The Terrorist (Lens Book 3)

by J B Cantwell

  I set my champagne flute on a nearby table, caught hold of the strap at the back of my train, and held up my hand for Andrew to lead me to the dance floor. He was very polite, not at all slimy as I’d expected him to be. Just smooth. He took me in his arms, and I was relieved when he led me around as the music started.

  He knew how to dance. I breathed a sigh of relief.

  For a while, we didn’t speak. He guided me over the dance floor so gracefully that I didn’t even need to think. There were even moments where I found I was enjoying myself.

  And why not?

  It had been so long since I’d done anything fun, I couldn’t even remember the last time. I’d spent money, sure, but that wasn’t fun; it was just work. It wasn’t my money, anyway. And it wasn’t me I was buying for.

  So I let myself go, let him sway me to the music. I followed his lead, and as the song ended, he finally spoke.

  “Have a drink with me.”

  I looked up at him, considered.

  Then, I caught a glimpse of Damien from across the room.

  “Yes, okay,” I said.

  I hoped this guy was up for a fight.

  He led me over to the bar and ordered a drink I couldn’t pronounce.

  But Damien didn’t come over. Instead, he found a woman to dance with and pretended to ignore me.

  “So,” Andrew said. “Where is it you come from? Because I’ve certainly never seen you at one of these functions.”

  He handed me a glass, and I took a tentative sip. The liquid was strong and vile.

  I guess I’ll be faking this one.

  “California,” I said, remembering Audrey’s history. “Things are pretty dire out there, though. Finding water is tough, even for the rich. It was time for a move.”

  He shook his head.

  “Not much better here.”

  “I must disagree. Spend a little time in the desert and see how thirsty you get.”

  He laughed at this, but suddenly I didn’t think any of it was funny. There was truth to my words, even within the lie. And laughing about the struggles of other, more common people was not a topic that entertained me.

  “What about you?” I asked. I took another fake sip from the glass.

  At that moment, Grant caught my eye from across the room. He smiled broadly and beckoned to me to join him.

  “I— I’m so sorry,” I said, “but Grant is sort of my date tonight. I must go.”

  I set down the glass and moved away from the bar. For a moment I thought he was going to grab my arm, to try to stop me; but he didn’t, and I was grateful. I was sure he wasn’t aware that he’d acted poorly, that he’d been offensive. But his ignorance was enough to propel me away from him despite his good manners.

  And I had a job to do.

  I joined Grant and took his arm.

  “I really must go,” he said to a man he’d been speaking with.

  The man motioned to me, but Grant led me away quickly.

  “We won’t have much time,” he said. “I can pretend I’m showing you the floor, helping you get a lay of the land. Let’s get moving before anyone else tries to stop us.”

  He moved me quickly around the dance floor, his arms up as he babbled about the architecture, the painted ceiling, the gold leaf framing the images.

  I knew eyes were on us, but we were on the move; it would have taken a jog to catch up with us, and, beautiful as I was, no one was willing to demean themselves enough to jog after a woman.

  Soon, we neared the stage. He paused, but just slightly, and I didn’t even hear what he said. Suddenly, my heart was racing, and the danger of my situation started to crash down around me.

  We had to get there.

  But Grant didn’t falter. He guided me close to the bathrooms, but then, just as we were out of sight of the main dance floor, he turned our trajectory sharply to the right.

  “And this,” he said as we disappeared, “is the backstage area. It’s where …”

  I stopped listening and started searching.

  “Go fast,” he whispered. “They won’t let you alone for very long.”

  Valle had told me to look underneath the stage, but when I did I found that there were several large, black boxes. He hadn’t said anything about boxes. I started moving them around, trying not to make any noise that might filter up to the band’s microphones.

  I searched each one, growing more desperate by the moment.

  “Hurry,” Grant warned.

  I cursed the skirt of my gown. I knew it was picking up every dust mote in the place, and it got in my way as I upended box after box.

  Then, just as I thought Grant was about to have a heart attack, I found it. I shoved it into the pocket in my dress and jumped to his side.

  And not a second too soon. Not one, but two men I didn’t know were making their way over to us. I quickly looked up, pretending that Grant had shown me something up high that I was investigating.

  The piece of the jammer was heavy in my pocket as we walked. As the men approached us, I released Grant’s arm and walked away from him.

  The men both came at me, seemingly racing to see who could get to my side the fastest.

  But I waved them away.

  “Please pardon me,” I said. “I must go to the washroom.”

  I pushed past them both, the folds of my dress brushing against their tuxedo pants as I passed by. Once I was in the clear, I glanced back toward Grant, but he was already on the move back to the party.

  I told myself I’d need to take him out sometime. I wondered if my company gave him more credence among those who ran in his circles. I was willing to bet I was a fun topic to brag about.

  That was fine. An easy payment for his help. And I knew he was loving every second of my little charade. And, somehow, I knew that he would keep my secret as well. I instinctively trusted him. Maybe that was naive, but I felt for him as I felt for Albert. Safe.

  I pushed open the door to the women’s salon, a dressing room finished with full length windows and tufted benches. Beyond, the toilets. I wanted to run to them, but I knew it would look suspicious. As it was, I had nearly everyone’s eyes on me already. So instead, I walked up to one of the mirrors and pulled out the lipstick Erica had given me earlier that evening for touch ups.

  It was ridiculous; my makeup was already bulletproof. But I opened the lipstick anyway and dabbed a little onto my perfect lips.

  “Wow, I love your dress,” one woman said.

  She, herself, looked smashing in a deep navy with embroidered lace all over the bodice. But it was true; when you put us side by side, there was no comparison.

  Suddenly, I realized why Janeen had made me so visible; I had a reputation to establish and support. The reputation of being the most beautiful woman in the room. The most beautiful woman in any room.

  I smiled at the woman.

  “You look beautiful,” I said, and it was the truth.

  She scoffed and turned to adjust her hair in the mirror.

  “No!” I said. “Don’t touch it! It’s perfect how it is.”

  She stopped fussing over the strands and glanced at me appreciatively, a small smile on her face.

  “You know, I’ve noticed you before now. You were at the Mayor’s Ball last weekend, weren’t you?”

  “Yes,” I said. “It was my first one in town.”

  “Oh! I knew you must’ve been new to the scene. And when you threw that drink in Damien’s face.” She started laughing earnestly. “I’m guessing he deserved it.”

  I smiled.

  “He certainly did.”

  She had no idea.

  I glanced nervously at the bathroom stalls.

  “I’m sorry, but I really need to use the toilet. Please excuse me.”

  “Nice talking with you,” she said as I moved past her.

  “Yes,” I said, but I didn’t look back.

  Once I got into the room, I searched the stalls to see if anyone else was inside. Just one pair of high heel
s and a glittering gown were visible beneath the doors. I walked to the larger stall with the Out of Order sign attached to it, quietly removed it and entered.

  Once inside, I folded up the paper and slid it into my pocket with the first piece of the device. I understood why he’d needed to leave it in three separate pieces. The sections were relatively large. Easy to get in the front door one at a time, but not as one large piece. The security at these buildings seemed to be pretty relaxed during the week. But during the event, out came the metal detectors and the guards with pistols in their belts.

  I searched around the stall, but there was nothing there but the clean, white porcelain toilet.

  Where had he put it?

  I knelt down, risking the skirt of my dress on the bathroom floor, but I still couldn’t find it.

  Then, I realized where it must be.

  I lifted up the back section of the toilet, and there it was, carefully wrapped in plastic to protect it from the water.

  “Two down,” I whispered to myself.

  Now, to just get upstairs.

  I hid the second piece and glided from the bathroom, through the dressing room and into the party once again. I headed for the back door, but I had barely moved when I felt somebody catch my hand. I didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

  I flipped around and stared into Damien’s face.

  “Where are you off to in such a hurry?” he asked. “There’s nothing down this way.”

  How badly I wanted to shake my arm from his grasp, but his fingers were so tight I thought they must be leaving a mark.

  “I wanted a breath of air,” I said. I immediately regretted this statement.

  “Well, by all means,” he said. “I’ll join you.”

  I wished that woman from the dressing room was still around to save me. I searched around for Grant, but he was nowhere in sight.

  I was on my own.

  Damien started to pull me away; I glanced back for help, for anyone.

  But every step I took led me farther away from the help I needed.

  Fine.

  I had training. I had killed before, and even though it had been with weapons, I had two phasings under my belt. I was strong. Stronger than I had been, stronger than most of the women here, and probably many of the men as well.

  Damien released his grip on my arm and slid his fingers down until we were hand in hand.

  It made me want to vomit.

  “Come on,” he said. “I’ll show you all around.”

  And he did. The stairwell. The locked door. The hard concrete on the small roof terrace.

  And there it was: the cell tower. I walked toward it, and then past as I made my way over to the edge of the roof railing.

  I wondered if I was strong enough to throw him over the edge.

  He never let go of my hand as I inspected the surroundings.

  Suddenly, he pulled me in until he had his arms around me, dragging me forcibly to him.

  “Do you see what I did there after last time?” he asked. “I’m so sorry, but I do sometimes have a temper.” He smiled and moved in to kiss me, liquor on his breath. I pulled away.

  “What’s this? You’re still not interested? Your mother doesn’t warrant a little … effort on your part?”

  I glared up at him.

  “You don’t know me very well.”

  He laughed out loud at this.

  “Well, darling, I might say the same of you. You seem to think you have me over the barrel, but that’s just an illusion. A delusion.”

  I didn’t respond. I was dying to knee him in the groin.

  “If you comply, it can all be made right again.”

  “And do what, exactly?” I asked.

  “Well, there’s the obvious.” He put both hands around my face and held it there in a vise grip. Then, he leaned in again with that stinking breath and planted a long, wet kiss on my resistant lips. “And then there are the other things I would need you for. Your time. Your money. Your effort. And if all of these things together fall into line, there’s no limit to what you, what we, might be able to attain.”

  He let go of my head, but quickly grabbed onto my waist again.

  I started to fight.

  “I don’t want anything to do with you,” I said. “I don’t work for you. I don’t do anything for you.”

  He laughed as I squirmed in his grasp.

  “I’m afraid that’s not quite true,” he said. “You really could make this quite easy for yourself.”

  “No!” I said, clawing now at his hands, his arms, with my perfectly manicured nails.

  “Ouch! The girl likes it rough!”

  My fight only prompted him to try harder.

  “Get—off—of—me!” I yelled.

  And, suddenly, his arms went slack. He fell to the floor in a heap at my feet. I looked up and saw the last thing I had expected.

  Grant stood before me, a large piece of discarded concrete in his hand, splattered in Damien’s blood. He held it out to me.

  “Do you want to do the honors, or shall I?”

  I took a step backward, confused and relieved at the same time. Damien’s life hung in the balance. I had a choice to make. Murder, or the torture of my mother.

  But I was no murderer. At least, not today.

  “Leave it,” I said. “He’s not moving. I think you did enough damage to last us.”

  Grant looked up at me, a bit surprised, I thought.

  “Really? You don’t want to take him out? Because trust me, honey, he’s got it coming. You’re not the first.”

  The moonlight was just enough to show the anguish on his face, to understand the reason he wanted him dead. The reason so many others must as well.

  “No,” I said. “I can’t get caught. You don’t understand, Grant. I’m not who—”

  “Oh, come on,” he said. “I know you’re not who you say you are. Someone like you doesn’t just materialize from nowhere.”

  I stood frozen, unsure of what to say.

  “You don’t have to tell me,” he said. “I don’t expect you to.”

  He raised up the brick of concrete.

  “No!” I shouted. “Please!”

  He stopped, the brick in his hand, halfway down to break Damien’s head open.

  “It doesn’t need to be this way. I want him dead, too. But he has people I love. We can’t kill him, or I’ll never see them again.”

  He lowered the block.

  “Do you understand?” I asked.

  He stood there, shaking, and finally stood up tall and nodded his head.

  “Yes,” he said. “Some other time, then.”

  I moved around Damien’s body and wrapped my arms around Grant.

  “Thank you,” I said. “For everything.”

  He put his arms around me, too, and for the first time in a long time I felt comforted, despite the danger at my feet.

  I knew I could trust him because of this bond we shared, this experience with this terrible man.

  “I need your help,” I said. “Just one more time. Will you?”

  He released the hug and looked at me.

  “Anything,” he said.

  “You’re not going to like it.”

  He smiled.

  “Something tells me I just might.”

  Chapter Four

  I flew down the stairs from the roof and slipped back into the ballroom. Nobody saw me at first, and I didn’t catch anyone’s gaze until I was close to the bathroom. It looked as if I’d just emerged, which was perfect.

  I took a deep breath and wiped the sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand.

  One of the men from behind the stage materialized in front of me as if he’d been waiting to see me again the whole night. This time, I was happy to see him. I needed to look busy. Needed to be ready to fake alarm. Because any second now, Grant would set off the device, and all hell would break loose.

  The new guy twirled me across the floor inexpertly, but I didn’t car
e until he stepped on my gown so much that it nearly ripped the skirt.

  I smiled at him, then removed his hands from my waist and moved away.

  I wondered how long it would be until Damien woke up. We’d left him in the stairwell, hoping to throw him off the trail when the device was triggered. Hopefully, he wouldn’t make the connection that it had been me, and I would have plenty of witnesses down in the ballroom to stand up for me, to say I’d been there the whole time.

  I walked up to the bar, and the men on either side made way for me and my huge dress. Both of them leaned in, looking to start conversations, but I was focused.

  The bartender was a woman, a Green, and she looked me straight in the eye as I asked for a water. She nodded, then passed me a napkin for my sweaty face. A few moments later, she passed a tall, cold glass across the bar. Her fingers grazed my own as she let the glass go.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  She looked at me funny, and I stared back at her, wondering if maybe I’d seen her before. She couldn’t know me. Could she? But I knew her. Somehow. She was pretty, but her black hair was cut so short she looked like a young man. I got the impression that it was her disguise, just like my ball gown was mine.

  I didn’t have time to give it much more thought, though, because right at that moment, my own and everyone else’s chips began to short out. First, it became scrambled for a few seconds. I looked around, and nearly everyone in the place had put their hands up to their temples, trying to figure out what was going on.

  I looked back at the bartender and realized that she hadn’t moved a muscle. She smiled at me. I didn’t know why, but somehow she knew what had happened, knew that I had been the one to do it.

  And she approved.

  I didn’t have time to question her, though. Everyone in the place started to panic, and soon there was an uproar of frightened voices echoing through the room. A couple of the more delicate women even let out small screams.

  Then, in the distance, I saw him. Grant had just emerged from the stairwell and was rushing now to blend in with the crowd. I caught his eye, and he nodded, then moved to join the rest of the people.

  I’d been surprised at his willingness to help. Maybe he really did care for a cause like mine, a desire to break free from the caste system that had been developed in recent decades.