by Julia Huni
“And you knew we were coming sometime that day because Kate told you.” O’Neill’s face is grim. “Is she in on this?”
“No, of course not. Kate is completely innocent! But we knew you’d want to talk to Ser al-Petrosian, so it was just a matter of getting her to let me know when you’d arrive. It was too easy.”
“And that’s what tipped me off.” Vanti leans forward. “I knew someone had set up the station maintenance—it wasn’t hard to trace that back to Watson. That’s what I was doing yesterday morning.” She glances at O’Neill. “I convinced her to come here and talk to you.”
“Why here?” My brow wrinkles. “Is Vern involved with Wil?”
“Me? Who’s Wil?” al-Petrosian asks.
“The terrorist I told you about,” Vanti says. She turns back to us. “They are very distant cousins. But this was a safe place for Watson to meet us. We have to assume anywhere she goes on a regular basis is being monitored by Putin.”
“How do you know she doesn’t have a tracker on her?” I ask.
“I checked. This isn’t my first assignment. I know how to keep locations safe.” Vanti sits back in her chair and gives me a superior look.
“Why did you call them partners?” O’Neill asks.
“Because they are. Now.” She grins at al-Petrosian. “Vern says he’s risk averse, but there’s a little wild man inside him trying to get out. Watson has reported to Putin that she’s been contacted by Wil’s distant cousin and he wants to help.”
“What’s your plan, Vanti?” O’Neill asks.
“I’m trying to draw out the other players. That bombing in the square wasn’t Watson. Someone else is involved.”
“Wil’s organization was very good at compartmentalizing,” I say. “We may never find out who the other players are. Unless you’re going to try to get them to bomb me again.”
“No!” O’Neill cries.
“I wasn’t volunteering,” I mutter.
“Let’s face it, the wedding is probably the most likely time for them to strike.” Vanti folds her hands in her lap. “Large gathering. Public location. High profile guest. They’ve proven—with the senator’s bombing—that they don’t care about collateral damage.”
“He doesn’t want to hurt anyone,” Watson argues.
We all turn and stare at her as if she’s crazy.
“Really—that’s the only reason I went along with it.” She nods repeatedly, as if she can convince us—and herself—by sheer force of will. “He said he just wanted to scare her. He told me to make the explosions non-fatal. He specifically told me to make sure no one was in the transit station.”
“He’s a convicted serial killer,” I say. “He tried to kill me more than once.”
Tears fill her eyes. “He’s not like that.”
I gape at her. “You know he’s a killer. He’s been blackmailing you to blow things up. How can you say he’s not like that? That’s exactly what he’s like!”
“I’m sorry.” The tears spill down her face. “I—he—I’m so confused. I know he’s bad, but some part of me keeps trying to convince the rest of me that he’s really the charming, amazing man I fell in love with.”
“Trust me, he’s not.” I wrap my arms around myself. O’Neill reaches out and rubs my back.
The other woman sniffs. “I have to keep reminding myself. Sometimes I think he did something to my brain.”
“Could he have used some form of hypnosis or brain wave manipulation?” O’Neill asks Vanti.
“We’d have to get her to a certified facility to check.” Vanti flicks her holo-ring.
“What?” Watson’s face goes red. “What are you talking about?”
“The technology that’s used to help trauma victims can also be used to create false—not memories exactly, but emotional attachments.” Vanti grimaces. “It’s—obviously, no one wants criminals—or politicians—doing that, so it’s kept quiet. But Putin has nearly unlimited resources. He could—”
“Wait a minute,” I break in. “How’s he doing all this? He’s locked up in Attica. I checked yesterday. He’s definitely there. And he doesn’t have access to the outside.”
“He’s not supposed to have access to the outside.” Vanti glowers. “But who knows what he set up in advance? He put Gwen into position long before we finally got him. I’m sure he has contingency plans for his contingency plans.”
“I’m sending a team to Attica to do a full sweep.” O’Neill starts swiping through interfaces on his holo-ring.
“No. We don’t want to tip him off,” Vanti says.
“I’ll tie it to Triana’s call yesterday.” O’Neill smiles. “Obviously, someone wasn’t following protocol because she specifically asked for no audio connection. And yet, they turned that on, allowing Putin to know she was checking. That’s grounds for a full sweep right there.” He raises an eyebrow at me.
I nod. “Yup, they blew it. Send a copy of the call with the team, so they have evidence.”
O’Neill nods. “Done and done.” He flicks a few more things, then shuts down his comm interface. “Now we just need to get Lili and Jie to reschedule their wedding.”
“They aren’t going to like that.” I shake my head. “They’ve been planning it for as long as I’ve known you. Remember? Your mom called to tell you about the engagement the first night I…”
He smiles, his eyes warm. “I remember.”
Thirty
As we walk to the O’Neill house, we come up with a plan. Vanti will set up surveillance of the wedding venue while O’Neill convinces his relatives to move the whole thing to the family compound. I’m so glad I’m not the one who has to tell his sisters.
“We’ll have someone meet the guests as they arrive and redirect them to the house. Luckily, the venue has an underground parking complex, so anyone watching from outside won’t know what’s going on. And, of course, by the time guests arrive, whoever’s setting this up should be long gone,” he says.
“Surely they’ll set up cams.” I love poking holes in others’ theories. “And they’ll see the carriages leaving instead of waiting.”
“It’s the best we can do.” He runs his hands through his hair. “I need a positive game face for this discussion. The ladies will not be happy.”
“But where will they do the wedding?” I ask.
“Our courtyard is big enough for the reception.”
“Why didn’t they have it there in the first place? Seems like a beautiful place for a wedding.”
“Jie’s family wanted it at their club,” O’Neill says. We turn down the alley behind the family compound.
“In all the old vids, it’s the bride’s family who makes all the wedding plans.”
“Yeah, but there can be a lot of negotiation in the process.” O’Neill grins. “Real life one, Ancient Tēvē zero.”
I slap his arm as we walk into the house. “Funny man. Good luck.”
“There you are! Good,” Serena calls out as we walk in. “Ride over to the club with the last of the flower arrangements. You need to make sure the catering team is setting them up properly. I was going to do it, but there’s a problem with the music!”
“Mom, we need to talk.” O’Neill puts his hands on Serena’s shoulders. He turns her toward the lounge, speaking softly as they walk.
“WHAT? We can’t change everything at the last minute! This is crazy. It’s all being delivered to the club! They’ll charge a fortune to move it here. How—”
“Serena.” I hurry after them. “I’ll take care of it. It’s my fault they’re targeting the wedding. I’ll handle the costs. Come on, Ty, let’s get those flowers moved back here.” I grab his arm and pull him toward the garage.
“You aren’t going anywhere near that venue.” He pulls me to a stop.
“It’s completely safe.” I yank my hand away. “Whatever they’re planning is set for hours from now. Your mom needs help. Plus, Vanti is already there, scoping things out.”
“Fine, then
I’m coming with you.” He points at me. “You wait there. I’m getting more firepower.”
“You don’t have to pay for it.” Serena watches O’Neill run up the steps, two at a time. “It’s not really your fault.”
“If I wasn’t here, this wouldn’t be happening.” I cringe inwardly, thinking of Lili’s ruined day. “I know this won’t be the wedding Lili was dreaming of, but the Morgan accounts can more than afford the cost. Mother won’t even notice the withdrawal.” Because it’ll come out of my exorbitant allowance, not her funds. But Serena doesn’t need to know that.
Serena smiles. “Actually, it will be exactly the wedding Lili dreamed of. She wanted it here. But Jie’s family…” She gives me a distracted nod. “Right. So much to do. Thanks for taking care of the flowers, dear.” She hurries away.
I stand at the back of the courtyard, watching the flurry of activity. Yelling and wailing come from the lounge, and I slink behind the nearest potted tree. I don’t need Lili—or worse, Akiko—noticing me now. Even if it’s true Lili would prefer the wedding here, Akiko won’t hesitate to point a finger at me for all the mayhem.
The steady stream of people who had been carrying things out reverses direction. The twins pass by, carrying massive boxes back to the lounge. One of them spots me behind the plant and winks. “Good thing Triana isn’t here. They’d be all over her.” The other twin laughs.
When O’Neill finally returns, carrying an ancient blaster and two stunners, I sneak out to meet him. “Have they been blaming you?” he asks.
“No one’s seen me yet, except the twins. And they seem to love anything that causes upheaval. But to be fair, it is my fault.”
“No, it’s Putin’s fault. Don’t you ever forget that.” He hands me one of the stunners and slides the blaster strap over his shoulder.
I stare at the ugly weapon. “Where did you get that thing?”
“Dad insisted I bring it. It’s his old service blaster. To be honest, I’m not sure it even works anymore.”
“We can leave it in the carriage.” I follow him to the garage, and we get into the vehicle.
He stashes the giant weapon under the seat and swipes in the location. The garage door opens, and the carriage slides out to the alley.
“Cloud the windows!” I say as we roll along. “Why were they transparent?”
“It’s a wedding.” O’Neill flicks the commands, and the sides darken. “Everyone is supposed to see you transporting the flowers and stuff to the venue. Gotta remind the neighbors that you’re spending a boatload of money on a party. Especially the ones who weren’t invited.”
I laugh.
“When we get there, you stay in the carriage.” He flicks an icon on his holo-ring without looking my way.
I stare at him in disbelief. “Do you even know me?” I check the charge on the stunner—it’s fully loaded. “You don’t have any of Vanti’s fancy sedation darts or holo-ring fryers, do you?”
“No. And you won’t be getting close enough to anyone to use those, anyway.” He shakes his head, a goofy little smile sneaking onto his lips. “Maybe you’d better come in with me. I’d be afraid of what you might get up to if I leave you alone.”
I roll my eyes. “You’ll probably need my help, anyway. I’ve saved your bacon a couple of times.”
“That you have.” His smile widens, and he leans in to kiss me.
Just as our lips touch, the carriage pings. “You have reached the Winter Palace. Do you wish to exit?”
He gives me a fast, hard kiss then checks his stunner again. “Ready?”
“Opening the door.” The carriage says, and the doors ease open.
“Not you—never mind. Come on.” He climbs out into the empty underground garage. The carriage has stopped near the float tube. As soon as we exit, it backs into the closest parking spot.
Our footsteps echo on the plascrete as we walk. O’Neill flicks his holo-ring. “Vanti. Where are you?” He pauses, nudging me toward the wall. “She’s not answering. Check the stairwell.”
“Door’s locked.” I flick my own ring. “Let me see if I can persuade it to open.” A few seconds later, the lock clicks. I pull the door open a few centimeters and duck away. No one blasts my head off, so I open the door wider and peek in. “Clear.”
“Let’s take the stairs.” O’Neill checks again then heads up the steps. “Watch our six.”
I’m not very good at climbing up the steps while watching down them, but I do my best. Once we get around the first turn, it’s easier. We pass three more levels of garage—designated by the huge G painted on the doors, then arrive at the top of the steps. This door opens easily from inside the stairwell.
“I don’t see anyone.” O’Neill steps out in a crouch. “Stay down.”
A flutter of movement to the left catches my eye. I swing my stunner that way as O’Neill calls out, “Halt!”
“What?” A tall, round man carrying a huge layer cake jumps but manages to hold on to the platter. “You scared the frosting out of me! What are you doing yelling at bakers like that?”
“Sorry.” O’Neill lowers his weapon, but the baker doesn’t notice. I’m not sure he even looked our direction. He powers on, setting the tray on a silver-draped table.
The table holds four other huge, white cakes. They’re all covered in swirls and flowers, with sparkling accents and fluffy poufs. “It looks like a marshmallow exploded in a glitter factory,” I whisper. “Is this normal for weddings?”
O’Neill wiggles his free hand back and forth. “This is a bit over the top. Jie’s family hired Pierre Gâteau Fantaisie to make the cake. He’s the baker to the stars.”
“And don’t you forget it,” the baker says. “If you do, he’ll remind you. I’m his assistant, Enzo.” He waves.
“Nice to meet you, Enzo,” I say. “Have you seen a redhead around here? About so tall, thin, pretty?” I hold up my hand to indicate Vanti’s height.
“You’re the only redhead I’ve seen in ages. Is that your real hair?” He shakes his head in disbelief. “I know girls who would kill for those ringlets.”
My face goes hot. “They’re a curse. Sometimes.”
“Have you seen anyone else?” O’Neill’s eyes constantly rove around the huge room, checking and double-checking for trouble. “Anyone who doesn’t belong here?”
“No, just me and the caterers.” Enzo hoists the enormous cake again and sets it above an even larger one. The cake bounces a little then settles into place about ten centimeters above the first one. “They’re in the kitchen. The wedding planner from hell is in there, too.”
“I’ll check with them,” O’Neill says. “That way?”
Enzo nods. “There are three kitchens. All crazy busy, so watch out for flying knives.”
O’Neill salutes Enzo with his free hand. “You coming?”
“I’ll stay here,” I reply. “I’m going to check the network.”
I flick my holo-ring and start swiping through the interface, absently watching Enzo as I break through their pitiful attempts at security. “Are you going to stack all of those?” I point at the other cakes. “In a huge tower?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. That would be way too easy.” Enzo flicks his holo-ring and makes an adjustment. The cake drops a few millimeters. He closes the interface and points at three of the cakes. “Those are going to orbit around the spherical one. Then there will be trails of cupcakes spiraling upward.” His hands gracefully describe arcs and curves. “It’s Baker Pierre’s most recent masterpiece.”
“Looks like a grav-engineer’s masterpiece,” I mutter.
Enzo gives me an ironic bow. “To be fair, the cake tastes pretty good.”
I laugh. The net appears to be untouched. I scan through the last thirty days of activity and can’t find anything suspicious. “Oh, you might want to stop. The wedding’s being moved. Can you move the cake?”
Enzo stares at me in horror. “Move? I have a grav generator under this table that weighs seventy-five
hundred kilos. It took an industrial sized grav lift and three experts two hours to put into place.”
“Ironic that a grav generator requires outside lifters to move, isn’t it?” I’m trying to distract him, but it doesn’t work.
“Pierre is going to kill me! There’s no way I can get this thing to another venue before the wedding!” He stares at the floating cake, his face pale and sweating.
“Maybe you can come up with a new design?” I suggest.
“As if it were that easy!” Enzo drops his head into his hands. “I spent weeks designing the equipment.”
“You know, that hysterical artiste thing isn’t really working for you,” a female voice behind us says. I turn as a blonde woman dressed in white strides to the table.
Enzo’s hands drop. His face is calm. “You’re so right, Seline. Is this move for sure?” At my nod, he turns back to the woman. “Let’s come up with a plan.”
Thirty-One
I leave the bakers—or grav engineers—to their business and make my way around the enormous room. Large windows on two sides look out onto a beautiful park. Sprinklers run at full spray, keeping the foliage alive in the Grissom heat. Vanti can’t be down there—she’d be soaking wet.
I commandeer a float and work my way around all the small circular tables, collecting the centerpieces that have already been placed. As I reach the last one, the kitchen doors slam open. A stream of black-clad caterers pours out. “Everything goes!” A tall woman in a fuchsia suit follows the caterers. “Pack it all up and move it to the residence. What are you doing?” She stomps up to me, glaring.
“I’m taking the flowers back to the house.”
“No, you’re not. That’s our job.” She snaps her fingers, and two of her minions hurry over to take the cart away from me.
“Be my guest. Sera O’Neill sent us over to coordinate the move.” I step back, hands up. I’ve never seen so much rage suppressed so carefully, and I’ve lived with the Ice Dame most of my life. “But if you’ve got it handled, I’ll just get out of your way.”