Seventy-One
The Grand Hotel, Pascal’s private suite
“Status report,” Pascal demanded.
“Mia’s still unconscious,” Gomez said. “They’re still working on the stranger in the Tank, but haven’t been able to get a word out of him.”
Pascal sighed. This had not been his day. “I’ll sleep here so I’m close at hand if anything changes. You’re to let me know immediately, is that clear?”
“Perfectly,” Gomez replied. “I’ll set up outside your door and instruct the command post to bring all news directly to me.”
“Notify me of the slightest development, even if I’m asleep.” God, he was tired. He looked at his watch, surprised it was still early evening. His usually impeccable sense of time had been perturbed. He hadn’t felt like himself since Mia had gone for Brandt’s gun.
“Shall I order food, sir?” Gomez suggested.
“Sure.”
Gomez looked at him expectantly, but Pascal waved him out. He didn’t care what kind of food. There was nothing that could fill the hollow that had formed in his gut when he realized he could have lost his son. Thank God Brandt had been there.
He slumped on the couch, feeling his years in every bone. He hated to admit it, but his mind wasn’t as agile as it used to be either. He’d identified Mia’s weapons as sex and manipulation, and completely missed the propensity for violence.
There was a knock and Gomez poked his head in.
“Dinner will be here soon. Did Brandt stop by in my absence?”
“No. Why?”
“I was supposed to show him to his new quarters. Strange he hasn’t shown. I’ll bring your food when it arrives.” Gomez vanished behind the door.
Pascal chastised himself. He rarely forgot anything. The brush this afternoon had rattled him. He looked at his watch again. Gomez was right to worry.
He visualized the puzzle and noted Brandt’s piece out of place. He shuffled the pieces, trying to form a picture that made sense. It kept coming back to the altercation with Mia. What had he missed? Something about it niggled at his memory.
Resting his head back on the sofa, he replayed the memory, slowing it to observe every detail. He thought he was close to an answer when Gomez placed dinner on the coffee table.
“Gomez, were Mia and Brandt acquainted prior to this afternoon?”
“I don’t know, but Ms. Ford might. She’s waiting to see you.”
“Send her in.” He ignored the plate of steaming pasta and stood to receive his guest.
Ellianna entered, poised and polished as always, looking much younger than her years. Pascal sighed, feeling his age all the more.
As soon as the door closed and they were alone, Ellianna’s composure crumbled. She fell into his arms sobbing. “My God, you could have been killed.”
Pascal was taken aback and held her at arm’s length. “I’m fine.”
Tears streamed down her cheeks, leaving tracks in her makeup. “I had no idea about Mia, Pascal. I swear. She’s scheming and manipulative, but I knew you’d see that. I didn’t have any idea she was violent. I’d have staked my life on it. In fact, I did—you are my life. I don’t know what I would have done if—oh, Pascal.” She clung to him again.
He eased her onto the sofa and sat beside her, moved but impatient as well.
“Elli, I need to ask you something.” He handed her a paper napkin from the dinner tray.
She dabbed at her eyes. “Anything.”
“Did Mia and Brandt know each other prior to today?”
“Yes, of course they did.” Ellianna sniffed and reached for a second napkin. “Brandt’s woman, Justine—the pregnant one—she’s Mia’s best friend.”
Pascal went to the door and yanked it open. “Gomez, put out an alert on Brandt. On his woman, too. Make sure every Blade, guard, officer, and director knows. I want Brandt alive so I can kill the traitor myself. Go.”
Gomez ran.
Pascal closed the door and tried to calm the zinging of his nerves. He should have listened to his instincts. He’d sensed something unspoken between Brandt and Mia, but had brushed it aside. That mistake might cost him dearly.
Seventy-Two
Lost Angeles
Brandt was charging forward so fast, Reid had a hard time keeping up. There weren’t many people out, but those they passed stared. Reid felt like a fool, and his feet hurt. “Do I have to wear these shoes the whole way? Let me put them in my purse until we get closer.”
“Fine.”
“A little help?” Reid extended his handcuffed wrists.
Brandt rolled his eyes and squatted. Reid wobbled on one high heel while Brandt yanked off the other.
“What’s wrong, haven’t you ever seen a tranny whore before?” Brandt chided a man who was gawking, then dropped the shoes into the purple bag that hung from Reid’s elbow.
Reid preferred to think of himself as a Trojan horse. He tried not to think of what he looked like with giant purple swatches of makeup over his eyes, a red wig, and a floral muumuu. The wig was itchy, but bearable. It was the shoes that had almost changed his mind.
He hurried barefoot now and kept silent about the pebbles underfoot lest Brandt make him put the shoes back on.
“Brandt,” Reid said. “Hey, are we getting close?”
“What?” Brandt looked around as if seeing it for the first time. “Yeah.”
“Well . . .” Reid hesitated. Brandt’s face was blank. If he didn’t snap out of it, he was going to blow it. “Pay attention or you’re going to get us caught.”
“I’m fine.”
“Really? Because you’re running down the street ahead of me. What kind of cop would do that?”
“Fine, I’ll lead you, but they’re staring because of how you look.” Brandt grabbed the chain that linked the cuffs and pulled Reid along, managing a slightly slower pace.
After two blocks, Brandt stopped suddenly, and Reid nearly walked into the back of him.
“Do you hear that?” Brandt asked.
“Hear what?”
“A train. They don’t run at night unless there’s news. It has to be something important. We should find out what it is.” He hurried down a side road pulling Reid with him.
“This might be easier if you let go,” Reid said, trying not to step on Brandt’s heels.
“All right, but stay close.”
Reid’s purple purse swung violently on his elbow as he followed Brandt across a yard and between two houses. They emerged onto a narrow street, then cut through another set of yards to the street beyond that. Ahead, the train was pulling to a halt.
“I was hoping it would stop here.” Brandt pulled Reid into the shadows. “This is the closest train stop to the chancellor’s residence. Look, someone’s getting off.”
Reid watched a uniform escort a scruffy man from the train.
“Weird,” Brandt said under his breath. “That guy with the armband? He’s a pirate emissary. Something big is going on. It can’t have any connection to us, but it would be nice to know what it is. Might give us an advantage.”
“Think you could safely ask?” Reid pointed to a man at the rear of the train.
“Wait here.” Brandt strode to the train.
Reid strained to hear, but the train’s engine was too loud.
Finally, Brandt returned. “That was a stroke of luck. He isn’t the regular conductor, but for some reason, the chancellor has him running messages. He couldn’t tell me about the pirate fast enough. Seems the northern pirate king has been captured, and the southern pirates are in the middle of brokering a trade, turning him over to the chancellor in exchange for a ship. That’s good news for us.”
“How so?”
“The Blades are already stretched thin. With the addition of this pirate business, communications will be a challenge. There’s a good chance that even if Mia has told them about me, word hasn’t gotten around yet. We might pull this off after all.”
Those words echoed in Rei
d’s head, but offered little reassurance. His heart slammed against his ribs as Brandt led him into the Tank.
“Hey Roy,” Brandt said casually. “I picked up this tranny whoring by the south depot.”
Roy looked over the top of his glasses at Reid and somehow managed to make him feel guilty. “Haven’t seen this one before. Where’s the John the he-she was doing?”
“Got away. I’ll find him though. I got a good look at him,” Brandt said.
“Put it in cellblock five. The entire row’s empty, so take your pick.”
“You know, Roy.” Brandt leaned in conspiratorially. “Solitary’s not a bad idea, but I had something else in mind.”
Roy glanced at Reid. “Like teaching it a lesson?”
“What do you say?”
“Let’s see.” Roy paged through some papers. “Stay away from cellblock one. That’s where the political detainees are. But block three has a good crowd. Drunk and disorderlies, plus a handful of thieves and the like. That ought to do the trick. Or there’s always psycho row.” He looked at Reid with a sick grin.
“Three’s perfect,” Brandt said. “I owe you, Roy.”
“This one’s on the house.”
“Creep,” Reid said under his breath.
“Shut up!” Brandt yanked Reid by the cuffs and shoved him into the hall.
Reid almost fell, but got his feet under him and shuffled forward, keeping his mouth shut. They passed through another door and down a long corridor.
“Okay, this is it.” Brandt opened the door to cellblock one.
“Authorized personnel only,” a guard said in a monotone.
“Hey, Smitty, I’m authorized, unofficially.” Brandt chuckled. “Me and Roy thought this tranny should be taught a lesson.”
“Sorry, man. I don’t go in for that,” Smitty said.
“Not you. We’re gonna throw it in with the prisoners.”
“Not these prisoners.” Smitty narrowed his eyes.
This was starting to go wrong.
Brandt threw a swift elbow to Smitty’s neck and the guard went down.
“Clock’s ticking,” Brandt said, snatching the key ring off Smitty’s belt. He shoved a key in the lock, and swung open the door to a long hall lined by bars.
A man lay huddled against the bars of the closest cell. Blood trailed from his head down the cement floor to a drain.
“Pops!” Reid dropped to his knees and maneuvered his cuffed hands through the bars to check for a pulse. Tears of relief sprung to his eyes. “He’s alive.”
Brandt unlocked the cell. “Can you carry him? I’ll find Mia.”
“Uncuff me.”
Brandt selected a key from the ring.
“I’ll take those.”
Roy had a pistol trained on Brandt, and three other men leveled guns at Reid.
Reid’s heart thundered and he held his breath, hoping Brandt had some way out of this without turning on him.
“Funny thing,” Roy said. “Word just came down you’re a wanted man, Brandt. But I guess I can see that for myself now, can’t I?”
Reid grabbed the bars to steady himself as his muscles contracted and the walls closed in with tunnel vision. Fight or flight response, he thought, almost laughing at his clinical evaluation. But there was nothing funny about this. There would be no fight or flight. They were done for.
Seventy-Three
The Grand Hotel, Pascal’s private suite
Pascal sipped his brandy, savoring the flavor and the moment. It hadn’t taken a massage to relax him. It was enough to sit beside Elli on the sofa.
He put his arm across her shoulders. She leaned against him. He buried his face in her hair and breathed in the sweet fragrance. He’d wanted this for so long.
“Father?” Linus stared at them from the doorway.
Pascal had made a point to never let Linus see him compromised. Now he felt exposed—an empty bottle of brandy, the remains of dinner, shoes off, feet propped on the coffee table, Ellianna curled at his side. But perhaps it was okay that Linus see a more human side of him.
“Gomez told me to come in,” Linus said. “It’s important.”
“Of course.” Pascal placed his feet on the floor and straightened his shirt. “What is it?”
“Brandt’s been caught. He’s in the Tank right now.”
“That’s the news I’ve been waiting for.” Pascal stepped into his loafers.
“What are you going to do, Father?”
“Make him an example. People must see how their leader treats those who cross him.”
“Sir?” Gomez said, knocking on the open door. “Sorry to disturb, but there’s an emissary from the southern pirates here. He was taken to your residence first, so he’s a bit agitated.”
“What does he want?”
“He’s here for the bounty. He claims to have the northern pirate king in custody at the harbor, as well as two San Franciscans that prove the king’s treachery.”
Minou arrived beside Gomez, out of breath. “The car’s been spotted. Outcasts saw it near Angel Stadium not two hours ago. My men are combing the area now.”
The car. Brandt. The pirates. Pascal examined these critical pieces of the puzzle, deciding which to place first. His fury at Brandt’s deception burned to be unleashed, but he realized that would be selfish and shortsighted. No, come daylight, he’d deal with Brandt someplace very public—perhaps at the statue of the Founder and his rodent. The pirate business was necessary but could also wait. Which meant he could indulge his desire to find the car.
“Excellent, Minou,” he said. “You’ll take Ms. Ford and me to the search area at once. Get us skates and wait in the lobby.”
“Right away, sir.” Minou saluted and left.
Pascal turned to Gomez. “Brandt will face public execution for treason in the morning. The pirates can wait until morning too. Tell the emissary I’ll be at the harbor one hour past dawn for the exchange.”
Gomez’s forehead wrinkled with concern. “Pirates don’t wait well, sir. We could have trouble when the emissary gives them the news.”
“Then don’t tell them,” Linus exclaimed. “Put the emissary in the Tank till morning.”
“No, that breaks Pirate Code,” Pascal said. “It would rile them even more. Send the emissary back to his ship, but assign a Blade to take command of the men guarding the Belle Jewel. Their orders are to keep the peace.” He hated pulling a Blade off the search for the car, but sending one man to prevent a riot was preferable to sending a platoon to quash one.
“I’ll see to it.” Gomez hurried away.
“What about me, Father? I’m as fast as any Blade—I can help with the search.”
“No, it’s late and you need your rest.”
“But Father—”
“I need you at your best tomorrow. You’ll accompany me to the exchange with the pirates, then I want you by my side for Brandt’s public execution. These are critical times in your rise to leadership. I need you at your best. Understood?”
Linus was crestfallen, but he nodded and left.
Pascal took Ellianna’s hand “We’ll find the car and take the first drive together.”
“I’d love that more than anything, but I’m not a good skater—I’d only slow you down.”
He knew she was right. “Then I want you waiting here for me when I get back.” He looked into her eyes. He wanted to kiss her. He’d wanted her for so long. Why had he been denying himself? It didn’t seem important anymore.
He gathered her in his arms and kissed her, and it felt like he’d found a long-lost piece to a puzzle.
Seventy-Four
The Tank
Brandt vomited in the metal toilet at the back of the cell. He’d taken the brunt of the guards’ animosity. Reid had it easy by comparison. He hadn’t fought back, and they’d quickly grown bored with beating him.
He’d been stripped of his costume and the weapons he’d hidden in his purse, so he knelt beside Tinker wearing only red unders
horts. In the light of the bare bulb overhead, he saw that Tinker’s pupils were fixed and dilated. His breathing was labored, and there was a sickening wheeze each time he inhaled. Reid lifted Tinker’s shirt and winced at the bruising on his chest. He gingerly pulled the shirt back down.
Brandt had been right. Tinker wasn’t going to make it out of the Tank alive. He would die lying on the cold cement floor, and there wasn’t anything Reid could do about it.
“I’m sorry about the old man,” one of the men called from the adjacent cell. “We asked the guards to let us help him, but they laughed.”
“Has he been conscious?” Reid asked.
“Nah,” the man replied. “He’s been out since they tossed him in here a couple of hours ago. He means something to you?”
“He’s my grandfather.” Reid choked back a sob.
“He’s one tough old dude,” a second man said. “We heard he pissed off the torture guy something wicked. Apparently, he never broke, never said a word.”
Reid sat against the wall and stroked Tinker’s hair. “You did good, Pops. Real good.”
“I hope he’ll be okay,” the first guy said.
Reid nodded, not wanting to say out loud there was little chance of that. He held Tinker’s hand. “Pops, you fought hard. You protected us. I’m the one who screwed the pooch this time.”
His eyes stung and he clamped his teeth shut, trying not to cry. It hardly seemed possible that less than two weeks had passed since they left Colorado. They’d been so full of hope that they’d find seeds and return as heroes. Now Tinker wouldn’t make it home at all, and the odds didn’t look good for him either.
Reid took a deep breath and tried to pull himself together. He had to be strong for Tinker’s sake. He had to be there for him, to let him know he was safe to let go if the time came.
He noticed that Brandt had stopped retching and was standing at the bars, talking with the group of men in the adjacent cell.
“Those guards were royally pissed at you, huh?” one of the men said. “Is it ’cause you’re impersonating one of them?”
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