Forty-five minutes prior to Molech’s deadline, they all stood under a portico overlooking the courtyard. The severed head had been tossed out into the snow at what they hoped was a safe distance. Out in the middle of the statues and shrubs, the jaws bit at the air, teeth snapping with that metallic snick that made the hair stand up on the back of Zoey’s neck. They all watched, mesmerized by the head that was slowly spinning around in the snow as its jaws worked, the Hyena’s blank eyes half-open, a blood-encrusted hole in his temple. Andre grabbed a shovel that had been leaned against a fountain nearby, cautiously walked over and stuck the handle into the Hyena’s dead, biting mouth. The teeth snapped through the two-inch-thick wooden handle as easily as biting the end off a cigar.
Come back off the ice, sweetie.
Zoey shivered and said, “I think I’m in a straitjacket somewhere, imagining all of this.”
Will asked Echo, “How long do we let this go on?”
She glanced down at a tablet screen. “That’s more than two hundred repetitions. The capacitor is perfectly stable, assuming that’s what this green bar here means.”
Zoey said, “Yay, he successfully invented a machine that will let humans eat bricks. Now we just need to develop a system for pooping them.”
Echo said, “What he invented was the most important advancement in energy technology since mankind learned to split the atom. Raiden works. The world has changed forever.”
Zoey watched the severed, rotting head bite its way through the snow, leaving behind a pink smear of blood from its severed stump. “Yeah, looks like it.”
Armando said, “I’ve seen enough. Upload it to me and let me go end this.”
Will said, “I don’t see why that’s necessary.”
“You don’t see why I’d need an edge if I am to attempt to slice my way through Molech’s headquarters?”
“There’s no need for you to go at all. This is what I’ve been saying, over and over—what we have there is a bargaining chip, the one thing in the world we know Molech needs. This is leverage. The kind of leverage that could maybe make him drop everything, take Zoey off his hit list, and end this ordeal.”
Zoey said, “I think the one thing Molech needs is to not get shot in the face by Armando here. I think the coin is second.”
Will shook his head. “You do that, you’re playing his game.”
“If that was your mother in that car, you would not be standing here calmly talking about leverage.”
“You’re wrong.”
Armando said, “I respect you, Mr. Blackwater, and I am sure that you know your business. But this, right here? This is war. And that is my area of expertise. Wars are won by people like me, not people like you.”
“Wars are started by people like you. The peace is negotiated by people like me. Leverage brings your enemy to the table. Guns are useful only for gaining that leverage.”
“Then it’s decided,” Zoey said. “Armando will put a gun to Molech’s head and then we’ll have leverage. Echo, turn Armando into Superman. And somebody turn off the head, it’s freaking me out.”
Echo tapped at her tablet then said, “I’m … actually not sure how.”
“Then just throw a towel over it or something.”
Thirty minutes left. Echo was watching software stream into Armando’s implants—Zoey thought she’d have to plug a cable into his head or something, but it was all done wirelessly.
Will said, “Molech demanded you meet his people in the lobby of Livingston Tower, with the gold in hand, and that you come alone. But I see no reason you can’t bring your phone, so the plan stays the same—I do all the talking. Stalling is the name of the game. It doesn’t matter where the conversation goes as long as it goes. Don’t be alarmed by whatever I say. Ultimately the goal is to stall, to give Armando time to work.”
While he spoke, Zoey was chewing on her thumbnail and watching the feed of her mother. The car had parked somewhere in the woods, and Zoey’s mother and her abductor were drinking beers and laughing, digging sandwiches out of fast-food bags. The guy had probably found her at the bar and offered a trunk full of free beer if she’d leave with him. It usually didn’t take more than that to get on Melinda Ashe’s good side. Zoey couldn’t stop crying.
Will said, “Listen to me, Zoey. This here—this is what we did for your father. We identified and nullified threats, by whatever means necessary. We’re old hats at this. There’s a process, that’s all. Any good plan is just a series of branching pathways, like a flowchart. We can’t predict what Molech is going to do, but his options aren’t infinite and we have to have a procedure in place regardless of which choice he makes. So no matter what I say, no matter what happens, we’re winning as long as we keep him talking. No matter what. And if he thinks he’s winning, so much the better. Understand?”
Zoey nodded.
Budd pointed at the feed and said, “I know who that is with Zoey’s momma. See the cigarette pack on the dash? Guy’s name is Kools Duncan. Real name is Charlie. Low-level rent-a-turd, got rough with one of Arthur’s girls a few years back.”
Andre looked dubious. “He’s the only guy in the world who smokes Kools?”
“See how he’s dippin’ his fries in his milkshake? Playin’ Nina Simone on the stereo. Yeah, that’s Kools. Gave himself that nickname. He’s white, by the way.”
Andre squinted at the screen. “You think he went alone?”
“No way to know for sure, but I reckon so. Kools never did get along with partners. He once stabbed a fella over whose turn it was to drive. Kools says I want to drive and the other fella says sure and Kools stabbed him in the face.”
Will said to Zoey, “All right, we should get going. Just wear what you’re wearing. Don’t brush the cat hair off your shirt. And don’t wash your face.”
“Why?”
“It’s clear you’ve been crying, your makeup is a mess. Leave it like that, that’s what we want. I’d have you bring the cat, too, but he’s too difficult to control.”
“I’m going to have to ask you to elaborate.”
“This will be the opposite of how we did it at the memorial service—we want Molech to perceive a shift in power. We can’t look like we have a plan here, the more vulnerable you look, the more receptive the other person is to what you have to say. They’ll take any offer as genuine as long as they think it’s coming from a place of weakness. And props are everything. For instance, if hypothetically you had grown mistrustful of Andre and he was trying to get back in your good graces, he might show up here looking hungover, eating some kind of ridiculous food. It would instantly endear you to him. Remember, the most powerful impression a person can make is that they don’t care if they make an impression. And whoever we’re meeting with needs to take one look at you and realize you’re the weak link, that you can be pushed into accepting whatever they want.”
“Wow. All right.”
“Now, once we meet his people in the lobby, they’ll presumably try to transport you to another location, though probably not back to the Fire Palace. We’ll tail you wherever you go and, quite frankly, the farther away, the better—the time they spend driving you to wherever they want to meet is time for Armando to do his thing. Understand?”
“Just barely.”
To Armando he said, “How much time do you need?”
“The problem is Molech can’t know I’m there until I’m in his face—the moment he knows I’m coming, he might panic and tell his man in Fort Drayton to … do something unpleasant.”
He tapped the wall feed and a photo popped into view. It was the Fire and Ice Casino, as the twin towers had looked when they were open. Zoe thought the Ice Palace was beautiful—it really did look like a fifty-story building carved out of ice, like something out of a fantasy novel. At the top was its rooftop pool, complete with water slides and faux icebergs, the crystal blue of the glass swim bridge snaking from its roof to the Fire Palace across the street. That building had been made up to look like a charred volcano in mid-eruption, with twisting paths of roaring flames undulating down from the roof to suggest oozing lava, its rooftop pool lit from the bottom with orange lights, so swimmers could pretend they were paddling around in magma. Armando tossed up a second photo next to it, an “after” pic of the buildings as they existed today—dormant, dark, each covered from the neck down in black tarps, like they were wearing frumpy mourning dresses. The swim bridge was an empty half-pipe of filthy glass, collecting rainwater and bird crap.
Armando said, “I think the Fire Palace is essentially impossible to infiltrate unnoticed. It has three times as many guards on the exterior, and there are vehicles entering and exiting every few minutes. The Ice Palace is our way in—the entrance is guarded, but the interior is nearly deserted. I’ll go up through the Ice Palace, across the swim bridge, then down to the Fire Palace basement. If all goes well, I could make the whole trip in … twenty minutes.”
Wu said, “And where will I be?”
Zoey answered, “You’ll be here, watching, and if I die you’re to pack up my cat and get him to safety. And so help me god, if you laugh at me right now I will claw your eyes out.”
Wu did not laugh.
Echo said to Armando, “Your implants are online. I think. The progress bar stopped. There’s a message here that looks like it’s in Elvish but it’s not blinking red or anything.”
Armando stood, and put on his jacket. Wu strode up behind him and held out a katana, handle-first.
“A gift, but only if you apologize for your previous mockery.”
Armando replied, “I would, but this blade looks exactly like the one we ruined last night. The one you said was an ancient one-of-a-kind relic. This makes me think that you have a barrel full of them that you buy in bulk from Costco.”
“No, this is my last one. Maybe I have one more somewhere.”
“All right,” said Will. “Let’s start the game.”