Ruthless (13 page)

“I didn’t even have time to get my hair done,” I said, self-consciously fiddling with the chop-sticked style I’d put it into. Of all the things Phillips had said to me, I had to admit that the petty crack about my hair was in the running for most aggravating. What did that say about me? “I’ll get to the pound.”

“Sure you will,” Reed said, giving the good boy a rub on the belly where he lay. “How you holding up?”

“Other than feeling pretty damned powerless?” I asked, heading back to the bedroom to take a look at myself in the mirror. I was actually wearing a dress this time. A real, legit dress. Hold the shock.

“You’re like the most powerful meta in the world,” he said, voice muffled where he stood out in the living room. “How is it you’re feeling powerless?”

“Because the ability to destroy everything is kinda meaningless unless you’re willing to employ it, duh.” I put in my earrings. I don’t wear earrings often. Because I heal rapidly, I basically have to pierce them myself anytime I do. I’d formed some scar tissue on my body once upon a time, before I gained Wolfe’s healing powers, but it had long since dissolved. This is why I don’t do formal occasions, reason #85,764,938. It stung a little as I pushed them in, then I dabbed away the blood as it welled and then stopped in seconds. “So, while I could level entire cities with my amazing powers, imprison countless people in nets of light, heal from numerous bullet wounds or even turn into a dragon and start devouring people like the miniature quiches that I’m hoping they’ll be serving tonight … that’s not really me.” I stared at myself in the mirror, looking at the drops of blood on my fingers. It certainly wasn’t the first that had rested there. “Is it?” I whispered.

“No, it’s not,” he said, leaning in the doorway. I hadn’t meant for him to hear that.

“For all our conversations about how brutal and uncaring I am about our prisoners,” I said, building a brick wall inside to keep these overwhelming, hot-running feelings from running over me, “I would think by now I’d have come to a point where I’m just … numb to it.” I looked up at him. “I’ve killed enough people I ought to be numb. I shouldn’t feel … like this.”

He stared at me. “Like you want to kill Phillips?”

“I don’t want to kill Phillips,” I said. “Don’t get me wrong, I don’t like him. I wouldn’t mind bopping him on the head and watching him pitch into unconsciousness in a snow bank—in formal wear, just for fun.” Even that image didn’t do much to make me smile. “I’m not Wolfe. I’m a smartass, and I can be violent, but … I don’t want to kill everybody. I don’t want to kill anybody.” I looked up at myself. “I’ll do it when necessary, but it isn’t a joy for me.” I looked sideways at him. “Not even when I killed that turd in England a few months ago.”

“Getting soft in your old age, huh?” Reed cracked a grin. “Or am I just starting to influence you?”

“No,” I said. “No. I guess it’s hard to explain.”

“You use your powers for good,” he said. “You don’t want to use them on the basically defenseless. You’re not a murderer, Sienna.” He stood up in the doorway, my tall brother. “You’re a—”

“Don’t say ‘protector,’” I said, looking away. I stared at the few little tins of makeup and stuff in front of me. “Or anything similarly sappy. I just do my job. Whatever it takes.”

“But you do make the world a safer place, right?” he asked. “I mean, I know you do. But is that how you see yourself?”

I stared at myself in the mirror. “I’m having a little trouble at the moment separating the flagellated ego from the drive to do what I’m supposed to.”

Reed stood there in silence. “Wha … what?”

I took a breath. “Phillips … he hurts my ego. My sense of self—”

“Have you been reading psych textbooks or something?” Reed asked, glancing toward my bookshelf in the corner. “Is this New Age mumbo jumbo?” He looked at me seriously. “Have you been doing affirmations?”

“No,” I said, annoyed. “Listen. I’ve got this sense of duty, all right? That I’m supposed to do things with my power that can help people. Because of the—” I waved a hand. “The thing. With Wolfe.”

The time he massacred hundreds of people while I hid.

Reed gave me an eyebrow. “I would say that debt was paid when you saved the whole city of Minneapolis.”

“That debt is never paid,” I said. “Anyway … my purpose, my duty … is the reason I have this job rather than something else, like running security for the Hope Diamond or working for a private military contractor, something that would pay better. People who cross my purpose—like that dipshit in England, like Sovereign—get scratched off the list of still-breathing persons. That’s easy. But Andrew Phillips hasn’t—I mean, he’s threatening to interfere with that by messing with the agency, but I’ve known all along that this place belongs to the government, that it’s not mine.” I looked over at Reed, who was studying me all through this diatribe. “He’s not in danger of life and limb, or taking all his meals through a feeding tube for months or years to come, okay? He’s just an ass. As much as I’d like to smack him, I won’t. Because he’s not like Simmons, who had already crossed the line on the purpose thing. Get it?”

Reed frowned, his whole face screwing up. “People who personally offend you live, people who are threats and also personally offend you either die or get the hell beaten out of them? Is that how it works? Roughly?”

I sighed because that was the closest approximation I could come up with to express how I felt. Exasperated and not really understood by the only person left who might stand a chance of understanding me. “Roughly.”

“Well then, I guess I’ll work not to be a threat to the balance of civilized society,” he said, and I could hear his smirk, “while quipping merrily about you all the while.”

“And I will happily fire back with endless witticisms,” I said, picking up the mascara … uh … doodad. When was the last time I wore this stuff? A thought occurred to me. “You ever have that time in your life you wish you could go back to?” I felt him rustle in his tux as he stood there. “When things just felt … right?”

“Sure,” he said. “Lots of people feel that way about high school, or college.” He paused. “Why, what was it for you?”

I dropped the mascara in frustration without even touching it to my lashes. Screw it, they were full and hearty enough. “Believe it or not … when we were still in the Directorate, and Omega was dogging my footsteps every day.”

I could tell I stunned him because his answer was slow to come. “Um, okay.”

“I’m fully aware of how crazy that sounds,” I said. “But I never had a high school, and my life before the Directorate was … well, you know …” I sighed, and stared at my pale face in the mirror. At least I hadn’t been crying. I’d born my suffering in silence. I stared at this black dress in the mirror and had a revelation. “Crap. This is kinda like the prom I never wanted.”

Reed laughed, and shook his head. “The ball approaches, Cinderella. Are you done trying to figure out how to apply makeup?”

“This is as good as it gets,” I said, running a hand over myself. The self-consciousness leaked out. “How do I look?”

He smiled. “You’ll do just fine.” He offered me his elbow. “Shall we?”

I took it. “Yeah.” I tugged at my dress, which ended just below the knees. I was feeling self-conscious about everything, including my calves. “Are you sure it looks okay?”

“It’s wonderful,” he said as we started out. “I mean, unless you start a fight in it. Then it’ll probably inhibit your movement or something. Plus I’m guessing it will inhibit your ability to carry.”

“Ass,” I said as we headed out the door. “I’ve got a Glock in my purse and one of those new Smith and Wesson Bodyguard .380s at the small of my back.” I checked for the dog, but he was still asleep on the vent. I left the light on for him because I was still new at this dog thing. “Besides, what makes you think I’d be the one starting the fight?”

He just chuckled, and I punched him in the arm as I closed the door quietly behind me, trying not to wake my little pet.

She sat in the back of the limousine with the others, listening to the voice over the phone. The heat was roaring, the snow was piled up outside the car windows. Natasya listened to the hollow tones, that faint rasp in the voice that hinted at a struggle for breath every few sentences. She was developing an opinion of the voice at the other end of the line; it was based on respect and a search for weakness.

Unfortunately, a breathing ailment was no consolation given what she was up against. No consolation at all.

“You’ll remain in character, innocent party guests until you receive the signal,” the voice said, with a faint wheeze in the middle of the sentence. There was a hollow, echoing quality to the acoustics, as though the call was being made from inside a confined chamber. “At that point, your task will be to corral the other guests, keeping them in place as hostages in case of a swifter government response than we’ve anticipated, at which point you’ll switch to Contingency Plan A.”

Vitalik spoke up with his characteristic suaveness, as though he were trying to flirt with the disconnected voice. “So we just have to be ourselves?” He grinned. “Except Miksa.” He glanced at the Hungarian. “He should be anyone but himself.” The quiet Hungarian made a lazy, profane gesture at Vitalik.

“There shouldn’t be a problem,” the voice continued. Natasya had noted that the woman on the other end of the line had seemed to take the personalities in the call into account, but she never allowed so much as a hint of familiarity to creep in. She kept her distance, commanded their respect, never let the ice between them thaw. She was sharp, professional.

Natasya would not have wanted to be playing on the opposite side of the table from this one. In her considered opinion, whoever the voice was, she was the most dangerous strategic planner ever. She understood the value of planning, and her plans had yet to run across a contingency unplanned for. The voice knew all, saw all, like some sort of god of old, the sort of thing to make the weak-minded fear a vengeful hand landing upon them in the night, unseen.

“Give the caterers time to do their part,” the voice went on. “Once they’ve completed their assignment, you’ll have no resistance to worry about. Once the hostages are secure and the ports are open, I’ll be able to unlock the prison. Less than an hour, and you’ll be extracted before anyone even has a chance to hear about it, let alone prepare a government response of any sort.”

Natasya hesitated before she spoke, trying to consider how to phrase her question without offending the voice. “The … caterers?”
The mercenaries
, she thought. “Who will they answer to should we be forced into a contingency plan?”

“They’ll answer to you on site,” the voice said without a hint of indecision. “I’ve already directed them to take orders from you if things go awry. Until I have access to the network, I’ll be blind. They’ll listen to you.”

That was a soothing feeling. The voice knew when to do that, it seemed. “Good,” Natasya said, feeling a little hollow. It was a relief knowing that the voice—whoever she was—had little ego about the whole endeavor. It was also disconcerting, because the woman knew what she did not know. The worst sort of enemy was the self-aware enemy, one who was thoroughly aware of their weaknesses.

Yes, that was concerning.

“The signal should go off approximately twenty minutes after your arrival to the party,” the voice said. “You’ll know when it happens.” She paused. “Now’s the time to take your injections.”

This was another moment of concern, as Natasya took the little case that had come with them from Kentucky and opened it, offering the syringe pens to Leonid, who was strangely quiet, then Miksa, and finally Vitalik before taking one for herself. She stared at it, a little blunt object that looked like an elongated capsule, before she finally pressed the needle into her arm and depressed the button. It was a tiny little pinprick, an annoyance and no more. She held out the box wordlessly. Each of them put their emptied pens back into it, and Natasya snapped the lid.

“Any questions?” the voice asked.

“No,” Natasya said after looking around the limousine one last time. The seats were leather, and there was a full bar with countless bottles at the far end under the window that led to the driver’s compartment.

“Then this is where we say goodbye until you’re in control,” she said. “If I need you urgently, I’ll call.” Natasya felt a self-conscious itch where the thin plastic of the cellular phone rested in her coat pocket. “Remember … remain cool until the signal. You’re party guests. Have fun, but not too much fun.” There was a pause, and the voice’s tension increased. “No more drinking, Leonid.” Natasya’s head whipped around and she caught Leonid with a glass in his hand that she hadn’t noticed before. Clear liquid, full to the brim. Vodka, straight up, of course. He looked mildly contrite and nodded.

“And one last thing,” she said, her voice filling the small chamber. “Do not let Sienna Nealon out of your sight. She’s canny. She’s dangerous. Keep an eye on her, and don’t let her get away.” There was a pause, and the cold, emotionless voice crackled with something that sounded like distant fury. “And as soon as you get the chance, kill her.”

“You really would have dug that briefing this morning,” Reed said to me as we made our way through the tunnel from the dormitory to the headquarters building. It was a relief not to have to carry a coat, not to have to trudge over snow-covered walkways and get my shoes—flats, but way less comfortable than what I was used to—all slick and dirty.

“I read the report,” I said as we walked down the fluorescent-lit hallway. The walls were solid concrete, functional but not beautiful, a channel cut into the ground between the buildings that was even more cold and sterile than the tunnel of death that led to the prison. I could tell after a moment that Reed was waiting for my reaction. “It was cool,” I conceded. Because it had been.

“Did you see that thing about the chemical weapons depot in Kentucky?” he asked, arching his eyebrows. Usually it was me that got all excited, like a kid, about the idea of details being shared. There hadn’t been a ton of them in the report, just a mention that a depot had been hit.