Since the shields over China seemed heaviest over Tibet, there was some speculation that Lhasa would end up being the new capital for a new China.
It made sense, in a perverse sort of way. With the rising water levels, Lhasa would outlast many of the older, coastal cities.
Still, Brooks remained skeptical.
Well, she was until the threat arrived that morning––a threat which seemed to come directly from Beijing.
Sighing at the reminder, Brooks threaded a few stray chunks of her curly, black-threaded-with-gray hair back into the messy upsweep she’d clipped together earlier. The more formal aspects of her presidential comportment had gone by the wayside in the past months, but that was true of pretty much everyone down here.
She’d tied her hair back casually earlier that day mainly for practical purposes, since she’d been working over the security board with the NSA and CIA analysts and leaders after receiving the threat from Beijing’s acting president, Xiao Ming Fa.
She still couldn’t believe Jo Sathorn killed himself.
There’d been a number of suicides down here since everything started––but Jo?
The shock continued to reverberate through her, making it difficult to think about anything else, even with the bigger issues currently on her plate.
Sathorn was an old-school hawk, and racist to the core when it came to seers, but Brooks at least knew where she stood with him. Moreover, she’d trusted him, even when she didn’t agree with him. He had good instincts and didn’t play games––other than those that were par for the course in this job.
Brooks hadn’t realized how much she’d depended on his blunt advice until about two seconds after that Marine told her he was dead.
Had he cracked up? That shouldn’t be surprising really, given everything, but somehow it was. He’d seemed so… solid.
Bullet to the brain. Self-inflicted.
That lizard-faced Justice found him––Novak.
Of all people, that reptile had to be the one to find Jo’s body. Sathorn made no bones about disliking that old witch, and he wasn’t alone. The three of them, Sathorn, Brooks and her Chief of Staff, Javier Garcia, called Novak “Dr. Mengele” behind her back.
Brooks knew they shouldn’t do it, that it would likely get back to Novak at some point, but she couldn’t seem to make herself stop, or make the others cut it out, either.
Hell, they needed to whistle in the dark sometimes, especially now.
Damn Jo all to hell. How could he do this?
How could he do this to her?
No one on her current team could take his place, not even Javier. She’d just been about to go find Jo, for crying out loud, to ask his opinion on this latest move from China. She’d wanted to talk to someone other than just the intelligence hawks and paranoid cases before she pulled the trigger on nuking an entire damned continent.
Jo might be a hawk, but he wasn’t rash. He wasn’t stupid, either.
She had to make a decision, and soon.
Focusing back on the main screen, Brooks frowned.
The images there were of America, her home––and they were brutal.
She’d seen too many heartbreaking feed recordings of people, her people, people who might have been normal citizens once, sitting in restaurants and sports bars, having barbecues and birthday parties and going bowling. Lately, she’d seen them starving to death on the side of the road, beating one another with tire irons over cans of worm-ridden dog food, shooting one another for a half-empty gas can or a rusted bicycle.
She’d seen tribal-like conditions run by private armies both in the countryside and the inner cities. Many of those modern-variety warlords and “territory bosses” had probably been career criminals in the past. Others, Brooks suspected, had not been criminals, but perhaps had the types of personalities designed to capitalize on the chaos anyway.
Weapons got stockpiled, of course.
None of that happened equally, either.
Things were most grim for women and children, as was often the case. Brooks struggled to even watch some of those images. They didn’t have the people or the firepower to intervene, not now. Truthfully, Brooks knew it made the most sense at this point to do what she suspected was being done in China and the other surviving cities, including the blackout zones.
Meaning, simply wait out the disease.
Let it kill off those it was going to kill before attempting to pull the civilization back together.
Sighing bleakly at the thought, Brooks gripped the metal balcony in front of her, rocking on her low pumps as she stared down at the row of screens.
She had to make a decision.
She had to do it soon.
If she didn’t, there might be nothing of her country and people left to save.
12
FAUX PAS
“NUCLEAR?” I STARED at Wreg, feeling my gut clench. I looked at Yumi, realizing this information had to come from her people. “You’re sure?”
Yumi was looking at my clothes, though.
I fought to ignore her stare.
It’d been a few days now, and I knew they’d all heard what happened with Chandre up on that wall. They also knew Revik hadn’t thrown me out, although some probably thought he should have.
I could tell a fair few at least thought he’d let me off easy. I’d overheard whispers of theories on that, too, including guilt around his own infidelities.
Truthfully, I didn’t much care about any of that. It struck me as trivial now.
That being said, I couldn’t focus on what Yumi had just told me––not now. Not tonight. I couldn’t think about this now. This would have to wait.
Until tomorrow at least.
As I thought it, I made a dismissive gesture with one hand.
“Chan knows, right?” I said, my voice neutral. “Chan knows she’ll be walking into that? Her and her team? That the time window is short?”
Yumi gave me a cautious look, still overly focused on my clothes.
“Yes, sir,” she said. “She’s the one who confirmed the intel we received. She’ll be leaving in less than an hour. Did you not intend to be there to discuss this with her before she goes?”
“No.” I shook my head, glancing at Wreg in spite of myself. “Revik’s handling that. So make sure he’s updated.”
Yumi’s eyebrow arched, but she didn’t speak.
Wreg didn’t say anything, either.
I nodded again, fighting to think, then shunting it aside.
“Okay,” I said. “Well, what do you need from me? We can meet on this tomorrow, come up with some contingencies in case Chan’s people can’t get in. We’ll need more infiltrators on their construct, obviously. Is there any other immediate need? Are they likely to pull the trigger on this in the next 72 hours?”
Yumi frowned, but shook her head once, decisive.
“Very unlikely, sir,” she said. “In fact, we have reason to believe it’s more in the lines of a political gambit versus a serious threat. A way for Shadow to get China to capitulate to their demands, versus an actual, planned attack.”
I glanced at Wreg, who nodded, once.
“Your husband thinks he wants the City,” he said, blunt. “Adhipan and I agree.”
“Good,” I said, exhaling. “I mean… good on the probably not nuking China thing. Can we influence that directly, if needed? Do we have a line in to Brooks’ construct?”
Yumi made another negative gesture, that time with one hand.
“No, sir,” she said, clicking a little and huffing her breath. “There are too many seers monitoring the American President’s construct. We have to assume at least a percentage of those are Shadow’s. Particularly if it’s true that one of his network people remains close to Brooks. We can assist Chandre from here, though.” She paused. “The Sword did mention he was assigning the relocation of the mobile tank to one of the Adhipan teams.”
I nodded. “Good. That’s good.”
The silence deepened
.
Again, I fought to think.
“Okay,” I said, clearing my throat. “Good. So no nuclear attacks tonight then. That’s great.”
When no one said anything or even smiled, I nodded again.
Then I turned, heading for the low wooden doorway, intending to leave. The small conference room had once been a private dining area in a bar and restaurant for the residents of the building, but we’d been repurposing a lot on the fly since we got here.
Wreg cleared his throat before I could get all the way out the door.
When I turned, he flicked his fingers towards me, not quite meeting my gaze.
“You are going to dinner now, Esteemed Bridge?” he said, his voice overly polite.
I felt my neck and face flush.
“Yeah,” I said, wary. “So?”
“You are… wearing that?” The politeness remained, but humor touched his words.
I really, really wasn’t amused.
“What do you want to know, Wreg?” I said, jaw hard. “Or is there something you want to tell me, my brother?”
He glanced up. That time, his eyes looked almost guilty. He tried to shrug it off, but I saw him avoid my stare as he did.
“No, Esteemed Bridge… absolutely nothing,” he said, shaking his head. “Nothing at all. You look very lovely, my sister. Very lovely indeed. The Sword will be most pleased.”
I grunted, but felt my jaw harden anyway.
Maybe Wreg did mean it as a compliment.
Or maybe he was more pissed off at me than I’d realized––about the Chan thing, or because he felt cut out of the planning sessions of the last few days. I definitely felt like I’d been walking around with a scarlet letter pinned to my chest since that thing on the wall, and not only with Wreg. A lot of people had been looking at me that way, even my own brother.
Jon had kept his mouth shut so far, but I suspected that wouldn’t last.
Clenching my hands at my sides, I decided it didn’t matter. Not now.
It really didn’t matter. I knew it didn’t.
Even so, I found myself wondering if the clothes had been a mistake.
I WALKED UP the last few steps to the roof warily.
I don’t know what I expected, in terms of people’s reactions to me. I still felt defensive from Wreg’s comments and the murmurings I’d been hearing all week… and now a little self-conscious about the clothes I’d worn for my husband.
I didn’t think the clothes were that over the top, but the dress was pretty short, I guess. And yeah, okay, the heels were pretty high.
Usually he liked that kind of thing, though. Revik, I mean.
I guess it wasn’t that weird that I’d be nervous.
They’d decided to do this on the roof, so I chose to avoid the elevators and walk up the last few floors on my own. I entered the deck area on my own, too, since no one else seemed inclined to use the stairs.
Still, it wasn’t easy to wander even at the outskirts of the group without people noticing my entrance, even with my light shielded. I knew I couldn’t hide for long, but I didn’t want to deal with all of them noticing me in the same handful of minutes.
Truthfully, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been this nervous about anything.
There were multiple reasons for that, but I’d be lying if I said the big ones weren’t pretty personal, even with all of the operational stuff going on.
It crossed my mind that I might have to drink heavily to get through this.
A part of me balked at that idea, though, given how long it had been since I’d had any real contact with Revik. Also, I wondered how much I would need to shield. Alcohol might not be such a great idea, depending on the answer to that question.
So yeah, I didn’t get a drink.
Avoiding the bar made it easier to keep to myself.
I told myself I wasn’t avoiding everyone per se. I just preferred to get the lay of the land before more than a handful noticed I’d joined them. So I didn’t avoid people. I just walked elsewhere––and I avoided looking at anyone, since I knew that would draw attention.
I aimed my eyes at the view of sunset-streaked clouds hovering over the city.
Looking away from the crimson and gold sky a few seconds later, I paused to take in the pool and the subtle flames of makeshift torches. White upholstered couches and expensive-looking lounge-chairs circled the pool. Someone must have cleaned this stuff up, or yanked it out of storage, because none of the other furniture I’d seen here looked anywhere near so pristine.
I avoided looking at the wider mattresses someone had also brought up here.
I barely glanced at the buffet that had been set up, presumably to normalize this, to make it into some kind of twisted dinner party.
I’d been told it was normal to eat first.
Another of those seer custom things, apparently.
It might have been funny, under different circumstances. Somehow it wasn’t funny though, and the thought of making small talk or even talking about military ops or whatever over dinner just made that sick feeling in the pit of my stomach worse.
Still trying to avoid being recognized, I walked down the stairs to the sunken area by the pool, careful to place my steps in the high-heeled shoes.
I did all of that with my light pretty tightly wound around my body.
Even with my attempts to move unseen, I felt faces turn and more than one set of eyes on me curiously. All of them checked out my clothes, a few of them staring openly at my legs and chest. Most were people I knew, of course. I also felt stares and curiosity from foreign lights touching my body, meaning from people I didn’t know.
I knew they weren’t real strangers. Everyone here had been vetted carefully by Balidor, Tarsi, Yumi and Revik.
They clearly recognized me.
The closest of those stood in a cluster by the bar, holding drinks.
I suspected most of them were Adhipan from their light signatures, which meant they’d probably come in with the new group Balidor told us about.
One female in particular with an odd mix of blue and purple in her irises stared at me openly, not looking away even after I’d turned. The broad-shouldered, muscular seer who stood with her reminded me of Wreg in build, although he wasn’t as tall, and had less intense eyes. The expression in this male seer’s eyes appeared almost gentle in fact, despite the sharpness of his infiltrator-trained light and his sheer physical size.
As I looked over the two of them, names popped into my head.
Dalai… and Nulek. It had to be.
From their lights, they looked like a couple.
Balidor told me they would be joining us for this, although he hadn’t specified why.
Their open curiosity towards me unnerved me a little. Not the part where they were curious per se––that was pretty normal, given who I was––more that their interest felt personal.
It made me wonder if they knew Revik.
I fought the question out of my light.
The last thing I needed was to start tripping about how many of these people had already seen my husband naked. It wasn’t going to make any of this easier––at all.
I didn’t know if Revik would even be here yet.
I’d come up a few minutes late, but I suspected he’d be even more late than me, given his track record in recent weeks.
I ended up being wrong about that, though.
I didn’t notice him at first, probably because he was doing pretty much the same thing with his light that I was, but when I looked away from the smoky rose and blood-red haze of the Bangkok sunset and the distant view of the river, I felt eyes on me and turned.
He stood on the level up from me, holding a drink.
I saw others around him, but when he looked away, avoiding meeting my returning stare, I noticed that he appeared to be standing with those others more as cover. At the very least, he didn’t seem to be actively participating in whatever it was they were talking and laughing about. He took a
long drink from the glass he held as I watched.
I noticed only then that he was flushed. I couldn’t tell if it was a blush from me catching him staring or if he was already drunk.
Knowing him, he might have decided to drink heavily for this.
Not that I blamed him. Hell, maybe I should join him.
As I watched him nod here and there, smiling where appropriate as the group conversation wound on, it struck me that he’d always been a lot smarter about hiding in crowds than me. He knew he’d only call attention to himself if he tried to slink off on his own, so he hid by surrounding himself with other people. Smart.
Filing that away for future reference, I watched him for a few minutes more.
I saw him make polite nods to things the others said. I saw him smile.
Mostly, I saw him drink.
One thing for sure, I’d definitely overdressed.
He wore military work pants, black and form-fitting with clean lines, but yeah, work pants. Over that he wore a white shirt, a button down, not a T-shirt, but also firmly in the casual camp, especially since he hadn’t bothered to tuck it in and he’d rolled up the sleeves.
Revik tended to dress on the formal side compared to humans I’d known in the United States, so yeah, for him, these clothes definitely fell in the comfortable-casual camp.
Letting my eyes drift down to my own choice in clothes, I felt my face warm.
I glanced around at the other seers as surreptitiously as I could, but what I saw didn’t reassure me. The vast majority I saw, male and female, wore infiltrator-wear. Others wore even more casual work clothes, or stuff they might have worn into the mulei ring or out running in the park. I saw only one other dress and it was floor-length and worn by Sita, one of the ex-Rebels. Her dress was Indian in cut and looked to be made of cotton.
It also concealed significantly more than it showed.
Definitely not sexy funtimes wear. More like lounging around the house wear.
Not quite a muumuu, but close.
Fuck.
Grimacing, I realized I needed a drink after all, shielding be damned. Maybe I needed a lot more than one. That, or I needed to go change. Or maybe both.
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