Stolen, page 13
“If you believe that, then trust that I know what I'm doing,” I said. “She got distracted by all the goings on at the base. I'll help her focus, okay? Otherwise...I will cut her loose.”
Renard hesitated. “My worry is that you are so blinded by desiring to do this thing that you are, perhaps, not thinking fully through whether this thing can be done.”
I smiled, leaned in close to his ear, and whispered, “It can be done. Trust me.”
Renard leaned back, coolly looking me in the eye. “I suppose we will see. But I am in this for loyalty – to you, but mostly to your husband. If we proceed, and I begin to believe we have no chance to make this happen?” He snapped his fingers. “I will not go with you into Shenzhen. My life is worth enough to me that I do not desire to throw it away by leaping into a trap that you have no hope of escaping.” He paused at the door. “Do not make me regret doing this, Sienna. I have trusted your judgment thus far, but I begin to question.”
I smiled. “Don't worry your pretty little head about it, Renard,” I said, and he exited, not looking very reassured. “I've got it all under control. And I have a plan.” Barron, though he gave me a nod, and was much more stoic. Whatever else he was thinking, he kept to himself. For now.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
When I escaped the conference room, I wandered through the safe house's crumbling halls until I reached an innocuous door. Checking to make sure no one was looking – and the klieg lights I'd ordered set up were vanquishing the shadows all around me – I used my magnetic powers to jimmy the lock, then slipped into a darkened room.
Lighting up my hand, I wandered through a narrow corridor, feeling like Indiana Jones exploring a ruin. But, y'know, before he got old and borderline suicidal. After a couple corners, I felt my way 'round to another door and jimmied the lock again.
Stepping inside, I found myself in the midst of a massive control center, with screens on every wall and a raised platform with a command chair firmly in the middle. It looked like something out of a starship, with a bounding rail around the edge of the platform, computer platforms mounted around the perimeter controlling the view.
“What's up, girl?” Abby Cook called to me from across the room, where she and J.J. had their consoles set up. Jamal was on the wall closest to me, Arche beside him, both in an electrically fueled trance as they did their thing, faces lit by the glow of the fifty monitors all around us. One whole wall was dedicated to weather broadcasts and maps, specifically centered on one area of the world.
The South China Sea.
“Hurricane Reed is moving along on schedule?” I asked, gripping the rails just in front of the wall.
“I prefer 'Typhoon Isabella,'” my brother said from his seat in the middle of the room, eyes closed, seemingly deep in thought. Whether he was manipulating wind currents halfway across the globe or just contemplating what style of tux he should wear for his wedding, he sounded far away.
“If she takes their houses, maybe she won't take yours,” I wisecracked.
Reed tried to smile, but it came out like a grimace. Finally opening his eyes, he sighed, long and deep. “I heard things went well on your mission.”
“The Changsha base is a smoking crater, and we got what we needed,” I said. “That ought to wake up the Chinese, remind them that, yes, they are at war, and that it's going to be on multiple fronts.”
My brother laced his fingers together across his stomach as he leaned back in his comfy chair. “You really think you can get them to bleed off enough forces from their trap in Shenzhen to make a difference?”
“Probably not,” I said with a sigh. “But that's not really the point, is it? There's no chance they weaken themselves in Shenzhen, where they know I'm going to hit them.”
“True enough,” Reed said, a little strained. That's what creating a hurricane out of whole cloth does to you, I guess.
“How are the Byerly clan doing?” I asked, looking back at the screen.
“Doing great,” Reed said, relaxing just a titch. “They're bringing in warm water from the equator, which is letting me supercharge this thing. Can't really ask for more than that.”
The door behind us clicked, then opened, and I found my grandmother slipping in almost silently, wearing camo fatigues and a weary look. “Everything go all right?” Lethe asked.
“Everything's copacetic on my end,” I said, looking at some of the monitors tuned to things other than the building storm. “How are you doing?”
“Well enough,” Lethe said, a bit stiffly. “My team's doing their jobs with a minimum of discord. Which, judging by what I've heard from your squabbling bunch of schoolchildren, is the most I could hope for.”
“My bunch will be fine,” I said, stroking a bare palm against the metal railing. “They've already cleared the first hurdle. Two more to go.”
“The first hurdle was the easiest,” Lethe said. “The last one, though...that's the one where you might end up faceplanting. Into a running meat grinder. While your pants are around your ankles.”
“Why does it matter if you're wearing pants when you go into a meat grinder?” J.J. asked from across the command center. “Because I imagine them being as useless as Ranier Wolfcastle's goggles in that situation.”
“Stop trying to score nerd points while the adults are talking,” Lethe said. She came and stood next to me, looking at the screens. “You really think you can pull this off?”
I felt a smile tug at the corners of my lips. “I think we have a decent chance.”
“Loving the optimism,” Reed said, but his eyes were once again closed, and he sounded very far away. Like...a world away, maybe, tugging at currents of wind.
“You better be sure before you pull this next trigger,” Lethe said, watching one screen, then another, switching to a new view, that of a smoking crater – NUCLEAR TERRORISM IN CHINA – SIENNA NEALON RESPONSIBLE? ran across the bottom of the screen. “Because the deeper you get into this, the harder it's going to be to just walk away.”
I didn't feel like arguing with a woman wiser and more experienced than myself, so I just nodded and watched as every monitor began to shift from the news of where I was going to the news of where I'd just been.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Then
We ate at the Wynn Buffet, which was maybe the most incredible smorgasbord I'd ever seen. It was enough food to satisfy even Wade, and of the fanciest variety – from prime rib to lobster to elegant pastas, and finished off with a dessert bar of silky chocolates. It was like Golden Corral elevated by a Michelin chef.
And even my Navy SEAL got full.
“Okay, that was incredible,” Wade said, leaning back from the table. “Do you eat like this all the time? Because I could go for a Bonnie and Clyde thing if all the meals are like this.”
I smiled very slightly. “Yeah, it's like this all the time, except sometimes there are breaks where knuckle sandwiches are served. Like, a few months ago, I was at a Denny's in Pennsylvania, and someone–” named ArcheGrey1819, “–unleashed a series of automated machine guns on the restaurant.”
“That sucks. Did you get to finish your Moons Over My Hammy first?”
I peered at him. “How did you know I ordered a Moons Over My Hammy?”
He laughed. “Did you? Lucky guess. I just love that sandwich.”
“Hey, sailor,” I said, sighing. “Where do you think this is going, exactly?”
He stared at me for a moment. “The dessert bar...?”
“And after that?”
“I'm still holding out hope for free hugs.”
I sat back in my seat, mentally calculating how long I was going to have to hit the gym tomorrow to make up for this culinary extravaganza. “You're going to have to go back to work. I'm going to have to move on to my next stop soon–”
“Technically, I don't have to go back to work,” he said, studying the ruins of his near-clean plate. “I'm a contractor. They call, I have a choice of whether I go or not. I can go do something else, if I like, or nothing at all.”
“Sooner or later you'll run out of money.”
He chuckled. “So, funny story – I was perhaps not entirely truthful with you earlier when I said I'd never be wealthy doing this. They pay very well, and my overhead is incredibly low. So a few years of doing this, coupled with proper investing, and I will be well off.” He smiled, and it was warm and sent a little tingle through me. “Or I could go without working now for...a few years, at least.”
“And that's why you did it?” I asked, chewing my lip. “For the money?”
“It's not why I joined up, but I'm not sad that I'm now worth a lot to them,” he said. “Point is I'm not bound to some schedule or a desk. If I wanted to stay a while, I could. If you want me gone tomorrow...well, I'll probably hang around Vegas getting absolutely hammered for a week or two–”
“You wouldn't be much of a sailor if you didn't.”
“–and then I'd go back.” He shrugged. “I'm here for you, Sienna. I'm just...trying to figure out what you need.”
“So you can get what you need?”
“I wonder how much the escorts in this town charge for hugging while wearing a bodysuit...?”
“Don't know, but I bet cuddling is extra,” I said, contemplating the last of my drink. I tossed it back, then stood. “Come on.”
“But the dessert bar...?”
I gave him a very slight, very mischievous smile. “The hug train is now leaving the station, and it has the potential to go some very...interesting places. You coming aboard or not?” I offered him my hand.
“To hell with dessert,” he said, and took it. Walking side by side, we headed back to my room.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Now
I found my new team – well, most of them – in a room we'd designated a lounge. Filled with more furniture that time had forgotten, this time of the recreational variety – couches, chairs, a bar – it also had a TV. Kristina Bonner was in the back, holding a gin. June, Tara, and Heidi were huddled at the end of the bar, passing a bottle of wine between them, refilling their glasses, the scent of a chardonnay in the air. The Gustafsons were splayed out, lounging all over each other like it was their parents' couch at home.
Just kidding, their parents were dead. I oughta know; I did kill them.
“Kinda quiet around here, Nealon,” Hays said, spinning around on her stool. “I thought you had an army behind you.”
June Randall frowned, wrinkling her nose. “There were more people here before. Last night this place was full up.”
“We moved a couple teams out this morning,” I said, settling my back against the arched entryway to the lounge. “Repositioning in order to spread out the risk a little. More safe houses equal more targets, y'know?”
Hays looked right at Heidi. “She lying now?”
Heidi glanced at me, then shrugged. “I don't know, I can't read her. Never could, really, unless she lowered her defenses.” Then she swirled her wine in her glass.
“When does Sienna Nealon ever lower her defenses?” Madison Gustafson asked, her head on her brother David's shoulder sweetly. A proper strike from a former friend, and it stung a bit.
“Usually right before she gets betrayed,” I said with a sad smile. Madison matched it, sending one right back at me. It really was a shame; I'd liked her a lot.
“That's the only reason you moved them out?” Hays asked, rising up, holding her wine glass.
“Well,” I said, giving her a sly smile, “I consider the possibility that some of you might rub others the wrong way, and maybe giving this team a bit more space might result in better outcomes for all.”
“You talking about me?” Kristina Bonner asked, cocking her head slightly.
“Think she was talking about me,” Tara Hays said, with a twinkle in her eye.
“And here I thought it was a shot at the literal skunk in the room,” June Randall said, letting a slightly purple cloud puff out of her hand, then dispelling it.
“Actually, it was about Heidi,” I said, and watched Heidi's face fall. “Kidding, Heidi.”
“Maybe she was just trying to clear some space around because she rubs people the wrong way.” That came from a very familiar voice standing right behind me. I didn't need to turn to know Kat was behind me. She brushed past a moment later, heading for the bar. Once there, she reached out for the wine bottle and poured the last of it into her glass. And I'd always figured Kat as more of a vodka gal.
“That's just an ugly rumor,” I said, “spread by people who know me entirely too well.” I eased my way over to an unoccupied chair and plopped down. The television was news coverage, muted, but with live footage of some bureau in Hunan province, China where a press conference was going on. Hmm. I was leading the western news with an incident that had taken place in Changsha. Was there any greater indication that things had changed than the cable news channels suddenly having incredible, almost unprecedented access to Chinese footage?
“They're gonna come after us hard, aren't they?” Amanda Gustafson asked from her place at the end of the couch, her brother David slumped next to her, his eyes barely raised to look at the TV.
“Best to keep your identities secret, then, hm?” I kept my head back against the soft, plush cushion.
“So what's next, then?” Nick Gustafson asked. He had an arm around Madison. “Credentials, right?”
I nodded slowly. “That's right. Our target is a Chinese army post where they print them. We're going in with Heidi's help, having IDs made, getting orders cut by a general, having Arche and the gang put it all into their computer system, and getting the hell out without having a big boom like what happened last round.” I glanced at the smoking crater; seriously, live footage from deep inside China on an American network, and no one was wondering why the near-hermit middle kingdom was suddenly so forthcoming on a disaster within their borders?
“How are we going to communicate with your Chinese general?” David Gustafson asked, not raising his face to look at me.
“Heidi can muddle his brain well enough that he would think we're speaking Mandarin,” I said, “but we'll be bringing a native speaker with us.” I was having Jian saddle up for this particular job. He'd be doing all the talking until Heidi confirmed she was in control of whoever we were talking to.
“How's it feel being the world's most wanted fugitive?” Hays asked, sipping her wine.
I eyed the wine; I couldn't pretend I wasn't jealous. Or thirsty. “Well, I've been America's Most Wanted before, and Europe still seems to be okay with me, so...I dunno.” I shrugged lazily. “Doesn't feel that different. Just slightly longer odds arrayed against me. Once I kick out the Chinese influence in America–”
“Quick snap of the fingers and Bob's your uncle there, huh?” Hays asked.
“I don't want to read her mind to figure out what that means,” Heidi said, tugging on June's sleeve. “What did that mean?”
“Means Sienna's up against real long odds – again,” June said.
“Not a new phenomenon for her,” Kristina Bonner said. “You hear about the time she had to escort President Gondry back from Maryland on her own after Marine One was shot down in the Potomac? While some of the top assassins in the world were pursuing her?”
“She's a natural at killing top assassins,” Amanda Gustafson said, less pointed and more sad.
“If I survive the ambush, it doesn't tend to go well for whoever is involved, this is true,” I said judiciously.
“How do you suppose that relates to taking on China?” Kat Forrest asked pointedly.
“Simple enough,” I said. “They came at me with a bigger ambush than anyone else – a whole army marching my way at CIA. Metas, Atlas-types shrunk to microbial levels, they threw everything they had at me. But I'm still here. Playing human hemorrhoid to their soft, sorry asses. And the thing about a hemorrhoid is that if left untreated, it can kill a person.”
“But how are you going to actually do it?” Tara Hays asked. “Take on a nation of a billion plus people? Rip their tendrils out of the US government and take your country back? Push back the armies poised on the edge of Eastern Europe, ready to roll forward? Hm? Because that seems insurmountable to this jaded observer.”
“One miracle at a time, Hays,” I said, offering her a silky smile as my only answer. “You hang around long enough, you'll see how it ends – for China.”
“Or how it ends for you,” Bonner said, and I was forced to smile tightly into the ensuing silence, without an answer to give to that.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Then
I lay naked in bed, gasping for breath, a sheet stretched over my perspiring body, staring at the white ceiling of my room at the Venetian.
“Well,” Wade said from beside me, doing a little heavy breathing of his own, “that was...uh...”
“That,” I said, barely able to form words, “was amazing.”
He chuckled. “I didn't want to be the first to say it, but...yeah.”
I sat up, letting the sheet fall. “Seriously. I can't decide how much of it was you, or how much of it was–”
“Being able to touch without towels and latex?” He sat up beside me, put his lips on my neck and kissed me, sending a jolt down my whole body. “I mean, I'll take full credit if you want...” he planted another kiss down my shoulder, “...but...if you've been living your life in one of those hermetically sealed bubbles and suddenly you get to step outside on a perfect autumn day and play in the leaves...”
I pushed him over onto the bed, felt my skin against his, his chest against me, warm skin and hairs tickling my bare flesh. Stealing one kiss, then another, and another, I straddled him and lay my head against his chest, and for the first time felt the warmth of a man without fear that he was about to lose his soul and I was about to gain another pesky voice in my head.
