The bike was incredibly light and responsive, and she realized that her own was going to feel forever clunky after experiencing this one. She wondered for a moment whether that was some kind of metaphor for her life, whether being part of this op was going to make everything that came before it seem pale and mundane. Certainly her non-date with Dave the trumpeter felt improbable now, even absurd. Then she thought of Ali and wished more than anything she could just go back, to when everything was routine and normal, and she’d taken it all for granted.
She crossed Woodside Road, cut behind a place called Roberts Market, and made a right on Mountain Home Road. She saw a sign about horse crossings alongside another for bicycles, with an all-caps notice in the middle admonishing SHARE THE ROAD, and again she gave Tom mental props for knowing his operational environment.
She came to the corner of Manzanita and made a left past a house with its own stables. She pedaled harder, and the Trek practically leapt forward underneath her, the trees pressed close to the sides of the road whizzing by. She was glad she was in decent biking shape. With this level of equipment, it might have looked odd if she weren’t pushing it.
She passed another house with a stable, came around a gentle curve, and there, just ahead of the stop sign at Sand Hill Road, the man Evie had described, sitting on a bridge, eating a sandwich held in a brown paper bag. Another bicyclist, a guy in top-level gear like hers, turned right off Sand Hill onto Manzanita and rode past. The man watched him go by, then glanced at Maya going the other way, seeming not particularly interested in either.
Maya was relieved at the momentary distraction. She knew her cover for status was solid, but still it was good to see people just like her in the area. It was fine to be a fish in the water, but even better to swim in a school.
She turned right on Sand Hill and dropped a gear as she started heading uphill, her heart beating harder. In fifteen minutes or so, she would be at Wunderlich Park, where Delilah, Dox, Larison, and Livia were waiting. Her own role had been easy, and now it was done. The hard part was about to begin.
chapter
sixty-nine
LIVIA
Livia jogged down the side of Sand Hill, keeping to the left and going against traffic. About fifty yards away she saw Rain come around a curve, running toward her on the same side of the road. Rain was wearing black 2XU compression tights and a sleeveless compression top and looked, as far as Livia could tell, like any other prosperous local serious about keeping in shape. He had grumbled uncharacteristically about the superhero-tight clothes, but Kanezaki had argued that the point was threefold: come across as a serious runner, look like you’re not doing anything to avoid being noticed, and wear something under which it would be nearly impossible to conceal a weapon. All of which Rain reluctantly agreed was well calculated to help get him close enough to remove the target silently.
Naturally, as soon as Rain was suited up, Carl had taken advantage by declaiming, “Very attractive apparel, if I may say so, and shows off your package to full advantage, such as it is.” To which Rain had responded only with an infinitely patient look. Maybe Rain’s discomfort was about the near certainty that Carl was going to rib him. But more likely, Livia thought, it had to do with not being able to hide. Something about Rain always seemed exceptionally balanced and mobile, as though he could move instantly in any direction while being difficult to be moved by someone else. Livia recognized the characteristic as the result of decades of classical martial arts training. But though his clothes seemed high-quality and fit well—Delilah’s influence?—Livia hadn’t understood the kind of shape Rain was in until the running outfit left him no way to conceal it. And she realized this was something he must have preferred the world not to know, because an adversary’s ignorance would be Rain’s advantage.
Livia’s role was backup, so she was dressed somewhat differently: standard ankle-length tights, yes, but more importantly a Lululemon oversized sweatshirt voluminous enough to conceal the Glock in a bellyband holster, and the SoMiCo Vaari, the other half of her everyday carry, in a small-of-the-back sheath. It wouldn’t matter if anyone noticed her. If they did, it would be because Rain’s attack had failed, at which point no one would have to suspect she was concealing weapons under the sweatshirt. She would be offering them all the proof they could imagine, and more.