“Nah.” The guy fished an envelope out of his pocket. “I’m just supposed to deliver this to you.”
Justin took the envelope, nearly dropping it when he saw its seal. The RUNA rarely used paper for correspondence, but when it did, there was a type of sticker used to ensure the envelope’s security. It was a metallic square that showed the country’s seal in glowing blue. As soon as the edges of the sticker were lifted even a little, the seal went dark.
“Where the hell did you get this?” Justin demanded.
“I don’t know. Someone gave it to Cristobal.” The guy waited expectantly, and Justin realized he wanted a tip.
“I’m out of money. Hit me up next week.”
“You spend it on the blonde I just passed?”
“Didn’t need to.”
Justin shut the door without another word and moved toward the couch like a sleepwalker, unable to take his eyes off the seal. He sat down, took a deep breath, and then opened the envelope. It contained a small piece of paper reading: Perhaps there are supernatural forces in the world we can’t rule out after all. —CK. Below that was the address of a hotel across town and a room number. Justin felt his mouth go dry. He closed his eyes. This had to be a trick. There was no way—not after four years—that this could be real.
One way to find out, said Magnus.
Justin opened his eyes and sprang up from the couch. He made the effort to find dry clothes but did little else to improve his disheveled state. Five minutes and two shots of courage bourbon later, he was out the door, on his way to the hotel in the note.
He knew the place. It was owned by one of the older families, one that held a fairly neutral position. That was a nice perk for guests not wanting to be woken by or shot in middle-of-the-night raids. The downstairs lobby and bar still held plenty of vices, prostitutes and dealers available to make visits that much more enjoyable.
The room in question was on the third floor. The part of Justin that was still certain this must be some kind of joke or death trap fell silent when he cleared the stairs and saw uniformed Gemman soldiers in gray and maroon standing at attention outside a cluster of doors. He came to a halt, wondering if perhaps he shouldn’t rule out a death trap after all. But none of them shot at or even assaulted him, though their eyes followed his every move. He reached the door in the note, hesitating in front of the soldier.
“I’m Justin March, here to see…Cornelia Kimora.” Surely there was no other CK the note could’ve been referring to. The soldier gave a curt nod and knocked. Someone called an invitation to enter from within. He disappeared inside for a few seconds and then returned to wave Justin in.
With no more hesitation, Justin plunged forward, ready to face whatever it was that waited for him. He stepped past the soldier and found who he’d both hoped and dreaded to see: Cornelia Kimora, his old boss, complete with boring clothing and a bad dye job. She looked exactly the same as she had the day she’d told him his last report was unacceptable and that she was “sorry things have to end this way.” His military escort had arrived soon thereafter.
They were in the living room of a suite, and she rose from her chair with a smile Justin knew with absolute certainty was faked.
“Justin,” she said. “I’m so happy to see you again.” That too was a lie, and he returned it in kind as he kissed her cheek.
“Likewise.” His brain was screaming with a thousand questions, and he had to fight down the urge to grab hold of her and demand an explanation for what had happened to his life. Instead, he put on the same pleasant face he’d have worn if they were friends catching up after a few months apart. It was the same face he used to interrogate cults and learn their inner workings. “You’re just as lovely as always. Do you want to get out and see some sights? I’d be happy to show you around.”
Her smile tightened, showing how unfunny she found him. “Just as droll as ever. Please, have a seat so we can talk.” No pleasantries here. It was nice to know some things hadn’t changed. She glanced over at the soldier who’d let Justin in. “Go fetch the others.”
Justin took the offered chair, which was one of four set up at a round wooden table. A wall near it displayed a large portable screen Cornelia’s entourage had brought along. Justin felt the same pang of longing for it as he had Mae’s ego. It was thin and light, with crystal-clear visuals and all of its hardware contained within itself. No need for a separate computer. The Panamanians had no technology to match that. Their computers always seemed clumsy and unwieldy to Justin, not to mention slow and unreliable.
Dents in the carpet showed the table had been moved to this position, which provided optimal viewing of the screen. Justin wondered if there was a presentation in his future. Cornelia wasn’t offering any guidance. She’d sat down again as well, crossed her legs, and seemed content to wait until “the others” showed before casting light on this situation. He had to give her points for staying true to herself. There was no awkwardness on her part, no gruff “sorry about the exile, you know how it is” or “glad you’re still alive.” Cornelia probably hadn’t lost any sleep over her decisions and wasn’t going to pretend otherwise now.
The door burst open, and a tall, gangly man entered. He was close to Cornelia’s age and had thinning gray hair. Upon seeing Justin, the man’s face lit up. He sprinted across the room, and Justin managed to get to his feet just in time for a frenzied handshake.
“Dr. March! At last! I am so, so, so happy to meet you. You have no idea. I’m such a huge fan of your work.”
I wonder which work that is, mused Horatio.
Me too, said Justin.
But again, Justin played it cordial and unassuming. “Why, thank you. That’s very kind of you to say, Mr….?”
“This is Director Francis Kyle, from Internal Security,” said Cornelia.
Just Internal Security. When no one assigned you a subdepartment, it meant you were high up. Very high up. Certainly higher than Cornelia, who was having a difficult time hiding her dislike for her superior.
“Please, please, just call me Francis. I want this little gathering to be as friendly as possible.”
At least someone does, Justin thought, casting another look at Cornelia. The circumstances of this meeting were still a total mystery, but one thing Justin knew at a glance was that Francis wanted to be here and Cornelia did not.
“We should order drinks then,” Justin told him. “I’m sure they have some sort of room service to—”
The words died on his lips as another person slipped into the room.
It was her.
She wasn’t naked or even in a mauve dress, but there was no mistaking Mae. She was dressed simply in blue-gray linen pants and a white cotton T-shirt. From the way her hands hastily tied her hair back in a ponytail as she walked, she’d probably only just finished taking a blow dryer to it. The makeup was gone too, not that her complexion had really needed it. She looked brisk and efficient in her sportier attire, though still devastatingly beautiful.
Also, devastatingly surprised.
She came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the room when she saw Justin. Her hands dropped to her sides, and her eyes widened. Justin felt his own face mirror her shock as he lost control of his casual façade. For a few seconds, he was almost able to grasp at some sort of explanation. She was support staff for a Gemman military attaché, so perhaps it wouldn’t be that unreasonable that she would be here for a—
“Ah, Prætorian Koskinen,” said Francis, beaming at her. “You’re back. How splendid. This is Dr. March.”
Mae gave a weak nod, her eyes never leaving Justin.
The words hit Justin like a slap to the face. “Prætorian?” His sluggish mind suddenly started working again as a terrible thought popped up. “Are you…are you here to kill me?”
After several more moments, she seemed to regain her own control too. Her astonishment vanished, replaced by a cool and composed face that was much frostier than the one Justin had gotten to know earlier that night
. “Dr. March,” she said calmly, “if I wanted you dead, you already would be.”
CHAPTER 5
A BURNING BRIDGE
Even Cornelia seemed to find that comment funny, probably because it was something she wished had actually happened.
“She’s joking, Dr. March,” said Francis, taking a seat beside Cornelia.
Justin, studying Mae’s face, wasn’t so sure. Prætorian. His blood ran cold. He’d been such an idiot. He prided himself on his powers of observation and ability to draw out the truth of a situation from the finest details. How had he really let himself believe that someone’s “research support” had taken out the Jessup thugs back in the alley in so short a time? In heels and a dress? He hadn’t been able to watch the fight as it happened, thanks to Miguel, but even so, anyone looking at the carnage Mae had left behind should’ve been able to deduce that something wasn’t normal there.
You weren’t looking at the carnage, said Horatio.
Justin couldn’t deny the accusation. He’d been dazed on alcohol and ash, high on the idea that a pretty Gemman woman was charmed by him. With a distraction like her, who could pay attention to details or ask uncomfortable questions about his impending death?
Francis glanced back and forth between them. “Did you deliver the message personally?” he asked Mae. “You must’ve been at the party around the same time.”
“No. We missed each other,” she said.
“She must’ve been tied up,” added Justin, deadpan.
Mae gave him a sharp look that made him wonder if baiting a prætorian was such a smart idea. A prætorian. He’d slept with a fucking prætorian. Who did that? And who lived to tell the tale? That beautiful exterior took on a sinister edge as he allowed himself to contemplate all that she was capable of. Why had she lied? Her initial shock upon seeing him suggested this turn of events had caught her off guard too, but Justin suddenly wasn’t so sure. Had she sought him out at the party and lied about her identity to get close? Was this part of Cornelia’s larger scheme? For all he knew, they’d orchestrated the Jessup assault to conveniently give Mae a reason to “save” him. It sounded far-fetched, but Justin had learned long ago never to underestimate the RUNA’s government.
Forget all of that, said Magnus. And just remember your deal.
Oh, I remember it, said Justin, realizing the new danger this reunion presented. And I will never touch her again.
“Well, we’re all here now,” said Francis, cheerful and unassuming. “Let’s get on with this. We have very exciting business ahead.”
Justin took his seat again, and after several seconds, Mae reluctantly sat as well, positioning herself as far from him as possible.
Cornelia looked relieved to be done with all the unnecessary and wasteful parts of the meeting, like introductions. She gave a curt nod to the uniformed soldiers, and they left the room. Clearing her throat, she turned to face her tablemates. “Yes. Let’s get this settled. Justin…I’m here to give you a chance to be a servitor again.”
Justin’s heart nearly stopped, but he refused to let that show, especially since Cornelia’s admission seemed to cause her a lot of discomfort. “They don’t need servitors in Panama. You can buy salvation on the streets.”
Francis chuckled. He finds everything you say delightful, observed Horatio. Judging from her scowl, Cornelia didn’t share the sentiment. “Not here. There.”
There was no need to elaborate on where “there” was. The RUNA. Some inner voice of wisdom that wasn’t the ravens cautioned him to dial back the snark.
“You’re offering me my citizenship back,” he said.
“I’m offering you your job back,” Cornelia clarified. “Our country doesn’t give citizenship lightly.”
“Yes,” he said bitterly, “but it sure doesn’t have any problems taking it away.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Are you interested or not?”
Hell yes, Justin was interested. He wanted to get up and walk onto a plane right then and there. But the situation was still too strange, and there were too many unknown variables for him to jump in blindly. He’d already had one moment of carelessness tonight, and that had landed him in bed with a dangerous woman.
“Why?” he asked. “Why now? You’ve got hundreds of bright-eyed graduates who could do what I used to do, for less money and with more ambition.”
“Some people,” said Cornelia, in a tone stating she was not one of them, “feel you have certain qualifications that make you a valuable asset for a particular situation that’s arisen. We can’t elaborate on any other details until you’ve agreed to return.”
Francis looked ready to burst with excitement. “Oh, Cornelia, just show him the offer.”
She grimaced at having her rehearsed presentation interrupted, but after a few moments, she produced an ego and told it, “Bring up the Justin March offer.” She handed the device to Justin.
For a moment, he was more taken with the ego than its display, now that he could actually hold one. They were smaller and lighter than when he’d left, and voice commands had apparently improved significantly. Reminding himself there was an incredible chance he might be surrounded by all this technology once again, he focused back on the ego’s screen, which detailed a very generous employment package. It cited a salary much higher than his previous one, as well as other perks, such as “luxury accommodations” in Vancouver. The offer also mentioned that he’d return with a visa of unspecified length, which he didn’t find reassuring.
“How much are you authorized to go up to?” Justin asked, handing the ego back to Cornelia.
“I beg your pardon?” she asked.
“This is an offer. You’re coming in as a bargainer, meaning there’s room to negotiate on this. Whatever max salary Internal Security’s authorized you to go up to, I want it.”
Cornelia’s antagonistic expression and reluctant nod told him two things. One was that this was real, that they wanted him back—wanted him back very, very badly. And that led to his second conclusion, that he had more power here than she wanted to admit.
“Fine,” she said. “So we’re settled?”
“No. If I’m going to take up the mantle again, I want a few other things.”
None of them said anything. They were probably too astonished that he wasn’t down on his hands and knees begging to be taken back. He was kind of astonished himself.
“I want arrangements for my sister.”
“Your…your sister?” Cornelia was too baffled by the request to be scornful.
“I’m guessing she’s still stuck in Anchorage. Get her out of there. Bring her to Vancouver, and give her a place as nice as mine. Somewhere in the suburbs.”
The more this continued, the more Justin was getting a feel for the group dynamics and who was in what role. Francis, with his rank, undoubtedly held the most power and authorization, but Cornelia was the one charged with negotiation. Judging from Francis’s lack of involvement thus far, Justin hadn’t made any outlandish requests yet. After all, if they were already willing to spend so much on him, how much more would it cost to relocate one woman and her son? Meanwhile, Mae wore an excellent poker face, but she was watching everything so avidly that it was clear she wasn’t privy to SCI’s bartering. Maybe she was along for the ride simply to ensure their safe travels. Or maybe she had been ordered to kill him if he refused.
“Fine,” repeated Cornelia. “We’ll take care of your sister. Now, let’s—”
“One more thing,” Justin interrupted. Even doting Francis looked a little amazed at the audacity. It was time to see just how badly the RUNA wanted its servitor back.
Be careful, said Horatio. Even they have limits.
I know. But I have to ask. You know I do.
“There are some people here…a family. I want them to get visas too. The guy used to have business relations with us, so it shouldn’t be that big of a deal.”
“You want some Panamanian family allowed into the RUNA?” asked Cornelia incredulo
usly.
“Yeah. There’s only…” Justin started counting out on his fingers. “One…two…guess we’ve got to bring her. Probably the in-laws too. Nine. There are nine of them.”
“No.” Cornelia didn’t hesitate. “There is absolutely no way we can bring in nine Panamanian nationals.”
Justin ignored her and looked at Francis expectantly, assuming this required clearance from a higher tier. Conflict filled the older man’s features. It was obviously hard for him to deny Justin anything, but as Horatio had said, even they had limits.
“I’m sorry,” Francis said. “We can’t get that many visas, unless they’re defectors with some kind of critical information about the Panamanian government. Which I’m guessing they aren’t.”
He was right. Panama wasn’t a big enough blip on the radar to be worth much of the RUNA’s effort, nor did it have a stable enough government to seek intelligence on. Justin had known it was a long shot, but his heart sank anyway. I promised him, he thought. I promised Sergio I’d make this happen. Inspiration hit.
“What about one? Can you get one visa? A student visa. Perfectly harmless.”
“You want to bring a kid back with you?” asked Cornelia.
“Girl,” he corrected. “Tessa—er, Teresa Cruz. She’s sixteen. A real prodigy.”
“A sixteen-year-old?” She couldn’t keep the accusation out of her voice.
“It’s nothing like that,” Justin snapped, losing a little of his composure. “She’s practically like another sister, except she doesn’t nag me as much as my real one.” Silence met him, and he pushed forward. “Come on, it’s nothing. One little visa. They issue a handful of student ones each year. Do that for me, and I’m yours.”
He regretted his choice of wording in that last bit, but there was nothing to be done for it now. He’d made his play. If it panned out, he could very well have his life back. Of course, there was still the teeny-tiny fact that the reason they wanted him was still unknown, but surely it would be worth what he was getting in return.
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