A Rumor of Real Irish Tea (Annals of Altair Book 2)

by Kate Stradling

  Emily hissed. “When did she get here?”

  Ben switched the screen off again. “About two minutes ago. General Stone’s not about to take his chances around a projector like Veronica. The minute he realized she was here, he ordered Quincy to his side, leaving me to ride with the rest of you here in the van.”

  “If he doesn’t trust her, why’s he using her?”

  “Because she’s a tool,” said Ben, as though this should have been perfectly clear to anyone. “To someone like General Stone, that’s all projectors and null-projectors are, and he treats them accordingly. No offense, Oliver,” he added apologetically.

  Oliver rolled his eyes and turned his attention elsewhere.

  “Is she following us to this second address?” Emily asked.

  “Who, Veronica? No. Even if it is one of the Wests’ lairs, they won’t be there. They stole a car from a woman in the electronics store back there. They’ve probably hot-footed halfway across town by now. She’ll need to come along when we do close in on them, though. Her adoring public is on tenterhooks waiting to hear how this case resolves. Now, I know it’s terribly rude of me, but I do have a phone call or two to make. I hope you don’t mind.”

  Emily didn’t mind in the least. She didn’t even really eavesdrop when he made the two calls. Not that there was much to eavesdrop on—Ben kept his phone volume low enough that she couldn’t discern the speaker on the other end, and his side of the conversation consisted almost entirely of “Mm-hmm” and “Yes, I see.” She suspected he was checking in with Genevieve Jones or another superior. He conveniently finished the second call as the van rolled to a stop in a residential neighborhood.

  “Off we go,” said Ben, and he led everyone out the back doors.

  The house they had stopped in front of looked no more remarkable than any other house on the block. The front yard was xeriscaped as required by environmental statute, but it was also well-tended rather than overgrown. Curtains covered the windows to shield any glimpse of the interior, but a glance at the neighbors showed the same style of window treatments and thus nothing to be suspicious about.

  General Stone’s car parked in the driveway. He emerged with a domineering scowl. “What’re you waiting for?” he demanded of the elite retrieval squad from the van. “Go break the door down.”

  Emily snagged Ben’s sleeve in alarm. “Don’t we need a warrant?”

  He laughed unpleasantly, as though she were a child who had asked a very silly question. “No, the GCA doesn’t need warrants. We’re not technically a law-enforcement agency.”

  “But we can’t just—” Her words cut off at the loud crack of the front door getting kicked in. Her breath hitched, her voice at a strangled whisper. “What if that’s someone’s house? What if it’s not the Wests’ hideout at all?”

  “Then they’ll get a new door. Housing is mostly government-subsidized anyway. The landlord doesn’t need permission to enter if he thinks his property is being used illegally.”

  “But—” Her protest died as Ben swept past her toward the house, following in the wake of the other GCA agents.

  “You’re wasting your breath,” said Oliver. He shoved his hands into his pockets and started forward. Emily fell into step behind him, hoping that Ben had been right, that this was one of the Wests’ lairs and not the home of some unsuspecting family.

  It took a moment for her eyes to adjust from the glaring sunshine to the shadowy interior gloom, but that moment was enough to fulfill her hopes. It was obvious at a single glance that no one lived here. There was no furniture. The air conditioning wasn’t running. The place looked like it was in stasis, waiting for its next occupant to arrive.

  “It’s definitely theirs,” said Oliver beside her.

  She turned curious eyes upon him. “How can you be so sure?”

  “Do you really think someone else would rent a house only to leave it vacant? Besides, there’re bird droppings up on that fan.”

  Her gaze followed his pointing finger upward to discern a black-and-whitish lump stuck to the edge of one fan blade.

  “Gross,” she said.

  “That’s what happens when you keep wild animals as pets,” Oliver replied. “Come on. Let’s have a closer look around.”

  The elite retrieval squad had already made a quick sweep of the premises, and now they were undertaking a closer scrutiny. As far as Emily could tell, this meant digging through a meager pile of trash from the bin in the kitchen. The Wests had left behind nothing but a handful of food wrappers—candy and granola bars, mostly.

  “How on earth are they surviving?” she asked.

  “They’re carrying everything they need, I guess,” said Oliver.

  “No—I mean, this is all junk food. They’re not eating any fruits or vegetables!”

  “You don’t know that,” said Quincy from the other side of the kitchen counter. “Revere used to eat Hawk’s scraps all the time back at Prom-F. I don’t think Hawk would feed him junk food, so it only stands to reason that they’d be eating some normal foods as well. You just might not get the remnants you’d expect.”

  It was the most Quincy had ever spoken to her. Alyson, scandalized that her young charge had broken the rules so extensively, hesitated over what to do in such an anomalous situation. Most Prometheus students didn’t want to talk to their own handlers, let alone someone else’s.

  The awkward moment was destroyed by the entrance of General Stone from one of the back rooms. “Nothing but a few useless bread crumbs here,” he said gruffly. “Where is Birchard with that list?”

  “I’m here, sir,” said Ben next to Emily. She jumped and wondered where he had materialized from. He held his cell phone in one hand. “Agent Knox says there are only five commercial and industrial properties on our list. We can set up surveillance without a problem.”

  General Stone grunted. “Good. Order it.” Then, he swept past them, back to the front door. “I want field agents to bag and tag every dust particle in this house before the day’s end and send it to the nearest lab for analysis. And Birchard, make sure the nulls get safely back to the downtown office.” The door shut loudly behind him.

  “What kind of analysis are they going to get off a candy wrapper?” one GCA agent muttered to another.

  “Who cares? Just bag it.”

  Ben motioned Quincy and Alyson from the kitchen with a pleasant smile. “How do you know they’re going to a commercial property next?” Emily asked as she followed Oliver past him.

  “Because the residential ones have been poisoned,” he said. “Veronica’s been telling average civilians to be on the lookout in their neighborhoods. The Wests happened to see one of her reports back at that electronics store, so they’ll know now that residential neighborhoods are dangerous for them.”

  She didn’t bother to ask how he knew all of these details. The cell phone in his hand was answer enough. “But how do you know they’re even still in Phoenix? Wouldn’t it make more sense for them to hotfoot it out of town if the area’s become so poisoned, as you put it?”

  “Nope,” said Birchard with utmost certainty. “We have our eyes on all the planes, buses, and trains going in and out of town. The car they stole was an electric model that has to re-charge after forty-seven miles—and they surely know we’re looking for it—and all long-haul vehicles are currently under obligation to be searched when they exit the city. It’s much easier for four kids to hunker down and blend into a town of millions than it is for them to break free onto the open road again.”

  “You hope it is,” Emily muttered under her breath.

  That only amused him all the more. “Quincy, Oliver, you heard the general—it’s time to go back to the office.” He herded them toward the front door.

  Emily cast one final glance around the place as she left. It was abandoned now, but only a few hours ago their quarry had been holed up here, safely hidden from their pursuers. How had they passed their time? Were they getting tired of their life on the run? In he
r bones she felt it couldn’t go on much longer. The GCA was tightening its net and closing in.

  Soon it would all be over, of that she was oddly certain.

  XIX

  The Ever-Tightening Noose

  August 2, 5:15pm mst, GCA Regional Office, Central Phoenix

  A hum of excitement reverberated among the agents all afternoon. Stakeouts were ordered and people dispatched to the five suspicious locations. Those left behind kept busy orchestrating everything they would need for an ambush. Everyone looked grim, but their unspoken anticipation of success was almost palpable.

  Emily wished she could waste away her time in the fifth-floor kitchenette. Instead, Oliver and Quincy had to stay in the second-floor conference room, near enough to General Stone that they could hurry with him to the parking garage the instant he gave the order. The general was on the phone for most of the afternoon requisitioning resources. He wanted a blitz, quick and dramatic, something that the public could gawk at in awe and admiration when NPNN reported it.

  She worried that people were getting their hopes up too high. Every last detail of a retrieval plan might be in place, but it would all be meaningless if they didn’t know where to go, and none of the surveillance crews had discovered anything yet.

  When Ben strode into the room at a quarter after five, though, she knew from the look on his face that something important had happened. He had been in and out all afternoon, always on his cell phone. General Stone had peppered him with orders, and he hopped to obey. This time was different, though. This time a solemnity in his eyes caught her attention and set her nerves on edge.

  General Stone was on the phone and waved for him to wait. Mutely Ben shook his head and pointed to a specific piece of paper on the table in front of the austere man. Stone froze. Then, he covered the phone’s mic with one hand.

  “You’re sure?” he asked, steel in his voice.

  “Our men have made visual confirmation,” said Ben. “I’ve ordered the other surveillance crews to the surrounding area, but everyone is keeping far enough away from the building itself.”

  A satisfied glint entered Stone’s eyes. “I’ll have to call you back,” he said into the phone, and he ended the call. “Order the elite retrieval squad up here and contact the other offices.”

  Ben nodded. “I’ve already done both.”

  “Good job, Birchard.” General Stone rocked back on his heels, the picture of self-satisfied importance. “We’ve solved in three days what it took the rest of the GCA a whole month to muddle through. I think you’ll fit in quite nicely at Prom-E.”

  Next to Emily, Oliver gasped.

  “Told you so,” she hissed under her breath.

  He spared her a dirty look before turning his attention back to Birchard and Stone.

  “Agent Knox should be here any minute with aerial views,” Ben said. “I thought you might like to use them in plotting the retrieval strategy.”

  “Sycophant,” Oliver muttered, and Emily was inclined to agree.

  The next hour passed at a whirlwind pace. Knox appeared along with the black-clad members of the elite retrieval squad. They assembled around the table with several maps spread across its surface while a couple more GCA offices tapped into the meeting via webcam.

  General Stone laid out their ambush strategy in quick, concise terms. Emily watched with ill-concealed awe as the plan was presented and orders given. The whole building seemed suddenly regimented, and the man running it had such an air of authority that she dared not even think a word out of line.

  It might actually happen this time. Her heart hammered in her chest, pulsing anticipation through her.

  After having their instructions so forcefully drummed into their brains, they proceeded to the basement parking garage. Here, the black-clad GCA agents received tranquilizer guns issued according to squad. They climbed into their assigned vehicle. Emily counted more than thirty heads.

  Oliver had a place with one of the squads. He and Emily took their seats in the waiting van. Quincy, on the other hand, was to remain with General Stone. She and Alyson joined him in the much nicer government sedan. Ben would ride in yet another van, though Emily did not see which one. The arrangement of the two nulls made sense to her, though. Oliver’s broader range would cancel out Honey and Happy. Quincy was the backup if anything went wrong.

  It was past seven when they finally approached their destination, a row of industrial warehouses near a train yard. The setting sun stained the western sky with crimson and orange. Shadows stretched long across the ground, and the whole area seemed deserted despite its urban location. A short train rattled by on the nearby tracks, and birds chirped from the scraggly branches of a few sun-scorched trees.

  The whole scene was surreal. If their information was right, the four Wests were holed up in a warehouse three units down the row. More than a hundred GCA agents from multiple branches were converging on the location, covering all exits. The lawless escapade was finally at an end.

  As dusk turned to twilight, the squads crept into position. Emily kept a nervous eye on those few scraggly trees and on the warehouse rooftops, all too wary of the birds that roosted there. None had cried out an alarm yet. The whole world seemed to hold its breath, waiting for someone to pull the trigger.

  It came. A coordinated blast of sonic waves blared. The birds scattered with caws of raucous terror, taking to the air as they sought refuge from the sounds.

  Shouts echoed from the other side of the building and footsteps pounded in the alley that ran between. Oliver’s squad advanced, just as the door ahead of them burst open and four children streamed out into the open yard. Troops scrambled from their hiding place across the train yard and from the sides of the building, weapons at the ready.

  Hawk, Hummer, Honey, and Happy West stopped dead in their tracks, surrounded on all sides. Each wore a backpack and held a weapon of some sort—the stolen stun gun for Hummer, and discarded lengths of scrap metal or wood for the other three—which they raised defensively. Emily almost felt sorry for them when she saw the desperation mirrored on each of their faces.

  Oliver’s squad of ten fanned out around the foursome. “Hands in the air!” his squad leader commanded.

  “You put your hands in the air!” Honey retorted, even as Hawk and Hummer moved to shield her and Happy from view.

  Oliver spoke up at last. “Save your breath.” He stepped forward triumphantly. “You’re done. It’s over.”

  Silence blanketed the area as the four truants looked around themselves in growing hopelessness. Emily’s gaze swept the area as well. A hundred black-clad GCA agents stood with tranquilizer guns at the ready. At the back, overseeing his tactical victory, General Stone wore a satisfied smirk on his face. Behind him, an NPNN van was parked, with Veronica Porcher already in position to announce the children’s “rescue” to the country. All that remained was for Hawk and his siblings to officially surrender.

  “There’s no way out,” Oliver said. “These men have orders to tranquilize you if you so much as make a false move. You don’t want that. Just drop your weapons and put your hands in the air.”

  Overhead, a shrill cry sounded, and a black shape swooped down.

  “Revere, no!” cried Hawk. “Get away!”

  The great black raven screeched in fury, but the noise was clipped short as a tranquilizer dart slammed into him. His small, dark body plummeted to the ground, landing heavily, and his caws turned from piercing rage to wild pain.

  “No!” Hawk screamed, his cry of dismay echoed by his siblings. When he surged toward the fallen bird, though, the agents pinned their tranquilizer guns directly on him. He checked his movement, stepping back again to act as a shield for Happy. His eyes kept darting to the place where Revere lay, downed so close to the black-clad GCA agents.

  The raven flapped and fluttered its wings to no avail. Emily could see the white-tufted dart buried in his shoulder and didn’t hold out much hope for his survival. The sedatives had been dosed for
children, not for a bird like that.

  “You need to surrender, Hawk,” Oliver insisted. “Or do you want to risk getting tranquilized? It’s your choice, but if you’re smart you’ll… you’ll…”

  He suddenly faltered. Emily watched in horror as one of his hands vaguely reached up to his neck. Then, his body wavered and crumpled to the ground. Instinct propelled her to his side, but the wave of emotion that smashed into her brought her to her knees: despair, panic, pure and utter terror.

  Revere, Revere, poor Revere!

  A little girl’s voice shouted orders. “Get down on the ground! Put your weapons down and your hands behind your head! Stay down!”

  Emily obeyed without even considering the source.

  Not Revere. Please not Revere!

  It was like a tidal wave, massive and untamed. She thought she heard shouting from somewhere behind her and a tumult around her, thought there should be something she should be more concerned about than the plight of a single raven, but she couldn’t help it. Her heart was broken, her emotions raw and so finely tuned upon the bird’s tragic fate. It was a child’s despair, potent in its sheer innocence. Emily could focus on nothing else.

  After what seemed like an eternity of absolute misery, the feelings began to ebb.

  “Oliver,” she whispered, trying to focus her mind. He lay a few feet from her, unconscious. Why was she so worried about a bird when Oliver was just lying there? Her blurred gaze caught a flash of red—the tranquilizer dart in his neck—and she trained her eyes upon it. “Oliver,” she said again, and she inched forward. How long had he been like that? She didn’t know. Everything around her seemed wrong.

  A pair of hands hefted her up by her armpits. “Pull yourself together, Emily,” said a voice beside her. The person moved to crouch over the motionless ten-year-old.