Prodigal by Marc D. Giller Read Free Book Online

armor could protect them from the dealer—a skinny kid with fast hands and kinetic eyes, radiating a confidence that didn’t know when to quit.
    “Hey, Pallas,” Lea told him. “Just make sure the house gets ten percent, okay?”
    The kid flashed her a knowing grin.
    “With this bunch,” Pallas scoffed, “you’ll have to wait until payday.”
    Lea shook her head, smiling. Alex Pallas was a natural hammerjack: cool and creative, with a singular talent for penetrating even the most secure networks—but too cocky to appreciate danger when it was staring him in the face. That same attitude had gotten him kicked out of MIT, after the board of regents discovered he had been looting the university’s research budget to finance his high-stakes gambling excursions. That Pallas had turned a handsome profit didn’t impress the disciplinary board, but it had impressed Lea. The kid might have been a liar and a thief, but his game was always honest.
    Pallas dealt out a quick hand of five-card stud, while Lea heard a baritone voice growling behind her. “One of these days,” it said, “that boy is going to get himself launched ass first out of the back of this transport.”
    Lea looked back to find the last member of the advance team sauntering up to her. Eric Tiernan was pure T-Branch: tall and angular, with a seasoned toughness that telegraphed his rank even more than his lieutenant’s bars. As squad commander, he was in charge of the tactical aspects of the team’s missions. He was also Lea’s executive officer.
    “Relax, Tiernan,” she said. “He’s going easy on them.”
    Pallas threw down an ace to match the other one he had showing.
    “I can see that,” the lieutenant replied.
    Lea brushed off the remark but took it as her cue. “ Stations, people,” she ordered. “Preop briefing in one minute.”
    The advance team jumped into action, throwing their cards down and scooping up what was left of their money. They then filed over to the weapons lockers, where they efficiently loaded up on all the gear Tiernan had specced out—pulse rifles, flash grenades, stun pistols, plus the integrators Lea had designed for this mission—with the cool professionalism of a combat unit.
    Pallas, meanwhile, remained sitting on the deck. As Lea looked back at him, she saw his head shaking mournfully.
    “You really know how to hurt a guy, boss,” he said.
    “You have no idea,” Lea retorted.
    She helped Pallas up and walked with him toward the imaging station at the center of the CIC. Pallas plugged himself into the interface, and within moments a three-dimensional map of Ukraine sublimated out of the hazy mist that hovered over the console. A red line cut a slash across the country, following the transport’s approach from the Black Sea. A blinking graphic showed their current position near the city of Cherkasy, while a blue arrow pointed out their projected course—straight toward the upper bend of the Dnieper River. Their target was a restricted zone near the southern border of Belarus, an area of rolling hills that grew larger on the display as Pallas zoomed in on it.
    Lea gave her people a few moments to absorb the image as they gathered. Tiernan assumed his place at her side, while the rest of the advance team formed a circle around the display. Joining them was a dark, matronly woman with closely cropped hair—a civilian like Pallas, with the perplexed eyes and deprived fashion sense of a scientist. She leveled a sour look at the display.
    “The last time I visited this part of the world,” the woman said in a light Afrikaans accent, “I had hoped it would be the last.”
    “Any reason in particular?” Lea asked.
    “The people mostly,” the woman sniffed. Her tone was haughty, but as a genetic medical examiner Didi Novak wasn’t afraid of getting her hands dirty—though that never stopped her from acting the part. “Never will you come across such a dour and fatalistic culture.”
    “At least they know