Prodigal Son (Orphan X #6) - Gregg Andrew Hurwitz Page 0,130
at the end of a winding dirt road that led up into a seascape of moonlit dunes. Evan and Joey arrived an hour past dusk and sat on the hood of his truck in the dusty darkness, the air flavored with chaparral and sage and the allergenic scent of hay from the bales that served as backstops. The moon was thin but fierce, casting a pale glow through a cloudless sky, making the shell casings gleam like treasure. Shredded paper targets snapped in the breeze. Somewhere a coyote howled, the plaintive cry joined by another and another and another, the pack zeroing in on its prey.
Tommy was next to show his face, the piercing eyes of his headlights rumbling into view, climbing the switchbacks of the dunes. His dually truck drifted toward them and parked nose to nose with Evan’s F-150.
Tommy emerged with a grunt, the earth jogging those old warhorse joints, and he circled to sit on his own trunk, for once not offering any sage Tommyisms.
They sat in the quiet, listened to the wind. It blew invisible specks of rain across Evan’s face, and for a moment the world seemed vast and peaceful and full of hope. But the awful responsibility of what was to come tightened his chest, reminded him that every breath was on borrowed time and fate could decide when she’d had enough with a snap of her fingers. Jake Hargreave had set this all in motion. One drone pilot trying to whistle-blow on a $500-million program for UAVs with their own programmed ethical adapters. A solitary man standing against a totalitarian future.
“Beautiful here,” Tommy said. “Could almost make you think there’s still some sense in the world.”
Wasn’t that how it always began? They heard the next vehicle before they saw it, an engine growling, big tires crunching over rock and mashing through mud. No headlights.
Tommy stiffened, but Evan said, “She’s with me.”
A shadowy truck neared, revealing itself to be an old Jeep Wrangler. It parked with its grille to their grilles, their vehicles forming a trefoil like a three-leaf clover, a Gothic church floorplan, a hazard symbol. The door swung open.
Candy McClure slid out.
Evan heard Tommy take a sharp inhale at the sight of her.
Orphan V was something to behold. Not just her looks—which were considerable—nor her body—which was a poetic blend of curve and muscle—but the energy she conveyed with every movement, an unspoken vibe that said she was the fullest version of herself, that she was possessed with all the composure and murderous skill the world had to offer, and that her presence before you was a privilege. That she was sparing you from her terrible, terrible powers, and if you could countenance her company with grace, she might add a drop of her potency to yours.
She winked at Evan and hoisted herself onto her trunk, sat cross-legged, and stared at them. She wore slouchy boots and a fuzzy sweater off one shoulder. Her hair had grown, falling well below the firm line of her chin, and she’d tousled it out a bit in keeping with the 1980s dream-girl vibe. Her eyes had that predatory gleam that made you want to curl up in surrender just to get it over with.
“Well,” Evan said, “that’s all of us, then.”
Candy lifted her chin, anointing him with her attention. “What happened to your arm?”
“I ran into a combat knife.”
She tsk-tsked. “Careless.”
Tommy couldn’t take his eyes off Candy. “We gonna do this, then? Or jaw around with fancy talk?”
Joey reached behind her to her backpack and tugged out her laptop. “Transport’s due to arrive at Creech North at midnight. A team of private contractors is providing security for delivery.”
“Why not real army?” Candy asked.
Evan thought back to the team Molleken had dispatched to the impound lot to clean the scene. They’d been ready to kill not just their targets but any witnesses or first responders as well. “Because these guys don’t have any ROEs,” he said. “They’re mercs ready to execute whoever gets in their way. Until these drones are delivered to the base, the hidden kill order is executed, and Andre and I are neutralized, Molleken is taking no chances.”
“Will he be on site?” Tommy asked.
“Yes,” Joey said. “Internal comms make clear he’s overseeing it personally.”
“The doctor goes down,” Evan said. “And his privately hired mercenaries. But not a single soldier.”
Candy wiggled her shoulders forward in a manner that seemed flirtatious; it took Evan a moment to realize she was pulling the fabric tight across