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Something below spun as it fell through the night: the Kurian, looking a little like a torn scarf with sewn-on legs as it dropped life- lessly toward the river, pushed by the wind rather than riding it.
And then he realized he was dangling by one lucky loop around his leg, enervated and confused, a hammering sound in his ears.
Valentine found purchase on the Kurian's cocoon and dropped on it like a man poleaxed. The texture of the surface against his cheek felt like a dried, oversized spitball.
Except he'd done a little too good a job with his claws-the structure fell away. It fell slowly and silently, like a Japanese paper lantern might, catching air within. Or perhaps the material was a substance engineered to be near lighter than air.
The rope around his leg whipped this time like a startled snake. Valentine lashed out and grabbed one of the severed struts that had held up the cocoon. He plunged his Cat claws into it.
Hanging there, Valentine swung his leg, retrieved the rope, and hung again by two supports. Where were the damn rungs? Other side. Valentine didn't so much swing as roll to the other side, feeling with stocking feet for purchase. Finally the steel rung was in his hand and he could think again.
Valentine wondered what the goddamn thing had done to him. It felt like it was still hanging there. He waved his hand behind his back-nothing.
Despite the ladder, getting back down wouldn't be so easy.
Valentine was caught in the horns of what Duvalier had called "the assassin's dilemma." Early on in his training, she said that any fool could walk up and kill a target, provided you learned enough about its habits and grounds. The pro knew how to get away clean, or if not clean, at least alive.
If he fired the flare from here it would certainly be seen by the observers at the power plant, but the troops on the ground would wonder who'd fired it and why. But he couldn't delay until he could creep away; it gave more time for the hostage-takers at the power plant to figure out why the Reapers were acting so oddly and react.
No, Gamecock's Bears had to strike, and soon.
But Valentine had an unexpected ally. The Reaper, suddenly undirected and fearful, froze, looking this way and that. Did its master Kurian's final mental state-assuming they felt anything so prosaic and human as fear-remain in its brain psyche the way a flash left a white echo on the retinas?
The Reaper rushed toward the guards on the Indiana side of the bridge. Unfortunately for the men there, they were the closer contingent.
The first man it reached it just knocked aside with a sweep of the arm that left its victim turned around like a broken doll and twitching. It grabbed a man seated in a small, triangular armored car-was Valentine's crouched image, the last thing its master Kurian saw, reminiscent of the guard's position?-and pulled the man's arm out.
Valentine could hear the screams even high up in the wind.
It took a pull or two, but the Reaper got the man out of the car. The window wasn't big enough for the purpose, so the door had to come off, with the man's torso used as leverage.
Valentine checked his equipment and began his descent. Equilibrium and energy slowly returned, and he dropped the last ten feet to the base of the bridge.
Soldiers from the south side of the bridge were nervously peeping over the lane divider, watching the Reaper hunt their comrades like a loosed dog in a chicken run.
Valentine snuck up next to an Ordnance officer.
"Are you just going to stand here and let your men get shredded?" Valentine demanded.
The officer turned on him. "Waiting for-Who the hell are you?"
"I'm with Vengeance Six," Valentine said.
"What the hell's Vengeance-"
"Moondagger special operations," Valentine said.
"Then where's the beard and dagger?"
"It interferes with the disguise," Valentine said, hoping the man would see only a scarred man with dark hair and features.
"That's a nice Atlanta Type Three," an Ordnance NCO said. "I thought all you Moondagger types were issued Ordnance Columbus Assault-"
Valentine wanted to quit answering questions, and the best way to do that was to start questioning himself. "Captain, have you ever dealt with a rogue? They're unpredictable and very dangerous, worse than any rabid dog you've ever imagined."
"Glad to have you, but I'll need to-"
"Almighty, man, the thing's killed one of your men already. Let's work out who's subordinate to whom later. I need some light. A sudden burst of light always confuses them." Valentine passed him the oversized plastic derringer that served as his signal gun. "Send up a flare, would you?"
