She’d been upfront with Byron. She’d never lied about how things worked. She might have omitted some things. She might not have mentioned the glorious death she was supposed to have or Bonita’s warnings about waning luck. But those were all details. He didn’t need to know everything.
Tia busied herself flipping through an inflight magazine.
“Oh, shut up,” said Connie.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Yeah, but you were thinking it.”
“What I was thinking was how the hell does a cutting-edge supersonic aircraft not have a single magazine published within this decade?”
Connie let the subject drop, and Tia didn’t press. They passed the rest of the flight in silence, reading dusty celebrity gossip and irrelevant fashion tips.
Once the aircraft set down, they were whisked away to the base, where they were greeted by Apollonia, who wasted no time escorting them to Larry’s last known location. They passed through several security checkpoints, three blast doors, dozens of cameras, armed patrols, and a small army of flying monitor drones.
“How the hell did you lose him?” asked Connie.
“We don’t know,” said Apollonia.
“You have to have some idea.”
“We’ve recorded no breaches. It’s impossible for him to exit the compound without leaving some record. We know everything. We could tell you how many rats are in this facility right now.”
“How many?” asked Tia.
Apollonia nodded to an administrative minion in a green jumpsuit.
“Four, ma’am. Although one of them is pregnant and about to give birth to eleven in two days,” said the assistant.
“Wow. I thought you were exaggerating for effect,” said Tia.
“No, ma’am. The rats currently have a nest in the heating system of subfloor B, where the males scavenge food from the garbage chutes. The female has fashioned a nest made of sixty percent newspaper scraps, thirteen percent foam insulation, with the remaining twenty-seven percent comprised of indiscriminate refuse. The female weighs somewhere between—”
“That’s more than enough,” said Apollonia. “As you can see, we run a very tight operation here.”
“And yet you still lost him,” said Connie. “Congratulations. Aren’t you supposed to be his bodyguard?”
“Aren’t you supposed to be his friend?” replied Apollonia coldly. “If you are so concerned about Lord Peril’s safety, then where were you?”
“I thought you could handle keeping an eye on him. My mistake.”
Apollonia stopped, whirled around, and glared down at Connie. “You can criticize or you can help us find him.” She pointed toward a door. “This is his room. It’s the last place anyone saw him.”
“What am I supposed to be looking for?”
“You’re the master detective.” Apollonia pushed a button, and the door swished open. She folded her arms. “You tell us.”
Larry’s quarters were out of place among the sterile steel functionality of everywhere else. Framed posters of classic movies decorated the walls. Larry had always loved screwball comedies. Cary Grant and Irene Dunne had always been particular favorites. That hadn’t changed over the years, apparently.
The living area was messier than she would’ve expected. Larry had always been a tidy guy, a habit he’d picked up from his mother, who had a pathological distaste for disorder. Lady Peril once executed a minion for failing to button his jumpsuit properly.
Connie pointed to a beer on the end table. “Have that analyzed.”
“Already did, ma’am,” said the clipboard minion. “Nothing peculiar. Just beer. We returned it after analysis to help with your investigation. There is a margin of error of two milliliters, if that should matter.”
They went to the sleeping area. The bed was unmade, but Connie was assured that Larry never made it. She picked up a framed photo of Larry, Connie, and Tia, barely twenty, taken inside Base-13, the secret outpost on the dark side of the moon. She handed the photo to Tia.
“I can’t believe we were ever that young,” said Tia. “Where does the time go?”
“It gets eaten by the chronovore,” said Connie, “the giant maw that consumes old time to keep the universe running.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I know.”
Connie took back the photo. They were just kids. It seemed like it would go on forever then, just like that. But it never did. Everything ended. She’d met more than one immortal who’d shared that truth. There was no such thing as forever. There were just the moments in time.
“Remember how pissed Lady Peril was when Larry helped us escape?” asked Tia.
Connie smiled. He’d always been a good kid. Considering his mother, that was saying something.
And now he was missing.
She set the photo down and studied the others on the wall. There was one of Lady Peril, a tall, thin, pale woman in a black lab coat standing beside her five-year-old son, glaring down at him disapprovingly, though she disapproved of most everything, so it didn’t mean much. A smiling Larry held Lady Peril’s hand, which she tolerated. A family portrait that summarized their relationship nicely.
There was a photo of Larry with Connie, taken as they hid out at a seedy hotel in Moscow. Another photo of Connie alone, her profile staring off into the distance, lit by the fading light of a dying neutron bomb in the horizon.
“There are a lot of photos of you,” said Tia, waving at a few others.
“Not that many,” replied Connie. “These are probably old, anyway.”
“Actually, Lord Peril asked that these particular photos be placed at all his places of abode,” said the clipboard minion.
“Thank you,” said Connie through clenched teeth.
It didn’t mean anything. They were only memories of the good ol’ days. That’s what she told herself.
“How do we know he wasn’t just teleported out of here?” asked Tia. “It’s not like that’s outside the realm of possibility. Or disintegrated? Or fell into a wormhole?”
“Our analysis shows no sign of any of that,” said the clipboard.
“You can scan for that?”
“Yes, ma’am. There are always traces left behind. A sweep showed the normal amount of lingering genetic particulate, no tachyon or other meta-particle readings, no residual waveform disturbances in the local space-time field. There’s always the possibility we could’ve missed something, but statistically, if Lord Peril left this room, he did so via conventional methods.”
“He walked,” said Tia.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Or he was carried,” said Connie. “But there’s no sign of a struggle, and if he was subdued and taken against his will, they’d still have to get past security.”
She sat on the bed, took in the room. It wasn’t much. The furnishings were simple, and aside from the photos and posters, there wasn’t much to make it a home. Barely a home away from home.
“Why is he in here?” she asked. “He is Mastermind of Siege Perilous. This can’t be where he’s supposed to be.”
“Lady Peril’s quarters were offered to him,” said Apollonia. “He insisted he stay here.”
“And that didn’t strike you as suspicious?”
“It’s Larry. He’s not a traditional Mastermind, and I assumed he didn’t want to mess anything up when Lady Peril . . .”
Apollonia’s voice trailed off.
Connie completed the thought. “When Lady Peril returned.”
Apollonia shrugged.
“Is she alive or dead?” asked Connie.
“Could anyone reasonably be expected to guess?” said Apollonia.
“So, you don’t know?” asked Connie.
Apollonia said, “I can’t answer that.”
“So, you do know?” said Tia.
“Can we stick to Larry? Have you figured out what happened to him yet?”
Connie went to the bookshelf and ran her fingers along the spines
. “It’s not like it’s a switch I can flip. I’m not some cartoon detective who says Elementary and then solves the whole thing.”
She paused at a copy of A Wrinkle in Time. It’d been her favorite book for a long time, possibly because it seemed so easy to relate to as a kid.
She pulled a book from the shelf. It caught halfway with a soft click as the shelf swung aside to reveal a secret room.
“Well, shit.” She shook her head. “That doesn’t negate my point.”
“That shouldn’t be there,” said clipboard.
The secret room was big enough for a person. A ladder leading upward. Connie knelt down and picked up a lake-monster magnet sitting on the floor. She pocketed the magnet before anyone else noticed. They climbed the ladder that led to a tunnel that zigzagged below the ground, exiting well away from the secret compound and prying eyes. Tire tracks behind a bush that led to the nearby road.
“Mystery solved.”
“Someone sneaked into a secret tunnel that nobody knew was there, drugged Larry or something, and hauled him back out of that same tunnel?” said Tia. “Why would anyone do that?”
“They didn’t,” replied Connie. “Larry left on his own.”
“Impossible,” said Apollonia. “Lord Peril knows the importance of his work. He wouldn’t abandon it.”
Connie knew where all the evidence pointed, and until some new facts presented themselves, she didn’t see any point in arguing.
“I don’t know what you’re upset about,” said Connie. “With Larry jumping ship, you’re free to go back to henchagenting for someone more to your liking.”
Apollonia, surprisingly, did not look happy. She never looked happy, but she looked less happy than she ever had before. “The damned idiot should know better than to run off on his own. His mother is going to kill me,” grumbled Apollonia. “If she’s still alive,” she added.
“Well, good luck with all that,” said Connie.
“We’re not going to help them find Larry?” asked Tia.
“Yes, you must have some unique insight into Larry’s state of mind,” said Apollonia.
Connie said, “I really don’t know the guy that well. No idea where he’d go after this.”
“Bull,” said Apollonia. “You just don’t want to help.”
“No, I really don’t.” Connie balled her hands into fists. “And I don’t have to. I promised to help Larry, not you. If Larry wants to be on his own, I’m going to respect that.”
Apollonia raised a hand as if to poke a finger in Connie’s chest. Tia stepped back, expecting it to come to blows any moment now, but Apollonia stopped short of the poke.
“Do you know how many people want Larry dead now? Are you willing to leave him out there unprotected?”
“His choice,” replied Connie. “I’ve got a life of my own. Come on, Tia. We’re leaving.”
Apollonia stood in Connie’s way.
“All right, here’s the deal,” said Connie. “As much as I’d love to shove those glasses down your throat, you’re probably the only person in Siege Perilous who seems to have Larry’s back. With all the resources at your disposal, you should be able to find him before anything bad happens. If you can’t, then it’s a good bet no one else will either, and I’m not about to screw up his clean getaway.”
“You know where he is,” said Apollonia.
Connie folded her arms and stared down the towering Amazon. “I can’t answer that, but I sure as hell can kick your ass if you really need me to.”
Scowling, Apollonia stepped aside and started issuing orders to the administrator. Connie and Tia walked away.
“But you do know where he is?” whispered Tia.
Connie pulled the lake-monster magnet from her pocket. “I might have an idea.”
21
Standing on Hiro’s doorstep, Byron held up a pair of paper bags with a smiling cow on them. “I brought burgers.”
Hiro gestured for Byron to come inside.
“I didn’t know if you liked yours any special way,” said Byron.
“Extra pickles, no mustard.” Hiro grabbed a bag. “But I’ll take it.”
He loped across the room on a crutch and a broken leg. Somehow, he still moved more smoothly than Byron ever had in his life. Hiro sat on the sofa, rifled through the bag with his fully functioning arm, and ate a handful of fries.
“Grab a beer from the fridge, would you? And one for yourself while you’re at it.”
Byron found a pair of imported beers and sat in a recliner as Hiro peeled back the wrapper and took a bite. Smiling, he chewed.
“I know I’m supposed to be a sophisticated man of the world, but damn it, there’s nothing like a good fast food burger.”
Byron’s burger sat unopened on his lap.
“Aren’t you eating?” asked Hiro.
“Not really hungry.” Byron set the burger on the coffee table.
Hiro nodded. “You look like a man with a lot on his mind. I was surprised when you called. Pleasantly surprised. How’d you get my number?”
“Tia gave it to me. In case of emergencies.”
“And is this an emergency?” asked Hiro with a slight grin.
“I don’t know. I just wanted to talk to somebody about this thing with me and Connie, and I figured you’d be the best guy for that.”
Hiro’s face dropped. “Why would you figure that?”
“I’m not an idiot. I know you and Connie have a history. She’s never said so, but it’s obvious by watching the two of you. And she changes the subject whenever you come up.”
“Does she, now?” Hiro tossed a fry in the air and caught it in his mouth. “Am I the topic of conversation often?”
“So, you were a thing,” asked Byron.
“If this comes up, I want you to tell Connie, for the record, that you figured it out all on your own, but yes, we were a thing. Several on-again, off-again things. More than just a thing, I’d like to think.”
Byron said, “Isn’t that a bit weird now that you’re dating her best friend?”
“Sometimes, but whatever Connie and I had was a long time ago, before Tia. It does confuse things now and then. But I’d like to think we’re mature enough to deal with it.”
“You and Tia never fight about it?”
Hiro cracked open a beer and propped his broken leg on the chair. “You didn’t come here to talk about my relationship with Tia.”
“No, I didn’t.” Byron grabbed a knickknack off the end table and tossed it back and forth with nervous energy. “But if it’s strange to talk to you about this—”
“It’s not strange. Connie is an unusual woman. You’re hoping I might offer some insight into her recent behavior.”
Byron clutched the knickknack in tight fingers. It snapped in two. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. Just a little souvenir I picked up at the British Museum.”
Byron examined the broken image of Nekhbet, the vulture goddess. “You might be able to glue it back together.”
“Hardly worth the trouble. It’s not as if it’s irreplaceable. There are at least six or seven left in the world.”
“I could pay for it.”
Hiro chuckled. “No, you couldn’t, but these things happen. If there’s one thing you learn in my profession, it’s that people place way too much value on material objects. Not that I’m complaining. It’s been a lucrative flaw to exploit. But back to Connie. I assume she’s become distant, distracted of late?”
“Yes.”
“Always away? Always finding excuses to run off and save the world?”
“Yes.”
“Classic Connie. Could practically set your watch to it.”
“Is that why things never worked out between you two?” asked Byron.
“First of all, what Connie and I had was different than what you and she have. Our relationship was daring escapades and thrilling exotic locations. I’m the greatest ninja-slash-thief in the world. You’re . . . What a
re you again?”
Byron lowered his head and mumbled. “Accountant.”
“Really?”
Hiro took a drink of beer and contemplated Byron.
“An accountant? Really?”
Hiro rubbed his chin as his brow wrinkled.
“You wouldn’t happen to be an accountant for the mob or a shadow government agency?”
“No.”
Hiro shrugged. “Takes all kinds, I suppose.”
“This was a dumb idea.”
“We don’t know each other well, so I’ll just apologize for being me. But I like you, and I do want to help. Drink your beer. We’ll figure this out. So, what’s happening?”
“It’s like you said. It feels like Connie is finding excuses to not be around. I can’t be certain. Her job has always made her schedule unpredictable.”
Hiro said, “I had the same problem when I dated a ninja-slash-assassin. She’d disappear for weeks at a time, only to show up unannounced in the middle of night for a quickie. Then she started leaving stuff in my bathroom, toothbrush, curare extract, tampons. Poked myself in the ass sitting on her favorite yanmaodao, but heaven forbid we talk about what we’re doing.”
His face twisted in a mocking expression. “Why do you have to put a label on everything, Hiro?”
He downed his beer and, despite his broken leg, jumped off and over the couch to limp to the kitchen and grab a new one. He returned, grumbling.
“Sorry. This isn’t about me. Go on.”
“Maybe I’m being paranoid,” said Byron.
“Maybe,” agreed Hiro. “Except you’re not. I’ve seen it. Hell, I’ve lived it, buddy. Do you want to know why Connie and I never worked?”
“We’re talking about you again?”
“No, we’re talking about me and Connie. If you ask Connie why it didn’t work, she’ll tell you it’s because of my betrayals, but that’s bullshit, just an excuse.”
“I would imagine betrayals would usually be a deal-breaker,” said Byron.
“Maybe in the circles of accountancy-slash-human resources manager, but not in our world. See, the thing that Connie never admits is that she always betrayed me first.”
“That doesn’t sound like Connie,” said Byron.
Constance Verity Saves the World Page 18
