“Fuck!” Liam slammed his laptop shut, threw it to the ground, and sent his boot cracking against the hardened shell with enough force to shatter plastic. Still, he kept stomping until the base cracked open and he could kick the battery aside. Asanti’s letter opener stopped sparking as soon as the computer died with a final sputter and shriek of tortured electronics.
“What happened?” asked Menchú.
Liam wiped his brow. “Well, they definitely know we’re in the city.”
“Did you find it?” asked Sal.
Liam nodded. “Opie wasn’t bluffing. They can make their own books.” Then he grinned. “But I know where.”
Sal let out the breath she had been holding. She could see her own resolution reflected in Menchú and Liam’s faces. Grace’s expression was even more impassive than usual. Asanti’s eyes glittered with excitement.
• • •
For Frances, the hours in the Society’s infirmary passed in alternation between fitful sleep and undifferentiated quiet. A few of Asanti’s other archival assistants came by to see her, but none of them stayed for long. Frances wasn’t sorry to see them go. It wasn’t just because of the way that they assiduously avoided looking at the bottom of her bed. She didn’t want to see anyone. She didn’t want to talk about what happened. She really didn’t want to talk about how everything was going to be fine and she would be back in the Archives before she knew it.
Even if she believed that everything was going to be fine, the one fact she was sure of was that everything had changed. She had changed. At a fundamental level, she felt like she no longer knew herself. It was all she could think about, and every time she did, she wanted to cry.
A nurse came in to check her blood sugar and added something to her IV. Almost instantly, Frances could feel her brain floating and her limbs grow heavy.
“What are you doing?” she slurred.
The man smiled at her. “It’s something to help you sleep.”
Frances had been sleeping for hours already. Or had it been days?Why don’t they want me to be awake? “I don’t need it,” she protested.
“Don’t worry,” he said as she drifted away. “You’re going to be fine.”
She barely had time to think—But I’m not fine—before she was unconscious.
It felt like only seconds had passed, but when she opened her eyes again, the lights in the hall had dimmed for nighttime and unremembered dreams pressed at the back of her mind. Then she heard the creak of a wooden chair and Frances realized she was not alone.
She fumbled with the light beside the bed. The IV tubes and the aftermath of the drugs made her clumsy, but soon another hand came, caught her fingers, helped her twist the brass key to turn on the lamp. Frances squinted in the sudden wash of yellow light, blinking until she could see her visitor. Of all the people she might have expected, Monsignor Fox was nowhere on the list.
“Do you need some water?” he asked. Frances shrank back at his voice, but he didn’t move again. She wanted to tell him to leave. She licked her lips and found her mouth glued together by sleep and spit. Slowly, she nodded.
She watched as he turned and filled a small glass from the pitcher that sat on the dresser by the wall. Perhaps due to Asanti’s low opinion of the man, Frances had always viewed Monsignor Fox as a muscle-bound mountain of rage and obstructionism. Now, seeing him close up for the first time, the comparison to a mountain was not unwarranted. However, engaged in a small domestic task, he seemed less like a monster than she had expected. Of course he isn’t a monster, she told herself. There’s only one monster in this room.
She accepted the cup and drank. The water unglued her mouth and tasted cool and fresh against her tongue. “Thank you.”
“Professional hazard of overseeing Team One—I’ve spent more than my share of time here. I don’t know if it’s the drugs or the air filters, but this place is drier than the devil’s dandruff.”
Frances didn’t know what she was supposed to say to that.
“May I sit?” Fox asked.
How long had he been sitting before she woke up? How could she stop him? What did he want? What would he do if she said no? As those thoughts raced through her brain, Fox turned back to the chair in the corner and brought it over to her bedside. He settled his bulk into it again, and it creaked. “I know you must be tired. But I need to know where Asanti and the others have gone.”
Frances tried to look surprised. “They aren’t here?”
Fox’s eyes narrowed. “I can respect your loyalty, but it is misplaced. Asanti and Team Three are away without authorization, in defiance of a general order to cease all activities and stand down. If they come back now, they might be able to salvage their careers. If Team One is ordered to bring them back by force, I can’t guarantee their survival.”
Frances lifted her chin. “That’s not how it worked out last time.”
Fox’s expression darkened. “I’m asking you nicely, but I don’t have to.”
Frances forced herself not to look away. Before she could speak, a voice from behind the monsignor asked, “Accosting a woman in her hospital bed in the middle of the night is asking nicely?”
“Sansone,” said Fox. “Don’t your spies ever sleep?”
“What spies? I came to check on a colleague.” Sansone stepped from the doorway into the spill of light by the bed. “As I imagine you were,” she added, tart words flung toward Fox with pinpoint precision.
If the barbs hit their target, Fox didn’t flinch. Frances watched the supervisor of Team One and the power of Team Two stare each other down in the tiny room. If she had been able to leave her bed, she would have slipped out to give them space. “What’s your game, Sansone?” asked Fox.
“I don’t have one.”
Fox snorted at that, but he also looked away first, turning back to Frances with the same concerned smile he’d had when he offered her a cup of water. “I’ll check back with you later. Think about what I’ve said.”
Sansone lingered until Frances could no longer hear Fox’s heavy tread fading down the hall.
“Go to sleep,” Sansone said, twisting off the light. “I’ll make sure you aren’t disturbed.” She stepped out into the hall and left Frances staring at the darkened ceiling. It was too late for Sansone’s reassurances, though. Frances was already disturbed.
• • •
In a forgotten basement in Belfast, Menchú could feel his team waiting for him to make a decision. He knew that if he did not give them a direction quickly, they would find their own paths and act with or without his say-so. They were nervous, resolute, excited, and it was time to put their talents and energy to work.
“Asanti, if we find the Network’s bookbinding operation, can you shut it down without Liam’s assistance?”
“I believe so.”
“Liam, can you—”
“I can make sure Christina stays out of your way.”
Menchú nodded. “I leave that to your initiative. Take Sal for backup. Grace, you and I will go with Asanti. We should all assume that magical interference will put us out of contact as soon as we’re in range of our respective targets, so our rendezvous will be in six hours. If there’s no word from the other half of the team in ten, contact Rome immediately and tell them everything.”
“Everything?” asked Sal.
“Everything,” said Menchú. “If we fail here, they have to know what they’re dealing with. Understood?”
Everyone did.
“Godspeed to us all.”
• • •
It was just past nine o’clock when the manhole cover behind the white rental van slipped out of place and five people climbed out of the Belfast sewers. The group split into two and exchanged no words before parting.
None of them failed to note that although dawn had long since passed, the sky above had taken on a pinkish tinge.
3.
When Frances woke again, the infirmary was lit for morning, and Sansone was still there. She was sta
nding by the door now, leaning as though she had only paused there for a moment. The nurse came in with Frances’s breakfast and left without the least flicker that he had noticed anyone else in the room. When they were alone again, Sansone spoke.
“I know you know where they are.”
“I wouldn’t tell you if I did.” Frances said it, but she did not feel in the least bit brave.
“I didn’t ask you to tell me,” Sansone said. She stared openly at Frances, not even making a pretense of avoiding the rumpled area under the blanket where her legs should have been. Frances imagined she could feel the weight of her gaze, and something under the blankets shifted. She wanted to throw up as she felt cool sheets slide over something that was, and at the same time definitely was not, her skin. “I imagine that if they’re doing what I think they are, the signs of their location will be more than obvious in the next few hours. Something that should have occurred to Fox if he had given the matter a moment’s thought.”
“Are you going to tell him?” Frances asked.
“No,” said Sansone.
“Why not?” asked Frances. She had expected the beginning of a negotiation, not … whatever this was.
Sansone did not answer immediately. Instead, she said, “Did you know that the position of certain members of the Society is that Grace should officially be classified as Church property? A useful tool, certainly, but not quite a person anymore.” Her eyes slid meaningfully to the bottom half of Frances’s bed.
“Is that a threat?” asked Frances.
Sansone shook her head. “Merely an observation.”
“And I’m supposed to believe you’re telling me this out of the goodness of your heart?”
“Believe what you like,” said Sansone. “Leadership is preoccupied at the moment, but … I think you’ll find that people can believe all kinds of things.”
She was gone before Frances could muster a reply.
• • •
Liam didn’t say much as they left the sewers behind, and Sal didn’t push him. Their first stop was the back door of a row house a few blocks from his bolt-hole. A minute’s pounding on the door brought forth a bleary-eyed man with enough of a family resemblance to Liam that Sal guessed he was one of the older brothers he had occasionally mentioned. At least, until they spoke to each other.
“Fuck you doing here?”
“Your kids still got that old laptop I lent them?”
“Yeah?”
“I need it back.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s an emergency, and I kicked my other one to bits.”
“You did wha—?”
“Oh. And I need to borrow the car.”
The man in the house blinked. Then he looked from Liam to Sal and back again. “No word for a year and then you turn up at this hour? Fuck what you need.”
He made to slam the door in their faces, but Liam planted one of his steel-toes in the way, jamming it open. This triggered another round of swearing on both sides. Sal was about to quietly suggest that maybe they find another place to resupply when Liam’s brother threw up his hands, muttered fuck a few more times, and released the door, allowing them into the kitchen.
He disappeared upstairs with more muttering while Liam helped himself to coffee. “That’s Michael,” he explained, as though this encounter had gone exactly as he had expected.
“Doesn’t seem like he’s your biggest fan.”
“I fell off the grid for years, then took a job on the Continent. He has to give me some shit when I show up asking for favors.”
“But he’ll help?”
Liam’s expression as he handed her a mug of coffee was difficult to parse. “Did you ever turn down your little brother when he was in trouble and knocking on your door?”
Since they both knew the answer to that, Sal didn’t reply, keeping her eyes on her coffee until Michael returned with the requested computer and car keys.
Once they were on the road headed out of the city, Sal found the news on the radio. Not hard, since every station was being interrupted with breaking reports of the strange color of the sky. No one had an explanation, but that didn’t stop local politicians and scientists from putting forward theories that ranged from global warming to some kind of massive art installation.
Liam grunted at that. “That’s a new one.”
“Maybe Sansone should try using it as a cover story sometime.”
“That woman would lie to Jesus Christ on Easter Sunday; she doesn’t need any new ideas.” A man on the radio vigorously opposed to public arts funding had left off about the sky and was now going on about the modern statuary recently placed at the airport. Sal took this as a sign that there wasn’t anything new to report. She snapped off the radio, and together they sank into quiet, broken only by the rattling of the ancient Škoda.
• • •
All in all, Hilary Sansone was not surprised when Fox appeared in her office a few hours after she had left Frances’s bedside.
“What are you playing at, Sansone?” he asked.
He had entered without invitation and closed the door behind him without permission. It was the sort of blunt power play that she expected of him, and she supposed it was reassuring when people lived up to their habits. Had Fox suddenly tried to turn subtle, she would have worried. However, since Sansone saw no need to share her thoughts on this point, she merely set aside her work and said, “That’s the wrong question.”
“Is it,” he said.
“Yes. I’m not playing at anything.”
Fox snorted.
“You, on the other hand … With Angiuli out of consideration, you’re the next logical choice for cardinal. Since you’ve made no secret of the fact that you want the job, I have to assume you’re here looking for my support and that you decided to barge into my office in a clumsy attempt to put me off-balance.”
Fox scowled at her. “You think you’re so smart.”
“Yes,” she said. “I also think you’re smart enough to know that if you’re going to head the Society, you’ll need the cooperation of those you wish to lead. The direct approach is fine for Shah and her people. Even if they don’t always like you, they respect the chain of command. On the other hand, you badgering poor Frances isn’t going to win you any points with Asanti or with me.”
“What makes you think I need to win any points with you?”
“If you didn’t want something from me, you wouldn’t be in my office,” she pointed out. “You aren’t a politician, so my guess is you’ve decided to recruit one at need rather than twist yourself into unnatural shapes to become one. Which would be flattering, but you seem to have forgotten that this is a situation in which you need me more than I need you.”
“Angling for a promotion yourself, then?” Fox asked.
“Don’t be absurd. I’m well aware of the limits on my avenues of advancement within the Church. Just as well I didn’t join the Society for a red hat and a fancy title.”
Fox’s eyes narrowed in calculation.
“Then why did you join?” he asked.
“That,” said Sansone, “is the correct question.”
4.
“You set up your former headquarters at an abandoned amusement park?” asked Sal.
Granted, amusement park was a bit of a stretch for the converted warehouse space. The place looked like it hadn’t been open for at least fifteen years, but even in its heyday she doubted that Lucky Fun Land—with its sparsely filled arcade, obviously warped bowling alley, and tiny roller rink—had been that much of a draw. As for the area tucked off in the corner behind the black walls accented with fluorescent-painted lines …
“Is that a laser tag arena?” Sal asked.
Liam barely looked up from his newly requisitioned laptop, its shell covered in stickers that had been cut and pasted together to portray an epic battle between unicorn-riding robots and blaster-wielding princesses. “Yup,” he said.
“Do I want to know why you have keys t
o this place?”
“Michael and some of his buddies set it up back in the ’90s.”
“As a front?”
Liam gave her a withering look. “Does it look like a front?”
Sal glanced up at the ceiling, a good forty feet above them. From the water stains on the concrete floor, she was faintly surprised she couldn’t see pink-tinged daylight. At least she hoped those were water stains. “Yes,” she said.
Liam didn’t bother to respond, and a few seconds later the screech of a dial-up modem connecting made Sal jump. “What the hell?!”
Liam grinned as he killed the volume on his speakers. “Good times.”
“Don’t tell me you’re going to hack into the Network’s virtual space over a phone line.”
A snort. “God, no.”
“Then what’s the plan? Lure Christina here and then make that noise at her until she agrees to give up her quest to network the human race into a giant server farm?”
“You’re thinking of The Matrix.”
“Whatever.”
As they talked, Liam had not stopped typing. He now hit Enter with a flourish. “Every time we’ve met the Network, we’ve been playing on their turf or on ground that they chose: the Night Market, the Silk Road, Middle Coom. It’s time for us to turn the tables.”
“Is this the kind of plan that Asanti would tell us was ‘extremely ill-advised?’”
“Probably.”
“Did you just send out a signal that Christina will be sure to notice, which will then basically dare her to come and find us?”
“Damn straight,” said Liam.
Sal took this in. “How long do you guess we have before she gets here?”
“About an hour. Maybe more, with traffic.”
“Time to set up some surprises?”
Liam smiled. “It’s like you know me.”
• • •
The coordinates that Liam had pulled out of the Network’s network led Asanti, Grace, and Menchú to a pack-and-mail shop in the city center. It was the kind of small business that provided half a dozen different services, from copies to phone cards, all advertised on posters that papered the front windows and served to completely obscure the view into the shop from the street. Menchú tried to keep an eye on the customers, but no one seemed to be going in and out. He wondered if there was some kind of magic or technology at work that allowed the location to go unnoticed by passersby. More likely, it was just the kind of shop that no one bothered to visit.
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