The Last Good Man

Ramping Up

Quickly, quietly, in a huddle beside the black SUV, Lincoln and Miles listen as True describes what she saw. “I don’t think it’s Shaw who fielded that hawk,” she concludes as she packs her MARC away. “It’s like we were told. The Chinese have a concern.”

Her face is flushed, there’s a sheen of sweat on her cheeks, and her eyes are bright—almost fever bright. Lincoln watches that intense gaze shift to Miles. “Some branch of their intelligence network is probably monitoring chatter on Nungsan.”

Miles leans in, speaks sharp words at low volume. “I drew their attention. I get that. But I can’t do my work anonymously—”

“It’s not the time to debate it,” Lincoln interrupts, eyeing the porch where Rey and Alex still talk quietly with Daniel.

Their host’s burst of temper over the blue gull was mostly soothed when Lincoln explained his concern about outsiders following them here and eavesdropping. Daniel’s answer was bitter: “You’ve heard of my troubles, then. The government is always watching me. They won’t leave me alone.”

It wasn’t the government watching today. Lincoln is sure of that.

He crooks a mechanical finger at Alex. Now that True has reported on what she saw, it’s time to go.

Alex acknowledges the signal with a nod. A few more words, handshakes exchanged on the porch, and then Alex and Rey cross the lawn.

Lincoln murmurs, “No mention of a Chinese connection in front of Rey, understood?”

Miles nods. True whispers, “You got it.” She adds, “I can’t wait to get out of here.”

Lincoln is in full agreement. “We need to move,” he tells Rey, speaking louder now. “It’s late. I want to get to the hotel so we can eat and get some sleep before tomorrow’s flight.”

It’s late afternoon. The sun has broken out past rainclouds to shine on the towering, glistening green vegetation hemming in the narrow road. Occasionally visible beyond that living barricade are rice fields and coconut plantations. Miles stares out the window, watching the countryside roll past—but his thoughts are turned inward.

He is uneasy, uncertain, and unhappy. Coming here, he decides, was a mistake. They intruded on the peace and privacy of a man who has already suffered too much in life, and for what? They knew already that Shaw Walker is alive. All they’ve really learned is that Rogue Lightning may have fallen to “killer robots” and for that fragment of knowledge, they may have exposed Daniel Ocampo to an uncompromising enemy.

True put it delicately: The Chinese have a concern.

That scares the fuck out of Miles. The village of Nungsan was incinerated to eliminate witnesses and, eight years on, someone is still on guard, monitoring interest in the Nungsan incident.

Miles woke up a monster when he went digging for long-buried rumors—and he’s deeply worried there could be blowback against Daniel, even though the man knows nothing dangerous, nothing that could compromise anyone. All he really remembers is a fever-hazed image of Shaw Walker, and maybe Walker never really said those words, killer robots. Daniel might have misheard or misremembered or dreamed it as he lay dying in the mud.

Daniel is no threat to anyone.

For fuck’s sake, Miles prays, let the enemy understand that.

A new idea occurs to him. Maybe it’s not Daniel they’ve endangered by coming here. Maybe what they’ve done is to shine a light on Shaw Walker. If so? If this enemy decides to finish what should have been finished eight years ago?

Fuck it. That bastard deserves whatever he gets.

Lincoln sits in the front seat, swaying as the SUV rolls past the bumps and swales of the rough country road. He thinks about True’s report—the leaf mech perched on the window frame, the biomimetic hawk that intercepted it—and assumes that everything Daniel related to them is known.

But known by who? True’s answer is a Chinese faction. A logical deduction, given the information relayed to them by Brooke. The question Lincoln faces now is whether the activity will be limited to surveillance, or if it will escalate to active interference. They encountered no trouble on the way out. They detected no vehicle following them, but a ground vehicle wouldn’t be necessary to an enemy with sophisticated aerial surveillance.

He studies the narrow road ahead, uneasy. Traffic is light, but he can’t see far. No way to know what’s around the next bend, or a few more kilometers down the road. He asks himself, What can be gained by attacking us?

Nothing.

An assault would lead to an investigation, and eventually the reason they came here would be made public. No one involved in this tangled operation, whether known or unknown, wants that. And still his anxiety is ramping up. He’s got a feeling trouble is coming—and that’s a feeling he’s learned to trust.

The SUV rocks as it plows through a rain-filled pothole. Lincoln is abruptly conscious of the pistol’s weight in his pocket. They printed the guns as an insurance policy in case Shaw had a presence on the ground. But the situation is changed and Lincoln senses the weapons are now a liability.

He glances at Rey behind the wheel. The journalist, focused on driving, doesn’t notice the attention.

Lincoln returns his gaze to the road. He slides his right hand, his organic hand, into his pocket. His fingers close on the pistol. He pulls it out and surreptitiously passes it back to True, who’s sitting behind him. He feels her take the weapon.

Next, he pulls out his tablet, taps out a text, and sends it to her: Break it down. We’re done with them.

He glances back to see her eyeing her tablet, an anxious flush heating her cheeks. She looks up, nods.

He consults his tablet again, reviewing a satellite map of the road ahead. Then he turns to Rey. “Let’s stop.”

Rey looks around in surprise. So does Miles. Rey says, “Sure, we can stop. There’s a store just—”

Lincoln interrupts him. “The map shows a bridge five hundred meters ahead. I remember crossing it. Let’s stop there. I need to conference with True.”

He’s barely gotten the words out when it starts to rain again, a heavier shower than before. “Crap,” True says from the backseat.

Lincoln laughs at the sincerity in her comment. “Pass me my jacket,” he tells her.

She takes off her seat belt and turns around. Their packs are in the back. She rummages among them. Alex turns to help out. Miles is alert, looking around, looking for danger.

They’re almost at the bridge when True hands a raincoat to Lincoln. “I’m ready,” she says.

The bridge is modern, wider than the road, low concrete sides topped with steel railings. Rey drives across it, then eases the SUV into a muddy pullout. Lincoln and True get out. She pulls up the hood of her rain jacket. Their boots stick in a fine, sucking mud as they walk back to the bridge. A sweet scent of flowers and spice defies the rain. For now, there is no other traffic.

Lincoln gestures her to go ahead. She pulls her hood off again. “Can’t hear anything with that up,” she mutters. The rain beads on her hair as they stand at the railing. Lincoln has positioned himself to hide her from Rey’s sight if he’s looking in the rearview mirror.

The stream below is running fast from the intermittent rain, water brown with suspended silt. True has disassembled both pistols, removing the magazines and separating the slides from the lower receivers. She leans down to rest her forearms on the railing and drops the pieces in. They vanish in the brown current. The extra ammo follows.

“What are you thinking?” she asks, just loud enough to be heard over the rushing water.

“I don’t think a Chinese intelligence agency fielded that hawk.”

She looks up in surprise. “No?”

“It doesn’t feel right. This whole thing feels off.”

She straightens up, pushing a few strands of wet hair off her forehead. “Targeting Nungsan was extreme.”

“Agreed. So is running a surveillance program eight years out. That’s why I’m starting to think it’s personal. Someone with influence who would be affected if the truth got out. Someone with resources, used to outsourcing on-the-ground activity. The biomimetic hawk was the same here as back home.”

She thinks about this, then says, “I’m not sure if that’s better or worse. You have any idea who we’re talking about?”

He follows her gaze to the muddy water. No sign of the gun parts. He hopes they’re working their way downstream. “Not a clue.”

She says, “They’ll be hunting for Shaw just like we are, but we have the advantage. We know for sure he’s alive. We know the name he’s using. All they’ll learn from our conversation with Daniel is that he escaped Nungsan.”

The rain paints cool tracks down his face and the back of his neck. His shirt is getting wet. “They’re determined,” he reminds her. “They’ll figure it out.” He juts his chin, indicating the stream. “I’m thinking they’ll try to slow us down in the meantime.”

She looks up at him again. That fever-bright gaze. “You thought Rey must have guessed about the guns. You think he said something?”

“No. But Rey and Daniel have enemies. It wouldn’t be hard to get the cops curious about why we’re here, why we’re talking to them. But we’re clean now. It won’t matter.” He cocks his head toward the car. “Come on. Let’s go.”

She catches his sleeve. “Lincoln. Do you think Shaw knew he was marked for death?”

The question comes out of nowhere. He puzzles over it as the rain begins to abate. “How could he know?”

“He couldn’t,” she says. “But he knew something. I mean, he got away. He got out. But he didn’t come home. There must have been a reason. What reason, Lincoln?”

She asks him that, but she’s already guessed why—and he has too. “We can talk about it later. Let’s go.” He starts back toward the SUV.

“He was abandoned in that place,” she says from behind him, still in that voice so soft he has to turn around to hear her clearly. “He was abandoned and he knew it. No rescue came. His brothers didn’t come for him.”

“God damn it. We looked for him. You know we did, but we were sent on a false trail.”

“Yes,” she says, letting him know that this is the point she wants to make. “All of us were betrayed. Shaw needs to know that.”

Her eyes are wide and bright, too bright, with a warrior’s focus—as if she’s sizing him up the way she’d size up an enemy. She wants to find Shaw—so does he—but their reasons are not the same. “You’re feeling protective of him, True.”

“I am.”

“You need to be careful of that. Whatever his reason for not coming home, it doesn’t excuse what he’s done since.” He jerks his chin at the car. “Let’s get the fuck out of here while we can.”

Miles watches out the rear window of the SUV as Lincoln and True walk back from the bridge. He’s not sure what’s going on between them but it’s a relief to know the guns are gone.

When they get back in, they bring with them the odors of mud and rain-wet clothing and a sense of tension as thick as the tropical humidity. Neither offers an explanation.

“Let’s go,” Lincoln says. Rey obeys.

Alex helps True squirm out of her raincoat. “We okay?” he asks her.

She raises her hand, fingers crossed, a serious look in her eyes.

Miles feels his jaw tighten; his heart rate kicks up.

Alex whispers, “Shit.”

Rey glances around, a hint of worry on his brow. “Something up?”

“Let’s all relax,” Lincoln tells them. “We’ll be fine.”

Will we? Miles wonders.

Clearly trouble is coming. That knowledge scares him. He wants to question Lincoln, but not in front of Rey. So he says nothing. He returns to staring out the window, stewing over what might be going on. It irritates the fuck out of him that Lincoln wants to pretend things are okay.

They’ve gone on for maybe twenty kilometers when two chimes ring. Miles flinches at the noise. True and Lincoln react too, both reaching for their tablets. As the chimes go silent, Miles asks, “What is it?”

Alex leans over, eyeing True’s tablet. He asks her, “Is that the traffic cam?”

Miles twists around to look behind them, but if anyone is following, they’re not in sight.

“Something overhead,” True says. “A UAV. Identifies as national police.”

“Following us?” Rey asks from upfront.

“It’s a good bet.”

They’re rounding a long curve, almost back to the main highway, when Lincoln says in a preternaturally calm voice, “Rey, let’s slow down.”

Rey touches the brakes, shaving their speed. “Oh,” he says as a roadblock comes into sight ahead of them. “Oh, fuck.”

A sentiment Miles shares.

Three police cars, lights flashing, are staggered diagonally across the road, right up to the vegetation on either side, blocking all possibility of getting past them. At least eight officers armed with long rifles crouch behind the cars. More police cars wait farther down the road.

The sight brings Miles to the edge of panic, a physical memory of the last time he was waylaid on a remote road. His heartbeat ramps up but there’s nowhere to go.

Lincoln tries to reassure Rey. “Take it easy. We’re going to be okay.”

It’s not looking that way to Miles. Rey isn’t convinced either. He sounds distraught as he says, “But you’re carrying—”

“No, it’s okay,” Lincoln insists. “Just do as they direct.”

Rey stops well short of the barricade. He’s ordered to get out of the vehicle first, hands on his head. Then he’s told to walk to the police cars.

Alex turns to True and with undisguised suspicion he demands, “What the fuck?”

True responds with an exasperated eye roll, as if it’s all obvious and she is not in the least surprised. “Lincoln predicted this.”

“Predicted what?” Miles wants to know. “What is going on?”

“It’s a setup,” Lincoln explains. “Someone called in a tip, accused us of some high crime.”

“Are we guilty?” Alex asks. Nothing in his tone suggests he’s joking.

“Fuck, no,” True answers. She looks annoyed, not frightened at all. “Right now, the opposition is just scrambling to figure out what they can about the ‘American’”—her fingers move in air quotes—“and they want to take us out of the hunt while they do.”

“Take us out for how long? I have to be on that plane tomorrow morning. I need to be back at work.”

True responds to this with terse sarcasm. “I’m sure the police will take your work schedule into consideration.”

Outside, Rey has reached the barricade. He’s hustled out of sight. New orders are issued by megaphone: “One at a time! Exit the car. Hands on head.”

“Who’s first?” Alex asks, like he just wants to get this over with. He can’t go first because he’s trapped in the middle of the seat.

“Me,” Lincoln says, opening the door. “Remember, we’re here for personal reasons. That’s what we need to tell them, and it has the advantage of being the truth.”

“Step away from the vehicle! Face down on the ground.”

“Fuck,” Alex says in disgust. “If we get gunned down, the kids are going to be pissed.”

True gives him a scathing look. “Get a grip,” she says. “They don’t have any reason to shoot us.”

“They don’t have any reason to stop us,” he counters.

“I’ll go next,” Miles volunteers. Despite his effort to put up a stern front, he hears a tremor in his voice. Fuck it all. He starts to open his door.

“Miles,” True says.

He turns to her.

“This is not like before,” she tells him. “They’ll ask you a few questions. That’s all.”

“Yeah, I know,” he says softly. “I understand that.”

But what happens if the police have figured out that Lincoln printed up those guns?