by Sarah Fine
Jack grabs my arm as I sway, torn between puking all over the floor and slamming my fist into the side of Yves. Marguerite used her connection to the Sallese administration to take out an entire family, to visit unimaginable pain on her enemies. And then she met Anna for coffee this morning, possibly contemplating the same end for her. She had looked me right in the face, and I had actually been thinking about kissing her.
“You okay, kid?”
I steady myself. “Of course.”
“You’re the color of grits.”
“I don’t even want to know what those are.”
“Sorry about your friend. She’s probably not the first or the last.”
All in the name of law and order. Of justice. “We’re not going to let them win. Can you arrange more transports like this one?”
He winces and rubs his hand over his greasy black hair. “How many you think you would need, exactly?”
“I don’t know yet. But you’ll hear from me.”
He chuckles, reaches into his pocket, and pulls out a piece of paper—my father’s stationery, with its primrose embossing—which I left at our dead-drop site before my brief encounter with Anna and Marguerite this morning. “Like this?” It contains the codes I put in my vids. “Boy, I hadn’t seen paper in a hog’s age.”
“It only works if you actually destroy it when you receive it!”
He produces a chemical vaporizer from another pocket and incinerates the thing. We watch as black ashes fall to the ground. “There you go. Brilliant idea, by the way. We’ve got to stay off the grid or else we’re gonna be the ones with water in our lungs.”
“I’ll leave the next codes for a meeting on that bench in Gingrich Park, and I’ll trigger the next meeting the usual way. Just give me twenty-four hours. I’ll let you know how many transports we need and for how many people.”
“Okay . . . we’ll do what we can.”
“And tell Chen I want a present the next time I see him. He’ll know what you mean.”
Chapter Fourteen
Marguerite
I’m staring at the ceiling, listening to a crowdsourced channel speculating on what happened last night. A lot of people are trying to verify who was actually caught and whether they were really terrorists—or whether this was Uncle Wynn’s administration taking out its enemies. The charge is so ridiculous, yet . . . it’s stuck in my brain like a splinter.
“Marguerite, Elwood Seidel is at the door for you,” says Helen, the voice of this brownstone.
A sudden chill runs through me. “Tell him I’ll meet him in the living room.”
I rise from my bed as I hear the door open, and find El in the hallway, just past the entrance to the living room, as if he was headed somewhere else. “Mom’s sleeping,” I say. “It’s kind of late.”
He glances at her door. “I didn’t come here to see her.”
I go into the living room and drop into a chair. All casual. “What’s up?”
“We have to talk.” He’s making that face he makes when things aren’t going right. Brows low, jaw clenched.
“I thought you’d be celebrating, now that so many terrorists have been caught.”
“That was a huge step forward, for sure,” he says, spreading his arms across the back of the couch. “Marguerite,” he adds as his eyes lock with mine, “the Fortins have disappeared.”
“But I just had coffee with Anna this morning.” And then she ran off to meet her family . . . “Oh.”
“You know something?”
I shake my head. “No, why would I?” Wow—did she actually listen to me?
“I thought you were making Anna Fortin your friend.”
“I was. I had.” But in the way Uncle Wynn suggested, not the way El did.
“Yes,” El says, fiddling with his comband. “I guess you did.”
He turns the screen so I can see it, but the image is sideways, and all I can make out is a blurred coffee cup. He taps the white blob of the cup, and a vid begins to play.
“Are you guys thinking of getting out of here?” I hear my own voice say.
“Define here.” Anna’s voice. This morning.
“I wasn’t prying—I swear. You don’t have to be in DC to answer the FBI’s questions.”
El pauses the vid. “Care to explain?”
“Do you?” My heart feels like it’s about to explode out of my chest. “That’s my screen! You capped my comband?” I’m almost shrieking.
“I have to know I can trust you, Mar,” he says sadly. “And after I heard this, I wonder if I can.”
“You snooped on my meeting, and you didn’t tell me!”
“With good reason,” he replies. “I had to know if you were loyal. Imagine how I felt as I listened to you tipping off the daughter of Gia Fortin, suggesting they leave the city.”
“Oh my god, El,” I say. “Can you blame me?”
“Yes,” he snaps. “You seem to have forgotten what that family tried to do to us in the general election.”
“You told me to be friends with her!”
“I told you to get her to cooperate,” he says. “Not to suggest the whole family try to escape justice. They could be terrorists, Marguerite. You’re aiding and abetting terrorists.”
I sit back and stare. “El, you’re scaring me.”
“Am I? Good.” He sets his elbows on his knees. “You need to understand a few realities. No one is going to get in my way. I am in this to win.”
“Don’t you mean we?” I ask weakly.
His stare is so steady that I wonder if he’s even seeing me. “Our entire Department of AIR has been destroyed, including precious information and research, and it’s increasingly obvious this was the work of technocrats bent on keeping us from regulating their business. The Fortins are almost certain to be involved—but suddenly they’re gone. Because you tipped them off!”
“All I did was ask if they were considering leaving, because so many others were!”
“So many others tried, you mean. We caught all but a few of them.”
“Terrorists. You’re supposed to be tracking down terrorists. Not—”
“I don’t need to explain to you of all people how the technocrats have terrorized and oppressed the American people. Look at Parnassus—they’re responsible for what happened to your father, Marguerite. And Simon Aebersold was the captain of that ship.”
I shudder. “Was?” I whisper.
“You were kind enough to warn me about Bianca Aebersold, so thanks for that one.”
“What happened to them?”
“Like I told you, karma is a serious bitch. I offered Bianca your best regards before the end.”
It feels as if every cell in my body has turned to ice. “El . . . what . . . ?”
“I took them down, just like you wanted me to.”
“I never said I wanted that!”
El fiddles with his comband for a few seconds before replaying our voices from a previous com: “Lovely family, am I right? Wouldn’t you love to take them down?” he had asked me.
“At the moment? Hell yes. She’s so freaking awful,” I had replied.
“Oh my god. What did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything.” He looks down at his comband. “That’s what the FBI is for. They were cannies. No guilt. No hesitation. No empathy. Easier that way.”
I think I’m going to be sick.
“This was for you, Marguerite. For you and Colette. People need to know that they can’t do those things to you. I want them to fear us.”
“They already did!”
“Not enough, though,” he murmurs.
“You had her killed?”
“I ordered them to punish her first.”
I am up and running for the toilet, my stomach heaving. I make it as far as the hallway before I lose it, and for the next few moments my body just takes over, wringing me out. As I lean on the doorjamb, I feel El behind me. His hands close over my shoulders, and I can’t tell if he’s steadying
me or trying to keep me from escaping. “I made sure she knew it was because of you, Marguerite.”
“Don’t,” I whisper.
“It’s not like I enjoyed giving the order. But it was necessary—and right. I mean, I saw how she hurt you. I wanted to make sure we gave it back to her in spades.” He lets me go. “And then, after all that, I find out you aren’t on my side. I couldn’t believe it. We were always on the same side.”
Is that really how it was? My thoughts are unraveling.
“I’ll clean this up,” says Helen, sounding sympathetic. “Can I have Renata bring you a glass of water?”
“Yes, Helen,” El says, all friendliness. “We’ll stay in the living room.”
A moment later, Renata, the house canny, strides in with water. I take it from her synthetic hands and avoid looking into her dead eyes. I close mine as she wipes my mouth with a cloth and retreats. “You’re insane,” I say to El when my voice returns. “Were you always this crazy, or did this just happen?”
“You know, it’s easy for me to forget how young you are,” El replies sadly. “And I know you haven’t had as much support as you need, with your mother in such a vulnerable state.”
“She will never forgive you when she finds out what you’ve done.”
“Good thing you won’t tell her,” he says, and the intensity in his eyes burns right through me. “Because if you do, I’m afraid we’d have to reconsider your place in this administration.”
I raise my head. “Uncle Wynn wouldn’t let you.”
“He trusts me to fix things for him. If he heard you’d decided to resign your post, I’m sure he’d be disappointed, but you can hardly expect him to show up on your doorstep.”
“I’ll talk to him myself.”
“He’s the president, Marguerite. You’re a volatile teenager without a security clearance. Good luck with that.”
“Mom has a security clearance.”
“Only because of me. You think she would have passed the mental health examination if I hadn’t spoken with the evaluator afterward?” He is standing not even three feet away. “Do you really want to ruin this for her by becoming a traitor? She’s more fragile than you might think. I’d hate for her to suffer any more setbacks. She might not survive it.”
I stare at his knees. “I can’t believe I thought you were a good person.”
“I genuinely care for Colette, Marguerite. I’m taking care of her in every way I can. I know what’s best for her—and I’m going to protect her from everything. Including you, if I need to.”
I force my voice to be quiet and even. “Then think about what she would want. She suffers when people get hurt. Like Dr. Barton—”
“She’s still grieving. But now that she has purpose, she’s getting over it—”
“It being my dad?”
“Don’t try to turn this around. I made her my top aide and made sure she had all the benefits that go along with it. I talked the president into keeping you on after the campaign. I didn’t have to do any of this, Marguerite. I did it for her. For you.”
“Hoping you’d get the prize in the end,” I mutter.
“You’re the one who betrayed this administration, Marguerite. You betrayed our trust and our mission. But despite that, I’m going to give you a chance to redeem yourself.”
My mind is spinning with how I’m going to get to Uncle Wynn. “I’m not doing anything for you.”
“If you don’t, you’re going to find yourself with a one-way ticket back to Houston for a long visit with your friend. What was her name? Oh—Orianna. And it’s really a shame, the infrastructure there in the Lone Star State. Did you read about that air-transport crash a few weeks ago? All because of a little glitch in the landing-guidance systems. Outdated, for sure. I hope you’d make it back safely, but really, it’s a little chancy.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“I’m just laying out the facts.”
I cover my face with my hands, wishing I could rewind a few minutes, a few days, a few weeks. Maybe the entire last year. “What do you want?”
“I want you to use your powers for good. To set things right again.”
“You want me to make a vid.”
“Well, it’s more specific than that. I want you to ask for help from your followers. There’s someone we need to find.”
“Gia?”
“I’m working on that. Someone else, though. The person—or people—who helped the Fortins escape DC.”
My hands fall away from my face. “Escape DC? Are we living in a prison state now?”
“There’s a state of emergency, and the police and FBI are indeed controlling transport in and out of the District to prevent terrorists from escaping justice.”
“To prevent your political enemies from getting away, you mean.”
“What’s the difference, really?”
I just stare at him.
“Marguerite, these are the people who profit while their fellow Americans dwell in poverty. Our economy is in tatters while Asia and Europe thrive, and the technocrats have helped it happen.”
“Seize their assets, then! Why kill them?”
“Live people talk and go to court and generally cause trouble. In your case, we’ll use it to our benefit. We’d been watching the Fortins closely, and unlike several of their little technocrat friends, they’d made no moves to scurry away to Europe or South Korea. Still, we decided to pick up Gia for questioning in the bombing, figuring she might be more cooperative if she knew the fate of some of her closest conspirators. But when we arrived, the family was gone. All four of them.” He gives me a stern look and glances down at his comband, the video he grabbed from my secretly capped device. “Thanks to you.”
“I had nothing to do with their disappearance, El.”
“Oh, I know that. You tipped them off, and then they found their own means of escape. But they had to have had help. Someone inside the city. This is where you come in. I want you to lure these people out.”
“How?”
“Figure it out.”
Or else hangs in the air.
El stands up abruptly and stretches. “I’d better get back to the White House.” He follows the line of my gaze to my mom’s room. “Be careful, little girl,” he murmurs. “Never make the mistake of thinking you’re more clever than I am.”
I slowly rise from my own chair. “Just go, Elwood.”
For a few seconds, he stands there, as if calculating which way he thinks I’m going to jump. Then his smile returns, and he reaches out and squeezes my shoulder. He heads into the hallway. I hear the door click open and shut. Only then do I begin to shake all over. On unsteady feet, I go to my mom’s door and push it open. I can’t believe she slept through all of that. As I walk in, Helen automatically illuminates the wall along the bed in blue light, allowing me to see her. Her black hair is fanned out across her pillow. A tiny, blinking red light within her locks draws my attention, and I walk over to the bed. She’s wearing a neurostim device? She finally caved and got one. I guess I should be glad that she’s getting some relief from her depression, but the sight of it makes me feel like I’ve lost yet another piece of her. I can’t imagine losing more.
She stirs and opens her eyes. “Hey. Are you okay?”
I sit down on the edge of her bed. “Are you?”
She touches her neurostim and smiles.
Smiles. Everything inside me goes quiet with amazement.
But then she says, “I’m great. El found me a doctor, and I got it put on this afternoon. Easy and painless.”
El. Suddenly the sight of the tiny red light at her nape makes me want to puke again. “I’m glad you’re feeling better,” I manage to say.
“This isn’t one of the cheap ones.” She rubs her eyes. “It’s amazing, being here, isn’t it? I still can’t believe it.”
“Don’t you ever miss home?” Because right now, I feel the walls of this place closing in.
Her smile evaporates. “
The place that killed your dad? I’ll be grateful if I never have to set foot in Texas again.”
“I didn’t know you felt that way.”
“I’m sorry, baby. I know you still have friends there. But for me . . . that place is poison.” She pulls me down and hugs me. “You saved me, you know. I never really thanked you. But if it weren’t for your vids and everything you’ve done? I don’t know that I would have survived. You rescued us from that place, and look where we are. I know it’s not perfect, but compared to anywhere else . . .”
She releases me and I sit up. “I’m glad you’re feeling better,” I say, standing and walking to the door. “Sorry for waking you up.”
“Maybe you should get some sleep yourself. You don’t want to be too tired for school.”
“Right. Good night.” I slip into the hallway and close the door before she can say another word. I feel like I’m going to explode. Every single thought I have is a dead end. Elwood Seidel has walled all of them off and booby-trapped them on top of it. And I let him. I helped him.
If it weren’t for me, Bianca might still be alive. At worst, she would have died quickly. I have blood on my hands. El was right about one thing—I have to make amends.
But I have to do it carefully, or else I’m going to become his next victim.
Chapter Fifteen
Percy
The FBI agents arrive at the embassy early, as Auntie and I are at breakfast. She is imperious as she tells our butler to seat them in the parlor. “They say one of our diplomatic fleet was engaged in suspicious activity last night,” she says as she accepts a third demitasse of espresso.
I bow my head and laugh.
“Percy?”
“You did tell me I could have the use of a car to go visit mon amour.”
“You believe it is you they would like to talk to?”
I fan my face as if embarrassed. “Must I explain my romantic rendezvous to the United States government? How gauche.”
“Indeed. But you can’t be too careful at this time, mon petit chou. Sallese and his minions have embarked upon their own reign of terror. If he would talk to me, I would remind him of how history has treated such misadventures. The French understand such things.”
