Chương 137: Chapter 136: The Poor Little Rich Boy Test (12/11/2001 | 02:00 AM AFT)

DATE: Tuesday, December 11, 2001 LOCATION: Tora Bora, Afghanistan | Sniper Hide (Elevation: 10, 000 ft) LOCAL TIME: 02: 00 AM AFT The freezing wind of the Hindu Kush howled through the narrow opening of the rock outcropping, biting through my layers. I was lying prone on a foam mat, my eye pressed against the rubber cup of a modified thermal scope. I was physically alone on the mountain, but my HUD was crowded.

Crouched in my peripheral vision, rendered in a flawless, translucent green AR overlay, was Richard Marcinko. He wasn't freezing. He was sitting twenty-two time zones away in a climate-controlled vault in the San Diego Arcology, wearing an Aegis-3 rig. His digital hands were seamlessly pulling high-altitude drone telemetry and overlaying wind-shear calculations directly onto my retinas.

"So," Marcinko's gravelly voice rumbled, piped directly into my earpiece.

"When are we going to talk about what happened with Olga?" I didn't take my eye out of the optic. I just slowed my breathing.

"I don't respect you enough, Dick, to have that conversation," I whispered, my voice flat, my physical breath pluming in the freezing air. Marcinko's digital avatar let out a low, raspy chuckle. He swiped a hand through the air, clearing a cluster of topographical data from my left field of view.

"Well, since I am acting as your Scout on this mission, you are stuck with me," Marcinko said, his AR ghost leaning against the jagged Afghan rock as if it were real.

"And since you're currently using Al-Qaeda as a punching bag to avoid dealing with your feelings, let's run the After Action Report. Question number one from the peanut gallery: Why the hell didn't you just tell her the truth?" Stolen novel; please report.

"Operational security," I replied automatically.

"Bullshit," Marcinko coughed.

"I'm looking at your biometric telemetry, Boss. Your heart rate is spiking. You bought the girl a pirate ship in a bioluminescent cave. You practically handed her the keys to the kingdom. If you trust her enough to give her the Batcave, why wouldn't you just tell her you're the Batman?"

"If I tell her I am the Architect, the power dynamic permanently shifts," I said coldly, tracking a heat signature that turned out to be a mountain goat.

"She stops being my equal and becomes my subject. I needed to know she wanted me, Dick. Not the Arcology. Not the trillion-dollar portfolio. Just me."

"Right. The poor little rich boy test," Marcinko snorted.

"You wanted to make sure she liked the man, not the bank account." My finger slipped off the trigger guard. The sheer, reductive stupidity of the cliché made my jaw clench.

"It isn't just the poor little rich boy test, Dick," I said, my voice dropping into a deadly, quiet register. I took my eye away from the physical optic and looked directly at the glowing green ghost.

"If I'm a disappointment to her now, on a civilian salary... what kind of monster does she become if I hand her the keys to the global infrastructure? She wouldn't just manage me, Dick. She'd try to optimize the planet. And she'd do it with the exact same ruthless impatience she used on me in that elevator." Over the encrypted comms, there was absolute silence.

"She's a Liberty Risk," Marcinko finally grunted.

"Exactly," I said, putting my eye back to the scope.

"Give me the windage for target alpha."

"Wind is blowing left to right, full value at fifteen knots," Marcinko rumbled, shifting back into his role as my spotter.

"Target alpha is emerging from the cave complex. Range is two-thousand, one-hundred meters."

"Target acquired," I whispered. I squeezed the trigger. The suppressed. 300 Win Mag bucked against my shoulder, and two kilometers away, the sentry folded into the snow. The perimeter was cracked.