When the Gods Are Away, page 24
Chrysanthe frowned. “I doubt it.”
Matthaios put a hand on her shoulder. "Chrysanthe is probably right. We can't be certain, though. Maybe he’s working with the bad guys and maybe he isn’t. But it’s more dangerous to trust him and be wrong than to not trust him and be wrong. We have to assume he’s the enemy until we know otherwise.”
Chrysanthe shrugged. “I am okay with any plan that vilifies him in an actual or hypothetical sense.”
Virgil stared at his hands. He wished he had the conviction of the others. What if distrusting Patroklus leads to us failing? What if Patroklus is working for Nyx and saw us behind the bookshelf and we’ve already failed?
“Patroklus isn’t our only concern, though,” said Chrysanthe. “Nyx mentioned the senator. I assume he means Kelipapalous. Why is the senator working with Nyx and a rogue priest?”
Matthaios shrugged. “He probably knows he’s losing popularity compared to the temple. Maybe he thinks starting a war will give him more political power.”
“Makes sense.” Chrysanthe shook her head. “As much sense as possible when your plan is to nuke a city."
Matthaios frowned. "Well, I didn't vote for him."
"Neither did I, so I guess we'll both have clear consciences in the radioactive aftermath." Chrysanthe extended a hand to Virgil. "Sorry you're having to move around so much. This can't be good for you after the night you had."
“It’s not.” He took her hand and let her help him to his feet.
"Tonight, then," said Matthaios. "And we have a long drive to the launch site. Do we have a plan?"
He and Virgil turned to Chrysanthe.
Chapter 26
VIRGIL CLUTCHED HIS side as Matthaios' car hit another pothole. Matthaios and Chrysanthe, sitting in the front seats, bobbed in the air for a second, but seemed otherwise unaffected.
Galatas lay hours away, and they hadn't even started for it yet. Virgil checked his watch again. 11:14. They wouldn't have much time when they arrived, but Chrysanthe insisted the detours were necessary. She and Matthaios had grabbed formalwear from their house, and Virgil would collect his suit when they arrived at his apartment.
Though he trusted his sister, and knew her plan would give them the best possible chance of success, he also knew the three of them couldn't infiltrate the launch site by themselves and stop Nyx. Not with Nyx's guards. Virgil pulled out his phone. "I'm calling for back-up."
“Back-up?” Chrysanthe turned from the passenger seat to look at him. “You mean those officers who tried to kill you yesterday?”
“We might not get past the security guards by ourselves,” he said. “Besides, the police won’t try to kill me now. They’ll understand what’s at stake.”
Before Chrysanthe could protest further, Virgil dialed the number to the station. The phone rang several times before someone picked up.
“Arestia police department. This is Officer Michaelides speaking.”
“Hey, Michaelides. This is Virgil. I’ve got a problem, and I’m calling for back-up.”
Michaelides chuckled. “Oh, yeah? This oughta be good. I’m putting you on speaker phone.”
Virgil looked up at Chrysanthe, who shrugged. I hate my coworkers.
“Hey, guys,” Michaelides said. “Virgil’s on the phone calling for back-up. Sounds serious.” The laughter of the other officers came through the phone with exceptional clarity. “Okay, Virgil. Go ahead. Everyone’s listening.”
Virgil closed his eyes, realizing the reaction he would get. “There’s a nuclear missile test tonight. We’re worried that someone is going to change the target coordinates so it hits a city, so we’re going to Galatas to stop it. Meet me at my apartment."
Distorted laughter came through the phone's speaker.
“Virgil Glezos, the homicide detective who saved the world.” Michaelides cleared his throat. “Sure thing, buddy. The whole force’ll be out there real soon.” A click from the other end silenced the laughter.
Virgil looked at Chrysanthe. “I don’t think they’re really coming.”
“I gathered. Those are some enviable coworkers you have.” She shook her head. “It’s probably better this way; I don’t trust them after what they tried to do to you.”
Virgil didn't trust them, either, but he knew how enthusiastic they could be for any cause that involved violence. They weren't ignoring this request because they couldn't rally behind this particular cause. They were ignoring it because they didn't trust him, because they didn't want to be associated with him. If he were more competent, or if there were even anything likable about him, they would have come. Once again, the situation is my fault.
Chrysanthe stared out the windshield for several minutes before turning back to him. "Virgil, you're not in any condition to be fighting."
They hit another pothole. It felt like a knife driving into his side again. Virgil groaned. "I know."
"You're obviously in pain," Chrysanthe continued, "and I’m worried that you’ll slow us or that something might go wrong and your injury will prevent you from getting away.”
"Yes, but—"
“It’s okay, Virgil. You’ve done enough to get us the information, and there’s not really much more you can do now, anyway. I know you have self-esteem issues and this conversation isn’t helping, but I also don’t think this is the time to work on your personal growth, not with the world’s fate at stake. When we get to your apartment, we'll just drop you off.”
Chrysanthe was right. Virgil would slow them down and probably screw something up. Attempting to prove his competence to himself meant nothing in the face of nuclear war.
But he had found the information leading them to Nyx. Despite numerous setbacks and failures, he had brought them this far.
Besides, I’m worried about what I’ll do if I’m left alone.
"I'm coming. You want to disguise us as aides. The more aides you have, the more important you'll seem. The receptionist and guards are going to make an initial assessment when they see us, and we'll need everything we have to seem legitimate enough to pass that assessment."
Chrysanthe sighed and closed her eyes. "Virgil, I'm worried about you. But you're right."
Matthaios grunted. "There's a police truck parked in front of your apartment.”
Virgil leaned forward to look out the front window. A white truck with the skull-and-spear logo. No one stood outside. Which officers did they send? Does it matter?
“We might have to fight." Matthaios looked back at Virgil. "Or run."
Matthaios parked behind the police truck. Virgil waited for Chrysanthe to help him from the car, and then the three of them approached the truck.
The truck doors opened, and Virgil stopped. His muscles tensed. After the conversation with Michaelides, he doubted the officers had come to help.
Schirra and Stathis emerged from the vehicle. They slung their spears over their shoulders.
"Did you come to arrest us?" asked Virgil.
Schirra shrugged. "Heard you needed back-up."
Virgil stared for several moments. None of the other officers had shown up, but Schirra and Stathis had believed him. They’re willing to risk their lives because of something I said.
I hope I don't get them killed. "You came."
Schirra and Stathis swaggered toward them. "Obviously," she said with a mischievous smile.
“I didn’t think anyone was coming. Did you bring anyone else?”
“Nope," said Schirra. "The others are all a bunch of assholes, and they’re incompetent, anyway. The two of us can handle anything you need handled.”
“Yeah.” Stathis brandished his spear.
While Matthaios folded his arms and watched from several paces away, Chrysanthe stepped between Virgil and the police officers. She glanced over her shoulder at Virgil. “Are these the ones who tried to kill you earlier today?”
Virgil shook his head. “Schirra stood up for me. She tried to stop the chief.”
Chrysanthe narrowed her eyes, seeming to take a closer look at the officers. After several moments of scrutiny, she said, “You’re a woman.”
Schirra snorted. “How perceptive of you.”
Storms rolled over Chrysanthe’s eyebrows for a moment, but they dissipated, and her shoulders relaxed. “I’ve always prided myself on my keen observation skills. Thank you for trying to save Virgil. It means a lot to me.”
Schirra inclined her head. “So what are we looking at? Someone’s aiming a nuke at a city?”
“Yeah,” said Virgil. “And if that happens, there might be a nuclear war. The Greek Alliance would be wiped out for certain, and probably all of Europe.”
Schirra smiled. “High stakes. I like it.”
Stathis set his jaw and nodded. “Me, too.”
“Yeah, that’s what attracted me to this venture,” Chrysanthe said with an unhealthy dose of sarcasm. “You two are definitely police officers.”
“Yep,” said Schirra. “So what's the plan?"
"We're heading to Galatas," said Chrysanthe. "We'll be disguised as aides. You'll need to get your formalwear. I'll doctor some IDs on the way. We'll avoid any guards, find Fred Nyx, and keep him from changing the coordinates of the missile's target."
“With violence?” asked Schirra.
“If necessary.”
Schirra grinned. “It’ll be necessary.”
Chrysanthe shook her head. “Definitely a police officer. We’re only confronting Nyx directly if he’s isolated. You and your friend might be good at combat, but the rest of us aren’t.”
Matthaios grunted. “I’m not bad,” he said under his breath.
Chrysanthe walked back to Virgil, and he accepted her proffered shoulder with great alacrity. Not a good day for saving the world.
"Well," said Chrysanthe, "you two and Virgil need to get your suits. Then let's go. We don't have much time."
Chapter 27
“I’M SENATOR KELIPAPALOUS’ Chief Advisor on Advanced Technological Warfare.” Matthaios extended his hand to the closest security guard. “And these are my assistants and our security detail.”
Standing behind Matthaios in the small lobby of the Galatas Launch Site’s Operations Center, Virgil adjusted his leather briefcase and hat. He hoped the layer of sweat hadn’t bled through his suit. He also hoped his blood hadn’t bled through. Chrysanthe had rewrapped his wound with a liberal application of bandages, but the stitches strained and loosened with each shift of a shoulder or twist of his waist. If they did split and allow the knife wound to blossom blood, they would draw attention to him and jeopardize the plan. And it will be my fault for allowing Patroklus to stab me.
He fought the urge to tap his foot or put his hand in his pocket or tighten his tie as he stared forward, trying to concentrate on the sparkling marble wall behind the receptionist's desk and the low-hanging, intricate chandeliers throughout the room. Anything but the way my shoes are biting into my feet, or the way my suit feels tighter than when I wore it last, or the air-conditioning cold enough to preserve a glacier, or the handful of caffeine pills I took to remain awake and that are making my fingers twitch uncontrollably, or the fact that the slightest misspoken word from me could doom the entire continent to a nuclear winter.
I guess the last one is the most important. And what will happen if the senator's real aides show up?
If Chrysanthe had the same thoughts, she didn't betray them. She stood beside Virgil in a dark business-like blouse and dress, her posture as rigid as Patroklus’ at his best, with an expression worthy of a genuine assistant to a senator's genuine Chief Advisor on Advanced Technological Warfare. Schirra and Stathis were behind Virgil, probably standing at attention with the butts of their spears on the ground in standard military parade rest.
The craggy-faced guard glanced over the entourage while his partner loitered several paces behind and made threatening faces. The guard’s smile displayed a set of mangled teeth as he leered at Schirra.
“Why is one of your aides carrying a spear? Nothing sexier than chicks with spears, but aren’t you worried she’ll trip over it? Or maybe drop it when she sees a bigger spear?" He grabbed his crotch while his partner laughed.
“Either of our guards,” said Matthaios, dropping the smile and giving his dark suit two quick tugs, “are fully capable of kicking your ass. Now, we are here to view the launch as Senator Kelipapalous’ representatives. Which way is the mission control room?”
For a moment, the guard said nothing as he peered deep into Matthaios’ eyes. Matthaios remained as stationary as a column. Virgil held his breath. What does the guard see? Can he determine that we’re impostors from a simple stare-down? Virgil had to fight the urge to drum his fingers against his leg.
Then the moment passed, and the guard spoke. “I would love to have a wrestling match with your little groupies, but I’m busy at the moment.” He waved his hand to indicate the receptionist’s desk. “You’ll have to check in before you can continue to the control room.”
“Very well.” Matthaios adjusted his suit and strode toward the desk.
We made it past the front door. Virgil’s heart raced, and he had to prevent his muscles from relaxing. We have many steps left before we confront Nyx in the control room, but we passed the first test. Virgil matched Chrysanthe's pace as they followed Matthaios to the receptionist.
A loud slapping sound came from behind him. Virgil’s head whirled to see the guard in the aftermath of smacking Chrysanthe’s ass. His mouth opened. That’s my sister.
He knew he should defend her, that custom and honor required it. But he couldn't. Not only did he not possess the strength to defend Chrysanthe, any attempt to do so would bring unnecessary attention and jeopardize the mission. He closed his mouth, face flushing as he lowered his eyes to the floor.
Before Virgil could take another step, Schirra threw down her spear and launched herself at the guard. The man’s eyes widened, but he had time for no other reaction before Schirra slammed a fist into his nose. He tried to wrap her in a wrestling hold, but she twisted with him and dropped him to the ground like a sack of rice. Then she sent a boot into the underside of his jaw, and his body went slack.
“I hate it when men grab women like that,” she said.
Virgil stared at the unconscious body lying on the floor. Maybe Schirra's comments about her ability weren't bluster. Maybe she should have been chosen as chief. This isn’t the time I wanted to learn that, though.
Her demonstration might have destroyed their only chance to save the Alliance and the Mediterranean region. Any moment now, the alarms would sound, and guards would swarm through the doors or maybe burst from the ceiling vents. He looked to Chrysanthe and Matthaios, whose wide eyes and open mouths didn’t instill confidence. Schirra stood over her victim, smirking without remorse.
“Hey!” The other guard raised his spear and took two steps toward them, but Stathis stepped forward to block him.
“He was out of line. Don’t make us do the same to you.”
The guard frowned and fingered the walkie-talkie at his belt. Virgil watched as the man and Schirra stared at each other for several moments. Thoughts crossed the man’s face in slow motion, as though running upstream in deep water.
Will he call for help? If he does, civilization will be over.
“Fine,” the guard said with a contemptuous expression. “Let’s not have any further incidents.”
Virgil relaxed. The guard was claiming dominance in order to preserve his ego, but their group could allow him that for the sake of the mission.
“I would love a further incident,” Schirra said.
Virgil winced. Chrysanthe, acting in a more constructive fashion, collected Schirra's spear from beside the fallen guard and put a hand on Schirra's shoulder. She gave the officer a gentle push forward. The remaining guard, who must have chosen to ignore the implied challenge, stood over his unconscious comrade and nudged him with a boot.
"Get up," he said.
“Come on,” said Chrysanthe in a low voice to Schirra, handing her the spear. “No need to cause too much havoc.” Schirra made no reply, but allowed Chrysanthe to guide her to the receptionist’s desk.
“Hi, there!” the receptionist said in a cheery tone, her face pale. “That was quite an entrance. I hope the rest of your visit is less eventful. Please hand over your weapons and other items. I will also need to check your IDs.”
Matthaios, as the chief advisor, carried no accessories, so he stood to the side while the others came forward. Virgil heaved his briefcase atop the counter, wincing as the stitches pulled against his side. He took a step back and watched as the receptionist slid the briefcase toward her. He hoped she didn’t give the contents too much scrutiny. Although it didn’t contain anything as obvious as books stolen from the library, it did contain the launch site’s blueprints scattered amongst random papers from Matthaios’ office. Virgil locked his arms to his side and tried to keep his fingers still and his face from tensing. His hand closed around the charm in his pocket. He’d brought it for good luck. It had protected him before and allowed him to gather an essential clue. It was as lucky as he’d ever been.
Chrysanthe placed her own briefcase on the counter with a professional flourish. “Please be careful with it. This is my favorite one. I named it ‘Theodore.’”
The receptionist coughed. “Okay. I’ll treat Theodore with the utmost respect.”
Chrysanthe’s face turned red. “Thank you.”
To avoid seeming overly interested in the results of the examination, Virgil studied the room while the receptionist rifled through the briefcases’ contents. As expected, elegant paintings and sculptures decorated the lobby. Large windows gazed out into the night sky. Plush couches formed a semicircle around the waiting area table. From the wall behind the receptionist, Senator Kelipapalous’ portrait smiled upon them with a friendliness its real-life counterpart likely did not share.
“All done with these,” the receptionist sang. “Everything looks fine.”
She snapped the briefcases shut and slid them across the smooth counter. Once Virgil and Chrysanthe had collected them, the receptionist turned to the disguised police and said, “Weapons are next. I’m afraid I can’t return those to you until you leave.”
