by Loki Renard
“Captain Savage, General Hurtzwald would like an audience with you,” Martin announced once they were all safely ensconced in his office. “Are you content to leave Ms Matthews in our care?”
Zora grabbed Savage's sleeve. “No! That's halfway across the country from here!”
“Zora, they aren't going to hurt you. I give you my word.”
“But... you're going to leave me here?”
She was clinging. She was clinging and she hated it. She wanted to wrap her arms around Savage and never let go. Her desperation made tears rise to her eyes. Fortunately, Savage had patience for her in that moment. She felt his arms enfold her and she was drawn close to his hard frame.
“Do you trust me, Zora?” he murmured the question in her ear. She nodded mutely.
“Then stay here with Mr Holt. And try not to be too much of a pain in the ass. I will come back for you, I promise.”
It was as much as Zora could do, to hold back her tears as she watched Savage turn and walk away. Not five fucking hours since making contact with the military and he was back in the swing of things, off to do his duty.
“You're upset,” Martin Holt observed. “Would you like some tea?”
“Sure,” Zora said, biting her bottom lip. Did Brett Savage even love her? Did he not feel the same need to be close to her? Or was he just content knowing that she was safe somewhere, was that the limit of his emotional need for her?
She sat down in an armchair and tried not to cry.
“Here,” Martin Holt said, placing a cup of tea down next to her. There was a shortbread cookie beside it. The blandest and most unsatisfying of all the cookies. Martin Holt probably loved himself some shortbread.
Zora could barely see the tea through her watery eyes. She wanted to sob. The surroundings might have been nice, but she was as imprisoned as she'd ever been. All it had taken was one damn television spot and Savage had snapped to attention like a toy soldier.
“Would you like to talk about it?”
Zora's head snapped up. “Just who the fuck are you, Martin Holt?”
“I'm a facilitator. I make things happen.”
“Like cups of tea, you non-answering son of a bitch,” Zora swore. Savage wasn't there, so she didn't have to worry about getting herself into trouble.
“You're angry,” Martin Holt observed blandly.
“Very.”
“You don't want to be here. You perhaps thought that you were free.”
Zora narrowed her eyes as Martin Holt plucked thoughts out of her head in a very unsettling fashion.
“And now you find that having tied your fortunes to Captain Savage's, freedom isn't what you thought it would be. You've found yourself in a world of duty and obedience and neither of those things suit you temperamentally.”
If he was saying those things to make her feel comfortable with him, he was failing miserably. Zora hated being known, and hated being understood even more. “What is your point? What do you want?”
Martin Holt spread his hands, showing open palms. “Believe it or not, I want the best outcome possible for all parties. There is no reason why you shouldn't be able to integrate here, Ms Matthews.”
“You just listed the reasons why I can't. I'm not temperamentally suited, remember?”
“Those are some challenges, to be sure, but challenges are there to be overcome.”
“And every cloud has a silver lining and sweet dreams are made of these and blah blah more thought terminating clichés.”
Martin Holt smiled slightly. “I see why Captain Savage is so in love with you.”
“Why is that?”
“You're a challenge. Perhaps his greatest challenge.”
It was a compliment, but she didn't take it. Zora was suspicious of Martin Holt. Martin Holt. Not Martin. Not Mr Holt. She was dealing with the entity of Martin Holt, a carefully crafted persona as real as the fake china she was sipping her tea from. He was pretending to be her friend, and she didn't trust that. Nobody was your friend within five minutes of meeting you. Nobody cared about you without coming to know you first. This Martin Holt, he wanted something. Same as everybody else.
“Let's approach this from another angle,” Martin Holt tried again. “What do you want, Zora? How can we make you happy?”
“I don't think you can.”
“I disagree,” he said. “Happiness is a quotient of fulfillment. What does it take to fulfill you, Zora Matthews? Is it alcohol? The opportunity to rebel against authority?”
“Shut up,” she frowned. “What are you, some kind of a shrink?”
“Of sorts,” Martin Holt said. “You're not alone in this world, Zora. There are many people like you. People who rail against everything, even to their own detriment. Do you know what happens to those people?”
“No.”
“They are broken.”
A chill went down Zora's spine. “What are you going to do, Marty? Put me on a rack? Remove my fingernails? Flay me alive?”
Martin Holt shook his head. “I am not a torturer, Ms Matthews.”
She felt the lie.
“Is that what you're telling me to convince me you're not? Or is that the lie you tell yourself so you can sleep at night?”
A slight frown appeared on Martin Holt's brow. “What do you mean? You barely know me, Ms Matthews.”
“You know what makes people tick. And you're trying to get to know me, just the same as you probably get to know all your subjects before you unleash hell on them.”
Martin Holt sat back, trying not to appear flustered. He straightened his cuffs and cleared his throat before he spoke again. “It is a sorry state of affairs when a woman loses the ability to trust.”
Zora almost choked on the sexism of the statement. “Go fuck yourself, Martin Holt.”
“Is that all you have to contribute? Expletives?”
He'd become terse. Zora liked that. It meant he had a skin and she was getting under it.
“No,” Zora said. “You know exactly what I have to contribute, and you're trying to weasel a way to get me to do it. Well I don't like being manipulated, Martin Holt, I don't like it at all.”
“Except when Captain Savage does it.”
It was meant to be a jab at her ego. It might have worked if Zora gave a damn about what Martin Holt thought of her. As it was, she couldn't have cared less.
“Except when Captain Savage does it,” she agreed.
There was a brief period of silence in which teacups gently rattled against saucers. Zora sipped her tea.
“You know what your problem is, Ms Matthews?” Holt poured himself another cup.
“Enlighten me.”
“You need a villain. You want to believe that I'm some evil torturer, because if I'm just a nice guy trying to make friends with you, then where's the intrigue?”
“Maybe you should stop trying to convince me of how nice you are and just tell me what you want.”
“What I want is quite obvious. I want you to settle down, stop escaping at every turn and get some work done here. Can you do that?”
Zora bit her tongue and nodded. “Sure,” she said. “Why not?”
He cocked his head to the side and shook it, doubt personified. “You'll forgive me if I don't believe you.”
“It's about the only thing I'll forgive you,” she replied.
“Very well,” Martin Holt said. “If you need a villain, I'll play the villain, my girl.”
“My girl?” Zora snorted.
“It's villain talk,” Martin Holt explained, a slight smile appearing on his lips. “Did it not work for you?”
Zora began to get the feeling she wasn't being taken entirely seriously. Martin Holt had a sense of humor, it seemed.
“Let me tell you about Fort Thistle,” he said, changing the subject. “This isn't just a base, it's a town. There are five thousand people living here within its borders. There are plenty of places to shop and roam, there's even a park if you like scenic walks.”
“
Sounds lovely,” Zora said, saying what was expected. She didn't really think it sounded lovely. She thought it sounded horrible, a town like any other except for the fact that the whole place was under constant military control.
“Don't worry,” Martin Holt said, “I'm aware you spent several months incarcerated with a mercenary terrorist cell. The idea of living under such a tight regime no doubt concerns you.”
“I wasn't with a terrorist cell,” Zora said. “It was a company of mercenaries.”
“It may perhaps have started out life that way, but the man in charge of it, a man I believe you came to know quite well, took things in a decidedly different direction.”
Zora's interest was piqued. “So Tex is, was, a terrorist?”
“Not directly, of course,” Martin Holt said blandly. “He was certainly wrapped up in several dubious affairs however.”
The revelation that Tex was up to no good was no surprise to Zora. Tex had been rotten to the core, bad to the bone. The world was much better off without him. The clichés ran thick and fast through her mind as she thought back to the villain who had almost torn her and Savage apart permanently. She wasn't in the habit of being glad that people were dead, but she was very, very glad that Tex could no longer hurt them.
“Why did you call Savage a murderer on national television?” Zora picked up another of Martin Holt's super bland baked goods and nibbled on it.
“Oh no,” Martin Holt explained. “That was a limited area broadcast.”
Zora dropped her shortbread into her tea and swore to herself. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that was the signal we had in place for Savage to call in. It was beamed to his vicinity only. It's a way of communicating with operatives who are otherwise out of contact.”
“Wait... so you knew where we were? But... why...” Zora frowned deeply. “What the fuck is going on?”
“I get the feeling Captain Savage has not been entirely forthcoming with you, Ms Matthews,” Martin Holt said, speaking once again in his native dialect of wild understatements.
“I get the same feeling,” Zora agreed.
“Allow me to fill in some of the blanks. Captain Savage was sent to take down the organization run by the man you knew as Tex. There he discovered that you had already been captured by Tex. It was a happy accident that saw him extract you. It solved the mystery of where you were very neatly. After all, you had been missing for quite some time by that point.”
Zora nodded. That story didn't match the one Savage had told her, but it didn't match the facts either. It seemed that Savage was playing a very dangerous game, the details of which he was keeping entirely to himself. He'd lied to her about being free, that much was obvious. It was also obvious that he'd lied to the military about where she'd been, and very possibly where he'd been. She would have been mad as hell if it weren’t so clear that Savage was doing his level best to protect her.
“And now here I am, back in the fold,” she said. “Safe and sound.”
“Safe and sound,” Martin Holt agreed. “And I'd like to see you stay that way. You have a great deal to contribute, Ms Matthews. Let's see if we can get you to a place where you feel comfortable doing so.”
Zora was about to make a rude response, but a knock at the door, followed by Savage's return made her forget all about what she was going to say.
“Savage!”
She almost unsettled a packet of shortbread cookies in her rush to hug him. “Are you all right? Is everything okay?”
“Everything is fine,” Savage said. “I told you not to worry, didn't I?”
Martin Holt had risen to his feet in all the excitement. “Before the light goes, I'd like to show you two your new quarters, if I could.”
Savage indicated that he indeed could and soon the three were walking down a sidewalk that looked like something out of a movie set. Not five minutes from the data center and administrative building was a suburb. It was neat and it was tidy. All the lawns were mown and all the letterboxes painted uniform blue. The fences were straight and whitewashed with not a paling askew and the sidewalk seemed to have been recently scrubbed. There was no gum or sticky wrappers stuck to it, there were no leaves in the gutters and outside every home a porch light glowed, lighting driveways devoid of grease and oil stains. The neighborhood looked like the product of the ultimate home owner's association, neat and trim and so damn devoid of any individuality whatsoever, that Zora wondered if any of the houses she was walking past were real. Were there actual homes on the inside? Or were they just shells of buildings, designed to make the place look inhabited?
“So this whole town really is a...”
“A military base? Yes,” Martin Holt confirmed. “There's a guarded perimeter a few miles from here; best to avoid that if you don't wish to be hounded down or shot. Here.”
He stopped in front of a little weatherboard house with hollyhocks around the front door. There was a white picket fence surrounding a well-manicured yard and there was a shiny brass knocker on the front door.
“Your new home.”
“There you go, Zora,” Savage smiled. “Everything you wanted.”
Zora frowned to herself, as she was lead up the garden path and into the house, which turned out to exist on the inside. It was pleasantly, if somewhat blandly, furnished.
“You can decorate it according to your taste of course,” Martin Holt said, “choose your own wallpaper, floor coverings, paint if you like.”
Zora was aware that Savage was looking at her as if she was supposed to be thrilled. She tried for a smile, but what emerged onto her face was more like a grimace.
“Nice,” she said, gritting the word out.
Savage and Martin Holt exchanged looks.
“Well, I'll leave you two to get settled. There's a clothing store downtown, and you'll have a full stipend to get set up. Won't that be fun, Ms Matthews?”
Zora gave Martin Holt a fierce look and almost swore at him, but she happened to catch Savage's eye and she knew damn well what he'd do if she did swear at Martin Holt.
“Yes,” she said instead. “I can't wait to buy something nice. Maybe a new mop. My uterus and I both love mopping.”
“Zora...”
Martin Holt gave her a strained smile. “I'll let you two get settled,” he repeated. Then he left. Left them in their very own Stepford nightmare.
“Dammit, Matthews, can you not pretend to be grateful?” Savage growled at her. He was clearly not happy with her behavior.
She turned to him, ready to fight for her right to be snippy and agitated. “When I woke up this morning, you and I could go anywhere and do anything. Now we can't – and you expect me to be happy? You might be able to drag me here with you, Savage, but you cannot command me to like it.”
Savage sat down in one of the beige armchairs and drew her onto his lap. In spite of her prickly anger, she allowed herself to enjoy contact with his body. “Zora, you know I love you more than anything, don't you?”
She nodded.
“And you know, if I'd been able to find any other way of getting us out of this, I would have taken it. But sweetheart, they knew where we were. Even in the diner.”
Zora narrowed her eyes. “They were watching the pancakes.”
“Maybe,” Savage smiled and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “If there was a way to snap my fingers and make us disappear, I'd take it. In a heartbeat. But I don't see how that can be done. They're everywhere. They're everyone. I had a hell of a meeting with Hurtzwald, explaining to him that our entire Detroit stay was necessary to the mission. He believed me, but only just.”
“So if the military knew exactly where we were... who the hell was after us that night in the city?”
“That, I still don't know,” Savage said. “But there's very little chance of them having followed us here. This is probably the safest place in the country for both of us, Zora. I know it doesn't feel like it, but we've landed on our feet...”
As he was talking, Zora
was hit by a bolt of inspiration. She could not utter it in words, just in case their house was bugged, so she reached for a pen and paper, which happened to be sitting on the side table. Holding it close to her chest, she scribbled down a word: DATA.
Savage raised a brow at her. In response she tapped the paper impatiently with the nib of the pen. Then she added the words IT'S ALL in front of it. The result was a bold statement: IT'S ALL DATA.
He nodded, seeming to understand.
ON THE INSIDE, I RUN THE DATA, she scribbled. I CAN GET US OUT.
Her heart sank as he shook his head. “It's too dangerous,” he said. “I don't want you trying anything silly, Zora. Just please; do as you're told. The powers are not happy with you. Hurtzwald has agreed to let you work here, but if you mess this up...” His eyes grew dark with mortal seriousness. “Zora, this is your last chance. I don't know if I can save you if you don't make this work.”
Zora crumpled up the paper and shoved it into her pocket. “You're giving up,” she hissed. “You want things to be the way they were.”
He gave her one of his direct, honest looks. “I want to go to bed at night knowing that you are safe. I want to know that when I get back from the field, I'll find you safely tucked up in bed, or behind a computer. As for our freedom or lack thereof, I took a shot at it, Zora, but it's harder to slip off the radar than even I suspected.”
“Wait... what do you mean when you get back from the field?” Zora swore under her breath. “It's going to be like before isn't it? Months on end without you. This is NOT what I wanted.”
“We were never going to be able to spend every minute of every day together.”
“I'm not asking for every minute of every day, and you know that damn well. I'm asking for a real life.”
“You're asking to live in a hovel,” Savage said. “Look around you, Zora. The white picket fence? The lawn? This is everything you said you wanted this morning. Why can't you just be happy?”
She looked at him and she found she could not speak anymore. He was back where he belonged, a fish returned to the water. And she was drowning in that same fluid. Blinking back her tears, Zora shook her head and let Savage draw her against his chest. God she loved him. She loved him so much it hurt. Her love ached. Her love burned. Her love was the anchor drawing her down so deep she could not imagine ever breaking the surface again.
