| |
“SO, YOU THINK IT WAS never Mateo’s intention to leave the Citadel.” Sheila sipped her cup of hot chicory, grateful for the taste of proper coffee. “He had the whole thing planned, right from the beginning.”
Garr nodded, sitting in his usual chair in the mess hall. “That’s what our friend Logan tells us. I’ve been going over it in my head these past few days, trying to look at it from every possible angle. You know what I’ve realized?”
Don pulled out a chair, settling his bulk opposite Garr. “That the only thing more remarkable than my rugged good looks is my legendary cooking ability?”
Garr laughed, wadding up a piece of paper and tossing it at him. “Save your bragging until after the celebration tonight. You have yet to prove any of your culinary skills, as far as I’m concerned.”
“Inform your taste buds they are about to enter paradise,” Don replied, his drawl more pronounced than usual. “Our final meal in this Hub will be a culinary masterpiece worthy of such an occasion.”
Sheila seated herself beside him, elbows braced on the table, cradling her mug between her hands. “Getting back to Mateo . . . What conclusion did you come to, Colonel?”
Garr paused, studying the table’s scuffed surface. “That he was the most brilliant strategist I’ve ever known. He played both sides so well that none of us, Runners or Hoarders, knew what to think. Mateo didn’t care whether we liked him or not. He had one objective—the Givers.”
Sheila finished her drink and went to pour herself a refill. She held an empty mug aloft. “Garr?”
The Colonel held up a hand. “None for me, thanks.”
Don affected a pained expression. “What about me?”
“You’ve never liked coffee.” Sheila waved him away as she took a cautious sip. “We’ve always said ‘this can’t be about revenge.’ What do you suppose Mateo’s motivation was?”
“It was more than payback.” Don unsheathed his knife, holding it aloft and admiring its blade. “If all he wanted was revenge on the Givers for turning him into a Tracker, he could have gone after them by himself.”
He sighted along the blade, meeting Garr’s gaze. “But he dragged us into it, as well, and that helped us put an end to Darcy’s Implants. He didn’t have to do that.”
Garr nodded as he got to his feet. “He was playing a risky game, doing whatever it took to gain access to the Givers. He knew nothing would change unless they were dealt with. He had it all planned, right down to the last detail.”
“Including his self-detonation.” Sheila stirred a spoonful of raw sugar into her steaming drink. “He fooled us all. More important, he fooled the Givers.”
A profound silence filled the mess hall after she spoke.
At last, Garr gestured to Don. “We’d better get started. I promised everyone a celebration feast when this was over, and I meant it.”