V-Day

by Cooper-Posey, Tracy

  Suicide by Armed Agent.

  Daniel shook his head. “I only have Vistarian currency on me, although I bet you five hundred the control room isn’t at Los Alamitos.”

  Rosa gave a tight, hard laugh. “No bet. They screwed him, coming and going, the poor bastard. He thought he would be the savior of a nation and all along they were going to detonate right on top of him.” She put her gun away.

  Finally, other agents were hurrying along the corridor. Daniel realized that barely sixty seconds had elapsed since he’d taken the man down. Time did tend to telescope when in the thick of things.

  Rosa met Daniel’s gaze once more. “These Insurrectos…they have no morals. No principles. They’d sell out their mother to win.”

  “That sums them up nicely,” Daniel admitted.

  The other agents surrounded them, speaking into their microphones, reporting the situation, taking directions.

  Rosa’s gaze didn’t shift from Daniel. “If you have need of a one-armed combatant down there, call me. I’ll come running.”

  “Don’t take it personal, Rosa,” Daniel said. “You’ll screw up your chi.”

  She shook her head, looking down at Doug Mulray as the other agents scooped him up. “It’s not personal. It’s practical. The world doesn’t need people like that in charge of anything.”

  Daniel sighed. “I hear you.” He glanced at his watch. “Can you escort me out of the White House so I don’t have to answer five thousand questions? I want to go find my wife and get the hell out of Dodge. There’s a war waiting for me.”

  9.

  IT WAS HARD TO FOCUS. Calli blinked her eyes and opened them wide, trying to bring her thoughts together. Her vision filled with swirls and colored flourishes. A deep black pond of calmness smothered every emotion, so even the difficulty of not being able to see properly didn’t bother her. Nor did her predicament.

  She was lying on an antique brass bed with a patchwork coverlet. Her wrists were handcuffed to each corner. The silk robe she wore barely covered her, and she was naked beneath it.

  Annamaria and four of her women had piled upon Calli, holding her down. Annamaria had injected her with…something. They sat on her for the five minutes it took for the injection to kick in. Once the black still pond spread through her, the women had stripped her and put her in this robe. Then they had walked her through the bordello to this cozy nineteenth century styled bedroom and cuffed her to the bed. Her legs would not cooperate much, although she could lift them and move them forward if she concentrated.

  It meant if she concentrated, she might be able to do other things.

  Calli wasn’t sure why she needed to do other things. It would be easier just to rest here and let the calm cover her. She could get back to thinking later.

  There was no sense of panic. No emotions got through, although she seemed to be able to think clearly. It just took time to process things. Every thought was interesting because it was completely objective.

  The door opened and the white-haired man stepped through and shut it again. He was smiling.

  Ibarra, Calli recalled, the name coming to her at treacle speed.

  He wore only his uniform shirt and pants. No belt, no boots, no tie.

  Nothing that could be used against him. The thought popped up as he moved over to the bed, examining her. He was still smiling.

  “I am privileged, tonight,” he said, reaching for the button at the top of his trousers.

  Calli watched him open the trousers, registering that the fabric wasn’t even a decent quality twill. Cheap-shit cotton only. Probably made in a Chinese sweatshop.

  The indignation the thought should have generated didn’t arrive.

  Ibarra settled on the bed beside her and rested his hand on her middle, just below her breasts. His fingers stroked. “I have been looking forward to this for many days now,” he told her.

  He’s going to fuck me. Like every other thought, this one was pure fact, devoid of stress. Calli turned her head enough to look at him, at the pure white hair and the mad eyes.

  He isn’t Nick.

  Some entity in her mind nodded in agreement. Yes, he was not Nick.

  No one but Nick should touch me this way.

  Pure fact. Yet incontrovertible. The conclusion was also inescapable. Ibarra was not about to stop, so, because this could not be permitted, she must stop him. Only, her hands were not available. What else could she use, instead?

  The pure thinking machine which was her mind ticked over and discarded possibilities. The lack of emotion made it easy to assess each possibility quickly, without getting hung up on the horror of it all.

  The observer in the corner of her mind whispered that there would be plenty of horror later. Only that was for later, she argued back, as she discarded all but one line of action, requiring only two steps, both using the tools which were available.

  As Ibarra leaned over her and tugged the belt of the robe undone, as the silk slithered off her body and exposed her, she raised her head, clamped her teeth on his ear and ripped.

  That was step one.

  *

  CAPTAIN PARRIS GRAVES SHOOK HER head, her jaw rock-hard. “This is not a sight-seeing tour! I am not taking a single other civilian! Period!”

  It was the first time Chloe had seen Parris Graves appear anything other than completely contained. She had a feeling Parris would seem just as controlled when under fire yet dealing with civilians was popping her cork.

  Chloe glanced at Parris’ red hair and hid her smile. There was a natural hot temper under all that discipline.

  Isabela Peña crossed her arms, her two daughters on either side of her. “It is my house you will be raiding for supplies. If you do not take me with you, I will consider your raid an act of burglary and will file charges.”

  Parris’ mouth dropped open. Her men, Chloe noted, had withdrawn along the gully and stood with their backs to the tight circle around Parris. They were letting their commander take care of the silly civilians.

  Isabela turned to Cristián, visibly dismissing Parris Graves. “You must take me with you. Pia and Trini, too, for they can help. They have helped. You would not have been able to feed these people if not for us.”

  Cristián didn’t speak. He rubbed at the back of his neck and Chloe watched him sympathetically. He was a good Vistarian man. He didn’t want to disobey his mother.

  “We can help again,” Isabela added. “And I want to see my house. I want to see what the pigs have done to it.”

  “That’s it,” Parris said. “We are not on a domestic rescue mission. Cristián…?” She looked at him, expecting him to pull his mother back into line. Which was smart of her, Chloe decided. Parris had picked up on the power lines immediately and knew Cristián was the only person who could reason Isabela into staying behind.

  Chloe’s phone vibrated against her hip. Astonished, she pulled it from her pocket, glancing at the charge as she brought it up to her ear. The number was not known to her, and the battery was at nine percent. She had forgotten to power it down after checking for messages this morning. This call, which was likely a wrong number, would kill the battery. She really hoped Pia’s solar-whatever would do the job.

  “Hello?”

  Isabela was talking volubly again. Chloe tuned her out so she could hear the call.

  “Chloe, this is Daniel Castellano. You know the name?”

  Cristián’s sort-of brother. “You married Olivia a few days ago,” Chloe said.

  “Yes. Have you found Cristián yet? Is he there with you? I need to speak to him urgently and he’s not answering his phone.”

  Chloe marveled at the man’s grasp of current affairs. He was somewhere on the island, or maybe in the States—no one was entirely sure, including Minnie, who was supposed to be on top of that sort of detail. Despite his remote location Daniel seemed to know everything about her affairs…and they had never met.

  She held the phone out to Cristián. “It’s for you,” she said, fe
eling winded.

  The heated conversation halted, as everyone looked at Cristián, astonished.

  Cristián took the phone and Chloe thought that perhaps he welcomed the timely call. It took the heat off him for a moment or two, at least.

  “The battery is nearly dead,” Chloe warned him. “Finish quick.”

  Cristián nodded and turned away, bringing the phone to his ear. “Hello?...Danny!” He listened, his back to everyone.

  Parris looked at Chloe. “Danny? Daniel Castellano?”

  “You know him?”

  “I know about everyone mixed up in this business,” Parris said shortly. “It’s my job to know. Why does he want Cristián?”

  “I didn’t want to use up the battery asking,” Chloe told her.

  “We were just heading there now,” Cristián said into the phone, his tone sharp.

  Parris’ brow lifted.

  “Tell me…No, I’ll remember,” Cristián added, with a sharp note in his voice which made even Isabela consider her son curiously.

  “Got it,” Cristián said, with the same crisp note. “If it’s there, I’ll spot it…Daniel?” He turned back around and held the phone out to Chloe. “It’s officially dead now, sorry.” He looked at Graves. “They just took out some guy in the White House who was in on it. The guy said the control room was in Los Alamitos, which makes Danny think it’s at the base in Pascuallita, for all the same reasons I do. He knows the inside of the base. He narrowed down the possibilities. That’ll make finding the location far easier.”

  Parris frowned. “We’ve delayed long enough over this stupid business. Let’s go.” She put on her helmet once more.

  Isabela crossed her arms once more. “Cristián?”

  Parris considered them. Her gaze settled on Cristián.

  “You need me,” he told her.

  Parris rolled her eyes. “They’re passengers, Cristián! You want your mother and sisters killed because you’re too soft hearted to say no?”

  Cristián’s expression didn’t change yet Chloe saw the little tic start in his temple. “They can die stuck in this gully as fast as they can en route.”

  “It’s bad enough dragging Chloe into this—” Parris began.

  “Chloe can take care of herself. I’m not worried about her,” Cristián said calmly.

  “You’re armed?” Parris said, whirling to face Chloe.

  Chloe crossed her arms as Isabela was doing. It was an effective defensive posture. “If I answer that, you’ll take any weapons I might have from me.”

  Parris considered her, her eyes narrowed. “Convince me you know how to use it and won’t shoot one of my men in the back accidently, then I might let you keep it.”

  Chloe hesitated. “Three years of marksmanship training. Junior champion, two years in a row.” It was vague enough to not give away anything yet had enough detail it might let Parris back off.

  Parris considered her. “Whatever,” she said at last. “I don’t have time to frisk you and I don’t think Stretch, there, would let me.”

  Cristián grinned. “Nope,” he said softly.

  Warmth built in Chloe’s chest.

  Parris settled her helmet once more, her gaze on Chloe. “At least, I’ll let him think he couldn’t stop me.” She winked with the eye farthest from Cristián’s view and whirled away. “We’re out of here.” She looked at Isabela and her daughters. “Keep up with us, you hear? A moan, a single complaint, and I’ll tie you to a tree and leave you for the monkeys.”

  The rest of her team picked up their packs and threaded their arms into them as she strode toward them.

  Chloe shoved her dead phone into her backpack, and shrugged the backpack into place and paused, for Cristián was watching her.

  “What?” she demanded.

  “You put your pack on the same way the soldiers do,” he said, his voice remote.

  “I guess that’s kinda to be expected, huh?”

  “You told me the name of the place,” he said. “You told me all about your time there. I didn’t process that you really went through it, until just now.”

  “You mean, about the pistol?”

  “The pistol, the pack, the way you speak to Graves. It’s pure military speak.”

  Chloe shuddered.

  “Hurry up, Cristián!” Parris yelled from the end of the gulley.

  They jog trotted to catch up with Parris’ men and the three women, who were scrambling to keep up with the unit.

  The place. Even in Cristián’s mind, it was “the place”.

  She wondered if he felt the same frisson of horror she did whenever The Place was mentioned.

  *

  CHLOE WAS FOUR YEARS OLD when she realized she was different—and not in a good way—from the people around her. With her burgeoning intellect, she intuited that she startled adults far too often when she spoke to them. They had a way of drawing from her as if she was somehow unclean.

  It was grown-ups’ odd reactions which made her hide from everyone but her mother, Jessica, that she had taught herself to read. She used the few books sitting on the dusty mantelshelf above the closed-over fireplace. Her wariness did not blossom into full blown caution until later. By then, she had already been labeled a prodigy.

  Being called a prodigy made no difference at all to her life. No one told Chloe—although by the time she was eight, she figured it out for herself. There was no money for special schooling and there were few books around for her to read.

  The one difference was that Jessica’s mother, EllaJean, came to live with them. Chloe’s special talent was mathematics and science, so it took a few days for her to discover that EllaJean’s gift was for languages and music—she knew twenty-seven distinct languages, which she inhaled like vapor. EllaJean had never owned a single book. She learned by observing and talking to people.

  Chloe stopped going to school after that. EllaJean took over her education, and they spent half their time in the public library and the other half walking around Richmond, watching and learning. Everything came to Chloe easily. She didn’t have to work for anything at all, which would be a problem later. When she graduated junior high school at eleven years of age, Jessica was astounded. Chloe figured it was completely natural.

  Then her mother died in a traffic accident and Chloe’s education was almost permanently halted.

  EllaJean was permitted to continue caring for her, only EllaJean was already old and even though her mind was still sharp, Chloe found it easy to fool her. By the time Chloe was thirteen, she was no longer a virgin. Bars were easy pickings, men made absolute fools of themselves over a sweet young thing, which made booze, and more, easy to come by.

  She stole money for clothes and makeup, told everyone she was seventeen, which they believed without a quiver because her responses and behavior were all those of an almost-adult.

  It was fun. It was distracting. She didn’t have to think about her mother even once in those handful of years.

  Then she was caught shoplifting. She’d had to face her grandmother and look her in the eye as the welfare officer laid out the clothes, liquor and shoes upon the kitchen table which had been stuffed behind the false back of Chloe’s closet.

  That was when she was sent to The Place.

  Three years later, when Chloe found the group and Shadow, she had told them a great deal about the Place, except for the identifiable facts. Anonymity helped everyone feel secure revealing their true natures. She had been frank about how much of a shock the Place was for her. After a lifetime of coasting and expecting things to fall into her lap because of her smarts, she suddenly had to work to meet expectations.

  She couldn’t tell them everything because it would let them figure out who she was and what the Place was.

  Not until she reached the big house on the beach north of Acapulco and for the first time got to see Cristián on her screen, was she free to speak about the Place and actually name it.

  That first time!

  Daniel had d
elivered Harry’s Cloak to Cristián’s house, which allowed them to use the full Internet resources available and speak to each other face to face. At eight o’clock that night, their standard check-in time, Chloe had tapped into Google Hangouts and connected with Cristián.

  As she waited for him to answer the call, Chloe sat on the edge of her chair, vibrating.

  She had never allowed herself to even search for a picture of Cristián before, just in case her searching alerted the Insurrectos. She had no idea what he looked like.

  Would the same deep connection they felt still be there when they were looking each other in the eye?

  The screen fizzed, then the video kicked in.

  Cristián. Black hair, pale olive skin, wire-rimmed glasses, thin cheeks.

  His eyes… Dark gray. Not black. They were beautiful.

  For nearly ninety seconds they simply looked at each other.

  “This is so…” Chloe whispered.

  “All of it,” he breathed. He drew in a deep breath and let it out. “You’re…gorgeous.”

  Delight filled her. “I’m a snotty X-Gen with privilege for blood.”

  Cristián shook his head. “We both know differently.” He hesitated. “This Cloak thing is really impenetrable?”

  “It really is.”

  “Then tell me.”

  “Tell you what?”

  “All of it. Everything about you that you’ve never been able to say before.” Again, the hesitation. “That Place,” he said, and from his tone she could hear the capital letter. “What was it?”

  Chloe shivered. “You didn’t guess? All this time?”

  “I guessed,” he admitted. “I was probably wrong. In my mind it was Shawshank Prison.”

  She smiled. “Almost. New York Military Academy.”

  “Military. Oh, sweet lord….”

  “EllaJean had old-fashioned ideas. She thought the discipline might work. The welfare officer wanted to send me to juvenile detention. EllaJean talked her around.”

  He studied her. “No wonder you hated it so much. I know what the military is like. Everyone in Vistaria knows the military,” he added. “It’s tough as shit and they don’t give a damn about how smart you are.”