by SL Huang
“You really do have quite a false impression about what we do,” Dawna told me with patient exasperation as she stood up. “I assure you, my insights into human nature do not work quite the way you seem to think they do. We just finished a very civil conversation, don’t you agree? And you feel no different than you did before.”
It was true. I felt a small spike of self-doubt.
“Please question your assumptions about us, Ms. Russell. I don’t know where you got such ideas, but we are not the monsters you think we are. We’ll speak again shortly.”
And with that, Dawna Polk smiled at me and left the library.
Chapter 25
“What did she do?” asked Arthur in a low voice after the guards had—politely, as always—ensconced me back in my cell next to him.
“I’m not sure.” I frowned. “She…talked to me. And I guess I talked back. We had a conversation.” A few hours ago the idea had been terrifying, but it didn’t seem so bad anymore. After all, nothing had really happened, had it? I couldn’t figure it out.
“What about?” Arthur asked.
“You know, Pithica’s out to save the world, all the crap Courtney told us already.” I didn’t mention Rio. No need to get Arthur on his high horse again.
Arthur leaned back against the wall, staring at the ceiling. “Think it could be true?”
I felt the same spike of niggling self-doubt as during my conversation with Dawna, along with anger at Arthur for reinforcing it. “I don’t know,” I snapped.
We lapsed into silence. The guards brought food and water. The light didn’t change, but I tried to sleep.
The sound of the metal door at the end of the cellblock woke me from a not-quite-doze against the wall. I registered a couple of soft thumps and the clack of rifles against the floor—I jerked awake, scrambling to my feet.
Rio stood in front of my cell like a larger-than-life dream, two black-clad guards sprawled behind him, unconscious or dead. Instead of his tan duster, he wore black fatigues matching the uniform of Dawna’s troops, complete with the same assault rifle and sidearm. He pulled a small explosive charge from a pocket of the vest, packed it into the lock on my cell, and took a step back; the lock blew with a pop and a clack of metal, and Rio gave me a friendly jerk of his head as if to say, come on already.
“Him, too,” I said as I pushed the cell door back, nodding at Arthur.
Rio glanced at Arthur, then back at me. “He could be theirs by now.”
“She never talked to him,” I said quickly. “Only—only me. Rio, he’s coming with us.”
If he had hesitated, I would have started breaking Arthur out myself, but one thing I loved about Rio was that he never wasted time arguing or wavering. Less than five seconds later, Arthur was out as well, and we hurried after Rio down the cellblock. I paused briefly as we stepped over the fallen guards to relieve one of his M4 and sidearm; Arthur did the same with the other body. They were dead, I noticed. Definitely dead.
Rearmed, we followed Rio into the corridor at a quick trot. “Security system?” I asked.
“Compromised,” he said. “We should be clear until after we’re out.”
“Subtle of you,” I observed, a little surprised—“subtle” didn’t usually describe him.
“This was a trap, Cas,” Rio explained without turning back to me. “The Lord’s wrath has patience.”
Oh, hell. How could I have been so stupid?
Dawna had already told me this was all about Rio. Interring us here had nothing to do with me or Arthur or recruiting us to Pithica—we were only bait to catch their bigger fish. Which meant, fuck, Rio had played right into their hands by coming after me…
…which, apparently, he knew, and he had figured out a way to get in and out without them realizing the time had come to spring the ambush. I imagined the hammer of Rio’s vengeance would fall on this place once we were well away.
Rio unlocked the door to a dim stairway and gestured us down ahead of him, farther into the sub-basement. “You have a way out?” asked Arthur nervously. Rio didn’t deign to answer him.
We descended two more levels and were heading down another featureless corridor when Rio raised a fist to stop us. “They know I’m here.” He had pulled a small device about the size of a cell phone out of a pocket and was examining it. “They have pinpointed us. Three groups closing in.” He looked at me. “Are you up for this?”
I hefted the M4, puzzled he had to ask. “Of course.”
“Stay here. You’ll get in our way,” Rio instructed Arthur, tossing me a pouch of grenades.
Arthur tried to sputter something in response, but Rio and I were already charging.
It wasn’t even a contest.
There is something beautiful about the high-speed math of a gunfight. I’ve heard other people opine that gunfights are confusing and disorienting, but to me, they always happen with perfect clarity: every bullet impact leads back to its source, every barrel sweeping through with its own exact trajectory. A firearm can only shoot in one possible direction at a time, after all. I could always see exactly where they aimed as if the predicted flights of the rounds were visible laser beams, and I could always move fast enough to step easily out of the way.
The M4 pulsed in one hand, Rio’s grenades becoming fragmenting islands of destruction as thrown from the other. I fired as I ran, every muscle in my body coordinating in a precision dash to send my projected path leaping between the ever-changing, ever-crossing lines of danger. One shot, one kill.
I had thirty rounds in the M4. I didn’t need them all.
Less than a minute later we were striding through the carnage on our way toward another stairwell; I slung the bag with the remaining grenades over my shoulder and redrew my sidearm from where I’d stashed it in my belt, reaching down as we hurried through to snag some spare magazines for the M4 off the bodies.
Arthur picked his way through after us, looking vaguely sick. He stumbled to a halt. “Hey,” he called in a hoarse voice. “Hey. We need to stop.”
I turned back. “Tresting, what the hell—”
His words came out strangled. “She’s going to obliterate the whole building.”
I looked at him blankly. Looked, and noticed he had a cellular phone in his hand.
A phone. When had Arthur gotten a phone? I hadn’t seen him pull one from any of the guards…
He held it out to Rio. “She wants to talk to you.”
Rio’s face was unreadable. “Ah,” he said. “I see.”
“I’m sorry,” Arthur whispered to me. The hand holding the phone was shaking. “So sorry.”
Horror shorted out my brain. “No,” I said. “No.”
“Cas—” tried Rio.
“You’ve been working for them this whole time?” I cried.
“No—it ain’t like that—”
“You betrayed us!” My M4 swung to point at Arthur. “You—!”
Rio placed a cautious hand on my weapon, shifting it off line. “Cas, it isn’t his fault. Dawna Polk did talk to you, didn’t she?” he said to Arthur.
“I’m sorry,” he said again, wretchedly. “I’m sorry, Russell.”
I had to restrain myself from hitting him.
“Give me the phone,” said Rio. He hit a button and held the phone out in front of us, raising his voice slightly. “Go ahead.”
I recognized Dawna Polk’s mellifluous voice on the speaker immediately. “I must say I’m impressed.”
Rio was silent.
“You evaded extensive security measures. We only knew you were here thanks to our friendship with Mr. Tresting.”
I wanted to scream.
“I hope you know that is a vast compliment, Mr. Sonrio. We were extremely prepared for your visit, and you still slipped in undetected. Mr. Tresting’s involvement was a contingency we never thought we would have to use. May I ask how you infiltrated us so effectively?”
“I’m certain you shall figure it out eventually,” said Rio evenly.
I snorted.
“—we have been forced into our endgame rather abruptly.”
“Annihilation of your own base,” confirmed Rio. “Quite cold of you, Miss Saio.”
There was a short silence on the other end. “I’m sure you understand,” Dawna said after a beat. “You have been causing us a great deal of trouble. We would strongly prefer to talk you out of it, but failing that, we must cut our losses. I would regret the collateral damage, but it would be a fair trade for putting an end to the difficulties you insist on giving us.”
“You flatter me,” said Rio.
“Modesty does not become you, Mr. Sonrio,” she responded, a hint of a smile in her voice.
“Let Cas go.” I looked up at him in surprise. So did Arthur. Rio’s expression was as blank and flat as ever. “Let Cas go, and I shall enter your custody willingly.”
“I apologize if you were under the impression that this was a negotiation,” answered Dawna. “Please disarm yourselves and exit the building. All three of you. If not…well. I admit I do not know the technical details, but my advisers assure me nothing will survive the blast, not in a wide radius. I recommend you don’t take too long to decide.” She hung up.
“She could be bluffing,” I suggested weakly, not believing it myself.
“She could be,” said Rio, “but I would not doubt Pithica has the resources for such a move, however extreme. I suggest we operate under the assumption that she can and will carry out her threat.”
“What now, then?”
“She has outmaneuvered us. I believe we do as she asks.”
“You can’t turn yourself over to her!” I cried.
“Cas,” he said, putting a hand on my shoulder. “Trust in God’s plan.”
Nausea rolled through me. If God had planned this, He shouldn’t have been put in charge of anything, ever.
♦ ♦ ♦
They separated Rio from us almost immediately and stuck Arthur and me together in one cell this time, back on our old cellblock. I refused to look at him.
“I’m sorry, Russell,” Arthur tried again pleadingly, once the guards had left us. One of them had taken up a post at the door, as before. The dead bodies were gone.
“The hell you are,” I bit out. I had been the one to insist he come with us. Rio and I might have made our escape if he hadn’t interfered. Or maybe Dawna just would have brought the building down on top of us. I pushed that thought away. “What did she offer you? Did she promise you money? A place in her new world order?”
He choked. “It ain’t like that. She just—she explained. They needed you, but they promised not to hurt you, I swear.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I don’t know if Pithica’s right, or if it—I don’t know any more than you do,” he said, anguished. “Could be they ain’t right or wrong. But some things ain’t gray in this world, Russell—some things ain’t.”
He wasn’t making sense. “Yeah, she brainwashed you,” I said sarcastically. “Seeing it now.” It didn’t make me any less angry.
“No, I’m telling you, that ain’t what—” Tresting implored me.
“When did she even talk to you?” I snapped.
He looked even more stricken.
The question had been offhand, irritated, but then realization hit me like a pile driver.
They needed you, but they promised not to hurt you, I swear. And: Nothing here. Searched the place top to bottom. How did an extremely observant private investigator miss Dawna’s paramilitary army?
“Son of a bitch,” I whispered. Dawna had gotten to Tresting back in the town, and he had led us both into her hands in the first place, voluntarily. Because…Some things ain’t gray in this world, Russell—some things ain’t.
“You son of a bitch,” I growled. “You were trying to help her get Rio.”
“Russell,” he begged. “I had to help—the man is—”
I did hit him then, so hard his head whipped around and his body smashed against the bars on the far side of the cell. Then I turned and gripped the iron bars in front of me as hard as I could so I wouldn’t turn back and kill him.
They left us in the cell for days. I couldn’t help but wonder what Dawna still wanted with us; after all, we’d only been her bait to entrap Rio. Maybe she’d kill us when she got around to it, or maybe she did want to recruit us for real, but was prioritizing Rio.
I thought a lot about what she’d said about Pithica working for the greater good. I still didn’t know what to believe, but it didn’t much matter to me right now. She had Rio, and that decided me; I’d be damned if I would let my doubts about whether Pithica was all right as an organization keep me from backing him up and getting us out of here.
Unfortunately, every idea I thought of to break out came up short computationally. With the guard at the end of the cellblock, anything I tried would have to be fast enough to avoid being shot, and in order to neutralize the guard first I’d need something both of sufficient mass and small enough to throw. Every option I thought of I had already considered, calculated, and discarded during our first round in here. Too bad I hadn’t known about Arthur’s secret mobile phone before, I thought sarcastically. A phone would have made a perfect projectile.
Whatever. Eventually there would come some change, some break. Dawna would bring me to talk to her again, or one of the guards would have a bout of laziness, or something else would happen, and when the window of opportunity hit, I would be ready.
Three days after Rio’s abortive rescue attempt, Dawna Polk came to see us. She stood in front of our cell and spoke to me as courteously as she always did. I’d slammed my walls of mathematical white noise back up, although at this point I wasn’t sure they were doing any good; she never seemed bothered.
This time was no exception. Her mind appeared to be concentrated wholly on whatever she was here about; she barely made eye contact. “Ms. Russell,” she said, very formally and with no hint of irony, “I want to apologize for what is about to happen here.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked. “Are you finally going to kill us?”
“I’m not a sadist,” said Dawna quietly, avoiding the question. “I want you to know I sincerely regret doing this to you.”
Arthur edged forward. I ignored him; we hadn’t exchanged three words in as many days. “What’s going on?” he asked. He had taken hold of the bars and gripped them like he planned to dent them. “You promised not to hurt her. You promised.”
Huh. Brainwashed-Arthur’s primary motive might be getting Rio offed, but he was still concerned about my welfare, such as it was. Who knew.
Dawna nodded to the PI. “I did say that. I’m afraid it cannot be helped. My apologies to you, as well.”
“You can’t—you swore to me—” Tresting’s eyes darted around like a cornered animal’s. “Take me instead,” he offered suddenly. I blinked at him in shock. I hadn’t realized he was that concerned. Or was this his “all life is valuable” schtick? Whatever the reason, Tresting was hyperventilating, tension cording his body. “Whatever you’re planning, whatever you need someone for, take me instead,” he implored Dawna. “I did this, my doing, I—leave her out of it. Please.”
“Unfortunately, that is not possible.” She turned back to me. “You, Ms. Russell, are the anomaly, so it is you we must use for our test. I do apologize, once again.”
The anomaly. She was talking about Rio—and my relationship with him was her anomaly. “You think you have him,” I whispered, suddenly cold. “You think you found a way.”
She inclined her head. “For which I must thank you. His belief in God was the key to our understanding. No one else might have known such a thing about him.”
“I never mentioned that,” I croaked.
She smiled pityingly. “Oh, Ms. Russell, you know who I am. You didn’t need to.” Of course. “Mr.
Sonrio has indeed agreed to work for us,” she continued. “I did expect it would come to that, considering the vast overlap in our mutual goals, but it was you who put us on the right track, so again, thank you, Ms. Russell. I believe we shall be able to satisfy his…needs, and the good he will do with us will save so many lives.”
Tresting made a strangled sound. “Wait. You wanted him to work for you?”
I wanted to laugh in his face, even though I had never felt less amused. “What, she didn’t tell you? She doesn’t want to keep Rio from going around killing people, she wants to harness him for herself. Why did you think they wanted him alive?”
“I thought—” His face froze in horror. Oh, the irony. He’d been expecting Dawna to stop Rio, not recruit him. Well, wasn’t this funny, in a way that made me want to scream.
Dawna ignored him. “I hope you will be comforted, in the end,” she continued to me, “to think of the good your friend will be doing with us, and the part you have played in it. But I hope you understand—we do have to be sure.”
“You mean you still can’t read him,” I translated. “You’re trying to make sure you control him, but you can’t read him. And I’m the only person he’s had a predictable response to.”
“‘Control’ is such an ugly word,” said Dawna. “Instead let us say, we must be certain he is truly on our side. I am sorry.”
“And if he isn’t on your side?” I challenged her.
“Oh, I doubt that will be the case, Ms. Russell. But if he is not, then…well. In that case it would be time to cut our losses. So if it helps, you can also be comforted by your friend being spared by your sacrifice.”
“You twisted woman!” Tresting cried, finding his voice. “Twisted—I can’t—I believed you!”
Dawna smiled at him. “Rest assured, Mr. Tresting, if I have time or inclination, I am sure I can bring you around to our point of view again quite easily. We are doing what’s best, after all.”
