[Santa Olivia 02] - Saints Astray

by Jacqueline Carey

  Onstage, the band played, heedless.

  “I’m gonna spew down your back, I swear!” the girl gasped.

  “Go right ahead.” She found Bill muttering into his earpiece. “Sir? Excuse me, sir. What should I do with her?”

  He stared for a second, then cracked a huge grin. “Fainter?”

  “More of a faker, I think.” Loup shifted her struggling burden, adjusting her grip. “Keeps making a run for the back door.”

  “Just put her back in the crowd.” Bill pointed toward the stage. “Be… no, you know what?” His grin widened. “Don’t be discreet.”

  “Okay.”

  The groupie yelled and thrashed. “Hey, baby,” Pilar called in amusement as Loup passed her. “Where you going with that? Hope you’re not planning to ravage her.”

  She turned, quick enough that the groupie made an urping sound. “More like drop her on her head. No, Bill told me to put her back.”

  “Ooh, you’re going onstage?”

  “Yep.”

  “Cool.”

  Onstage, the amplifiers created a wall of sound Loup could feel on her skin. She crossed the stage to the left of the band, heading in the general direction from which the girl had come. A few people in the audience pointed and stared. Behind her, the drummer faltered. The security guards turned around to look and began cracking up with laughter. The groupie kicked and squirmed. At the edge of the stage, Loup shaded her eyes against the glaring lights with her free hand and scanned the packed audience.

  A gaggle of heavily made-up young teenage girls a few feet away waved frantically. Loup pointed to her burden with an inquiring look. They nodded and began to make room, jostling the crowd around them.

  “Up you go,” she said, her voice inaudible beneath the music and crowd noise. She swung the girl upright, catching her under her arms.

  The groupie spat in her face.

  “Oh, yuck.” Loup eyed the dangling girl with disgust, half forgetting that she was still holding her off the ground. The girl stared back at her with a mix of defiance and terror. “Okay. Professional. Down you go.”

  She lowered the girl effortlessly to her waiting friends, then turned, wiping her face on the sleeve of her T-shirt before heading backstage. The security guards gave her beaming smiles and a thumbs-up salute. The lead singer and the bass player were carrying on as though nothing odd had occurred, but the drummer stared open-mouthed as Loup passed, still playing off the beat.

  “Now that was muy macha,” Pilar commented.

  “That was disgusting.” Loup wiped her face again. “She spat on me.”

  “Gross!”

  “Yeah. So much for the glamorous life of a secret agent bodyguard.”

  FIFTEEN

  Clive was pleased, although he wouldn’t let them backstage to meet the band after the concert.

  “No offense, sunshine, but I don’t quite trust you not to act like a gobsmacked fan,” he said to Pilar. “I don’t mean to punish you for being a perfectly normal young lady, but if you’re gonna be in this business, you’ve got to act professional. You made a reasonably good first impression tonight, and I don’t want to spoil it. Understand?”

  “I guess.”

  “And you!” He grinned at Loup. “You did a lovely job of setting the rumor mill in motion, darlin’.”

  “I was just doing what I was told.”

  “Yeah, and how!” Clive chuckled. “Mr. Lindberg will be tickled.”

  Even with the spitting, it had been an exciting break in their routine, but afterward, it was back to training and studies. The week that followed contained a crash course in basic electronic technology when he discovered that neither of them had more than the most rudimentary of skills.

  “We didn’t have computers that could talk to one another,” Loup explained. “Just old ones that broke all the time. If it hadn’t been for Jaime, we wouldn’t have had any at all.”

  “Jaime would love this,” Pilar murmured.

  “Yeah.” They exchanged a glance.

  They learned quickly, and a week after the concert, Clive took the step of presenting them both with their own fully equipped Dataphones. “Have a care with those,” he advised them. “That’s a valuable piece of equipment.”

  Loup examined hers. “What’s it do?”

  “In a word? Everything.”

  They practiced using the GPS system to plot routes between hypothetical destinations. Clive gave them Global’s limited-access password and they practiced accessing the database to obtain blueprints of hotels and public venues and perform risk-assessment analyses using software programs augmented by common sense. They practiced using the voice-activated software to make phone calls. They practiced mundane skills like making airline reservations. They snapped photos of each other.

  “You took one of me sleeping?” Loup asked, flipping through Pilar’s.

  “Mm-hmm.” She looked over her shoulder. “Look how cute you are! You look so innocent and harmless. Like a little cherub with messy hair.”

  “I like the ones I took of you better.”

  “In the lingerie?” Pilar smiled and ran a finger around the curve of Loup’s ear. “Don’t let Clive see them.”

  She shivered. “I won’t.”

  They learned to drive, which proved to be an adventure.

  For that, Clive took them to a professional driving school. They sat through the lectures and practiced on the simulator. Pilar managed tolerably well in and out of the classroom, but it was on the actual course that Loup struggled, unable to find the balance between her own fast reflexes and the unfamiliar velocity of a moving vehicle.

  “Jaysus!” The instructor, a capable woman named Sally, grabbed a safety strap as Loup veered too sharply around an obstacle. “Slow down!”

  She braked—too hard, too fast. They both lurched forward. “Sorry!”

  “Right.” Sally caught her breath. “You’re overreacting, love.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Loup said. “I’m having a hard time getting the feel of it, you know? I’m used to being in my own body. This is different.”

  The instructor blinked. “Well… yes.”

  “Never mind. I’ll get it.”

  It took about twenty hours of driving time with Sally the instructor sitting white-knuckled beside her, but eventually Loup established a rapport with the physics of driving. Once she did, she got good, fast. When the course of instruction ended, she and Pilar took their official road tests and passed.

  “Check us out,” Pilar said with satisfaction, gazing at her brand-new international driver’s license. “We are becoming women of many skills.”

  “Well, Guadalupe Herrera and Pilar Mendez are.”

  “Close enough.”

  Driving lessons were followed by a two-day seminar in first aid and CPR. They treated and resuscitated sophisticated dummies.

  “Oops.” Pilar, administering chest compressions, winced as the buzzer indicating she’d broken a rib went off. She watched Loup’s technique. “How come you’re not breaking any bones, Supergirl?”

  “Dunno. I’ve had more practice being careful with other people’s bodies, I guess.”

  “Mmm. True.”

  After they received their CPR certification, Clive split up their training, sending Pilar to work with Adelaide to learn more practical personal assistant skills, while he brought in the jujitsu instructor he’d mentioned earlier to teach Loup about pressure points. He was a quiet, unassuming man named Dominick, and he smiled with genuine pleasure when Loup shook his hand.

  “Oh, my yes!” he said to Clive. “If she’s got the knack, I can work with her.”

  Dominick demonstrated a few harmless pressure points to Loup—points on the wrist that weakened an opponent’s grip when pressed.

  “Wow.” She felt her hand grow numb. “Cool.”

  “Others cause severe pain, even unconsciousness.” He put his knuckle in the hollow below the hinge of her jaw, pressing lightly. “Here. A sharp blow can knock out
an opponent, but even merely grinding produces severe pain.”

  “Show me.”

  Dominick hesitated, glancing at Clive.

  “Go ahead,” he said. “Taz can take it.”

  He ground his knuckle hard into her flesh, angling toward the center of her head. “Whoa!” Loup blinked at the resulting pain, stars shooting across her vision. She ignored it and concentrated on memorizing the exact spot, angle, and amount of pressure. “Okay, I think I got it.”

  Dominick removed his hand, uncertain. “You felt it?”

  “Well, it hurt like hell, yeah.”

  “I thought perhaps your physiognomy made a difference. There’s usually a more, ah, pronounced reaction.”

  “It’s just pain. And I didn’t think I was supposed to fight back,” Loup said, glancing at Clive. “Was I?”

  “No, no.” He was grinning. “You did exactly right, darlin’. You’re me golden girl. Can you do it?” He thrust out his pugnacious chin, tapped the spot below his jaw. “Show me.”

  She did.

  “Gah!” Clive jerked away. “She’s got the touch, sure enough.” He looked at Loup with pride. “That’s the finest in American engineering at work, Dom, me lad. They may be paranoid, belligerent bastards, but they do good work.”

  “Actually, it’s Chinese,” Loup offered. “And I wasn’t engineered. Just born.”

  “Huh?” He peered at her. “You don’t look Chinese.”

  “No, I know. My father was from Haiti. That’s where the Chinese did the experiments, because it was a really poor country and they could get away with anything. The Americans took over the facility when my father was just a kid.”

  Clive scratched his head. “I’ll be damned. I never knew that.”

  “Yeah,” Loup agreed. “There’s a lot people don’t know.”

  He looked thoughtful. “Too right, that. You’re nothing like I’d have expected a geemo to be.”

  “How’s that?” Loup asked.

  Clive pursed his lips. “I can’t say, exactly. But not so… normal. You’re a lot like a regular girl, Taz.” He eyed her. “Except in all the ways you ain’t.”

  She worked with Dominick for a few more days, learning a variety of pressure points—how to exploit them and the dangers of doing so. When they were finished, he bowed from the waist, smiling. “Thank you. It has been an unexpected privilege to teach such an unusual pupil.”

  Loup returned an exact copy of his bow. “Thanks, sir.”

  That night, lying in bed, she told Pilar about it.

  “It reminded me of Floyd,” Loup said. “Coach Roberts. He said something like that once. When I was deciding for sure to go through with the fight.”

  “I remember,” Pilar said softly.

  Loup shook her head. “No, it was after you left me so that I could decide. The day I actually did. I just wish I knew what happened to him. He risked everything to train me, you know?”

  “Yeah.” She propped herself on one elbow. “ ’Cause it was the right thing to do, and he fucking well knew it. But we’ll find out, baby. We will.”

  “You think?”

  “Uh-huh.” Pilar leaned over and kissed her. “I do.”

  The following day Clive summoned both of them together. He was all smiles.

  “I’ve got another field trip for you, girlies.”

  Pilar brightened. “Is it another band?”

  “No, but I think you’re gonna like this one.” He pointed at her. “It’s Fashion Week in London and some high-and-mighty Italian designer who doesn’t usually deign to leave the Continent is showing. Seems there’s an issue with his usual security detail.”

  “Fashion designers need security?” Loup asked.

  “This one thinks he does. Vincenzo Picco.” Clive lowered his voice. “Word is he comes from a Mafia family.”

  “Like in the movies?” Pilar asked.

  “It’s just a rumor. But at any rate, he’s a right paranoid bloke, and he always travels with a four-man detail. If this snafu doesn’t get untangled in the next two days, Global’s going to provide security.” He pointed at Loup. “You’ll be on his detail. You’ll be junior to the others and do whatever they tell you.”

  “Okay.”

  “What about me?” Pilar asked.

  “You’ll assist his assistant.” Clive smiled wryly. “Poor thing’s going to have her hands full, and she doesn’t know the first thing about London.”

  “Neither do I.”

  “Right.” He nodded. “I suggest you start learning. Might want to access the Italian language module, too. I’m not sure how much English these folks speak.” He looked serious. “If this comes through, this is going to be your first real test out in the field. So don’t slack on this one, girlies. Make me proud.”

  They nodded.

  “Hey, Clive?” Pilar said. “We probably need some new clothes, right? I mean, escorting a big designer and all.”

  He smiled and tossed a credit card at her. “As a matter of fact, you will. Hang on to this. If the deal’s on, in two days you’re going shopping.”

  “Ooh, yay!”

  SIXTEEN

  Operation Designer was a go.

  Clive accompanied them to London on the train. “I’ll introduce you to the head of the security team,” he said to them. “And you can contact me at need. Other than that, you’re gonna be on your own, understand? I’m not gonna hold your hands.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Sì, signore,” Pilar added.

  He smiled a little. “Wish this hadn’t come up before we got to deportment and elocution.”

  “Huh?”

  “Proper manners and speech.” He adjusted his tie. “You might not think it, but I can put on a posh act when I need to. Just… try to act like well-bred young ladies, eh?”

  “Certainly, sir!” Loup sat ramrod straight.

  “Oh, go on!” He laughed. “Be yourselves, but mind your manners. Be polite and professional. Remember you’re representing Global Security.”

  “What happens if we screw up?” Pilar asked.

  “Depends on how bad of a cock-up it is,” Clive said cheerfully. “You’re bound to slip up here and there. But if we end up with an unhappy client…” He made a throat-slitting gesture. “Could end your career before it starts, sunshine.”

  “Oh.” She turned on her Dataphone. “Think maybe I’ll study that dossier on this Vincenzo guy some more. Um… Mr. Picco, that is.”

  “Good girl,” he said in approval.

  Loup put in her earpiece and listened to Italian lessons, watching the Scottish countryside pass outside her window.

  They arrived in London at dusk and took a cab to the hotel, a luxurious place overlooking a green park.

  “All righty,” Clive said after they checked in. “The rest of the team’s already here. We’re on our own until we pick up the client at Heathrow tomorrow morning. Let’s meet for dinner in the Grill Room in an hour and you can meet the others.”

  “Okay,” Loup agreed.

  “Yes sir, sir!”

  “Enough!” he said to Pilar. “You’re not in the army, sunshine.”

  In the hotel room, Pilar explored the amenities while Loup unpacked. “Oh, cute!” She showed Loup a miniature sewing kit. “Hey, you gonna wear one of those new white dress shirts tomorrow, baby?”

  “Yeah, Clive said to. White shirt, black pants. Why?”

  “I’d like to take the seams in a little.” Pilar pulled a white button-down shirt out of the closet and examined it. “It’s a cute cut, but it’s not tailored quite perfectly for zee toned phee-zeek.”

  Loup smiled. “I like when you get all domestic.”

  “For you and you alone. Remember the boxing robe?” She put the shirt back and tossed the sewing kit in her purse. “Probably take too long to do by hand. Maybe I’ll try it when we get back. Addie’s got a sewing machine.”

  “Okay.” Loup’s smile turned wistful. “I loved that robe. I wish I hadn’t had to leave it be
hind.”

  “That’s okay.” Pilar kissed her cheek. “All part of the mystery, Santa Olivia. It’s probably in a shrine somewhere. I wish I’d had the nerve to watch the fight. Watch you walk out wearing that robe in front of all of Outpost, then kick that guy’s ass.” She paused. “You know, it’s funny. I think if it were happening today, I would. And I don’t think I ever would have left you in the first place, even knowing I was gonna lose you. I think I would have stayed no matter how much it hurt.”

  “You were always stronger than you thought, Pilar.”

  “Maybe. I think a lot of it’s being with you.” She shook her head. “Anyway, enough being all serious.”

  “You started it!”

  “I know, I know.”

  In an hour’s time, they found their way to the restaurant, where Clive was waiting with three tall, good-looking youngish men in suits and ties. Their gazes flicked back and forth between the two girls as Clive made introductions, settling on Loup.

  “So you’re the geemo,” said the leader, Henry Kensington. He shook her hand with a slight flinch. “Welcome to the team.”

  “Thanks. It’s not official yet.”

  “Sounds like it’s just a matter of time.” His tone was neutral.

  Throughout the dinner, Henry quizzed them intensively about the itinerary, his demeanor easing only when he was satisfied that both of them had memorized it fairly well. But it wasn’t until Loup ordered a second entree that he left off talking shop.

  “Working the expense account, eh?” he said without malice.

  “No.” She took a bite of salmon. “Not on purpose, anyway. They serve small portions here.”

  “Taz here eats like a horse,” Clive informed him. “It’s her metabolism.”

  “Taz?”

  He grinned. “Old-time cartoon. One of the classics. Tasmanian Devil. You never saw it?” He mimed a whirlwind with one hand. “You’ve gotta see the girl in action. Though, ah, I hope it’s not necessary.”

  “Can’t imagine it would be,” one of the other bodyguards said laconically. “Not over a goddamn fashion designer.”

  “Don’t get careless,” Henry warned him, eyeing Loup with curiosity. “I don’t suppose you’d like to offer a demonstration?”