“You’ll charge us for a number you won’t provide?” Tagg asked.
“Yes. Because I charge you for asking. I can’t help but look for the numbers, so I have to look. And that makes my head hurt if I do it too much.”
Tagg let his hand drop to the table with enough force to make a noise and make the lid of the laptop in front of him clatter.
“Why, Dinah?” Miss Militia asked. “Why do this?”
“For everyone. Because we got this far, it makes the numbers a little better. Whatever happens from here on out, it makes the end of the world a little less bad.”
“A little less bad,” Triumph echoed her.
“But it still happens,” Tagg said.
“Almost always. The world ends, in two years or in fifteen or sixteen.”
Tagg opened his laptop, “Do you have anything to say to Skitter?”
“No,” Dinah said. “I’m done.”
“Done.”
“Yes. I’m busy. It’s only because my cousin works here that I even came.”
“You seem to be playing a dangerous game,” Tagg said, “Testing our goodwill, manipulating us for your own ends.”
“Everyone’s ends, and I didn’t manipulate you. You asked for a number, I gave it.”
He ignored her. “Helping her when you should be helping us.”
“I don’t have to help you,” she said. “I’m not a good guy. I’m not a bad guy. I’m done working for other people, answering their questions when I don’t want to. I work for me, and for everyone.”
Odd, to think how much time I’d dedicated to Dinah, and how little I really knew her. There was this, only now, and the discussions we had prior to me taking her home. So little.
Tagg was rubbing his temples. “Fine. Now, when you said that the outcome of this improves the numbers, I understand that includes sending her to the Birdcage?”
“When I said I was done, I meant it,” Dinah said. She pushed her chair back. Her parents joined her, standing. “You want more answers, get in contact with my dad, he’ll let you know my rates. They change every day.”
“Not a wise business decision for a rogue starting out,” Tagg said, without rising from his chair. “Offending an organization like the PRT, a young lady like you mouthing off. We could cooperate, instead.”
He was threatening her? I clenched a fist.
Dinah looked back at him. “I don’t think you have any conception how valuable my answers are. I could answer one question a week for people in Asia and I’d be set for life. I don’t care if I offend you.”
“And you don’t care about your savior, locked away in that cell?” Tagg asked.
Dinah stopped in her tracks. “Are you threatening Taylor?”
“I don’t know,” the Director said. “You said she’ll do damage in some form. Maybe we need to stop that from happening. And you said that no matter what happens, the outcome’s more in our favor than it was before she surrendered. Why? Is it that important to remove her from Brockton Bay? To unseat her from her throne?”
“I’m not answering any more questions.”
“You’ll answer what I ask you to answer,” Tagg said, “Because we need to go into this with our eyes open. We can’t have Skitter damage us.”
“Director,” Mrs. Yamada said, “This isn’t constructive. The last thing she wants-”
“The last thing I want is another arrogant dickface telling me what to do,” Dinah said. “You want answers, Director? Fine. Twenty two point eight one three percent chance you die painfully, over long, slow minutes or hours. Maybe soon, maybe in twenty years, but it’ll bring you to tears, and you’ll wail in pain. That’s a freebie. Want more details?”
“Guys,” Miss Militia said.
“You assume I care about that,” the Director said.
“You will.”
“Guys,” Miss Militia said, louder.
“If you refuse to give us assistance, and people get hurt, then that’s on your head,” Director Tagg said.
“I deal with that every day,” Dinah said. “I’ll cope.”
“Guys!” Miss Militia stood from her chair, the feet screeching against the ground. She raised her voice another notch. “Look.”
She pointed at the window.
I moved my bugs to check for whatever it was she was pointing at, then stopped.
She was pointing at the bugs. They’d reacted to my irritation, and were swirling just beyond the window of the conference room, clustering on the glass surface.
“Is she making a move?” Tagg asked.
“No. They’re… just there. Reacting,” Miss Militia said. “To this. Here.”
“She’s watching,” Tagg said.
“Watching what? There’s nothing to look at,” Miss Militia said. “Think about it. What this is to her.”
“She hears,” Mrs. Yamada finished the thought.
I shut my eyes, swore under my breath. I’d let my guard down. I’d been too focused on what was going on inside the building, letting bugs cluster on the outside, that I’d given my reactions away. So much for gathering intel.
Tagg faced the window, no doubt staring at it, at the bugs.
“Arthropodaudience,” Miss Militia said. “She’s fully aware of everything that’s been going on in this building.”
“I’m gone,” Dinah said. “I can’t communicate with her or the numbers change. I’ll be letting the PRT know you pissed me off. They can expect prices to go up five percent from here on out.”
With that, Dinah was gone, saying something to her parents that I couldn’t make out.
My focus was more on Tagg.
“So,” he said, his voice low, “You can hear me.”
“Yes,” my bugs replied, speaking throughout the building. They were distributed evenly enough that it would barely be audible. A thin, almost imperceptible sound. More than a few people jumped in reaction to it.
“I see,” the Director said. “You tipped your hand.”
I didn’t have a response to that. I had.
He turned to Miss Militia. “See that Kid Win gets the defense system online sooner than later. I’d like this building cleared of bugs.”
“I’ll talk to him.”
“And you,” the Director said. I was getting used to his voice. I caught the emphasis there. “You stay put and be good.”
I shifted position, sitting on the end of the bed, elbows on my knees, staring at the floor.
Waiting, listening, watching.
Another twenty minutes, forty minutes, sixty minutes passing, with irregular check-ins by way of the monitor. Every member of the PRT was set in place, some near the PRT headquarters, others elsewhere in the city. Heroes went on patrol and came back, making short trips, no longer than half an hour each. Each hero in a pairing took turns reporting to Tagg.
Rachel had been seen crossing the city earlier, as had Grue. A meeting at the Forsberg Gallery. If they were following Tagg’s orders, there was now a PRT wagon stationed nearby, ready with a containment foam turret, in case the villains decided to meet there again.
Miss Militia got a list of phone calls to make from Tagg, then left, exiting my range.
Another half hour. Another check-in, a group of four heroes teleported in, Miss Militia returned and whispered back and forth with Tagg. There was a long discussion between the new heroes, Assault, Miss Militia and Tagg about how concentrated the forces were, now. Too many PRT uniforms and heroes in one place, the danger if they were all wiped out.
In a matter of minutes, they’d organized another distribution. Expanding control over the area, keeping two major groups out of my reach.
Only five minutes after the groups had departed, Kid Win activated his system. Floating drones started to roam the PRT headquarters, each no larger than a toaster, each with multiple settings that they rotated between. They emulated Sere’s power on a low enough level to kill bugs in the area without doing undue harm to any people, then became laser turrets, firing an invis
ible beam every second for about a minute, killing a bug with each shot. Then they shifted focus and accelerated, veering to a different location with unpredictable trajectories.
Kid Win was making more, too. He was joined by one of the heroes that had just arrived. Another tinker. I caught a snippet of what they were talking about before the next drone kicked to life and killed the bugs I had on the new arrival. Workshop talk. Improving designs.
Damn tinkers.
Avoiding the drones became something of a game, occupying my attention to the point that I was still able to keep tabs on a few important people, but I was badly limited in terms of my ability to listen in. Fifteen minutes passed without me seeing or hearing anything significant. The monitor flared yellow for another check-in. Two minutes later, there was another. Irregular, unpredictable.
As a plus, Tagg seemed to be getting restless, if the movements of his blurry form within his office were any indication. He’d arranged his forces, and the only thing he could do now was wait.
We were both waiting. Both biding our time in the hopes that the other would crack first, make the first move and initiate conversation.
Miss Militia left to make another batch of calls outside my range. She returned sooner than before, made a beeline straight for Tagg, and exchanged a few more whispered words.
Together, they made their way to the elevator. The Protectorate tinker that had just arrived was sealing off the staircase, and there was only one way down.
As a pair, Miss Militia and Tagg walked down the length of the hallway, stopping outside of my cell. I combed my hair out of my face, squared my shoulders and faced the door.
The screen turned red. A matter of seconds later, the doors slid open.
“Flechette?” Miss Militia asked.
Flechette? Had my allies done something?
“Did you plan this?” Miss Militia asked.
I elected not to answer. This was a small victory, no matter what they were referring to. Tagg had broken first, had come to me more on my terms than his. I was going to play it for everything it was worth.
I met Tagg’s glare with a level stare of my own.
“If you used Regent to make this happen-” Miss Militia said.
Regent?
“Not Regent,” I said. I hope it’s not Regent.
“You’re admitting you planned her defection, then?”
Defection? I thought of Parian.
“I… left the door open for it to happen,” I said. True, though not nearly to the extent I was implying.
“And this plays a role in your greater plan?” Miss Militia asked. She was doing all the talking, here. It seemed Tagg didn’t want to break the silence.
I thought for a second. “Consider it symbolic.”
“Of?”
I smiled a little, then shrugged.
That seemed to be the point where Tagg lost his cool. He didn’t get angry. Instead, he merely said, “Interrogation room B.”
Miss Militia held a pair of ordinary handcuffs in one hand, a taser in the other. I turned and extended my hands behind me, and she set the handcuffs in place, holding my arm as she led me down the length of the hall, around the corner and into a large room with only a table, a chair, and more sheet metal covering everything.
“One o’clock,” I said, when I’d taken my seat. Miss Militia was unclipping my cuffs, moving my hands around in front of me to slip them through the reinforced table.
“I think it’s about one,” Miss Militia said.
“Exactly one,” I said.
“Is the time important?” she stepped away from the table.
“Her friends will move to attack at a set time,” Tagg said. “She won’t share that time, because she wants us to squirm, to be on high alert.”
“Eight thirty,” I said. “Sunset.”
I could see his heavy eyebrows rise in mild surprise.
“You planned something for eight-thirty?”
“No,” I said. I smiled a little, looking down at the table. “I didn’t plan anything. I didn’t say goodbye. I walked away, and I turned myself in.”
“You’re acting like that’s something special,” Tagg said, leaning against the wall by the door, his arms folded.
“The only instruction I gave was to Tattletale, to hold the others back until sunset, and to give them direction when they do act. They’ll have time to get angry in the meantime. They’ll be mad at me, but they’ll take it out on you. You have to understand, even at my worst, even when I’m as mad as I was the other night, when you’d outed me, I was sensible, reasonable in terms of how I dealt with you and held back. Now you get to see how unreasonable the rest of the Undersiders can be, without me to rein them in.”
“I thought this might be it. A lesson in the role you play here. Leading us to think that we need you,” Tagg said, “To keep them in line.”
“That’s not it,” I said.
“No?”
“It’s not even secondary, in terms of what I’m looking to achieve. I don’t think I could go back to them and return to my position if I wanted to. And I don’t.”
“Then what?” he asked.
“It’s a time limit. You saw what we were willing to do to Butcher, to Valefor. Even with that, even there, we were holding back as a group. Trust me when I say that I know my friends. If you stand between them and me? If you hurt me? They’re going to go thermonuclear on you. On the PRT as a whole. Tattletale will make sure of it. She’ll keep them on target, guide them, and maximize the damage. She’ll do most of the damage.”
“You said you weren’t going to do any harm to the PRT,” Miss Militia said.
“If things go that way,” I said, “It’s because the PRT is hurting the PRT. Which wouldn’t be an isolated incident.”
“Cute,” Tagg said.
I met his eyes. “I’m just saying. It’s really up to you guys. Send me to the Birdcage, you lose everything. Things get ugly for the PRT at a critical point in time. I suffer, the Undersiders suffer, you suffer, the world suffers.”
I stopped, watching him for any sign of doubt, for a waver in his eyes, for a change in his expression or posture. His poker face was good.
Miss Militia shifted position, but didn’t speak.
“Or?” Tagg finally asked.
“Or you let me call my lawyer, and then you hear my demands,” I said.
“Demands?” he growled the word.
“Demands. I have several conditions you guys will have to meet before I capitulate. I’ll bow my head, appear in public, plea bargain, do whatever you want. You get me, wholesale, no contest, and no complications. The PRT gets a victory at a point in time when, like I said, it’s most vulnerable.”
I studied his expression, then looked at Miss Militia.
“It’s your choice. You won’t like my demands. They call for big changes. But the alternative is an all-out war. I think Miss Militia will agree with me here, if the PRT doesn’t hear me out, it deserves what it gets.”
22.02
Miss Militia handed me a phone and uncuffed one hand from the table. I dialed the number I’d memorized and waited while she and Director Tagg watched.
“Mr. Calle, Esquire,” the voice on the other line said. He sounded distracted, and the voice was slightly muffled. I could hear noise in the background, voices.
“It’s time,” I said. ”I’m at the PRT headquarters, second basement floor.”
“Ms. Hebert! Excellent! I was just telling myself that I’d almost run out of things to see in your city, here, and was about to let myself start being concerned for your welfare if it got much later. I’m in your territory as we speak.“
“My territory?”
“Getting a sense of who you are as a person and a personality. There’s a number of people here who are very concerned for your welfare. They don’t quite believe me when I say I’m looking out for your interests.“
“Okay,” I said. ”Big guy? Beard?”
“A young lady, dar
k-haired.“
I thought for a second. “Tell her ‘fly in a paper box.’”
He didn’t cover the mouthpiece of his phone as he spoke the phrase. There was a pause, then Mr. Calle spoke into the phone once again, “That did it.“
I don’t really care, I thought. I just didn’t want him getting in any trouble. “How soon can you be here?”
“A five minute drive.”
“It’s not a five minute drive from there to here.”
“I’m a fast driver. No need to worry, but… maybe don’t mention it to the law enforcement officials that are looking over your shoulder. Do you have any preferences for donuts? Coffee?”
There was a murmur on the other end.
“Someone’s telling me you want tea,” he asked.
“Just-” Just get here, I was about to say, then I reconsidered. I knew where he was, and I was tempted at the thought. Besides, I knew Tagg was watching me. ”A BLT on toasted white and a sugar donut. And tea.”
“They don’t sell any tea here, but I’m sure we can contrive to get you some in a timely manner. I trust you haven’t said anything to the glowering heroes?”
“No.”
“Excellent. Keep your mouth shut, now. I’ll be there in six.”
With that said, he hung up.
“A sandwich, donuts and tea,” Tagg said. He had his arms folded.
I smiled a little, but I didn’t reply.
“Very casual,” he mused. He took the phone, gripped my wrist in his hand and set the handcuff back into place.
I shifted position, and the movement raked the chain of my cuffs against the ring that held them fixed to the table. It was hard to get comfortable. The table and chairs were bolted to the floor, and my hands were held in front of me. I got the impression the setup was meant for villains just a touch taller than I was – I couldn’t quite lean against the chair back without the cuffs cutting into my wrists.
“I’m trying to figure you out,” Tagg said.
I ignored him.
“My aims aren’t very high. I’m not a psychologist, like Mrs. Yamada, I’m not experienced in the ins and outs of the traumas you capes go through or the damage that shit causes. You and I haven’t really squared off yet, like you have with Miss Militia. Those two understand you on levels I never could.”
Worm Page 351
