On cue, Min-jun dropped the barrier around them. Alex’s ears popped as if they had changed altitude. He jumped when he felt the hands of the African apport technician on his shoulder.
“Hello, friends,” Chike said, his smile easy and unworried, as it always was. “Your work here is done. I have come to retrieve you.”
“Good enough for me,” Katya said, grabbing a hold of the arm that rested on Min-jun’s shoulder. “Give ’em hell for me, Xia.”
The man in the mask and goggles gave the briefest of nods. He was already surrounded by a faint, flickering light. The last things Alex heard as the apport took hold were the vampires screaming in rage and frustration at the disappearance of their prey, and the crackling as the air around Xia’s fingers ignited.
***
Alice limped through the embers, motorcycle boots crushing charred bone and scattering ashes. Xia waited for her at the mouth of the compound, wreathed in a translucent cloud of accelerant, cooked flesh, and burned silicon. The edges of his Kevlar coat were singed, and he bled from a wound in his shoulder.
“Nice work,” Alice said approvingly, her blood-spattered features diabolical in the light of the dying fire. “Any trouble?”
Xia shook his head in the negative, eyes invisible behind the reflective tint of his goggles. He methodically peeled off his latex gloves and tossed them aside, replacing them with another pair taken from a plastic container stored in his coat pocket. Then he took a handkerchief from another pocket and mopped the sweat from his brow in a series of concise movements, and discarded it on the sand when he finished.
“Good to hear.” Alice’s eyes sparkled; her voice was tinged with satisfaction. As she left the shadows of the entrance mouth and stepped onto the beach, poorly illuminated by the first light of the rising sun, the limp in her wounded right leg became apparent. “Things went okay inside. Got what we needed, but somebody wired the head leech with a neural relay. Triggered a whole series of claymores when he flatlined. Just dumb luck that it didn’t take my head off.”
Xia took one hesitant step toward Alice.
“Naw. Nothing to worry about. Just a couple ball bearings in my thigh. ’Nother trip to the infirmary won’t break me.”
She hobbled across the sand to stand beside Xia, watching the flames in front of the compound flicker. A few seconds later, the ground shook, there was a series of sharp cracking sounds, and the beach beneath them lurched briefly. A portion of the cliff face sheared off, crashing down on the concrete building, while smoke and ash belched out of the entrance to the facility. There was a protracted rumbling that shook an alarming amount of stone from the cliff, then the structure sank and skewed to one side, settling half-collapsed.
Xia gave Alice a questioning glance as the dust settled.
“What? Oh, yeah. Of course I got the cargo out first. Was the main point of this exercise, right?” Alice’s smile flickered out like a fluorescent light dying, dimming before it went out entirely. “They had ’em in cages, you know. I don’t like that. Even if Gaul had wanted prisoners, I don’t think I could have done it.”
Xia gingerly touched her shoulder, and Alice touched his gloved hand lightly with her own, her smile returning.
“Nothing to worry about now,” she said, smiling at the scattered flames, a series of small funeral pyres. “They do burn nicely, don’t they? One good thing you can say about vampires, anyway.”
They stayed on the beach until the fires died out.
Two.
“Well, that was fucking awful.”
“Don’t be so dramatic. It wasn’t that bad. Nobody got killed. Nobody even got seriously hurt. The operation was successful. In our business, that’s as good as it gets.”
“I know. It’s just...”
Katya sighed, throwing aside her damaged armor.
“You had to kill some people. It happens, Alex.”
“I know.” Alex stripped off his vest and let it fall to the floor of the staging area, beside his kit bag and the rest of his gear. The Spectra plates were lighter than Kevlar, but the reinforced gear was bulky and hot, and he was always glad to be rid of it. The only time it was possible to be grateful for body armor was when someone was actually shooting at him – the rest of the time it was a humid and uncomfortable burden. “I get it, I really do. I just don’t feel good about it.”
“Okay, okay,” Katya grumbled, tearing open a cellophane package of mixed nuts and pouring a large portion of it directly into her mouth, then continuing with her mouth full. “Tell your Auntie Kat everything. Are you having nightmares? Sudden urge to get familiar with your bible?”
Alex made a joking attempt to slap her, which Katya dodged easily. Alex ducked the nuts that she threw at him, then responded with an underhand toss of a water bottle, which clanged harmlessly against the field locker behind her. At the other end of the room, Miss Aoki paused in the process of pulling off her battered combat gear to glare at them, but she didn’t actually get involved. They quieted nonetheless.
“Nothing like that,” Alex admitted, sitting heavily down on the bench and beginning the process of untying his knotted boot laces. “I just don’t know why we are doing what we are doing. And that bothers me.”
“Oh, I see. So, you’d be cool with killing some guys you never met as long as Miss Gallow cleared the reasons with you, first? Maybe you should just explain that to the Director, let him know that they need to loop you in.”
“That’s not what I meant. Look – you were raised in a cartel, right? You buy into the Black Sun ideology or whatever...”
“So you say. I don’t recall you asking me.”
Alex blinked and hesitated.
“You don’t subscribe to the party line? Really?”
“Didn’t say that either,” Katya said, chewing thoughtfully. “Finish what you were saying.”
Alex sighed and shook his head.
“I was raised white-trash in Kern County. I don’t believe...in anything, I suppose. When I came to the Academy, I decided to just go along with whatever happened. That’s part of it. Then when the Anathema attacked, I – I don’t know really. I was angry. About Emily, about Margot. About everything. Rebecca convinced me that I could do something about it, about losing people that I didn’t want to lose. She told me I could make a difference, going out for Audits. Maybe I just put it on her because I don’t want to take responsibility for the decision. Or something. Whatever.”
Alex focused on a particularly stubborn knot in his laces, too embarrassed to meet Katya’s eyes.
“I get you – even if that was total nonsense. You think you are the only one with doubts, Alex? What we do, it isn’t easy for anyone but the psychos. We’re all haunted by something, and we all carry that burden in our own way. It’s natural. Eventually, you’ll figure out how to live with it.”
Alex pulled off one boot, then started on the other, mulling her words over.
“You really think so?”
“Yeah. Probably. Or, you know, you won’t. Could go either way.”
Alex laughed despite himself.
“Thanks, Katya. Real helpful.”
“I’m a helpful girl. What do you want me to say? I can’t make you a hero. I don’t have a reason for you.”
They both looked up at the sound of a throat being cleared. Miss Gallow stood in front of them, already changed into a tank top and jeans, so Alex could see the furthest twisting branches of the tree tattooed on her back creeping around her arms. She appeared relaxed and grudgingly amused by the situation.
“Oh ye of little faith. Crisis of conscience, little Alex? Put your shoes on and follow me,” Alice said, running her hands through her black hair. “As it happens, I just might have your reason.”
***
Renton slunk beneath the trees, between the hillocks, over the first fence so quickly that there was no chance for his face to reflect the moonlight. He stopped briefly in a dry culvert, observing the next fence for several minutes before deciding on a spo
t. He scaled it in seconds, every handhold decided in advance and every movement precise. He hit the ground on the other side with only the slightest sound, and then he didn’t move at all.
Half an hour later, Renton had crept as far as the bushes beneath the house, kept trimmed and sparse so that they offered little cover. He stayed there for quite a while, watching, counting lights and footsteps.
Three guards, two on the first story. One on the second story, confined to the anteroom on the opposite side of the house. He knew the last part from experience. There was no way she would let a guard any further into her sanctum.
He stood, dusted himself off, and then started up the side of the house.
It was easy, but then again, he’d done it before.
They’d changed the traps, of course, since then, and he had a tricky moment on the second story when he found his way blocked by a cleverly placed nest of screamers and crushed glass, but he arrived on the roof, just outside her bedroom window on the third floor, out of breath but intact.
“I heard that you were pathetic,” Timor observed from the chimney he sat on. “But this is really…you must have spectacularly low self-esteem, Renton.”
“Saw me coming, huh? I thought you could perceive a few seconds worth of future.”
“Not a bit of it,” Timor admitted. “I’ve actually been out here for the past two nights, waiting for you to show up. I didn’t ‘see’ that you were going to come, I just figured that you would. After all, you must have heard about the attack, even in intensive diplomatic training. Now, why don’t you go back to your room and get some sleep, Renton? I won’t mention this incident to Ana, and we can all go on just like before.”
“Not a chance, faggot,” Renton said, smiling.
“Such crass vulgarity, Renton,” Timor chided, dropping down from the chimney. “You realize that you’re embarrassing yourself, don’t you? Even I feel a bit bad for you. Get it through your head, Renton. She doesn’t belong to you. As a matter of fact, you belong to her.”
“You think I don’t know?” Renton continued to circle, his hand drifting to the small of his back, beneath his jacket. “Where were you when she was attacked? You can’t be much of a bodyguard to allow that to happen. I just want to talk it over with Ana, try to make her understand she’s safer with me around.”
“I’m not sure whether that’s pathetic or hopelessly romantic, but either way, this sort of behavior doesn’t suit you, Renton,” Timor said, flashing his winning grin, his own hand near his belt, where his jacket flared out just slightly. “We are killers, Renton. And when we want something, we take it. Am I right?”
“Right,” Renton snarled, his face contorted with anger. “We gonna dance, or what?”
“You aren’t my type,” Timor said pityingly. “I’d rather not. If you think you are getting anywhere near that window, though, I just don’t see it happening…”
The two stood in near-perfect silence, faces luminous with reflected moonlight, fingers twitching and restless. Then an abrupt clatter sent both of them scrambling for their guns.
“Enough,” Anastasia said, leaning out of the window she had forced open, yawning in her nightdress. “You two talk and posture so much a girl simply cannot sleep.”
Renton lowered his Beretta, while Timor made a Glock disappear back into the folds of his jacket like a magician, here and then gone again. He smiled at Renton, as genuine as a three-dollar bill.
“Apologies, milady,” Timor said smoothly. “Sometimes I get carried away with the dramatics. The full moon, the rooftop, and pistols in the dark…it was too much to resist.”
Renton stood mute, his arms folded in front of his chest, waiting. Anastasia looked both of them over, eyes brimming with withering contempt.
“Boys,” Anastasia proclaimed, the word tinged with obvious distaste. “Timor, you may get some sleep. Renton, use the front door, as if you were a normal person. I will meet you downstairs in my office in five minutes. During that time, I suggest rather strongly that you determine what it is that you must tell me, because my patience is short at this hour.”
He was sure that she made him wait. Anastasia certainly didn’t look as if it would have taken her twenty minutes to prepare. She hadn’t bothered to do much more than tie her hair back and wash her face.
He squashed an insane urge to tell her how beautiful she was.
Renton stood as she walked in the office.
“Ana,” he said urgently, “do you want me to…?”
She cut him off with a look, and advanced on him menacingly. Or, at least as menacingly as a tiny, flat-chested girl in a nightdress and Domo slippers could possibly manage.
She took him by the arm, briskly rolled up his sleeve, and then smoothed a flesh-colored patch across his forearm.
“What the – ” Renton begin.
“Not another word. Total Isolation Protocol,” Anastasia commanded urgently. “Right now.”
Her voice brooked no disagreement. He began activating the protocol, pushing aside any questions as to the necessity.
It was no small endeavor. A typical isolation field concealed an area from conventional surveillance. A Total Isolation Protocol rendered an area invisible to any manner of intrusion, Etheric or otherwise. Renton was familiar with the protocol, and had even performed it on occasion, after several hours of concerted effort. He sustained the effect for a bare few moments, under tremendous strain.
The experience this time, however, was very different. Almost before he finished framing the necessary routine in his mind, he found the protocol complete. Renton’s skin glowed with diffuse power, and he felt a rush of proficiency, then rubbed the patch on his arm thoughtfully. The structure of the protocol was so concentrated and sound that it took very little concentration to maintain.
“What is this? What did you give me?”
“Nanites. Alexander Warner was unconscious for several minutes during the attack on my island. I used the opportunity to take a blood sample. The nanites expired, of course, but we are very good at replicating them in the laboratory. They were isolated, then duplicated into these transdermal patches. The bioengineers say they are equivalent to about five percent of his full capabilities. They last only a few minutes, and are frightfully expensive, so be quick about it.”
Renton hesitated for a moment, then he smiled ruefully.
“This is hard.”
Unexpectedly, Anastasia smiled fondly back at him.
“I have to admit that I have been enjoying it.”
“You are mean, Ana.”
“That is my job.”
He shook his head and dropped down on his knees in front of her. She ruffled his hair fondly.
“I don’t want to do this,” he said miserably. “I miss you already. I hate diplomacy. I hate the Committee-at-Large, and drinking with fat old men who think they run everything. It’s all pretension and ego massage. I can’t remember the last time I had a genuine conversation with someone who didn’t totally disgust me.”
“I know,” Anastasia said patiently. “It is only going to get more obnoxious, with the Thule Cartel back in circulation. But I don’t have time to deal with the niceties of democracy at the moment.”
Renton’s brow creased.
“The risk worries me,” he admitted. “Without my protection, you are vulnerable…”
“The decision is mine,” Anastasia reminded him primly. “Even so, what I do is simply what must be done.”
“Great,” Renton moaned. “I feel much better knowing we have no choice.”
“Honestly, Renton. You don’t ever have a choice – that is a right I reserve for myself. Speaking of which, do you think our little act is going over successfully? I know Timor and Katya are fooled. I heard them gossiping about us the other day.”
“Pretty sure the generally consensus is that you hate me,” Renton acknowledged, his eyes twinkling. “Story is that you sent me to the Diplomatic Corps because you couldn’t kill me, after that thing you arr
anged with your sisters. You were right about the surveillance. Everyone was watching that scene.”
“All eyes are inevitably focused on Alexander Warner,” Anastasia said, smoothing out his hair and straightening his collar. “I need you to be exceptional for me, Renton. My life remains thoroughly in your hands, albeit in an indirect manner. And should circumstances become dire, you are positioned to act freely. Were you at my side, you would simply suffer the same fate.”
Renton placed his head on Anastasia’s shoulder, which he was just low enough to do, while kneeling. She rolled her eyes and then patted the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable.
“Ana…please let me watch over you. Just like before.”
They were both surprised at the feeling in his voice.
“I cannot,” she said, freeing herself gently. “The precognitives assure me that we must presume the worst. Still, if you truly believe I am in danger, then you must believe someone plays this game better than I, Renton. Is that what you think?”
Renton shook his head vigorously, too choked up to speak.
“Then focus on what you must do,” she said, urging him toward the door. “It is not the place of a servant to question his duties.”
Renton paused at the door, not quite gripping the door frame.
“Ana…could I just please…”
Anastasia pushed him firmly into the hall.
“You most certainly cannot,” she scolded, then continued on in a softer voice. “You are my failsafe, Renton. My last resort, should all else fail. You should be proud.”
He stood in the hallway, stiff as a board, trying to find words.
“Renton,” Anastasia said, exasperated. “Stop looking at me like that. I will be fine.”
Renton smiled slowly.
“That would be a lot easier to accept,” he said, pointing at her feet, “if you weren’t wearing those.”
The Far Shores (The Central Series) Page 7
