As he reflexively went into flicker, he saw that a loop of steel cable was descending around him and about to entrap him. Dropping, he plunged forward—and saw before him a great, white-clad creature covered with slab armor, its face hidden behind a gleaming, featureless mask. With a complicated whicker of motors it sprang into action, moving warily toward him.

Immediately above the forest, he saw the helicopter, black with black glass. The wing whirled, but from immediately below it he could hear no sound at all. He’d heard of this classified device in ’Stan, a silenced chopper designed to do just what this one had done—sneak up on its quarry.

Armored figures were clustering around him, with more dropping from the chopper. Quickly, his mind calculated the odds. He was unarmed and weak, but he might be able to flicker one more time—and then he was on the ground under the net and they were on him, four of them, their clumsy supersoldier exoskeletons whirring and clattering as they attempted to overpower him.

He was able to shrug them off. The supersoldier armor smoked, its motors burned out. So he was stronger even than Soldier Iron. He’d also seen it in development in ’Stan a few years ago. It wasn’t deployed yet, but it must be close, because these guys were using. Probably figured they had no chance against him otherwise, and they were damn right.

Dizziness staggered him, but he recovered and went between the trees, attempting to put some distance between himself and his attackers.

His next movement was to squat and jump as high as he possibly could. It took every ounce of strength he possessed, and for a moment he was soaring above the woods. He saw Sausalito, many of its roofs down, its streets empty. Yachts lay ruined in the harbor. Nothing moving. But smoke curled up from the chimney of a nearby home.

Throwing his weight in that direction, he fell and flew toward the house. As he gathered speed, wind rushed past him, then screamed past him, but he pulled his weight back and felt the fall slow until he was nearly dangling in the air—or so he thought.

In fact, he was weak and it showed when he hit the ground much harder than he expected, the pain that shot through his back causing him to stifle a groan. Fighting the agony, he crouched, his whole body cocked, ready to jump again. But there was no sign of his pursuers, no pulsations, no black helicopter, its sinister curves sliding through the air. Above all, no armored attackers.

The house was quiet, but he smelled the odors of people, musky women, sharp-scented men, the milk-sour scent of children.

As he moved closer, he once again began to feel the pulsations of the helicopter.