The Athena Protocol

by Shamim Sarif

  I recognize the song that Kit starts next. As a reflex, I step back just a bit more into the shadows. She stands alone at the mic. The backup singers are gone, and there’s nothing but an acoustic guitar and a soft drum-brush accompanying her. A series of familiar, repeated chords start to play “Baby Mine”—a song that Kit wrote for me. The chords slow down, ready for her to join in, and when she starts the opening notes, I can feel everyone in the crowd stop breathing for a moment. She has an amazing voice at times. People tend not to realize, when there’s a lot of beat and noise around it, but just with a guitar, on her own, she hits every note, and she has that cool rasp in her throat, like she’s been gargling with razorblades. I listen to her singing, and she’s right in the song; it feels like she means every word.

  It took too long for me to understand

  But like a tree that just won’t bend

  I will be here till the end

  Baby of mine . . .

  I close my eyes for a second because I feel it coming back, that memory I get only in dreams, because I was so young. Five, six, maybe. In the early days, before I was at school, when she sometimes took me with her. We’re on the tour bus, in the back, and I’m cradled in Kit’s arms, and she’s singing this song to me. Just her voice, and the comforting roar of the road beneath the bus wheels. She’s holding me really close, her long hair hanging down over my face, shielding me from the highway lights speeding by outside.

  “Jessie, where did you go to?”

  I open my eyes—a hard snap back from the past—and Paulina is there, in front of me, looking concerned. Behind her, Kit is singing her heart out.

  “I met a few people,” I say. “Then the concert started, and I didn’t want to intrude . . . you know, with you and your dad.”

  “I thought something happened,” Paulina says.

  Well, I did break into your father’s office and defuse the bomb he uses to protect his decoder. And then I prowled around your bedroom in the dark.

  I laugh. “No, what could have happened?”

  “She’s amazing, isn’t she?” Paulina glances at Kit, onstage.

  “Better than I expected,” I agree.

  “She’s old.” Paulina nods. “But she’s still got it.”

  I imagine how Kit, in her midforties, would feel if she heard that. She’d probably want to throttle Paulina. I stifle a smile.

  “Come back and sit with us.”

  “Listen, I don’t want to impose—it’s your dad’s birthday.”

  “But I want you there,” she says, earnest.

  That kind of just spilled out, and she looks down, like she’s embarrassed.

  Again, she’s a little bit in my space—a little too close—but this time I don’t step back. Then, as Kit finishes the song and the crowd breaks into applause, Paulina reaches down for my hand and guides me back with her toward the front row. Somewhere along the way, casually, she releases her hold on me and we arrive back at our seats as Kit is getting ready to pound the stage for her big finish. I’m nervous. At Paulina’s touch, at Gregory’s curt nod when he turns to see me, and at the fact that Kit will surely see me from here, because even with the stage lights glaring at her I’m just too close for her to miss.

  You know the way little kids playing hide-and-seek close their eyes, because they think if they can’t see you, you can’t see them? I try a bit of that with Kit. I focus off behind her, beyond the wings of the stage, where the trucks are, but the only people I can see there in the shadows are technicians—and Caitlin, back on duty as Kit’s bodyguard. Which reminds me that I need to get this SD card chip to her so she can check it later using the decoder.

  But now Kit starts into her final song, and everyone’s up and dancing, and she’s looking at Gregory, giving a bit of attention to the birthday boy. Her smile is big, and I know her well enough to know that it’s also fake. But Gregory’s lapping it up, smiling, nodding to the excited friends who surround him. When Kit’s eyes meet mine, I’m impressed. There’s not the tiniest flicker of anything from her; she’s so intent on entertaining everyone that for a moment I wonder if she actually did register that it’s me sitting next to Gregory and his daughter. But her eyes come back to mine eventually, and I know that she knows.

  The concert ends in a blaze of lights and music, and the stage goes dark, the blackness somehow heightening the sound of the clapping, cheering crowd. For a few moments the lights come back up, and Kit takes a couple of bows, but that’s it. She doesn’t look at me again. Even though the crowd is yelling for more, the lights go off for a final time, and I can see my mother’s outline heading backstage. It’s funny, but when you’ve lived with someone all your life, you can tell how they feel, even at a distance, even in the dark. And as Kit disappears from sight, I know that she’s angry. Already irritated by having to sing for Gregory, the sight of me sitting two seats away from him has probably sent her into a complete meltdown.

  Instinctively, as the crowd begins to disperse, I move away from the stage, but Paulina pulls me back. While Gregory is accepting all sorts of congratulations for a fantastic concert—as if he were the one doing the singing—Paulina is lingering near her father.

  “We’re taking some pictures,” she says. “With Kit. Backstage.”

  Well. I guess when you’re spending that much on a forty-five-minute set, you can expect the performer to stand still and grin through a few snapshots for the family album.

  “I’ll wait here,” I say. The last thing I want is to get too close to Kit at this point, or to make myself more of a thorn in Gregory’s side. Paulina hesitates, then nods. But she gives me a look. Like, make sure you don’t run off.

  “I won’t move,” I tell her.

  I watch them troop backstage, where they all pose for pictures while I hang around near Caitlin. She’s overseeing everything, pushing a few stray guests off to the side, acting the bodyguard, and giving the photographer the occasional order.

  I sidle a bit closer as she guides two teenage girls out of the way.

  “Ms. Love is not giving autographs right now,” she tells them.

  Caitlin completely ignores me. But my fingers have already dropped the metal chip into her jacket pocket.

  “Check it with the decoder,” I murmur before moving back to the sidelines.

  The photo call is over, and Kit is chatting with Paulina, who is being super charming and flattering about the concert. I see Caitlin’s hand casually check her jacket pocket, but she doesn’t give me another glance. And then Paulina turns and comes back toward me.

  We walk together, away from the stage area. To our right, a DJ is turning up a thumping bass that shakes the dance floor beneath us. A big crowd is dancing already, still on a high from the concert. When you watch someone like Kit move to music, it looks easy, but most people just can’t get it right.

  Paulina follows my gaze. “You want to join them?”

  “I’m not much of a dancer,” I tell her.

  “Me neither.”

  Which leaves the question of what happens now. It’s midnight. There’s some time before the 3:00 a.m. appointment that Katarina scrawled down for me. Really, I should get out of here, away from Paulina, and Gregory, and his fortress full of armed guards. But I don’t feel like leaving her just yet.

  “Come,” she says, and I follow her to a small patio area by the side of the pool. Clusters of garden furniture are dotted everywhere, and she chooses one of the quietest tables. We move some cushions and sit down on the same sofa. In front of us are silver ice buckets stocked with bottles of vodka, vintage champagne, and expensive mineral water. Every table in sight has a similar setup. Paulina pours us both some water.

  “That’s better,” she says. “It’s hard to talk in that much noise. They’re all getting more and more drunk. And less and less amusing.”

  I glance over to all the guests. At the edge of the dance floor, Gregory is laughing hard with a group of men that includes Markus. Another guy with a huge belly is sprayi
ng a magnum of champagne over a group of young women who are dancing nearby. They are laughing hysterically while people around them applaud. I look away, disgusted, and before I can wipe the judgment from my face, Paulina catches my gaze and holds it, as if she understands how I feel. She shrugs.

  “This is what people do when they have a lot of money.”

  Maybe that’s true in Paulina’s world. But Li’s company is worth billions. I’m willing to bet she has a lot more money than this entire group combined, but I don’t recall seeing her partying drunkenly and trying to hook up with men young enough to be her child. And Peggy and Kit have found a more useful way to spend their spare cash too. But, to Paulina, I just nod.

  She kicks off her heels and pulls her legs onto the sofa. Her perfume is the same as the citrus essence in her room. Tired suddenly, I feel as if I could close my eyes and drift off, enveloped in that scent. Instead, I make myself sit up and focus.

  “What about your father? Doesn’t he think you should be hanging out with Markus?”

  “I don’t care what he thinks,” Paulina says sharply, and she turns her head so she’s even closer to me. “I don’t want you to be part of his world. Just mine.”

  Her voice lowers and I feel myself blushing at that last part. I actually do. Paulina’s embarrassed too, because she sits up, a little bit away from me, and takes a sip of water. Her other hand is on the sofa next to mine, but I don’t have the courage to touch it.

  “I’d like that,” I say.

  The laughter of Gregory’s group draws nearer. We watch as about ten of the men walk back to the house. Lots of orders are shouted at the domestic staff as they settle inside.

  “Now they’ll stay up till dawn playing poker,” says Paulina, disconsolate.

  “I think I should go,” I tell her.

  “Please stay,” Paulina says.

  She looks at me, hopeful. On the sofa, curled up, she looks young and lonely. I know that she wants me with her right now, but nothing good can come of me spending any more time here. Suddenly it feels depressing to me. This party, full of people dancing and drinking, just to feel something, anything at all. The echo of Kit’s song is still in my mind. And then there is the horrible fact of Gregory, right there, a hundred meters from me. And his daughter, inches away, an intimacy that I am getting too relaxed about.

  I stand—a touch abruptly—and Paulina glances up.

  “You were very kind to invite me,” I say. It comes out a bit more formally than I’d wanted.

  “When do you leave?” she asks.

  “In a couple of days.”

  “To London?”

  I nod.

  “Back to university.”

  “Yes. After the summer.”

  She is so completely trusting of me and my phantom degree course. She looks at me for a long moment, with a quiet smile.

  “Maybe one day soon I will come to London and see you,” Paulina says.

  I imagine it. On the one hand—a disaster, a web of lies that would have to be maintained. On the other, I really like the idea of seeing her more. Of us being together, beyond the few hours and days that this mission involves.

  “I’d like that,” I say.

  It’s true, and I’m afraid of my own feelings. It’s time for me to leave the party, and Paulina, as fast as I can.

  13

  ONCE I’VE PICKED UP MY phone from the entrance where I’d left it with the security goons, Paulina has one of Gregory’s drivers chauffeur me back into town. I give him the name of the Metropol Palace hotel as the place to drop me, as I’d rather no one around Gregory has a clue where I’m actually staying. The ride back, alone in the luxurious back seat, is a quiet relief after the intensity of the past few hours. It’s weird but, in the grand scheme of things, reliving that minute watching the countdown of the timer on the bomb is the thing that bothers me the least—for now, anyway. I’m sure it’ll come back to haunt me in a night sweat at some point.

  What I can’t shake off is the tangle of emotions that has come from being around Paulina. The touch of her hand on mine. Her eyes smiling at me. And that song of Kit’s—my song—and my mother’s sandpaper voice taking me back to memories that are so real I wonder if they ever really happened, or if I’ve just made them up.

  It’s nearly one thirty in the morning and I have around an hour before I need to get to the address that Katarina scrawled on that business card. At the Metropol, I make my way into the lobby. A clerk looks at me, but I walk with purpose directly to the ladies’ room, and then come back out and into the bar, which opens onto the street by way of a side entrance. From here, it’s a ten-minute walk to my place.

  Once I’m inside my apartment, I empty my shoulder bag and put away the earpiece and climbing rope. Back there on the roof, it crossed my mind to slide Caitlin’s gun out from the holster on her back while she was arguing with Li. I would have felt safer heading to this unknown place in the dead of night with a bit of protection. But I didn’t want to put one over on Caitlin, and I especially didn’t want to leave her and Kit in Gregory’s world without protection. Still, right about now, I wish I had a weapon. I don’t know what’s about to happen in the worst part of town at 3:00 a.m., but I’m pretty sure it’s not going to be a church social.

  I change into jeans, light running shoes, and a T-shirt. A jacket seems like a good idea, just to carry stuff in and in case it gets colder while I’m hanging around. I’m starving now. I picked up a couple of canapés at the party, but, frankly, a bit of seared tuna with sesame seeds, and quail eggs dipped in whatever will only take you so far. I glance out the window just to confirm that everything is shut—and only dark glass reflects back at me. Even the greasy burger place at the very end of the street. What is it about late-night hunger that makes you want to devour the kind of food you’d never consider putting in your mouth in broad daylight? But I find some bread from yesterday and a few slices of cheese, so I put them together and wash it all down with a cup of tea. Then I head out.

  So I had expected to be in among the depressing, towering apartment blocks once more, and I am, but in this little patch of town, something is different. Just plain wrong. I park a fair distance away from the address I need; I don’t want to attract attention coming in with the engine noise from the bike. It’s starting to rain a little bit after a beautiful clear evening. How nice for Gregory that the weather gods have played ball, keeping away the clouds till his party ends.

  The place that Katarina has sent me to isn’t a specific apartment but a small street running in between a couple of huge high-rises. There are few streetlights around, and where I’m heading, it looks like the lamps have been deliberately broken or turned off. That’s the first thing that’s odd—it’s miserably dark on the streets, at least, in this particular patch. But there are a number of windows that are lit, so even as I track a winding path to get to the place, I have something to guide me.

  The second strange thing is those lit-up windows. Each tower block must have about eight small windows per floor, and they are maybe twenty stories high. And a large number of them—especially on the lower six or seven floors—have lights on inside. There are a number of other blocks some distance away and, at this time of night, they are all dark; everyone’s asleep.

  As I get closer, I move slowly, quietly, listening hard—and there’s a sudden sound behind a dumpster. My hand closes into a fist. More noise, a bottle clinking as it hits the ground—and a stray dog slinks out. Its eyes are luminous in the dark, slanted like a fox’s, eerie. I watch it till it passes me and is well out of range.

  I continue on. Sticking to the shadows isn’t hard, as the streetlights are now entirely gone. I’m almost at the first tower block. Inside the main entrance hall there’s a dull, greenish light—one of those depressing emergency fluorescent things—but no one’s around. I look up at the lit windows again. Another odd thing—not a single window is open. It’s not like there are air-conditioning units on the outside of the building. Us
ually, people leave windows open in summer. And though I can catch the odd shadow, the sense of people inside, there’s no real sign of everyday, normal life. You know—mail on the entrance floor, a TV flickering in a dark room; even rubbish bags that people have dumped. In Katarina’s building and the others around, there was that feeling that people were living there. No matter how downtrodden a place is, someone wants to stick a plant on a window ledge or hang their laundry out on a balcony line. There’s nothing here. The building feels occupied but not lived in.

  The sound of an engine startles me. Then two engines. I look around, but I’m in a warren of small streets between blocks, so I can’t see the vehicles, but they’re definitely coming closer. I get off the street and into a little stairwell on the side of the building.

  My original plan had been to find a way onto a roof some distance away and watch the area using Amber’s zoomed contact lenses. A safe, smart, intelligent plan. I try to remember why on earth I didn’t stick with it as I stand pressed into the stairwell, which smells like a hundred people recently used it for a bathroom.

  Something soft and warm touches my ankle, then runs over my feet. A rat slips by in the dark. I literally feel the hair on the back of my neck prickling. I’m not squeamish, but if there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s rats. Luckily, I’m immediately distracted from the disgusting rodent situation by the swish of tires over the wet street to the side of me. Two large white vans—unmarked of course—pull up outside the other tower block across the street.

  I lean out of the stairwell just a bit, to see what’s happening. The summer rain touches my head and trickles onto my face. I don’t dare move, even to brush it away. A couple of guys jump down from the vans, and four more come out of the block. They do some fist-bumping and macho-handshake stuff. One of them makes a call on his cell. Another moves off to the side, a little closer to me, to take a leak against the wall. They’re all armed—shoulder holsters and pistols.