I looked out over the small auditorium at fifty or so alert and interested faces. Every one of them appeared honored to be included in this special NASA presentation, ostensibly set up to explain in greater detail the parameters of Dr. Phil’s mission on the space station.
Man, I hoped Loughlin would come after me before anyone asked me a question I didn’t know the answer to, because dodging death seemed, at the moment, preferable to what I was about to do.
Mark had given me a folder full of facts to study on the flight back to Houston (in an Agency plane, so I didn’t have to worry about nosy passengers reading over my shoulder), so, theoretically, I had all the knowledge I needed to get through the next hour. And I was pretty sure all the details were in my head. Somewhere. Only I was terribly afraid they might have gotten scrambled a bit in my rush to wedge them into my memory.
Didn’t matter, I told myself. It wasn’t like the people in the audience were really scientists. Mark had set up the whole thing using the best agents at his disposal, each of them posing as a representative from the science department of a university or college. The thing was, knowing Mark’s standards, they had all studied assiduously for their roles, and could no doubt come up with super-intelligent questions to fill the time until Loughlin might strike.
Yeah, I was bait. Mark’s big plan was twofold: one, to set up something too tempting for Loughlin to resist, and thus lure him away from preying on the adaptor population in New York, and two, to catch the bastard. The venue he’d rented for the day was specially selected to look invitingly open while in fact being highly containable, with the right personnel.
Billy had objected—big-time—until Mark had assured him I would be surrounded by the best field agents in the country. Billy himself was sitting right next to me onstage, in the guise of Phil’s husband. Misha was a strong guy. With Billy’s defense skills behind the aura, I felt pretty safe.
The real Phil and Misha were locked down at their house with yet more agents. They knew enough not to answer the door or their landline. Billy and I had their cell phones, so no worry there.
In the front row, about as close to the stage as you could get, was Dr. Phil’s brother, Rudy, the one who’d come to Mark about the job in the first place. It wouldn’t seem out of place for Rudy to be there—why wouldn’t a brother attend an important event for his sister?
Mark was in a back corner, pretending to be a generic NASA employee. He had a good view of every way in or out of the big room. He was himself, though with his loose-fitting suit and black-framed glasses you’d never guess it at first glance.
The “host” of the event—an especially pompous-looking gentleman of about sixty, who Mark had assured us could kill someone a hundred different ways if the need arose—said something about mankind thus far being in a gestational period, but on the brink of our true birth into the universe. (Good God, was I never going to escape the pregnancy allusions?) He went on to say that with the advent of procreation in space, we would be able to explore our galaxy unbound by our short life spans, and the future was full of unlimited potential, yadda yadda. Applause, applause. All very inspiring, but I was too busy scanning the auditorium for Loughlin’s face to give it the attention it no doubt deserved.
No sign of him. Mark had warned us this whole thing might be a wash if Loughlin got skittish. If we didn’t catch him today, we’d just have to keep our collective guard up longer. Which would be a total pain in the ass for all involved, especially the security details who’d have to miss their own holiday celebrations to watch over us through ours. Of course, Mom would make them cookies. (And if they were truly fortunate, they wouldn’t get her Snickerdoodle Surprises, the “surprise” being caviar, because “everyone loves caviar!”)
When it came my time to speak I faked my way through the first few softball questions obviously planted with agents by Mark to put me at my ease. Faking became more difficult as time went on. My answer to one question about zygote morphology elicited raised eyebrows and a delicate cough from Billy-Misha, who probably not only knew the real answer (which apparently had nothing to do with goats), but could tell you which page of the file it was on. Fortunately, the audience pretended to think I was joking.
I pointed to a woman raising her hand in the second row. She stood and said, “You explained how you’re getting hormone treatments to make sure your ovulation syncs with your time on the ISS. How are you feeling?”
Ha. At last something I knew the answer to firsthand. “You mean aside from the bloating, queasiness, and mood swings? Super!” I said with a big smile, to the amusement of all in attendance. (Hey, they already thought I was a comedian. Why not make the most of it?)
Inspired (or desperate, take your pick), I invited Misha up to the podium with me. He was asked about his “involvement” in the mission. He described it, very scientifically, as “me, a dirty magazine, and paper cup.” The audience roared. Good thing the reporters among them weren’t any more genuine than the scientists, or the general public might get the idea he wasn’t taking his wife’s mission seriously.
After the questioner recovered he said, “Thanks for the visual, but I meant your company, Spaceward Ho.”
“Oh. I see,” Billy said, with Misha’s adorable Russian accent. “I will tell you, but frankly it is not so fun.” And then he (of course) proceeded to outline Spaceward Ho’s innovative improvements in cargo (“human and otherwise”) hauling, ending with “I am, of course, the best ride available to my wife.”
When the clock hit twenty minutes past our allotted time, we were forced to admit Loughlin was a no-show. None of the agents set up covertly in concentric circles outside, covering all possible routes to and from the auditorium, had reported a sighting. Mission failure. Mark dismissed the indoor agents with a prearranged announcement about hoping they would all keep their respective schools tuned in on launch day. They wouldn’t break character until they were safely out of the city.
“Good try,” Billy said to Mark. Misha’s voice, minus the accent. Voices come with the aura you’re wearing unless you consciously use your own. Accents are a separate talent, one that must be learned, and Billy didn’t need it in present company. “Back to the drawing board?”
Mark nodded, only the tension around his mouth showing his displeasure. He knew no mission was a guaranteed success, but he hated it when things didn’t work out the way he planned. “We’ll meet back at the hotel after you take your auras home.”
Because of course Billy and I had to be seen driving back to Phil and Misha’s place. We’d drop the auras there, and they’d be free to be seen in public again.
Rudy shook Mark’s hand. “Thanks for trying,” he said, and then added, to me and Billy, “Hey, can I get a ride with you? My back tire is leaking air, and my spare is flat, too. Guess I’m back on duty watching my sister. And here I thought I was done babysitting her when she went off to college.”
“Sure,” I said. Fortunately, Billy and I had driven over in Misha’s gray Nissan GT-R, which Billy had assured me was even cooler than Phil’s TR6, though frankly I couldn’t see it. Billy had told me I’d understand if I knew more about cars. Whatever. At least it had a backseat. Which I, with Dr. Phil’s long legs, wasn’t about to volunteer to occupy. “You might be a little cramped, but we’ll get you there.”
He smiled, showing perfect white teeth in a face rivaling his sister’s for good looks. “Not a problem. I’ve been in tighter spots.”
We were barely out the door when Rudy remembered something he needed to tell Mark, who was settling up with the venue’s owner. “You go ahead—it’ll only take a minute.”
It was more than a minute, for which he apologized profusely when he met us by the car. “Mark had some follow-up questions. And then some follow-ups to the follow-ups.”
“The King of Spooks is nothing if not thorough,” Billy said, opening the door for Rudy, who crawled into the backseat looking like he was trying to hide a wince.
“You okay?” I said. If he thought a wince was going to make me offer up the front seat, he was sadly overestimating my altruism.
“Leg cramp. I keep telling Misha he needs a bigger car, but the Russki won’t listen.”
Damn it. “Um, would you like the front seat?” I said. I swear, being nice is a curse.
“No, I’m good. I’ve learned the secret to this backseat is stretching your legs out sideways.”
Okay, I tried. I was going to count it as my good deed for the day. Rudy was quiet, but Billy kept us entertained with his running commentary on everything we passed, using an exaggerated version of Misha’s accent.
When we got to the turnoff for Dr. Phil’s neighborhood, Rudy interrupted Billy’s humorous patter. “Keep going.”
Something about the tone of his voice made me twist around to look at him. The gun barrel pointed right at my face was the last thing I expected to see. My yelp (hey, I was surprised) drew Billy’s attention.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” Rudy said to him. “You know I can put a giant hole in her before you can twitch. And if you try to wreck the car, she’ll be dead before the air bags go off.”
Billy gripped the wheel tighter as he passed the turnoff. “Where exactly am I taking us?” he asked. His voice was remarkably calm. And accent-free.
“Keep driving. I’ll tell you when you need to turn.” Rudy’s voice carried a lot more tension, and he was starting to sweat. His spook instructors would be disappointed by his lack of emotional control.
“Turn around, Ciel. Stop looking at me with—” He cut himself off. Obviously he didn’t like his sister’s eyes watching him. Not being a fool, I acquiesced at once, pointing my face straight ahead, but keeping my eyes on Billy, watching for any signal he might give me.
“Don’t forget for a second what’s right behind you, Ciel”—he seemed intent on reassuring himself I wasn’t his sister—“and don’t think your seat will stop a bullet. This forty-five will go through it like butter.” I got the feeling he was saying it for Billy’s sake.
Billy kept his speed steady, his hands at eight and four on the steering wheel. “Ciel won’t be making any sudden moves.” That, I knew, was for my benefit.
“We’re coming up on the highway. Get on it,” Rudy said.
Billy nodded. “I’m going to need to shift gears.”
“Go ahead.”
Billy’s moves were slow and deliberate. Nothing that might jar Rudy into firing. I kept completely still for the same reason, hoping like hell Billy had a plan forming behind Misha’s outwardly serene eyes, because I had zilch.
Once he was at speed he spoke. “You know Mark will come after you, right? If not right away, then soon, and relentlessly,” he said as calmly as if he were discussing an upcoming sporting event.
“I’m not worried about Mark.” The implication behind Rudy’s words hit me like a punch in the gut. And I’d been punched in the gut for real before. The comparison might be a cliché, but it was accurate. If he’d hurt Mark, or worse …
Billy darted a glance at me. I took a deep breath and steadied myself, trying to convey without words that I wasn’t going to panic.
“Give me your phones. Now. Slowly.”
Okay, now I might panic. Without the GPS in our cell phones, how was help going to find us? But Billy was doing as he was told, so I did, too. Rudy took them both and removed the batteries one-handed, never lowering his gun. “I didn’t want to do this, you know,” he said. “I had no choice.”
“There’s always a choice,” I said. “Look, why don’t you tell us what happened. We can help.”
“Stop talking to me with—” He cut himself off. If voices could sweat, his would be dripping.
Maybe I could use it. “Does my sounding like your sister bother you, Rudy? What would she think of your doing this?”
“She might not understand now, but she will later. After…”
“After what?” Billy said.
“After she has kids. Jesus Christ. They took my kids, okay? They took my kids.”
Billy and I didn’t even pretend not to look at each other.
“Who?” I said. “Who took your kids? And why?”
“The Russians. The ones Misha used to work with before he met my sister. They’ve had them for weeks. I tried everything I knew to get them back, you have to believe me, you have to.” He was winding tighter by the second.
“Why would they take your kids?” I asked, dumbfounded.
“It doesn’t matter now. I’m going to get them back. Take the next exit. Then turn right at the light.”
Billy complied. “Listen, man. We really can help. Give us the background. We’ll help you any way we can, I swear.”
“You’re helping me the only way you can right now. I’m sorry, but my kids have to come first.”
“How many kids do you have? How old are they?” I said.
“Two. My boy is six. My baby girl”—his voice broke—“is three. They said they’d—hey, slow down! Take the next left. Then keep on driving until I tell you to stop.”
“I take it you’re trading us for your kids?” Billy said.
“What would they want with us?” I said.
“Phil,” Billy said. “They wanted Phil, didn’t they? Either to sabotage the mission, or to get to Misha.”
“They don’t give a crap about the mission. They only want my sister so they can control Misha.”
“But you didn’t want to give them your sister, did you? Not even for your kids,” I said.
He gave me a look so desperate it chilled my bones. “You’re wrong. I would give them my sister in a heartbeat to save my kids. I love her, but they’re my kids. But then, when the kidney stone happened, it was like a gift from God. Suddenly there was a way to let them have my sister without really giving her to them. Mark would have been able to get away from them. And so will you. My sister and her husband wouldn’t have stood a chance.”
I shook my head. “I still don’t understand why you didn’t just ask Mark for help. You must know he would have done everything he could to get your kids back,” I said.
“I couldn’t risk it. If he’d refused, he would have known my plan, and I never would have been able to pull it off.”
“Where does Alec Loughlin fit in?” Billy said.
“He was the Russians’ idea. Phil was supposed to be taken on the day of her zero-G flight. They needed someone who’d worked with NASA before, someone they knew had the right security clearance. A photographer was a good idea. A photographer desperate to pay off a debt to Bratva—the Russian mafia—was better. They could control him. And someone they knew Phil would trust and go with quietly? Perfect.”
“Wouldn’t it have been easier to take her from her home? Or at least somewhere without so much security?” I said, instinctively trying to keep him talking. If we could get him to approach the problem rationally, to dial back his panic about his kids, maybe we’d all get out of this alive. Because, honestly? Even though Rudy was the one with the gun, I still thought Billy could bring him down. But maybe not without killing him, and I was sick to death of killing.
“Yeah, but then what excuse could Rudy give Mark for needing someone to take her place? Isn’t that right?” Billy said, playing along, keeping the conversation going. “What’d you do? Tell the Russians security around her was even tighter when she wasn’t at work, due to the nature of her mission? That’s what I would have done.”
Rudy didn’t answer directly, which I took as an admission Billy was right. “It was never supposed to be you, Ciel. It was supposed to be Mark. I knew he’d be able to handle the Russians. He never told me he’d farmed the job out to someone else until it was too late. Hell, I didn’t even know there were more of you until Phil told me about Ciel.”
Sounded like Mark, all right. Captain Need-to-Know didn’t disclose the existence of other adaptors unless there was no way around it. It had probably about killed him to have to tell our security details about us.
“And then something went wrong. Loughlin knew Ciel wasn’t Phil. How?” Billy said.
“How the fuck should I know? Maybe they were closer than I thought. Maybe Ciel did something, or said something, that was too far off for Alec to swallow. Hell, maybe he can see through auras.”
Okay, that was the scariest thing Rudy had said so far. Even Billy gripped the steering wheel tighter. “But you confirmed it for him, didn’t you? You told him about all of us.”
“I didn’t have a choice! He was so pissed off when his mission failed. The Russians were going to come after him. I’d never seen him so angry. He told me he was going to let them kill my kids if I didn’t tell him exactly what you were.”
“And then what? He decided it was his new mission in life to rid the world of us?” Billy said.
Rudy shook his head, though not in denial. “He just … he went full-on crazy. Said the world wasn’t safe with your kind in it. You have to believe me—it wasn’t supposed to happen this way. Nobody was supposed to get killed.”
“Is Mark okay?” I had to ask. I couldn’t stand not knowing.
“He will be. After he wakes up, which won’t be anytime soon.”
I took a deep breath, steadying myself. He was alive. Focus, Ciel. Do what you can do. Fix the problem in front of you. Save the kids. Worry about the rest later.
“God,” I said. “He’s going to come after you so hard.”
“Won’t matter. By then my kids will be safe and he can do whatever he wants to me.”
Billy looked at me, a question in his eyes. I nodded. “All right. What do you need us to do?” he said.
Silence. I peeked between the seats. Rudy still held the gun behind me, but was gripping his chest with his other arm. He looked surprised. And in pain.
“You’re hurt. Mark didn’t go down easily, did he?” I said.
“I’ll be fine. I just need to get my kids. What did you mean, what do I need you to do? You’re saying you mean to help me? After what I’ve done?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Billy said.
“Why should I believe you? You’re trying to put me off guard. Sorry, not happening. This gun stays on Ciel until I have my kids. And if either one of you tries any of that sneaky adaptor shit, I will blow her away.” He was sweating badly now, either from nerves or pain. I was guessing pain.
Billy shrugged. “Maybe you should believe us because we’re the ones who can rescue your kids after you pass out. Broken ribs are tricky things. I’m guessing yours might have punctured something sensitive.”
I peeked again. If anything, he looked worse. He was starting to suck in air like it was beer and he was a freshman at his first frat party.
“I’m good,” he said.
“Rudy,” I said gently, “how are we going to find your kids if you do lose consciousness? At least tell us where to go for the handoff.”
Something in his face relaxed. Either he believed we were going to help him, or else he knew he had no choice. He lowered the gun. Tears started streaming out of his eyes. “Keep heading toward Dayton. Get off at Shady Lane. Go left. There’ll be a truck stopped on the side of the road. White panel. Plumber. They didn’t say a name.”
“How much time do we have?” Billy said.
“Window closes in half an hour. After that … oh, Jesus…”
I unfastened my seat belt and, reaching between the front seats, gingerly took the gun now hanging limply in his hand. Tears rolled down his face.
Billy kept driving. “Don’t worry, I can get us there in time. And here’s what we’re going to do when we get there…”