by Jackson Ford
“You get used to it.” I say to her, like it’s no big thing.
“Thank you,” Reggie says, as Mikhail props a pillow under her head. “Herr Schmidt: your satellite phone, please.”
Schmidt looks over at me. Again, like he’s weighing up whether or not to trust us. Then he nods, spitting a barrage of instructions at Mikhail. In a few moments, the bodyguard is pressing a chunky sat-phone into Reggie’s hand. I feel like there should be angelic choirs right now. Maybe Schmidt will let me dick around with the plane’s sound system…
With Schmidt’s help, Reggie manages to get the sat-phone working. A few minutes later, a crackly, monotone voice that reeks of government spook shit says, “Operator.”
“Department H-2,” Reggie says.
“Clearance?”
“A-409-D77.”
“Party?”
“Goldfinch.”
Goldfinch? I mouth at Reggie. She ignores me.
Whatever. We did it. We fucking did it. The government can take over, and I can go to sleep for a very, very long time.
“Connecting you,” the operator says.
Reggie looks up at Schmidt. “As grateful as I am for your hospitality, I’ll need some privacy. What I have to discuss with my commanding officer is some way above top secret.”
Schmidt nods. “Of course. I will see to refreshments.”
Booze. Yes. Booze good. Then a very comfortable leather seat, and a thick blanket. Those things good too.
“I’ll come help,” I say.
“That is really not necessary.”
“Oh, I don’t mind. The less I have to hear the voice of Goldfinch, the better. Besides, I want to make sure you aren’t hiding any more of that amazing champagne.”
Africa and Mia move to follow, but Reggie calls after them. “Mia, you stick around. You may need to tell our boss what you told us.”
“Um… OK? I don’t how much help I can—”
“I need you to explain your data. You stay too, Annie.”
I look over my shoulder, surprised. Annie is on one of the leather seats, blinking at Reggie in confusion.
“Annie?” Reggie says, pointedly.
Annie nods, then drops her eyes. “Whatever,” she murmurs.
The rest of us make our way to the tiny galley at the back of the plane. On the way, Schmidt pulls me aside briefly.
“I have your word this will not change our agreement?” he murmurs.
I come round to face Schmidt, looking him in the eyes, keeping my voice as low as his. “Jonas: I couldn’t give the tiniest shit about the list. None of us could. There are way, way bigger things happening right now.”
There’s a moment where it looks like he wants to ask me about that last bit – about the bigger things. And he must want to know, because what could be so major, in the middle of a huge earthquake, for us to specifically track down him and his plane?
But of course, I forgot who I’m dealing with. Schmidt understands how this all works. He understands the world that we – that I – live in.
“I have your word?” he says quietly.
“Yes. My word. Nobody touches you, or the list.”
Africa gives us a curious look over his shoulder, probably wondering what the hell we’re doing. Schmidt straightens up, squeezing my shoulder before continuing down the aisle. Part of me kind of wishes he would have squeezed a little longer.
“Hey,” I say to his retreating back.
“Ja?”
“My name’s not Jay. It’s… it’s Teagan.”
He nods slowly. “Then I suppose it is a pleasure to meet you, Teagan. Again.”
There’s a small galley at the back. Schmidt ambles over, then crouches down, rooting around in a low fridge. “It appears we have no more Krug,” he says. “Perhaps some bottled beer will suffice. Budweiser?”
I look down at the line of red labels. “You’ve got a billion-dollar plane and Budweiser in your fridge?”
“A man must have his vices.”
“You’re German. I thought you people liked good beer.”
“It has never been to my taste.”
“In Senegal,” Africa says, “We make a beer called 33 Export. It is delicious.”
“Ah yes,” Schmidt replies. “Although I prefer Bière La Gazelle.”
“You know Gazelle?” Africa breaks out in a huge smile. “Although not even people in Senegal drink it any more. It tastes terrible.”
I wink at him. “The man likes Bud, dude. What did you expect?”
“We must keep some of this for Reggie and Annie and Mia,” Africa says, popping the top off his bottle.
“Plus Mikhail and Gerhard,” I say. “Thirsty work, bodyguarding.”
“Mikhail is more of a cocktail person,” says Schmidt. “He enjoys Apple Martinis, I believe.”
“Him? Really?”
“I do not understand it either.”
He tilts his bottle towards us. We clink, and drink deep.
Oh my God. Oh sunny Jesus. By the power of Grayskull. You know how it is when you’ve had a really long day, and you go to a bar, and the first sip of beer is just… perfect? This is that, times a billion. I couldn’t give a shit if it’s Bud or Gazelle or fucking armpit juice. It’s all I can do not to drain the whole thing in one go.
From the distant sat-phone, Moira Tanner’s voice reaches us, her words inaudible. A sudden, bitter anger wells up inside me. How dare she even think about firing Reggie? After everything she does for China Shop?
“You were very impressive as a TSA agent,” Schmidt is saying to Africa.
“Ah, you know, it was just a game. I distract so Teggan can come on board.”
The silence that follows is just a tad awkward. Schmidt scratches his stubble, staring into the distance.
“So what will happen next?” he says.
“What do you mean?”
“After your superior speaks to her superior. Will you leave again?”
It’s a damn good question. Up until now, I’d been so fixated on getting hold of Tanner that I hadn’t thought about what would happen next. It’s not like Tanner needs us after this. She can send out her special forces teams and her helicopters and tanks and robot death machines and whatever she has tucked away, and stop this kid before he does any more damage.
Stop. There’s a word. No point kidding myself, because Tanner won’t waste time. Not with something as big as this. She’ll kill Matthew, and give his body to the scientists in Waco. The ones who wanted to cut me open.
Another burst of that sickening, bitter anger. They’re going to kill a kid. Have a sniper put a bullet in him. And why wouldn’t they? He represents a clear and present danger, a proven threat, a boy who has already killed thousands and thousands of people. He’s somewhere out there, in the great space between here and Canada, and he’s getting ready to set off the biggest quake the world has ever seen. Of course, they’re going to kill him. I can’t stop it.
At least I won’t have to be there. When they pull the trigger.
“I don’t know,” I say. “We were just supposed to get the word out about… well, we were supposed to get the word out. Pretty sure we’re not important in the greater scheme of things. They’ll probably just leave us hanging.”
“What is this about, Teagan?” he says quietly.
“Just some shit we gotta take care of.”
“In the middle of a disaster zone? What is so important that you would come all the way back to this airport, risk everything, just to get a message to your superiors?”
Oh, I had it all wrong. Of course he’d want to know. He just picked his moment carefully.
Involving Mia was one thing. That was an emergency. Can I risk sharing what’s going with Schmidt, when we’ve already gotten what we want? More than that: Schmidt is powerful. He’s a man who could cause a shit-ton of trouble for me, Tanner, China Shop. He might already claim to know about the facility in Waco, but right now he can’t prove it exists. If I show him, or let him kno
w about Matthew, that all goes out the window.
“Understand,” he says. “I am not making demands. I will not turn you away if you do not share your information – that is not how I operate.”
I can’t help but think how different this is to what Nic did, a few months ago, when I and the rest of China Shop showed up, asking for help. It took a long time to convince him. He wanted to throw us out of his place, until I revealed my abilities to him.
“I understand that in the world we live in, there must be secrets,” Schmidt is saying. “I am merely asking as a professional courtesy.”
It’s a few moments before I speak again. “You’re gonna have to trust me on this one. It’s better if you don’t know.”
A sad smile. “I see. I do hope you remember my willingness to help in the future.”
Jesus, even I can read the subtext on that one.
He takes a sip of beer. “So of course, you are welcome to stay here. It is not as if we are attacked by crowds of ravenous people.”
“You make it sound like you’re waiting for the zombies to show up.”
An embarrassed smile. It makes him look a lot younger, wiping the worry lines away. “Sorry, my English. In any case, we have food, and enough water for the time being. We can wait until the real rescue gets here. Perhaps, if we can find some more fuel for your quad bikes, you will not mind spreading the word? In a situation like this, there cannot be enough shelters.”
“On one condition. I get to sleep first. It’s… pretty rough out there.”
“Of course. The seats recline fully, or you are welcome to use my bedroom if you prefer.” Another faint smile. “I believe you already know where it is.”
“Oh ya?” Africa says, unable to hide his evil grin.
“Fuck off, Idriss.” I take a slug of beer, hoping it hides the flush I feel creeping up my cheeks. Schmidt might have meant it as a joke, but there was a split-second where I wanted to ask him to come with me.
The thought is followed by a wave of embarrassment. Who says he’d even be interested? That’s a pretty big assumption, and as we all know, to assume makes asses out of u, me and everyone else. Just because he’s helping – hell, just because he seems to enjoy my company – doesn’t mean he’s getting the same vibes I am.
Of course, that doesn’t change the fact that it would feel really good to have someone’s arms wrapped around me right now. And to have that someone be Jonas Schmidt…
It can’t happen. He doesn’t know about my ability, which goes absolutely insane whenever I orgasm – something that initially stopped me being together with Nic, before he knew about what I could do. I’m not going to put Schmidt in Tanner’s firing line any more than he is already. Not after he’s helped us out. It’s not worth it, no matter what I’m feeling.
Mia walks up. “Your boss wants to talk to you,” she says to me.
“Reggie?”
“No, the other. She’s… um, intense.”
“That’s one way of putting it.”
“Is she sending the people?” Africa asks.
“Kind of. It’s complicated. You’d better go talk to her.”
I raise an eyebrow at Africa. That doesn’t sound good.
“Here.” I hand Mia my beer. “Drink this. It’ll help.” I point at Schmidt. “And there’d better be another one for me when I get back. I’m gonna need it.”
FORTY-TWO
Teagan
It’s only when I get to the back of the plane’s cabin that I really start to get nervous. It’s because of Annie. I expected to find her slumped over, staring into space, lost in her own private world. Instead, she’s sitting up, bright eyes locked on mine. She looks like a sprinter, about to break out the blocks.
“Tanner for you,” Reggie says.
I take the phone, wishing more than anything I could be back drinking beers with Mia and Africa and Schmidt. Especially Schmidt.
“What does she need me for?” I ask. But Reggie’s face gives nothing back.
I lift the heavy sat-phone to my ear. “Teagan here.”
The line shaves the top and bottom off Tanner’s voice, but it loses none of its menace. “You’ve been busy, Ms Frost.”
“You know what? Moira? I’m sorry, but I don’t have the energy for your enigmatic agency operative bullshit right now. It’s been a really long fucking day.”
A while ago, I might have started off a little more polite. After all, I was planning on asking for permission to go to chef school. I needed to make sure Tanner was feeling well-disposed towards me before I asked. Not exactly a priority any more. Not when there’s no longer a chef’s school to attend.
“I see,” she says.
“I bet you do. So, are you gonna catch this kid, or what?”
“I’ve been speaking with Ms McCormick, and Mia Wong, your volunteer from the Meitzen Museum. I understand the threat.”
She makes everything sound so simple. I want to tell her that there is no possible way she could understand, not unless she saw it herself. “Good to know. What are you doing about it?”
“Ms Wong has agreed to speak to my analysts here in Washington. What we’re going to do is use her seismic data, and combine it with the data we have here: road conditions, traffic patterns, audio and visual input. As I understand it, there are only a few of these ETS hotspots that this boy might go to – we’re going to crunch the data and work out his most likely destination.”
“OK. But how is that gonna help find him before he gets there?”
“It’s not.”
“I’m sorry?
“There’s no point. We’re stretched thin as it is. I don’t have the manpower to set up roadblocks, even if we knew what route he was taking.”
“You can’t just figure it out?”
“Not with the available data. And not without people asking awkward questions.”
“So you’re just going to let this… this monster wander up and down the West Coast? Have you lost your fucking mind?”
“And what would you like me to do, Ms Frost? We are trying to find a single, tiny fish in a very large ocean. This isn’t a normal manhunt – we are working with a shortened timescale here. We could spend hours hunting for the child, or we could—”
“Just start looking in vehicles.” The cabin swims in front of me, as if the beer has gone right to my head. She can’t seriously be suggesting this. She can’t. “He’s not exactly going to walk there, right? He must have… gotten a ride from somewhere, or…”
“Is he in a car? A truck? What if he somehow managed to talk his way onto a supply helicopter? Is he taking the Interstate, or sticking to the back roads? Perhaps he stayed in Los Angeles, or even found sea transport. We don’t know. All we can do is make an informed prediction about where he’s going to be. That’s much more effective than trying to spread ourselves across an entire coastline. From what Ms Wong says, he’ll almost certainly want to be deep into an ETS zone before he triggers Cascadia, which means we have a little bit of room to play with.”
An uncomfortable thought surfaces: why is she telling me this? Not to be blunt, but why does she need me at all, right now?
“But you’re going to stop him?” I say. “Right?”
“Yes.”
“Kill him?”
A long pause. “I trust Ms McCormick. And I’ve been told what happened to Mr Marino.”
And there it is.
“Look,” I say slowly. I don’t even know how I should phrase this, but I can’t let it happen without at least trying to stop it. Not after what happened with Carlos. Not after I couldn’t save him. I’m not letting someone else die on my watch. “He’s just a kid,” I say. “He’s bad news, but you can’t just kill him.”
Annie snaps her head towards me, her eyes narrowing in fury. She has every right to be angry, but I can’t just agree to murdering a kid. It’s the worst thing I can imagine.
“If I could just talk to him…” I say.
“Ms Frost.” And now there�
�s something else in Tanner’s voice. Something I haven’t heard before. Not frustration, or fury. A kind of thin desperation. “We don’t have a choice. With the evidence in question, we have to act. I’m not going to risk thousands of lives—”
“But we don’t know where he came from! This isn’t like Jake. This wasn’t one of my parents’ mistakes that turned out to have worked after all. This is something new. What if there are more kids like him?”
“That’s a secondary consideration. Neutralising him is our only job here. Please understand that I don’t take decisions like this lightly. I can’t afford to.”
Oh.
Oh, hell no.
This is why she wanted to talk to me.
It makes me want to throw up the beer I just drank. Either that, or go back to the galley and down the rest as fast as possible.
“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”
“If your information is accurate—”
“Do you understand what we’ve been through today? What we’ve had to deal with?” I do everything I can not to look at Annie, but it happens anyway.
“I know what you think of me,” Tanner is saying. “I am aware you find dealing with me unpleasant, and that you disagree with my methods. I don’t care. I am in my current role because I have the capacity to make extremely difficult decisions without regret, or remorse. This is one of them.”
She takes a breath, as if steadying herself. “But if that decision involves taking the life of a child, then I have to do everything in my power to make sure that the person who pulls the trigger is aiming at the right child. I will not risk shooting an innocent boy – not for anything, not for one second. Can you understand that, Ms Frost? Whatever you think of me, will you at least believe that I want to do this right?”
“And you want me to… what, identify him?”
“You and Ms Cruz, yes. You’re the only ones who’ve seen this boy – well, Ms Wong too, but I believe you and Ms Cruz will suffice. Wong’s a civilian, and I would prefer her involvement to be limited.”
