“I suspect if you were to meet her, you’d find you both have a great deal in common,” Wexford said as he tapped the button to summon the elevator.
I blinked, putting a couple things together. “You called Philip a Cassandra-type before I'd told you what he was.”
Wexford made a harrumphing noise. “You assume that the file I gave you was the only one we had on him.”
It was a lie, and it was obvious to me. When I looked him in the eye, I knew he knew it as well. “You lived in the country and just came back to London a year ago?”
He knew I knew, and in spite of being caught, his eye twinkled. “When the PM formed her government, yes. She… left for the duration as well, you see. A little time in the country.”
“Holy shit, you’re metas,” I said, scarcely believing it. “You bailed out of London to avoid the extinction.”
He steered me into the elevator and pressed the door close button once, with confidence. “Ms. Nealon… I can tell by looking into your mind that delicate matters of this sort are something we can trust you to keep… discreet.” I just watched him. “Especially given that there is a great deal of work to do in changing attitudes in this country.” He straightened and tapped me once, gently, tugging on the torn lapel of my coat. “Besides, I think you have a few things of your own you’d prefer to keep under wraps?”
I swallowed hard and tugged my coat closed even tighter around me. Indeed I did. I didn’t even need to say it, because I knew he was reading my thoughts.
“Perhaps you should visit Detective Inspector Webster before you leave,” Wexford said, giving me a patient smile. “I’m sure he would rather enjoy making certain that any unfinished business between the two of you was settled before you left.” The elevator dinged and opened, and once more Wexford slipped out before I could pull myself together and follow him. He paused just before rounding the corner, turned back to me and said, “Aim low.” Then once again he disappeared down a hall, leaving me more than a little mystified at what he’d meant by that.
Ambassador Ryan Halstead’s face popped around the corner, and he slid into the elevator and pushed the button for the fourth floor. It took him a second to look back and see me, standing there in my shredded clothes, and his distaste was evident a second before the loathing, and the anger followed a second behind that. “You,” he said. “You are in so much shit, you have no idea. Washington is so friggin’ pissed at you, you’ll be lucky if you can get a recommendation to find a job as a dog-catcher after this crap, you—”
I slapped him on the chest and felt something stiff beneath his suit. Kevlar, I realized after a second. He was wearing a bulletproof vest. “Aim low,” I muttered, realizing what Wexford meant, and I raised my knee to land in Halstead’s crotch.
The man dropped; I’d been about as gentle as I could be while slamming my knee into his balls. I suspected he wouldn’t appreciate it, but dammit, he should have. I could just as easily have hit him so hard he’d have had to squeeze his throat to jerk off.
I left him in a pile on the elevator floor and stepped out, listening to him whine quietly as the doors closed behind me.
Chapter 85
I knocked on the door of the Webster house a little tentatively. I didn’t know how I’d be received, but I needed to do this before I left, that much I knew.
The birds were chirping, the garden was looking surprisingly fresh—maybe not so surprisingly given how much rain they’d had since I’d gotten here. The sky was blue and the sun was shining down. A better April day I could not have asked for.
I just hoped it wasn’t all clouds and thunderstorms waiting behind the door.
Marjorie clicked the lock and opened the door, staring out at me with as good a poker face as any I’d seen. I stared back at her and felt myself withdraw a little, hesitant, ready to run. I’d been in a knife fight to the death earlier today, but now I was ready to run at the sight of a motherly English woman.
“Sienna, dear,” she said, relief flooding across her face, “oh, I’ve been so worried! And you haven’t answered your mobile! I’ve called and left messages!”
I thought back to the shattered pieces of my phone that I’d given up and tossed into a garbage can outside New Scotland Yard. “Yeah… I kinda need a new one.”
“Come in, come in!” She stepped back from the door to allow me to pass. I slipped off my shoes, gaping holes all over them, and let my bare feet fall on the hardwood. “Matthew just got out of the hospital this very morning, I know he’ll be happy to see you.”
“Where is he?” I asked.
“In the shower, dear,” she said. “But come along, you must be hungry! Come on, to the kitchen.” She disappeared through the sitting room in a flash, and I knew she wouldn’t be dissuaded. Besides, I was hungry.
She laid out a spread of cold meats and cheeses, and I attacked it like someone who hadn’t eaten since… well, yesterday. I counted myself lucky that Webster himself wasn’t around to witness it and tried to keep my ears open over the sound of my own chewing in order to keep from having him surprise me. I had my pride, after all.
“I can’t thank you enough, dear,” Marjorie said after a few minutes of idle chitchat. It probably surprised the hell out of me, because I stopped eating altogether. I looked at her in curiosity, completely unsure of what she could be grateful to me for. I’d only landed her son in the hospital and caused his apartment to be bombed. I waited, almost expecting her to take a right turn into condemnation. “I always worry about him, you know,” she went on, “but having you watching out for him… you know that madman would have killed all of them if you hadn’t been there to stop the flames?”
“Oh.” I’d definitely forgotten about that. I tried to find a way to say it without sounding stupid, but came out with, “Well, I don’t know if that makes up for getting his apartment bombed…”
“His flat?” she scoffed. “That dreadful place? They probably would have done it anyway, since he was on the investigation. You saved his life.”
“Maybe,” I said, almost shrugging it off. “Doesn’t feel that way to me, though.”
She didn’t take her eyes off me. “That’s just guilt talking. I watched that interview with that awful Roth woman, the one you did a few months after things changed?”
I thought I tasted something sour in my mouth. “You and the rest of the world.”
“She was a perfect representation of the worst of people,” Marjorie said. “The absolute dregs of our nature. She turned everything around on you, and I’m glad you didn’t just sit there and take it. They live to see heroes fall, you know. It’s what makes them money—the tabloids and the telly, those vultures.”
I pursed my lower lip. “I don’t know how much of a hero I am, Marjorie.”
“Nonsense, dear,” she said, and reached out to pat my arm. “Can I get you some tea and biscuits?”
“Hello, there.” Matthew Webster’s voice chimed in, and I realized he’d slipped into the kitchen without me noticing.
“Uh… hey,” I said, before I could come up with something cooler.
“I’ve just realized,” Marjorie said, rummaging through the cupboards without looking back at us, “I’m all out of biscuits.” She shut the cabinet door and I saw her disappear toward the side of the house. “I’m off to the supermarket. Do either of you need anything?” She didn’t wait more than a second for our answer before I heard the door close, and I met Webster’s eyes as he smirked while we listened to the garage door go up.
“I got the guy,” I said, maybe with a little pride in a job well done.
“I heard about that,” Webster said. His arms were folded in front of him, and the way he was leaning against the door frame I noticed that he was wearing a pretty tight t-shirt. “Well done, carrying on in my absence, breaking the case. I’m a little confused, though—was he a terrorist with schemes of revenge?”
“A robber using revenge as his cover,” I said as he crossed over to me. “Very Hans Gruber.
It was pretty clever on his part, but he got overconfident toward the end. It was his downfall.”
“Overconfidence can lead to that, I’ve heard.” He leaned against the back of the chair next to me. “And, uh… not to wade into those waters, but… it would appear I missed our date for yesterday.”
I stared into his eyes. “I think… we could probably reschedule. You know, since you had a concussion and all that.”
“Oh, well, the doctor has cleared me for duty,” he said, knocking a hand against the side of his head and grimacing. “Though I imagine it would have been a slightly different story if someone hadn’t carried me out of my flat before it exploded.”
“Any restrictions?” I asked, looking at the way he leaned. It was… kind of a suggestion all of its own.
“I am fit for anything,” Webster said, assuring me. “Though I’ll admit, I’m a bit curious about this whole… touching without touching thing you mentioned.”
“Ah,” I said. “Well…” I turned my head to indicate the direction his mother had gone. “How far away is the supermarket?”
“Oh, she’s gone for the afternoon,” he said, waving a hand behind him. “She’s got a reserve of biscuits to cover the end of the world. She left for our privacy.”
I felt a newfound respect for Marjorie blossoming in me, but it was somewhat quickly replaced by something else, a desire to fulfill a promise I’d made—quite eagerly. “Well, then, Detective Inspector,” I said, “in addition to the normal materials, I have to ask you… do you have any latex gloves?” I pulled out my most mischievous smile.
It turned out he did have some, by strange coincidence. We kept busy with each other until well after nightfall, and I fell asleep with him next to me, fully re-dressed. For safety’s sake, you know.
Chapter 86
Karthik listened to Janus shudder well into the night. He didn’t speak, just shook, making almost no noise. An occasional quiet groan escaped his lips, echoing in the dark. The smell of blood was still heavy in the air, neither of them in a fit state to clean. Karthik could taste it on his tongue, dripping down his throat. He lacked the will to fight his injuries and do anything about it. He could only watch, feeling his strength fade, until finally he passed out somewhere in the night himself.
He was awakened by Janus shaking him, the old man’s breath heavy with blood. Or was it his own body, still healing, that gave off that smell? Either way, Janus was shaking him awake, murmuring quietly.
“What?” Karthik found himself asking. The gentle jarring was only enough to disquiet him, not enough to distress him. “You’re safe now, Janus.” He had a feeling this nightmare would recur. He’d seen the look in Janus’s eyes when Sienna had brought him back, knew a haunting lay within. But now they were different. Wild.
“Did you tell her?” Janus asked, barely speaking audibly.
“You mean the woman with the knives?” Karthik asked, still feeling the pain of his wounds and the bleary edge of the sleep he’d happily embraced.
“No,” Janus said, shaking his head. “No, not her. She’s dead, what do I care if she knew? No… I’m talking about Sienna. Did you tell Sienna?”
Karthik listened carefully, processing the older man’s words until the light came on for him. “No, no, I did not tell her. Not a word.”
Janus’s posture sagged, and the fire that burned in his wide eyes died down. He relaxed, sliding back to the concrete floor and huddling there, arms around his knees like a child. “That’s… that’s good. She can’t know. Not about this.” Karthik watched him stare off into the distance, at the red splotch on the concrete wall where the woman with the knives had died, and listened as Janus continued to mutter to himself, that breath of lucidity gone as quickly as it had come.
Chapter 87
I left early the next morning. I thought about checking on Janus before I left, but I’d burned more time in England than I had available, so there wasn’t time to say goodbye. Besides, I wasn’t a psychologist, and whatever damage he had experienced wasn’t something I could easily fix. When I’d parted ways with Karthik before I’d returned to New Scotland Yard to make my report, I’d told him I’d check in on them via phone when I got home. I already knew that I’d offer to bring Janus to the Agency for care, and if Karthik wanted to take the offer, I’d be fine with it.
It was the least I could do for Janus after all we’d been through.
I’d parted ways with Webster on good terms. The best, really, since we’d had a repeat the morning before I’d left. He was a quick learner, and he dealt with the constraints against direct skin-to-skin contact like a champ, figuring out exactly what to do to maximize the experience for both of us. If the United Kingdom hadn’t just happily kicked out my entire species, I might have already been planning my next trip back.
If I could find the time in my schedule, I might have to come back regardless.
I headed southeast out of London, flying until I saw the channel, and crossed before the sun was fully up. I kept low, not chancing setting off radar for most of Europe. I had one last nagging thing that needed to be dealt with, and I meant to do it before I blew back across the pond.
I took my time, stayed subsonic, and dipped down to look at road signs when necessary. Air navigation without signs or GPS isn’t exactly the easiest thing in the world to manage. I crossed the border into Switzerland sometime around mid-morning, and by the time I’d found my destination, it was getting close to noon.
I made my landing in an alley just down the street from a lovely old building in Vaduz, Liechtenstein. I checked the blood-stained scrap of paper that I’d kept in my coat’s inner pocket, just to be certain I had the right place. Once I was sure, I walked in through the lobby of one of the nicest banks I’d ever seen.
It was pretty impressive, I must say. It wasn’t full opulence on display or anything, but they had nice paintings on the walls, the furniture in the lobby was top notch, and the man waiting to greet guests at the door wore a polite smile even for me, and I suspected it wasn’t because of how nicely I was dressed, with my coat still riddled with holes and all.
“Madam Nealon, if I am not mistaken,” he said with a thick German accent.
“You know me,” I said, nodding as I took in my surroundings.
“I do indeed,” he said, with a subtle nod of the head. “And I know you are with American law enforcement. I welcome you to Liechtenstein, and hope you will have a wonderful stay with us. My name is Nils.” His smile now looked forced. “What can I do for you?”
I held up the blood-stained scrap of paper that had his bank’s name on it with an account number. “I don’t know if you heard, Mr. Nils, but I had a little trouble in London yesterday with the owner of this account.”
His face did not waver, though his smile slightly dimmed. “I’m afraid I cannot discuss matters regarding any of our customers with American law enforcement officers, not even to confirm or deny. We prize confidentiality about all else.”
I stared into his smoky eyes. “How do you verify the identity of your account holders?”
That got him to raise an eyebrow. “As I said, we prize confidentiality.” He fidgeted slightly. “However, speaking in a general sense, many of our account holders are anonymous, interacting with us via the internet, making transfers as necessary. It has been a boon, I think you would call it.” His smile grew flat. “This has left us in the unique position of not always knowing our clients’ identities.”
“Who owns this account?” I asked again, pointing at the account number.
His lips wavered, just the slightest bit. “I am afraid I cannot cooperate with you. It is nothing personal, but we do not discuss our clientele with outside parties, especially law enforcement officers for foreign countries, and our laws do not compel us to—”
“You know who I am,” I said, dull intonation ringing out. “You know what I can do, yes?” I leaned closer, and he did not flinch away, though I saw he had to try mightily not to. “What I could
do to you?”
He held himself straighter than I would have thought he would have. I could see guards easing out of the wings, and he looked with me, shaking his head to warn them off. “Ja, Fraulein. I know who you are. I know what you could—and would—do to me were you to turn loose your wrath. But I cannot give you what you want.”
I stared him down, looking for a hint of weakness. There was none, not a bit, not even beneath the plain, vanilla fear that covered him from head to toe.
“Fair enough,” I said and relaxed, easing back from him a little. I saw his posture change, the fear dissolving just slightly. “I need to talk to you in private.”
He grew stiff again. “I am sorry, Ms. Nealon, but I cannot give you the information you ask for. To compromise our clients by cooperating with foreign law enforcement is anathema to—”
“I’m not here to talk to you as a law enforcement officer, Mr. Nils,” I said, shaking my head. I felt a tingle of nerves as I drew slow breath.
“Oh?” His eyebrow raised again, curiosity plain as he prepared to reach for the bait I dangled in front of him. “Then what are you here to talk about?”
I reached into my coat again and pulled out the second part of the blood-stained paper I’d taken off Philip Delsim’s corpse. The one that contained his password to access his account. “Retirement planning,” I said, staring at the banker. “I’ve got a future to consider.”
Chapter 88
I left Liechtenstein hours later, the sun already down and with a few dollars and euros in my pocket after I’d made a quick stop and gotten some clothes. Nils had done me a favor in this; we’d had a discussion that went very late, and he’d had the owner of a local boutique open her doors just for me. I’d gone simple this time—black pants, a dark tank top, and a watch I’d picked up on my way out. Figured it’d help to gauge my flying time if I strayed off course over the North Atlantic.
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