was night and they were close enough. Besides, we didn’t think we were creeping up on a lair of evil ornithologists. Top and Bunny each tossed a drone into the air, and the little machines deployed their wings, flapped vigorously, and rose into the darkening sky. I pulled back the flap that camouflaged the small computer strapped to my forearm, and brought up the feeds from both birds. The screen split into two and gave me high-def camera feeds, thermal scans, and scans for electronics as the drones soared over the building.
On the first pass the thermals told us that there were eight people inside. No idea who they were, but they all grouped in one room. Electronic heat signatures suggested there were machines in there, and one of them was both hot and cold. A fridge. Then the drones circled and searched for the security setup, hunting for listening devices, infrared triggers, motion sensors, and other security systems.
Bunny leaned close and studied the display. “Well,” he said sourly, “they got the whole package, don’t they?”
“Yup.”
And they did. The whole compound was wired six ways from Sunday, and all of it was networked through a very sophisticated computer system. I tapped my coms unit.
“Bug, you getting this?”
“Yeah.”
“Talk to me.”
“It’s a pretty sweet setup. Absolute cutting edge. Very expensive. Looks like the computers are protected by a one-hundred-twenty-eight-bit cyclical random numerical coder. That’s top of the line.”
“And . . . ?”
“And we’re in,” he said simply. “Top of the line isn’t ‘us’ now, is it?”
I heard Top laughing quietly.
Rogue Team International had the MindReader computer, which is arguably the world’s most sophisticated super-intrusion software system. It’s how we’ve been able to stay a couple of steps ahead of the bad guys—and some of our allies—even though we’re a relatively small group. RTI works because we can spook our way into virtually any computer system, steal data, learn secrets, clone intel, and then sneak out again with no trace. MindReader rewrites the target system’s security software, including time codes, to eliminate all traces of its presence. The next best systems—owned by the NSA, China, and Russia—could sneak in, but they left footprints, scars to mark where they’d been. Nobody ever knows that MindReader was there. It makes our system the most dangerous in the world, which is why Mr. Church doesn’t share it with anyone. That’s a very deep line in the sand. His level of trust for other governments is nonexistent.
Bug said, “I own the security cameras and recorded a two-minute loop. You can stroll right up anytime you want. No alarms.”
“Remind me to give you a big sloppy kiss.”
“Please don’t,” he said.
We did not stroll up. We ran, quick and light, guns up and out. First thing we did was circle the building, looking for sentries. There were none, which was odd. Even with a couple of hundred thousand dollars’ worth of security gadgets it was an oddly complacent attitude. In the back we checked the jet. The motor was cold, but that didn’t mean much. I took our remaining BAMS unit and swept the mouth of the underwing tanks. The green light wavered and then turned orange.
“Doc . . . ?” I asked very quietly.
“You’re weirding me out again, Outlaw,” she said. “Whatever’s in those tanks isn’t cocci. It’s some kind of chemical compound that isn’t ringing any bells as biohazardous. We’ll need samples for analysis.”
“Can’t do that now.”
“Outlaw,” called Top via the coms unit, soft and urgent. I turned to see that he had moved to a space to the left of the airstrip. I ran over while Bunny watched the building. He had a FN SCAR-L assault rifle with a sound suppressor in his hands and a drum-fed Atchisson Assault shotgun slung on his back.
I closed on Top and saw that there was another of the big dun-colored tarps stretching away into the gloom. Top had one corner of it up and raised it further as I knelt beside him.
Beneath the tarp was grass. Not sure what kind, but it was green and vibrant. Stiff stalks of it.
We