The Pitfall operatives swung around and fired into the room, angling their fire toward the most visible targets themselves. From their side, the veil was a fluid, floor-to-ceiling mirror pool, rippling outward from every shot. Even their X-Ray sunglasses were foiled, for the time being at least.

Chop, Chop, BEDLAM, Simon tried not to let his growing panic overwhelm his cool composure. He also held his fire, not wanting to lead the Pitfall operatives to his position through the mirror-veil. If the operatives wanted the Banshees, theyd have to come in and get them.

Nathans eyes darted between the blueprints and the IM box where he questioned Isaac about the structure.

LOCATION? Isaac asked. CELL BLOCK A. Another burst of tentative gunfire erupted

through Nathans headset. His cigar tapping sped up and grew erratic. He exhausted his options with the blueprints no doors or windows, no vents or chutes On the exterior cameras, police trucks disgorged armored constables and more Pitfall Harrys.

NO WAY OUT, spat the IM box. Nathan swallowed. Hard. He closed his eyes for a moment, perhaps

in honor of those about to fall in the pursuit of freedom, perhaps because he was responsible for them. When he looked up, the IM box contained a new line, a single word in Nathans humble opinion, the greatest word ever invented

IDEA.

The overhead lights of St. James Park Underground station dimmed and flickered, and Simon Stride checked his watch. Peace in our time, he snarked.

Are you always so cavalier? the Stranger asked. Prides himself on it, said Amelia. What now? Delivery. What?Time to meet your benefactor. A chain of tube cars approached,

piercing the pensive bubble seemingly protecting the Banshees and their charge from the outside world. The accompanying rush of wind kicking up the edges of Simons dripping suit jacket.

The vehicle was a smoke gray affair, unlike anything the Stranger had seen before, with darkly tinted windows and discreet armor plating. It came to a stop and the doors opened, revealing a murky interior bathed in comfortably pale green light. Within the forward car sat a lone figure, dressed in a casual dinner suit and smoking a thin cigarette.

So this isnt a rescue? the Stranger asked.Rescue? Simon smiled. No. Merely liberation. At cost.You should go now, Amelia urged.The Stranger stumbled toward the forward car but paused halfway

and turned back. You never asked my name, he said.Technically, you dont have one, said Simon, and its probably

better that way.The Stranger stepped into the car and the doors closed behind him.

A moment later, the tube chain lurched into motion, picking up speed as it sped into the gloom.

Monday, July 19, 20042054 hours GMT (9:54pm local time)Amsterdam

Huddled in the dark, Nathan Sparks poured over the Engines latest findings. But for three glowing panels and a scarcely audible hum, the digital beast slumbered. At the end of the day, Nathan Sparks preferred a quiet place to collect his thoughts, without the distraction of a thousand pressing problems. Banshee Net had long since proven that it could and did function perfectly well without him, and his personal endeavors were growing more frequent and complex.

Today, Nathan was stringing together hundreds of seemingly unrelated facts, figures, and events in the hope that they might support one of a dozen theories he had about one man Sir Richard Poole, the Shadow Patriots current Control. Poole had brokered with Banshee Net to secure the Scotland Yard Strangers release, but the terms included confidentiality about the Strangers name and the reasons for his emancipation.

Nathan fed the Strangers profile through every identification service he could think of, but with the recent (and somewhat obvious) subterfuge of INTERPOL and like agencies, the findings were rather sketchy. With a processed Stranger, hed be lucky to find a name.

One row up, a screen blinked into action, displaying a news report twenty seconds ahead of broadcast. The scrolling news marquee read: CRISIS IN BRAZIL HUNDREDS DEAD and the scene, the scene

Oh, no, Nathan said, his body cold. No, no, no, no, noIt wasnt possible. Not after sixty years of prevention. But it was. Theyve finally gone and done it, he said. Theyve finally doomed

us all.

Operative Touring counted to three and dove into the mirror-veil with Dorne at his side. They tumbled into a crouching brace and swept the room to find nothing.

The room was empty. Everyone was gone. Touring dove through the doorway leading to the holding cells,

sweeping for ambushers while Dorne finished with the entry room. Behind them, the mirror-veil failed and fizzled out.

Here, Dorne called, pointing to the patch of floor behind the guard station desk. An irregular, three-foot hole was carved through the foundation, into a deeper chamber. The edges of the hole were pulverized dust and a collapsible gadget-ladder anchored to a nearby radiator and trailed off into the lurking shadows.

Acid bomb, Touring said, recognizing the tech in play. Burned right into the old Underground.

Both operatives approached the pits edge and peered into the darkness. They were greeted by a foul waft and faint sounds of water. This part of the Underground was abandoned long ago and many parts of it were flooded. The operatives looked to each other and weighed their options. Behind them, reinforcements flooded in from the ground floor.

A squad of Pitfall troops dropped into the lower chamber and fanned out, scanning for the Banshees and their prize. If they were lucky, this part of the Underground would be cut off; outnumbered and outgunned, the Banshees would have to surrender, or go down shooting. Either outcome worked for Touring.

He turned a corner and caught sight of something in the water, a dull, blinking glow

Everyone out, he screamed. Everyone fall bac!


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Monday, July 19, 20041327 hours GMT (9:27pm local time)Taipei

Deep in Taipeis Hsimenting shopping district, raw tradition col-lided with the postmodern media binge, forging something new. Glittering neon danced over handcarts and bicycles, robustly declar-ing entertainments of the spirit and the flesh. The districts soul was a live wire bathed in gasoline.

Beneath the canopy of digital indulgence, a shadow moved with purpose, weaving through the chattering crowd unmolested and unnoticed. Dressed in simple peasants clothes and wearing a wig of low-cut black hair, she blended seamlessly with the locals, but most importantly, she moved like them as well. Anyone could put together a decent disguise, but to accurately emulate motions and gestures even cultural ones rather than those of a specific individual took skill.

The shadow slipped down a narrow staircase wedged between a nightclub and a video hall, tightly clenching her right thumb between her index and third fingers. The nail popped two millimeters deeper into her flesh, bursting a pocket of antivenin solution implanted days before. At the bottom of the staircase, behind a billowing steam grate, the shadow approached a snake butcher serving up a wide variety of reptilian delicacies. Ignoring the shot glass of dark red blood waiting for her, she slapped her open palm on the wooden counter and pointed at a squat jug on the back bar.

The butcher eyed her with a blend of suspicion and bemused curi-osity. You dont want that, he said in thick Mandarin. Poison.

The shadow cocked her head back, wordlessly repeating her order, and the butcher shrugged, filling a shot glass with the jugs clear contents. She lifted the glass to her lips and threw her head back, letting the venom course over her tongue and settle at the front of her throat. It tingled and left a bitter, greasy film behind, rather like unmixed Drambuie. Pinprick sensations ran through her neck and into her chest before settling into a slow burn as the antivenin took effect. She swallowed.

The butchers eyes lit up and he pelted the shadow with soulful belly laughter. He raised the untouched shot glass of snake blood in salute to her fortitude, then kicked it back and grabbed a gristle-caked cleaver.

What you like? he asked, cleanly separating a pythons head from its body.

Im here to see Wei-Yung.The butcher buried the cleaver in his chopping block and leveled an

icy glare at the shadow. He knew my father, said the woman. Yerik Kolesnikov.The glare softened a degree. You drink like your father, said the

butcher.The shadow smiled. Honorable words, but if words are a jail

sentencethen actions are the key. The butcher reached under his

counter and toggled a switch, and the shadow heard a click and shifting stone behind her. She bowed her head, turned, and strode through the private entrance into one of the foulest criminal lairs in Southeast Asia.

Alexandra Kolesnikov! Wei-Yung boomed as the shadow exited the small elevator. The villains pronunciation was meticulous due to surprise or hyperbole, Alex couldnt tell. What brings you to Taipei?

At the other end of the wide, open room, Wei-Yung Sun tapped a golf ball across the thin carpet of a raised platform into an auto-return cup. He was surrounded by elegant steel, glass, and leather furniture, and stood before a wall of video screens, each tuned to a different daily in his latest gun fu masterpiece, Syndicate: A Tale in Three Calibers.

Years ago, Wei-Yung had transformed himself from a gun-toting thug to a crime boss who makes movies about gun-toting thugs, commonly pitting his main characters against despicable wrong-doers from regions and organizations he targeted in his private enterprises. This time, he seemed to be focusing on Europe Spain, specifically and its booming Mafia presence. In the old Cold days, this might have been cause for a full-fledged Shadow Patriots inves-tigation, but since Yeriks post-Soviet alliance had shattered each faction had to launch its own inquiries.

Today Alex was on a very different mission. You spoke to my father before he died.

Never one for chit-chat, were you?Alex approached the enormous bay windows across from the plat-

form and surveyed the Hsimenting shopping district and the blocks beyond. He transferred one hundred thousand dollars to one of your shelter accounts during the meeting. She didnt bother to look back, content that she knew his reaction. Why?

Wei-Yung tapped the golf ball into the cup a second time. It was as great an insult as not looking upon an equal when speaking to them. Yet he couldnt tell whether Alex had gotten the message she remained as inscrutable as her father. Maybe the truth would get under her skin. He was a silent partner in my latest film project.

Your latest hit list, you mean. Alex turned. Thinly veiled loathing crept across her face. Everyone knew that Wei-Yungs movies were a self-indulgent smokescreen; within weeks of their release, enemies with an uncanny resemblance to their villains cropped up dead, or dropped off the face of the earth. No one could prove anything, of course, and Wei-Yung remained untouchable, a victim of consis-tently morbid happenstance.

The villain caught the returning golf ball with his putter, images of brutally slaughtered Mafia Dons hovering around him like a bloody halo. You film what you know, he said. His words betrayed a hint of maniacal glee.

Did you ever consider, Wei-Yung asked, lining up another swing, that perhaps you didnt know your father as well as you think you did?

He never completed the shot. A split-second later, Alex had him pinned up against the video wall, his putter wedged beneath his jaw, crushing his windpipe.

Did you ever consider, Alex asked, applying just enough pressure to induce panic but not enough to paralyze, that perhaps weve let you live all these years because youre doing our work for us?

the rose


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More like your father than I suspected Wei-Yung gasped, struggling for breath, Enterprising yet so unwilling to get your own hands dirty.

Alex jabbed the putter forward and Wei-Yung spit blood. What did he pay you for?

He wanted me to add a character.WHO?Wei-Yung splayed his bloody hand across one of the monitors,

smearing a sticky crimson trail across the scene. In the shot, a dash-ing Spanish man left a rose on the pillow beside his latest romantic conquest and vanished over a balcony, escaping a villa under heavy gunfire. The villain Wei-Yung spattered. The Rose!

Alex loosened her grip and Wei-Yung collapsed to the floor, heav-ing and clasping his throat. She studied the dailies The Rose, a pretty-boy dilettante with Old World Mafia connections. He wasnt commanding so much as disarming, and his greatest weapon seemed to be his uncompromising arrogance. How much of this is real, she wondered, and how much of it is fantasy?

And why did Father want him dead?

Alex grabbed Wei-Yungs abandoned putter and dove into the melee. She bounded toward a swordsman threatening one of her fallen allies, and swung the makeshift bat with a full twirl of speed and force. Before the body hit the floor, she grabbed the fallen punk by the forearm and dragged him to his feet, ushering him back into the fray.

A heavy gust of wind unexpectedly blew in through the broken window, kicking up glass shards and production pages between the combatants. Outside, an unmarked helicopter dropped into view and its side door slid open.

A Russian man leaned out. He was tall and muscular, in his 40s, and he wore a simple, undecorated Russian military uniform (though anyone familiar with the Russian military could tell it was several decades out of date). A thin steel plate extended from his left eye around his head. Alex had always wondered where it had come from, and how it was attached. It seemed to be riveted into his skull But thats not possible is it? Equally strange, his face seemed to age out of sync with the rest of him, or at least half of it did, as if like a stroke victim or man with nerve damage half his countenance was slipping father toward an early grave than the rest.

A spike of pain shot into her right shoulder and she instinctively fell back, behind one of the leather sofas on the platform. A throwing dagger was buried in her shoulder, but fortunately missed anything critical. She pulled the dagger free and worked her shoulder in circles to make sure. When she was satisfied, she drew and readied two butterfly knives of her own and leapt into action

only to slide to a stop in front of at least a dozen approaching swordsmen. Behind the enemy line, Wei-Yung slipped away through the hidden wall panel that had disgorged the assassins.

Alex nodded in appreciation. Brought his own army. Wish Id thought of that.

The swordsmen closed to striking range. Oh, wait, she said as the bay windows crashed inward behind

her. I did.Stylish street punks surged into the room, drawing a variety of

martial arts weapons. The maelstrom of violence that followed was scored by the sound of colliding steel and flesh. Furniture shattered, blood was spilled, and epic brutality stole the scene.

To Alexs right, one of the swordsmen tumbled through the air, smashing upside down into the video wall; there was a flash and a shower of sparks cascaded over the combatants. To her left, someone decided to shift the battle into the game room, bringing exercise equipment into play as improvised weapons. Brutality took five and chaos stepped in as a stunt double.

Having fun? the man asked. Beowulf! Alex beamed.Beowulf rummaged through a rack behind his seat and tossed

Alex a Pancor Jackhammer. Finish up, he said. We have a new mission.

As one fluid motion, Alex caught the shotgun and wheeled around, unleashing a concentrated blast of flechette into the two nearest swordsmen; both dropped in a scarlet haze. She stalked into the game room, where a swordsman and street punk struggled over a hi/lo pul-ley machine. Through sheer strength and bulk, the swordsman forced the punks head and shoulders beneath a 150-pound weight stack.

Throwing all her muscle into a shoulder jab, Alex knocked the swordsman to the side, simultaneously using her free hand to fling the punk out from under the falling weight plates. She whipped around and delivered a solid kick as the swordsman rose to his feet, sending the minion flailing through the game rooms second-story window.

Thanks, the kid mumbled. Get back in there, Alex smiled. She nodded toward the far more

favorable rumpus in the main room. Make em proud.She leaned out the window and raised her right arm, firing a cuff

grapple at the hovering helicopter. A second later she rose out of sight.


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Monday, July 19, 20041517 hours GMT (11:17pm local time)Kam Ran Fortress, China

Its impressive. Ill give them that, said Augustin de Luna, leaning over the railing. The mountain aeries foundation was only sixty feet below him, but beyond that, beneath the natural ledge supporting this remote military installation, was one of the deepest gorges in the world.

Seven hundred forty-three feet before you hit the river, replied Emilio Thorne. Then the Mountain gets serious. His attention wasnt focused down, however, but across the mountain range. Except for a few solitary spires, the spectacular expanse was lost under a blanket of shining fog, a deep white shroud that burned off less than one hundred days a year. The rest of the time it shielded this and many other sanctu-aries from casual view, isolating them from the outside world.

Augustin was still fascinated with the architecture: seven temples; one hundred eighteen rooms; nine wooden structures literally built into the side of one of the tallest mountains on Earth, standing for more than a thousand yearsWhat was this place? You know, before.

Before the twins? Monastery. Back then, all they had room for was the faith.

Id say they still have quite a bit of it. Augustin watched a crowd of troops march across the structures lowest boardwalk, moving onto a thin bridge leading to the next structure. You think they realize theres only four inches of phoenix tail between them and the mother of all cliff dives?

The Khans plotting a comeback, August, and the last time he rose to power he lost more men than Paulus at Stalingrad. I doubt his troops share your vertigo.

Emilio ignored Augustins flat glare, still focused on the sea of clouds. I have a theory, he said, pausing for a split-second to regain Augustins attention, that everyone remembers one thing when they die.

Augustin chuckled. Arent you supposed to remember your entire life?

Sure, but even if you do and Im a skeptic there must be one thing that stands out. You know, one showcase memory some-thing, or someone, that reminds you why you went through it all.

Thats rather bleak.Maybe. I guess it depends on your point of view.After a moment of introspection, Augustin asked the obvious:

Whats yours? Your one thing.Dunno. I havent found it yet, but this Emilio turned toward his

lifelong friend with a grand sweep of his palm. This is close.Youre actually buying into it: the divine power bid, the Agents

of Heaven wrapIts hard not to. Emilios gaze trailed up a nearby cliff face. He

casually noted three of the Khans ritually scarred assassin caste, scal-ing the surface without gear. This Edge of theirs Its hard to argue with it, whether its godly or not. The Khan basically runs China now, no matter what the communists think. And lest we forget, they did give everyone a run for their money before the Wall came down.

Augustins spirits started to sink, just as theyd had when Emilio insisted they leave Rome without backup. Why are we here, Emilio? What are we doing?

Emilios signature smile returned and his face lit up, his eyes once again entirely focused. Why do we go anywhere, August? Were on holiday!

The lump in Augustins belly refused to fade. Does Fortune House even know were here?

Gentlemen! said a pair of approaching voices, in perfect chiming unison. Welcome to Kam Ran!

No, Emilio whispered in a harsh tone, just out of earshot from the approaching twins. The others can never know it started here, with us.

What started here? Emili Ladies! Augustin held his hands out to greet their hosts, the Khans lovely twin daughters, Mai-Ling and Tai-Tzu, also known as Mai-Tai. Eleven feet four inches of luscious, leggy attitude between them, Mai-Tai were infamous party-girls of the Eurasian club circuit, and lethal mercenaries for hire to the highest bidder. Beyond their fathers realm, they tended toward skin-tight rave gear and form-fitting battle dress, but here they wore beige qipao dresses shot through with craven tiger stripes. They couldnt go entirely formal, of course their dresses were custom-slit to three inches below the waist, revealing deeply tanned legs, and as always, mirror-opposite crimson streaks coursed through their striking black hair.

Augustin cheerfully clasped Mai-Lings forearms, keeping his hands inside her reach. The greeting was traditional within the Khans sect, dating back thousands of years. In this position, the visitor placed himself at a severe tactical disadvantage, inviting the host to snap both his arms with a basic martial arts maneuver taught to school-children, should he (or she) be in any way displeased with the visitors character or composure.

Augustin. Tai-Tzus voice was clipped and careful, and she didnt take Augustins arms. She wasnt one for formality, or fellowship.

Ling, Emilio said warmly, taking her hand and kissing her knuck-les. Tzu didnt offer her hand. She wasnt flirtatious, either. Well, not in the usual fashion.

Care for a tour? Ling asked. She led them down a narrow stair-case to the boardwalk below. Her sister fell in right behind her an uncharacteristic move for someone as paranoid as her, but she wasnt acting entirely like herself today.

Certainly, Emilio answered, falling in a few steps behind them.Emilio, Augustin whispered over his companions shoulder. We

still need to talk.Later.Fine. Are you still good with the thing?Emilio smiled as Tai-Tzu glanced back over her shoulder. His eyes

danced over her athletic shoulders before slaloming down her silk-clad curves. Augustin had seen that look before Emilio practically bristled with the thrill of the hunt.

Of course, August. Anything for a friend.

one thing

and here we have our training grounds. We specialize in twelve ancient forms of combat unknown outside our armies.

Below a stone bridge carved from the mountain rock, within a wide cavern behind the fortress, hundreds of combatants ran practice drills with a variety of melee weapons, or none at all. Formations of thirty to fifty soldiers moved together through regimented stances,


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then collapsed into seemingly non-choreographed pit brawls. At a command from their masters, they fell back in line, as if the formation had never been broken.

This series teaches discipline and adaptation, Tzu explained as they crossed the bridge. It prepares our warriors for the bitter truths of battle.

Emilio walked beside her, matching her crisp stride but retaining his cool, casual demeanor. You dont seem to enjoy yourselves very much around here. Look at their faces. Do those troops look satisfied to you?

There is more to life than satisfaction, Mr. Thorne.Famous last words of the discontented.Tzus stride faltered, ever so slightly. Ive rejected better than

you, she said.Youve only accepted worse. Were here, Ling pushed between her sister and Emilio. Maybe

you two can shift to neutral for a while.Tzu followed and Augustin appeared at Emilios side, his brow

raised in amazement. You owe me, Emilio told him, his smile only nearly gone.Augustin chuckled as they entered the Khans audience chamber.

Youre loving this, arent you?Little bit. Emilio strode into a column of soft moonlight in the

center of the room. A moment later, a metal plate closed under the skylight, dousing the column as subdued lamps slowly illuminated the center of the chamber. Per Lings instructions, Augustin took a position to Emilios right and twenty feet behind, within a dimly lit area near the door, with the twins standing opposite.

The audience chamber extended over one hundred feet into the mountain, a wide hallway dotted with alcoves containing sculptures of tigers locked in mortal combat with Chinese warriors and win-ning. Emilio heard footsteps on the cold tile floor and soon spotted the master of the house, Zhang Khan, who walked confidently toward him from the end of the hall. The warlords hair was characteristically drawn back into a braided tail and he wore a traditional silk jacket dyed a deep green. He clasped his hands behind his back and held his chin high, entering the room with all the regal bearing of Chinas most powerful Emperor.

I have pressing matters beyond your understanding. You have two minutes, the Khan announced.

My Lord, I have come to deliver a gift. Emilio held out a PDA. A guard appeared out of the shadows to Emilios right, clamed the

pocket computer, and walked it to the Khan. The warlord scrolled through its contents and his face clenched tightly until his eyes were painfully small.

Where did you come by this information? he asked. If I told you I stole it, would it mean any less to you? A silence fell over the shadowed chamber, and Augustins attention

roamed. Emilio counted on him to watch their backs when they were in the field. Though not a trained bodyguard, Augustin was quite accustomed with the signs of ambush and unwanted observation, and his natural apprehension served him well in this capacity. He scanned the edges of the room for more guards, noting five in hiding who didnt seem to be positioned for an attack, but found the rest of the room empty until he glanced upward, almost offhandedly.

Above the hall, within a dimly lit nook eighty feet above Emilios conversation, Augustin spotted a figure a female dressed head to toe in black or blue-black, carrying a pair of binoculars. Instinctively,

he looked to the twins, searching for some sign that they knew about the unexpected guest, but instead he found Tzu watching him, per-haps for the same clues. She followed his gaze when he looked back, but the shadow was gone and the nook was empty. Tzu and Augustin silently regarded one another for another lingering moment before they turned back to the proceedings.

Likely not, the Khan replied after some consideration. Why show this to me? You lost all leverage when I read the contents.

Because I know you to be an honorable man, and know that if someday I should ask a favor, you would be all too willing to help, if you could.

The Khan didnt answer, merely affording Emilio a languid, shallow nod.

If you have no more questions, My LordThe Khan turned and strode away. Daughters! See to it that our

guests are well attended this evening, and that they have all they need for their return journey at first light.

We are the Pillars of Heaven, My Khan!

The moon rose high over the mountains as the twins led Emilio and Augustin across one of the narrow bridges separating the cliff-side structures. True to form, Emilio hadnt let up since theyd left the audience chamber, and he made his move as they reached the end of the bridge, slipping ahead and sidling up to Tzu.

We can go the rest of the night without Ling, dont you think?The whole night? Ling asked, unable to ignore the opportunity.

Youre brave or a glutton for punishment.Well, I am known for my voracious appetite. Emilio never shifted

his eyes from Tzu. You sure thats not hunger? Tzu asked. You know what they

say about a starving manEmilio allowed his composure to slip, his face to beam with a wide

smile. The militant twin amused him. Throughout the exchange, hed been slowly closing on her, pressing his body forward so impercepti-bly that it nearly interlocked with that of his prey. Tzus eyes dropped to the wafer-thin gap between them and she instinctively snaked her tongue across her suddenly parched lips.

Ive broken men like you before, Mr. Thorne. Many times.Youve never met a man like me before.Mai? Tzu said. Show Mr. de Luna the rest of the way to his

quarters, wont you?Of course, Ling replied. Tzu missed the slightest hint of a smile

creep across the edge of her sisters mouth. Augustin followed, and before they rounded the nearest corner, he shot Emilio a quick wink.

Alright Mr. Thorne, Tzu purred, closing the gap. Lets discuss the merits of stamina.

And humility, he said, lowering his lips to hers.

Maybe if Ling were here to help you Emilio chided as he buttoned his shirt. Tzu lay on the bed behind him, wrapped in a Queen-size sheet. Both were flushed, but somehow he wore it with more style. She wore it like battle sweat, which while appropriate for their lively lovemaking seemed more feral than anything else.


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Emilio leaned over her and, gently kissing her forehead, decided to press the issue. You alright? You seem a little winded.

She gaped at him, her blood aboil. I think I held my own, thank you.

Emilio shifted uncomfortably within his shirt. Even against the custom Italian silk, the welts down his back flared and ached. Still, he refused to let her win. You held more than yours, he said, brushing her hair away from her face. So thank you.

He ducked to pick up his pants just as one of Tzus enormous pillows sailed over his head, slamming into a lamp across the room. Temper, temper, he called back to her. Ive got to go. August gets nervous in strange beds.

A high-pitched siren wailed through the fortress, originating from somewhere in the mountain. Several guards ran past Tzus bungalow, rounded the structure, and headed back toward mountain entrances Emilio noticed when they stumbled inside.

Tipping an invisible hat toward Tzu, he stepped outside and vanishing to the left. Ninety seconds later, she leapt out of the room behind him, dressed in a thin combat leotard and carrying her favorite submachinegun. She couldnt make out any fighting nearby, and except for the heightened sense of impending trouble, the fortress exterior seemed calm. She turned and headed toward the guest bungalows, planning to lock her latest conquest and his mutt in their rooms before

A burst of three silenced gunshots pierced the night, followed abruptly by someone collapsing onto an adjacent boardwalk. Dropping her slung SMG to her belly, Tzu hopped into the air and leapt off the nearest wall, lunching herself across the intervening chasm. She landed without a sound and immediately rolled toward the nearest structure, pushing her back flat against the cool wood. A few seconds later, when she was confident she wouldnt be caught in reactionary gunfire, she peeked around the corner. She braced her off hand on the boardwalk in case she needed to push back away from intended fire, but found none of that, either.

Mai! she cried. Her sisters body lay still on the boardwalk. She leapt to her siblings side, rousing her and gripping her shoulder to staunch the bleeding from a deep bullet wound. Lings eyes fluttered open and she struggled back to her feet, blood staining her matching BDUs.

Who did this? The fury was palpable in Tzus voice.August her sister seethed. We have to find him!

The guards collapsed, one plummeting off the mountains edge and vanishing into the mist below. Emilio kicked the other into a patch of shadow as they entered the hangar.

Ahead, two guard teams ran toward a waiting plane. It was ready for take-off, its propellers already in motion, but no one was visible through the cockpit window. Another guard flew out from behind the vehicle, plowing into one of the approaching teams and bowling them over like ten-pins. The opposite team fell into a tactical high-low position, half of them dropping into a low crouch so they could all fire together, but as they unleashed a hail of bullets toward the unseen aggressor, their target leapt up out of the line of fire and onto the planes fuselage.

The target was female, dressed in a blue-black cat suit, with a mane of radiant chestnut hair flowing behind her. She was a well-oiled machine, grabbing the planes tail and using her momentum to twirl 240 degrees into two of the standing guards. Both fell out of sight, and Emilio was certain they must be unconscious, or worse.

The woman dropped to the ground, planting her lithe and shapely body between the four remaining guards, and collapsed into a spinning foot sweep. The legs went out from under two and the others flooded the vacuum between them with bullets, exploding in clouds of sticky red. Dispatching each of the guards with rapid punches, the woman picked up one of their SMGs and moved around the back of the plane. Recovered, the first team approached, splitting in two groups to outflank her.

Augustin recognized the dazzling combatant. It was the woman from the audience chamber.

We should help. Emilio stalked toward the combat. Wha What? Are you crazy? Real guns, real bullets soft bodies!

Augustin spotted the marching approach of several more guard teams from a nearby structure. Oh hell

The woman crept back onto the planes fuselage as the remaining guards rounded the plane. She waited until they nearly completed their circuit and slid off the vehicles backside, collapsing one guard underfoot and snapping anothers jaw with the butt of her weapon. She turned to face the third guard behind the plane, but just a second too slowly; he jabbed the butt of his gun into her stomach and she went down, spitting blood onto the stone runway.

The last three guards approached, training their weapons and call-ing for the woman to stand down. The man who dropped her let his weapon fall to his belly and, as she tried to rise to her feet, delivered a swift roundhouse kick to her shoulder. She went sprawling and the guards collected her weapons.

Up! one of them screamed, in heavily accented Chinese. Now, now Is that anyway to treat a lady? At the planes nose,

Emilio took a long drag from a lit cigarette, arrogantly blowing a long plume of smoke in the air.

The guards whirled around as Emilios cigarette seemingly exploded, sending a .22 caliber slug into ones neck. He exploited the momen-tary distraction and whipped his pistol into position, planting a bullet into the arm of a second, then leveled the weapon at the others.

The woman kicked up from her prone position, connecting with a third guards jaw. His teeth slammed together and his eyes rolled back into his head. The last guard reached for his SMG, only to find the warm barrel of a pistol pressed up against his temple.

Ah, ah, ah Augustin warned, then clipped the base of his skull with a rapid motion, knocking him unconscious.

Regaining her balance, the woman scanned her rescuers. They raised their pistols toward the roof, but kept their fingers inside the trigger guards, just in case.

You alright? Augustin asked. He peered around the dark bun-galow where hed taken refuge with Emilio. Beyond, a portion of the mountain was carved out and converted into an air hangar.

Im fine. Emilio shook off a moment of lightheadedness and a tingle at the edge of his eyes. Just a little dizzy.

One of them finally broke the stallion! Augustin quipped. He held up two fingers to indicate two guards at the edge of the hangar, and invited Emilio past with an open palm. Age before beauty.

Cute. Emilio rose and started calmly walking toward the hangar, Augustin falling in beside him.

How were your evening plans, Emilio asked. Any battle scars?A few. The hangar guards raised their SMGs as they spotted the approach-

ing men, but before they could fire Emilio and his ward snapped their pistols into position and casually plugged two shots into each.


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Emilio. Sh. We need to leave, Emilio. Augustin nervously watched the

hangar entrance. I know.Now. Augustin had lost count of the guards there.Emilio ignored the mounting opposition, still focused on the girl.

Augustin shouldnt have been surprised Emilio always focused on the girl.

How about we get on this plane and fly out of here together? We can be in Shanghai by dawn.

Usually, Emilio could read women. It was a gift hed exploited since his teens. Now he found himself unsure, unable to read the striking beast before him. Maybe he was distracted by her eerie, athletic beauty, or flustered by the evenings adventures (though neither of those things had ever hurt his performance before). Maybe he really was just getting old

Something changed in the womans eyes, something Emilio hadnt seen in a long time: rage. Not against the situation or the world, but against him. This woman despised him.

But Ive never met her before, he thought. Have I?She pulled back under the plane, grabbing one of the scattered

guns in mid-roll. Emilio moved to follow her, but she loosed a burst of automatic fire past him, ripping into a fuel tank twenty feet away. The resulting fireball flared out across the hangar, knocking the men off balance and forcing the guards back from the entrance.

By the time Emilio clawed his way back to his feet, the plane was already in motion, the mystery woman at the controls. The vehicle taxied down the runway, streaking into the air past the recovering guards, and dipped into the night sky above the range.

Augustin was not the picture of hope. We cant be caught, Emilio. The Khan will blame us for this.

Emilio nodded, letting Augustin pull him to another nearby plane. Remember when I said I hadnt found my one thing yet? Emilio

mumbled.Sure.Things change.


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Monday, July 19, 20041449 hours GMT (10:49pm local time)Kam Ran Fortress, China

The Rose? Mai-Ling slipped three slim throwing daggers into sheaths strapped to her thigh.

The one and only. International man of lechery. Lings sister, Tai-Tzu, checked her machine pistols firing assembly one last time and tucked it between rows of concealer and blush.

What could he possibly want with Father? Ling bunched her hair up and pinned it down with a disguised fighting spike.

Who cares? Tzu shook a bottle of cherry red nail polish taken from a steel case near the back of the table and flashed a wicked smile. Hes our in with the new clients.

Ling hesitated, then checked the spring-loaded holsters along her forearms. So, the new assignment came through.

Tzu let the uncomfortable moment linger as she carefully painted her nails. She knew her sister was nervous about the new clients, but something else was going on here.

Whats the mission? Ling asked. She ran her index finger along the hooks in her jewelry case. Over a billion dollars in unclassified technology hung within, disguised in over twenty brilliant housings by Europes most fashionable gadgeteers. Tonight, though, she wasnt dressing to impress so much as to Who was she kidding? She reached for the most attractive item in the case, a pair of diamond-strung earrings, and fixed them in place, twirling her head back and forth to see if they fit her look for the evening.

Discreet plant, Tzu answered, blowing across her finished nails. She watched her sisters reaction in the enormous mirror, noting relief. Troublesome You all right? You seem off

Fine, Ling answered, avoiding eye contact. Shes lying Any unwanted pests in the mix?

Tzu silently shook her head, hoping Ling would look at her, but she didnt. No. Hes traveling with a bodyguard one of his Syndicate dogs. If you can keep that one busy, I can handle the drop on my own.

Good, Ling finally looked up from her primping and offered a shallow smile. She noted the open bottle of nail polish and reached for it, but Tzus elbow jerked out, upending it over the table. Ling rushed to move Tzus pistol out of the way as her sister nudged the bottle off the table, spilling the rest of the polish onto the floor.

Sorry, Tzu said. Muscle spasm. Must not be fully recovered from our last session with Go. She grabbed a towel and wiped up the polish.

The color soon returned to Lings face. Distract and drop, huh? Seems a little low-key for Hellmans crew.

This isnt going to be a problem for you, is it? I know how you can be with flirting

Ill be fine. Ling answered, warmer now. I assume Father doesnt know.

Positive. Hes a little annoyed at the interruption. Hes leaving the Rose entirely to us.

Perfect. You ready?Always. On the way out, Tzu tossed the polish-stained towel into

the living rooms giant fireplace. The flames licked at the fibers until they hit the polish nearly a minute later, then turned a pale green and withered out.

Thirty minutes later, Tai-Tzu observed the meeting in the moun-tain fortress enormous audience chamber. Her father was keenly interested in the contents of the PDA the lech handed him, and she wondered if they were connected to Hellmans rather bizarre request for the Syndicate leader

Where did you come by this information? the Khan asked. Tai-Tzu glanced over at The Roses bodyguard, the man named

Augustin de Luna. He was sizing her up, maybe wondering if he could take her in a fight. He seemed arrogant enough to try.

de Luna looked to the ceiling above the Khan and Tzu followed his gaze, but found nothing strange about the ornate overhang. Hes paranoid, too. She scanned the room once more, just in case, and casually looked to her sister.

Better, she whispered in approval, noting the warm smile Ling beamed toward de Luna. Lings performance during the fortress tour was woefully subtle, scarcely registering in the face of the Roses shame-less display. For a moment, I thought you were already bored.

Seduction is a delicate task, sister. Some people respond better to feathers than hammers.

Tzu stifled a snorting laugh. Youve been reading too many trashy novels, Ling. These dogs have been in heat since the womb. All they need is a scent.

Perhaps. Lings smile broadened. Youre too happy to pull this off. Maybe its better the whelp eat

something disagreeable. That should keep him busy long enouNo need, Ling interrupted. She vainly fought another smile

down. Some people just enjoy their work.The meeting ended and the Khan headed out of the room.

Daughters! The Khan called over his shoulder, see to it that our guests are well attended this evening, and that they have all they need for their return journey at first light.

Come bACk to me

The moon rose high over the mountains as the twins led Emilio and Augustin across one of the narrow bridges separating the cliff-side structures. True to form, Tzu hadnt let up since theyd left the audience chamber, playing hard to get every step of the way, and she made her move as they reached the end of the bridge.

Your bungalow, Mr. Thorne. She opened the door for him. If you need anything, please hesitate to ask.

We can go the rest of the night without Ling, dont you think?The whole night? Ling asked, unable to ignore the opportunity.

Youre brave or a glutton for punishment.Well, I am known for my voracious appetite, Emilio said, never

shifting his eyes from Tzu. You sure thats not hunger? Tzu asked. You know what they

say about a starving manShe nailed it. For just a second, Emilios perfect faade slipped and

a genuine smile surfaced. She had him right where she wanted him. Throughout the exchange, shed been slowly closing on him, pressing her body forward so imperceptibly that it nearly interlocked with that


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of her prey. Coyly, she dropped her eyes to the wafer-thin gap between them and snaked her tongue across her lips. It was one of her signature moves, but she knew it wasnt enough.

Ive broken men like you before, Mr. Thorne. Many times. There. That should strike the right chord

Youve never met a man like me before. The words rang in her ears like a symphony bell.

Mai? Tzu kept her eyes on her overconfident victim. Show Mr. de Luna the rest of the way to his quarters, wont you?

Of course, Ling replied. For a moment Tzu through she saw another smile at the edge of her sisters lips. She didnt want to break eye contact with Thorne, though, so she let the matter drop for now.

Ling and de Luna werent five feet out of sight before she whipped him around and pinned him against the bungalow wall with a slow wet kiss. She lingered in his arms, suddenly shivering in the cool night air. The world paused around them.

When she finally let him go several hesitant moments later, he swallowed hard. He dropped the evenings uncomfortable deception and let loose the raw, wanton nerves held in check by so much childish flirting. Because, really, theyd left flirting behind a long time ago

Ling exhaled, collapsing into Augustins arms. Fiiiiinally.Augustin laughed gently, nodding toward the bungalow corner.

Hard to hold back with those two pawing at each other all night. Does your sister know?

She knows enough, Ling lied. We should have the entire night. Come on. Let me introduce you to one of Shiatsus latest inventions

You sure? Last time I lost peripheral vision for a week.Come oooon.Seriously. I kept running into things.Ling glared at him, barely containing a laugh.I have scars!Ill give you scars She dragged him into the darkness of his

guestroom and shut the door.

I know, he said, searching for his shirt. Head around the commissary. That should get you to the hangar

without too much trouble.Thanks.She scooped up her sheaths and holsters and headed for the door,

but stopped mid-stride. She turned and leveled a sullen gaze at her one true love. Be careful, she said.

Never, he joked. Come back to me. Always.She slipped out the door and into the night chaos.

The sudden shriek of a siren woke the pair from a deep, contented sleep. Startled, Ling leapt out of bed, pausing only long enough to double back for a quick passionate kiss.

I need to go, she said. Augustin heard troops outside. So go. He kissed her back. They lingered at the beds edge, every nerve ending alive with

electric thrill.I really need to go. She pecked him on the cheek and withdrew

toward her clothes. You shouldnt stay here. Anything that hap-pens Father might assume youre to blame.

Ling pulled herself onto a nearby bungalows roof and flipped open a ceiling vent. There she found a small bundle of clothing one of the battle leotards shed hidden around the complex for just such an event. She quickly donned the outfit and watched Augustins guest-room until he slipped out and headed into the shadows. When he left her sight, she stood and scanned the nearby platforms.

All the guards seemed to be converging on the mountain entrances, shutting them down. Are they keeping someone in, or out?

She got her answer a moment later when she spotted an open exhaust grill high above a neighboring bungalow platform, and Kai, one of her fathers assassin caste, fleeing the scene. She traced ahead in Kais direction to another figure running low along the opposite rooftops, a blue-black clad woman with a billowing mane of light brown hair and a sniper rifle slung across her back.

As Ling grabbed two of her throwing knives, she silently wished shed included a machine pistol in her hidden stockpile. Live and learn, she thought, and buried one of the knives in the roof just in front of the intruder. The woman swung out of sight, below the bungalows roofline, a second before the second dagger left Lings hand.


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Kai arrived on the scene a second later, drawing her blade and delivering a powerful strike to the intruders position. Ling drew her last dagger and waited, fixed on the opposite roofline. Nothing. Neither Kai nor the intruder emerged. She slowly rose to her feet and heard a familiar voice below her.

No, this way, came de Lunas voice. Its safer this way Emilio Thorne trailed behind him.

A burst of three silenced gunshots pierced the night, and fire flooded through Lings shoulder. Her body froze, but she managed to whip her head in the direction of the attack, where the intruder looked up from her rifle. The womans expression was lost in a haze of shock-numbed pain, but Ling was sure she must be smiling. A moment later Ling toppled forward, collapsing onto the boardwalk.

She forced herself to a sitting position and applied pressure to the wound. The figure was gone from the roofline, but reappeared a moment later on the opposite boardwalk, heading in Augustins direc-tion. Panic and adrenaline battered through the pain and Ling worked her shoulder, testing it for strength. She flexed her fingers.

Itll do, she thought, and she gathered the will to stand. She heard a thud and someone rolled to her right. Whipping her

good wrist back, she revealed a spring-loaded ACCU-TEK AT-32 and raised the weapons custom red dot laser sight toward the approaching figure

Mai! Tzu cried as she rounded the corner. Who did this?August Ling seethed, her mind gripped with blood and fear.

We have to find him!Tzus face twisted into a mask of rage. That beasLing shook her head, It isnt what you think. We have to save them. Tzu followed Lings pointing figure to the open grill, kicked out

from the inside. She knew where it led, and what the intruder must have seen. Father will not be happy

We can still stop her, Ling said. She grabbed one of her sisters pistols out of its holster. This way Shes headed for the hangar.

How do you know?I know. Lets move!

An explosion ripped through the hangar as the twins approached, forcing back or bowling over several units of the Khans guards. The girls waded through their fallen underlings, emerging in the hangar just as a plane sped past, dropping off the runways end and sailing over the mountain canyons. The intruder was at the controls.

Tai-Tzu braced her machine pistol and loosed a wide stream of automatic fire at the fleeing vehicle. Two shots caught, plugging deep into the planes rear and eliciting a trail of dark smoke in its wake.

Ling lifted her pistol toward a second plane rushing through the hangar, but soon realized who was inside. She pulled the weapon up, pointing it harmlessly at the roof, and watched the plane sail out after the first. It cleared the lip of the runway, banked, and sped into the sky, away from the intruder and toward the high moon.

Ling watched the second plane shrink in the distance, mouthing four all-too-familiar words: Come back to me

Time to fly! Tzu grabbed her sister mid-run as she headed toward the runways lip. It was only after they cleared the edge that Ling realized they werent alone in their plummet Tzu had collected one of the Khans scouting gliders, and leveled it out along a steady angle toward the first damaged plane.

Soon, the girls dipped into the vast cloudbank beneath the for-tress, guided only by a stream of pitch-black smoke rising from their wounded prey


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Monday, July 19, 20041245 hours GMT (1:45pm local time)Bern

Slow day. Minion 68D6 waved at 68D8 as they passed at shift rotation. Hope you had your coffee.

Better than getting shot at, D8 replied. They shared a half-hearted, uncomfortable laugh.

D6 approached the reinforced vacuum door leading from the motor pool to the rest of the complex. Patting his pockets, though, he real-ized he didnt have a keycard, and turned back. Hey, D8! You mind letting me out? My partners already off shift, and Ive misplaced my card.

D8 frowned and swiped his card through the reader. After a deep hiss, the heavy door slid open.

Better find it, D8 said. If Jacob found outIm sure itll turn up. Always does. D6 stepped through the door,

mock-saluting and rolling his eyes on his way out. D8 rolled his eyes and set about his first patrol of the grounds. The motor pool was one of the least secure parts of the installation necessarily, with all the supplies coming in lately and required round-the-clock observation.

Something big must be going down, D8 thought. This is the most action weve seen in months.

High above, D6 opened the motor pools catwalk door or at least, the installations security system registered that he did. Minion 67A2 slipped through the portal and onto the catwalk, pocketing D6s stolen keycard. D6 was always losing his keycard, and wouldnt worry much about it for at least another few hours more than enough time.

A2 quickly scuttled into a pool of darkness and peered over the catwalk railing, searching for the two guards he knew would be on duty. A sudden bout of vertigo gripped his senses and his hand shot out, scrounging for the metal rail. His vision blurred.

It was getting worse.

D8 completed his rounds of the floor and started up the stairs to the second floor, signaling to his partner, D9, that his area was all clear. As D9 rounded a row of front-heavy transport trucks, an electric cord noose dropped over his head and jerked upward, catching him beneath his chin. He instinctively grabbed for the noose, trying to pry it free, and his submachine gun fell to his side, noiselessly bobbing at the end of its sling.

Above, at the other end of the noose, A2 struggled to keep hold of the line. Even though it was well anchored, he was having trouble supporting D9s weight. His muscles twitched uncontrollably, threatening a seizure.

Im sorry, A2 thought, throwing all his strength into one final pull. He heard a crack, followed by a sound not unlike wax paper being crumpled into a ball. He let D9s lifeless body drop to the floor and collapsed, fighting to regain his strength.

It was a shame that D9 had to die, but in his weakened state, A2 could never have overpowered him. And I have to get out, he thought. Someone has to know before its too late.

A2s hands were numb. He expected them to burn from the struggle, and he could see the ladder-like lacerations over his swollen palms and fingers, but felt nothing. Oh God

He whispered a prayer for D9 and moved to the ground floor.

All clear on this side too, D8 said into his radio. He headed back to the guard station but heard no response by the time he reached the small shack. Repeat, all clear. D9? Report.

Light suddenly flooded the shack and an engine roared into action from the same direction. D8 instinctively leapt through the door, tumbling onto the cool cement outside. A moment later the shack exploded to his left, countless shards of wooden shrapnel raining down around him. He rolled onto his side and grabbed for his weapon as the transport truck that had run the shack down burst through the cargo door and onto the street outside. It made a hard right, narrowly clipping a parked car, and accelerated into the distance.

The installations alarm sounded and klaxons flared in response. The motor pools vacuum doors flew open and more minions spilled into the room, rushing toward parked trucks. The protocol was clear and the minions were well trained drivers leapt into cabs and the rest took positions in the passenger seats and on the flatbeds, readying their weapons. One by one, five trucks full of minions formed a rushing convoy through the cargo doors, scaring away curious passersby and speeding out into the city.

A2 pulled hard on the steering wheel, sending the truck into a hard-angle turn round a corner and through a thin, low-hanging chain cordoning off a pedestrian walkway. Foot traffic was light this time of day, but he still had to swerve twice to avoid hitting anyone. Screams trailed behind the vehicle and from his side mirrors A2 spot-ted bloodstains on the grills of the pursuing vehicles. He braced and hoped for the best as his truck barreled toward the only exit through the walkway the wooden backside of a magazine stand.

67A2


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The center of the stand vanished in a scattered haze of glossy covers and flittering newspaper pages, one of which slipped under the trucks

windshield wiper, boldly displaying the days top headline across A2s field of view: TYRANT KILLED IN IRAQ RUSSIAN

GOVERNMENT CLAIMS RESPONSIBIILITY.They got him. A2 said in surprise.

Good for them!

far off, he spotted a sign: Deutsche Museen mit Bezug zur Industrie- und Technikgeschichte the Museum of Science and Industry.

Oh, he realized. I always wanted to come here. Someone approached from the street: soft footfalls through thin

soles not another minion. More followed: heavy, scuffing footfalls and obvious, ragged breathing. The Whitlows.

A2 dragged himself to his feet and reached into the breast pocket of his tattered uniform, revealing a thick mixing vial of viscous green fluid. Jacob Whitlow, a lanky man in his late thirties with a receding hairline and a worn business suit, stepped carefully through the wreckage, slowly screwing a suppressor onto a sleek black service

pistol. Behind him, his massive brother Jeremy trundled through the devastated Museum, obliviously displacing rubble

in his wake. And behind them, at least twenty minions, laser-sighted submachine

guns searching for a target

He tugged the truck into traffic, slalom-ing through the sluggish after-noon drive. Behind him, the other minions pulled out onto the sidewalks, scattering phone booths and caf tables in all directions. They pushed into flanking positions and opened fire, peppering A2s truck with holes and blowing out its windows.

A2 ducked down in his seat, his eyes level with the dashboard, and punched it through a red light. He heard several vehicles brake hard and crash and the gunfire lessened, but he didnt chance a glance back to see what happened.

He scarcely registered the shadow approaching from the left, a tall rig pulling a refrigerated car at top speed. The broadside impact plowed A2s truck through several chiseled pillars and into a tall brick building. The rig jerked sideways and broke but A2s truck kept mov-ing, propelled onto its side and across the interior structures floor.

A2 clambered out of the cab, heedless of the wounds he knew he must have suffered in the crash. He fell to the cool steel floor and rolled on his back, staring at a ceiling of interlocking gears and machinery. Not

Stay back! A2 screamed, holding the vial over his head. Ive got nothing left to lose!

I know, A2, I know. Jacob leveled his pistol and dozens of tiny red dots simultaneously trained on the minion.

Stephen. Jacob tipped his head inquisitively. Its my name, A2 said, Stephen.I dont care.The last thing Stephen heard was a click.


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Monday, July 19, 20041937 hours GMT (5:37pm local time)Paraiso Caidas, Brazil

The Brazilian town of Paraso Cadas died on an otherwise pleasant Monday evening.

From his hillside backyard, Silvio Veda watched the long line of commuters trapped in gridlock hell and chuckled. It was a ritual for him. Since his retirement, hed lounge on a pool chair and watch the unfortunates still living his old life, look to the evening sky, and mouth a silent prayer of thanks that hed been spared. Then hed head back in for another of his wifes much-envied dinners.

With the sun already low over the hills, tonight was no different. Silvio scanned the parked cars and allowed his vision to blur, becom-ing lost in the trail of honking steel coffins. His thoughts fled to the world beyond this remote industrial outpost and the wonders it contained. As was often the case, they drifted to his younger brother Emilio, who had long ago left for a grander life abroad. For a time, Silvio allowed himself to dwell on darker times...

You dont think about it, Silvio? What it would have been like if theyd stayed? Emilios pace was as spirited as ever, and Silvio had to step lively to keep at his side. This wasnt unusual; Emilio was always rushing through life, never quite content with the present. It was one of the many ways he didnt fit.

It was the summer of 1987 and the boys were returning home from an afternoon at the bullfights. The nearest stadium was over two hours away by bus, and many promises had to be made before their father, Csar, would let them make the trek on their own. The biggest one, the one theyd had to repeat over and over again, was that theyd be back before dark. Silvio watched the last slip of orange drop below the horizon and resigned himself to another punishment.

It was Emilios fault, of course he wanted to stay for the final match but somehow he never saw the blame. He was just too... likeable.

Imagine... Emilio was talking about Europe again. The family had moved back home to Brazil before he was born and yet he wouldnt let it go. All those beautiful, romantic places. All that excitement!

Sure. At least they were almost home. They rounded the last corner and started up the short hill on which their house stood, and Silvio looked for his mother at the kitchen window. She would be there anyway, preparing another incredible meal, but with them being so late he expected to find her scowling, considering inventive ways to discipline him. Instead, he found the window empty. His stomach tightened. Something was wrong.

Hurry. He grabbed Emilio by the shoulder and dragged him quickly up the hill, past the yard, and through the front door. Were home! Mama? Papa?

Nothing. They rushed into the kitchen, but the plates werent set out yet. The stove was still cold. The tightness in Silvios stomach became a growing knot.

Panic and the smell of kerosene drew him into the living room and all but blotted out Emilios warning cries. Silvio, wait! He heard the words but didnt process them not before something small and heavy connected with the base of his skull and consciousness fled.

Silvio drifted back to the waking world slowly, hesitantly. Somewhere close he heard the gentle clatter of tools and a rising hum. Like some long-forgotten lover the melody taunted him, daring him to open his aching eyes, but fear won out and he kept still, wait-ing for the world to stop spinning. The tense hum reached its driving climax and another voice joined in, revealing the song and the scene. Silvios heart sank, for in that moment he knew that his parents were dead, and that he and Emilio would soon follow.

It was Rachmaninoffs Piano Concerto No. 2 in C Minor, the First Movement. One man hummed the keys and the other the strings. They had no names, but their brutal talents were in high demand by the extended Family of Silvios youth. They were called the Choir Boys, or sometimes the Bloody Choir, for they had the voices of angels, but also the hands of devils. They were what Silvios father called cleaners. Hitmen.

Assassins. The humming reached a crescendo and the men chuckled, clearly

pleased with themselves. This one was hard to catch, one of them said. Silvios eyes jerked

open to the jumbled thud of a body only a few feet away. It was Emilio. He didnt look injured, but to Silvios horror, the same could not be said of their parents. Crimson welts circled their necks and their mothers eyes bulged out of the sockets, fixed on faraway sights. Silvio hoped they were happier than these.

He doesnt look like much. The second assassin rose from the radiator. Silvio couldnt see what hed been doing, but thought he saw the end of a wrench handle past his fathers still foot.

The little rat tried to crawl through the walls.Well then, maybe we should snip his whiskers. The second assas-

sin produced a switchblade and flicked it open. The moonlight glinted off the steel like the flare of a starter pistol. Run! But Silvio couldnt his arms were tied behind him and the blood had been cut off too long. His wrists and forearms were already starting to feel numb, and he wasnt sure he could still move his fingers. They might be quivering and hed have no idea.

It hadnt occurred to Silvio how he looked to Emilio, but it must have been bad because the younger boy sought out his attention and locked eyes with him. It was the first time he remembered Emilio being perfectly calm. Every nerve and muscle in Silvios body had seized, but his brother remained the proverbial rock, unmoved and unfazed.

Silvio found his own calm somewhere in Emilios chestnut eyes and felt his fear drain away. His focus and the clarity of the scene returned, and in that moment he realized that Emilio had a plan. The younger boys confident expression never shifted, not even when the second assassin pulled him to his knees by the hair and held the switchblade less th

Operation Nightfall

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