Lethal Reaction

by S A Gardner

  At the front desk, Damian mentioned his fake name and inundated the receptionist with charm. As our check-in procedures zoomed ahead with a great amount of fluttering and cordiality, I arched an eyebrow in renewed questioning.

  He sighed. “I gave him enough to show my appreciation for his being a good man, for choosing to lead an honest, useful life.”

  “You gave him a crazy amount of money, didn’t you?”

  “What price is crazy when it comes to valuing honesty and usefulness, Calista? In a world where more and more people are taking shortcuts to ease through crime and terror, we should take every opportunity to reward those who choose the hard way.”

  I sighed again. “It was an obscene amount of money.”

  His eyes melted even behind the black contacts. “You sound like a nagging wife with a budgeting agenda, amor.”

  Warmth spurted inside me. “Do not, too! It’s just I keep wondering where all this money is coming from.”

  “Asks the woman who got TOP and PACT to part with twenty-five million dollars so you’d take the Russian mission.”

  “Try relocating and equipping a fully operational Sanctuary six times in as many months, and inventing new lives for over forty people and then bring up the damned twenty-five mil. I’d be six-feet-under in debt if not for the bottomless well of major-slime busting, and Sir Ashton’s and Dad’s fundraising. But since I don’t know where your money is coming from, I keep wondering, with the way you keep spending, if your well won’t run dry.”

  “What happens if it does? Would you support me?” His eyes took his question to its most profound meaning.

  And my answer? I’d support you. Over an inferno on a breaking back.

  Out loud I adopted his superficial teasing, quipped, “Nah, I’d sic you on some gangs to decimate and collect their blood money. Keeping a percentage to keep in business is allowable. Is this what you do? You keep a percentage? If you do, you must be a billionaire since you busted some world-spanning operations.”

  “PACT did pay big money for the big stuff I took care of. But it wasn’t why I signed on or kept on. I’m not a mercenary. But I do like my comforts when possible.”

  “Hence the Ritz?” I gestured around the dripping-in-grandeur lobby.

  “I do appreciate attention to detail, and here, that and personal service, are elevated to a fine art. But I wouldn’t have come here if you didn’t come. Apart from the fiasco in Bogotá, when we had to crash in the first hotel I could find for the whole team, and you ended up in another room for some moronic reason we won’t go into now, it’s the first time I take you to a hotel. Nothing less would do.”

  “If you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking, it’s never happening tonight. You got your work, I got mine.”

  “Tsk. You have such a lewd mind, encantador. And so accurate. And since when has ‘never’ entered your vocabulary?”

  My blood tumbled. That man’s effect on me was like a remitting fever. Bonded to my cells, melded to my physiologic and neural pathways, ready to activate and rage out of control with or without reason, anywhere, anytime.

  He left instructions for the others’ accommodations with the authority of someone born to privilege, not to the abuse and destitution I knew he’d been raised in.

  He turned to me. “How about having tea while we wait? Tea at The Ritz is an institution unto itself.”

  “Yeah.” I was sighing too much today. “So much so, it takes weeks to months to reserve a table in advance. I know. I tried.”

  He just smiled, led me to The Palm Court where the 1:30 pm sitting was already underway. A murmur to the tail-coated, starch-collared court manager got us in without pausing at the threshold.

  OK. I give up. No use trying to fathom how he did such things. Better to just enjoy the ride.

  I walked between the two men and the tables filled with immaculate people, taking in the fabulous hall. Overhanging gilded chandeliers, paneled walls, twenty-foot, painted in greens and floral patterns ceiling and 24-carat gold-leafed Louis XVI furniture. This sure was my week for high living.

  A gesture from Damian made the man stand aside at once, letting Damian be the one to seat me, before taking his seat across from me. He really had a thing about chivalry. Would it be too moronic to admit I was beginning to relish it?

  That man was too insidious.

  I stared at him as he adjusted his tie. Funny that he happened to be suited for this formalwear-only zone…

  Funny, my ass! I bet the suit hadn’t been an incidental disguise but another application of his methodical randomness. I bet he’d planned we’d end up here. Man.

  I sighed yet again. “So—was it Open Sesame you used? Or did you rub his lamp?”

  He reached across the table, rubbed mine by just touching my cheek. “Something like that.” A beat passed, as mellow live piano music rose above the buzz of conversation, then he tipped his head to the side. “So—you never told me what ‘work’ you have here.”

  Evasion followed by lobbing the ball back at me.

  Typical.

  I held his eyes. “I’m here to be with Rafael.”

  Phew. That flare. Even the contacts didn’t dim it.

  And what could I say? All that prime testosterone revving in his system felt great. Rafael really got to him. Nice.

  I let my statement pass without qualifications as waiters heaped varieties of tea, finely cut sandwiches, scones, jam, clotted cream and a range of pastries on us.

  What had he called the hell of uncertainty he’d recently inflicted on me? Five minutes of squirming? Let him enjoy his trés diluted version.

  I devoured one of the overpoweringly mouthwatering scones before I said, “I do have to hold his hand, as you put it. He isn’t the planner here, just the executor. I have to make the decision in each word he exchanges with the enemy.”

  He didn’t seem convinced. Tough. I wasn’t telling him that I didn’t fully understand why Rafael had insisted on my presence either, but that I trusted him enough not to argue.

  Not that this last bit would sit better with him, anyway.

  To add to my entertainment, there came the cause of his current tension, strolling into the court behind José, Shad and Pierro. The four specimens of diverse male superiority were adjusting the ties they must have been handed at the door, and turning every head in the busy hall as Damian had minutes ago.

  To the manager’s outrage, his men descended on us, dragging seats from the only vacant table a few tables away, encroaching on ours and plopping down around us.

  “Hey, boss, got enough for us?” Pierro smacked his lips as he leaned over and scooped three scones off the service plate, stuffed one in his mouth before his question was fully out.

  Damian gave him a bruising knuckle rap with the blunt knife. “Order your own, and stop behaving like Neanderthals on a visit to the future. Your table…” He directed his words to Rafael, the one who’d remained standing looking self-possessed, and not acting like an undisciplined kid in a candy store. “…is the one you just de-chaired. Now get. Eat more than five scones and stay in the hotel tonight. I don’t need sugar-high subs on the hit.”

  Pierro grimaced as he prepared to wolf down said fifth-scone limit. Knowing the amount of food Damian’s men needed to fuel their powerhouse metabolism and bodies, five scones were just swiping his throat before getting down to business.

  “But I’m starving,” Pierro moaned. “Plane food is a joke. And I wanna sit here. I’m sick of these guys.” Shad smacked him on the back of the head, and Pierro pointed at him, exclaiming, “Hey—did you see that?”

  The manager took two more agitated steps closer.

  Damian gestured to him, made him walk back to his surveillance spot, grudgingly trusting Damian to stem his people’s disturbance.

  Damian turned on his men. “That’s it. You’re off to the East End and the cheapest motel. With public bathrooms.”

  Pierro turned imploring blue eyes on me. “Cali, you want me to
stay, don’t you? We bonded since that time you opened my chest and I almost died on you on table, didn’t we?”

  Shad smacked him again. “If that’s the reason she’d want you to stay, it would be me she’d want around. I’m the one who had arterial gas embolism and a cervical fracture in a landmine detonation and she almost killed herself getting to me. Then it took her ages to put me back together. You just got shot.”

  I intervened before we all got thrown out of the room and the whole hotel. “You males will compare the size on anything, huh? It’s who had a bigger injury now? OK, here’s the scoop; you were both at death’s door and equally dear for it. Now, do get.”

  Pierro stood up, grumbling, and Shad and José barbecued him for getting them all banished. Rafael followed in serene silence.

  I called to him. “Not you, Rafael.”

  He turned without a word and came to sit down beside me, ignoring Damian’s glare as I ignored his protesting growl.

  “How’s evasive maneuvers?” I asked as Rafael poured himself tea. I hadn’t had a real update since Worthington.

  He bit into a chocolate muffin, looked at me with eyes the same color and sweetness. “After yesterday’s near exposure…”

  “What near exposure?” I erupted to my feet, slammed down my cup, spilling tea all over the salmon-pink tablecloth. Heads jerked around, the manager fluttered towards us and Damian tried to tug me down to my seat. I snatched my hand away, remained standing. Goddamn their whole sacred tea ritual. They could all shove it. “Dammit, Rafael! You didn’t tell me any of this!”

  Rafael tugged at my other hand. “You had enough on your hands, so I thought I’d handle it then tell you about it later.”

  I sat down only because I felt I’d collapse if his next words brought more surprises. “And did you?”

  He grinned, patted my hand. “Yes, so stop looking like this incredibly beautiful ceiling had come crashing down in you tea.”

  Not much was said after that. Damian resented Rafael’s presence, and fumed in silence as he no doubt geared his mind towards his hit. Rafael never did unnecessary things and necessity here dictated he ignored Damian and avoided agitating me further, while sampling every brand of tea and pastry. I continued having problems breathing and holding on to the scone I’d eaten.

  All in all, not the experience I thought Tea at The Ritz would be. I just hoped it wasn’t a precursor to much bigger disappointments.

  Twenty-One

  Three hours later, I was in an even worse condition sitting in our suite, watching Rafael setting up our cyber meeting.

  Damian had left me two hours ago. In a couple more he’d be perched somewhere precarious overlooking the Royal Opera House in Covent Garden taking care of enemy number two. It congealed my blood one red blood cell at a time how he’d referred to it as child’s play. Way to go maddening fate into sneering ‘Not’.

  On the other hand of the pincer I felt crushing me, Rafael had told me the reason why he’d demanded my presence here.

  In his last contact with the enemy, just before he approached me with his request to come on this trip, he’d given them the script in which I’d detailed our fictitious progress in securing their demands. Their answer had been a rant.

  Turned out they’d tried to renew our commitment to our deal by killing a few more of our loved ones. They were now enraged they’d found that their targets, their hold over us, had disappeared. They said we’d been stalling them until we hid everyone and now it would be all-out war. We had twenty-four hours to reconsider. The twenty-four hours ended in an hour.

  After I almost killed Rafael for not telling me at once, I had to concede his decision not to. I hadn’t slept in almost seventy-two hours at the time, and had been in no condition to think of a countermove to halt the deterioration.

  I still wasn’t sure I bought his reasons why he hadn’t consulted with Damian while I’d slept, to get the ball rolling. But it was done. Now I had to deal with it. I’d had two hours to think how.

  Though our people were safe for the moment, I knew our enemies would do anything to force our hands. Even Dad couldn’t protect everyone in L.A. All the more reason the sons of bitches met with a timely and grisly end. But to do that, I had to come up with a new script. One convincing enough they’d have to buy. And pay for.

  I thought I’d come up with one.

  Time to try it out on its target audience. “Are you ready, Rafael?”

  “When you are.”

  “Tell them we hid our people because we anticipated they’d double-cross us and they did, so they’d better drop the wronged party act. We’re also not so stupid as to think our measures are anything but temporary. We have no problem handing over their weapon. We’re no longer in the business of helping humanity. Our leaders are dead and all we got for our troubles was dead loved ones and crippling injuries. But they have to do better than that, if they want us to cooperate.”

  Rafael finished typing my words, let me reread them. I nodded to him and he hit send.

  It was thirty minutes before their answer came.

  Your dissatisfaction with our attempted breach of ceasefire is noted, but you are in no position to make counter demands.

  Oh, yeah?

  I snatched the laptop from Rafael and my retort flew from my fingers to the screen.

  I hissed them as I typed, “You bet your life we are in a position to make demands. Right now we’re invisible to you and so are those who were your hold over us. If we can do this for a while, maybe we can do it forever, if we put our minds to it. Are you willing to risk it? To have us elude you for years? We may not have your resources but you’ve given us something even more powerful—desperation. Push us and kiss your weapon goodbye.”

  Rafael’s hand on my arm stopped me before I hit send. “Reread this first, Cali.”

  I snapped my eyes to him. “You think it’s a bad move?”

  His eyes stilled on me for a moment. Then he shook his head. “I think it’s the only move. But reread it, just in case you want to reword your ultimatum to more effect…” He stopped, waved his hand. “Nah, can’t be done—hit it.”

  I did, and continued with the last part; the demands following up the ultimatum.

  I continued typing what I gritted out loud, “We don’t care about the weapon or what you intend to do with it. We once thought we did, and we were wrong. But we do know it’s going to bring you untold power. And money. And after what you cost us, it’s only fair that you reimburse us. Yes, you read this right. It’s time to change the nature of our deal, make it more of an equal opportunity one. We demand one hundred million dollars, to be deposited in this bank account…” I stopped and looked at Rafael. “Give me one of Dad’s Swiss bank account numbers.”

  He did with a huge grin. I typed it in, went on, “You know we’re not arrogant enough, like you, to think we can double cross you and get away with it. We won’t be asking for more, we won’t stall or try to cheat you in any way. We’ll buy ourselves and ours new lives away from the retaliation you are programmed to think is necessary to wipe out anyone with knowledge of you or your dealings and agendas. So this is our new, and final, deal. Give us the money. It’s change for you. But it’ll be our insurance against you. And then you’ll get your weapon.”

  I hit send.

  I knew it would take longer getting back to me on this. This was big stuff. Huge. But as the minutes sheared by, I swear I saw my mental stability leaving me in smokey wisps against the backdrop of opulence.

  It was two hours before they gave their verdict.

  You understand if you try anything, we’ll spend ten times as much, and as many years as it would take, to destroy you all?

  I typed, “Absolutely. Credit us with some intelligence.”

  It was ten seconds before the answer came.

  You’ll get your money. Hand over the weapon—now.

  I swear my typing came out scoffing. “What? You think we have it in the basement? After what we saw it could
do? We went to great lengths to hide it from even ourselves. Retracing our multiple-blind process isn’t easy. We asked for ten days and you had to be asses about it and gave us a week. And we had to waste time protecting ourselves from your betrayal, when we could have been getting you your stuff.”

  The answer was instantaneous this time.

  We’re not extending your original deadline. Don’t test us anymore. Your loved ones have loved ones. And if it takes wiping out every neighborhood you or they ever lived in, we will do it.

  To that overdose of malice, I only had a dripping-in-wryness answer. “Hold your tantrum, big guys. No need to hard-sell us on your destructive powers and inclinations. We’re well aware of your apocalyptic scope.” And I bet they’d hunt me down anyway for being so inadequately awed. “We would have appreciated a night’s sleep. But now we won’t be wasting time contacting you again. Next call will be to tell you where to collect your weapon. So, no more hanky panky and deposit the money—now. We’re incurring huge expenses running from you and running your errands. Guarantee your weapon’s delivery on time.”

  Then I took my hands off the keyboard.

  Rafael took the laptop off my lap, terminated his connection, did some cleaning up then turned to me with an awed expression. “If it wasn’t for the braid and—well, the rest of the body, I’d think I was sitting next to your father.”

  I sank back into the divan. “Does he feel his cohesion disintegrating after he plays insane gambles, too?”

  He smiled, shook his head in wonder. “You know what stunned me among all your ultra-convincing fabrications? Your uncaring-about-the-world bit. If I didn’t know better, I’d buy it.”

  Yeah. Either Damian’s duplicity was rubbing off on me, or I’d let the part of me that kept yelling “To hell with the world, I just want out, want this over” out to play.

  “I still can’t believe you turned the tables.”