Page 62

“What’s the plan?” Iyoni asked, as we drove from the docks.

I laughed bitterly. “A plan? I can’t see any further than stopping that damn bomb.”

Kara’s hand found my thigh and gave it a squeeze of support. But it was a reminder what would be at stake if we did somehow stop Moreau.

“I am going to kill him,” I said, reaffirming my promise to myself, not just to them. He deserved to die, and it wasn’t just revenge, or even keeping Kara safe—though that was a strong motivation. But it also wasn’t due process. I looked past Kara at Iyoni. “Will you have a problem with that?”

“Not in the slightest,” she said simply. “And you can stop worrying. I’m not judging you again. I told you that.”

“I know, but … what of your own morality?”

“He threatened Kara.” She glanced at me before returning her eyes to the road.

“Ironically, it’s quite freeing being bonded to you.

I find myself less restrained now than I was as a Sentinel or an Arbiter.

If you’re asking me if I’d sleep well after killing Moreau, the answer is an unequivocal ‘yes.’”

I nodded. “Then he’s a dead man walking. No one threatens to kill either of you and lives.”

“Getting to him will be the issue,” Kara said.

She wasn’t wrong. I knew where he was, but walking in, just the three of us? Moreau himself was strong enough to stop us, let alone with his security posse.

“One step at a time,” I said. “Turner first. Take us to SPAR HQ, Iyoni. Let’s see just how far the Assistant Director card will get me.”

It was a short hop across town at this time of night, and Iyoni drove like Kara did. Seemed I was the only one who worried about speeding tickets. She drove around the back to the vehicle bay, my badge letting us in through the gate, and we pulled in to find it mostly empty.

The arrival of our van raised suspicion from the agents present, but I was recognized as we climbed out.

“Assistant Director?” A woman approached with the bearing of authority.

“Busy night, long story.” I waved at the van. “How goes the search for the bomb?”

She grimaced. “Nothing yet. We’ve cleared all the primary targets and are working through the secondary. I’m Lieutenant Anders, sir.”

“Good to meet you. I need some guidance, Lieutenant. Where would I get access to personnel records?”

“Er … personnel is in Records and Archives, but there won’t be anyone there now.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought you’d say. But it’s urgent.”

“Maybe if you could let me know what you need?”

I hesitated, and lowered my voice. “I need a home address. As you can understand, it’s confidential.”

She was professional enough to mask her surprise. “It’s level three clearance.”

“Not a problem.”

“The practicalities of getting it …” She thought for a moment. “If you don’t have access to a personnel station, the fastest route would be Chief of Staff Harrow. He’s the senior rank on duty tonight. You might find him in Communications.”

“Thanks, Lieutenant.”

“That’s in Containment, right?” Kara asked as we walked. “Where we met Reyes one time?” There was tension and urgency in her voice, the pressure felt by all of us.

“Saves us walking through the building,” I muttered, chafing at the delay of jumping through bureaucratic hoops, however necessary.

We retraced our steps, finding the large room with wall displays and dozens of terminals. Even at this hour, half of them were manned, no doubt keeping track of the shifts in the field and the search for the bomb.

It didn’t take long to find Harrow.

“Assistant Director,” he said, looking up from his terminal in surprise. “I didn’t expect you to be working a night shift.”

“I don’t think anyone is getting much sleep. I need something from you, please.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

I glanced around, conscious of the many ears in proximity. “Confidential.” I nodded to the office we’d used with Reyes. “Can we jump in there?”

He gave me a curious look that flicked briefly over Kara and Iyoni, but rose without question, and we followed after him.

“What is it?” he asked, as soon as I closed the door.

“A home address of a SPAR agent,” I said without preamble. “I need to talk to him about a potential lead, and with the clock ticking, we don’t have time to waste.”

“Huh,” he grunted. “Marlow gave you level three clearance, right?”

“Correct.” I handed over my card, and he keyed in the number to check.

“I doubt she expected you to use it for this,” he said as he made a few more keystrokes, “but it’s all in order.” A moment later, he’d accessed the personnel database. “What’s the name?”

“Under the circumstances, Mr. Harrow, I’d rather that remained confidential. Apologies for being brusque, but as I already said, time is short.”

“Are you pursuing a lead to the bomb?”

“That’s the hope.”

“Then I wish you godspeed, Assistant Director, and glad to help.”

He rose from his chair and stood nearby while I took over on the terminal, performing a quick search.

It didn’t take long to find Turner’s details, and I was happy to see he was listed as unmarried with no dependents.

I took a picture of the screen with my phone, capturing his address, then closed the window.

“That’s it,” I said. “Thank you.”

“Good luck, Xan.”

“Thanks. You too,” I said with feeling.

Seventeen hours left. We needed all the luck we could get.

*

Turner’s apartment block was in Elmhurst, and typical of the buildings that had sprouted up in the past few decades as New Providence rebuilt. Three stories, brick, quite modern, with a keypad for resident entry.

I regarded it glumly. “How are we going to get in?”

Iyoni walked to the door, gripped the handle, and pulled. There was a sharp crack as the lock gave way, and a screech of metal as the security plate twisted.

“Luckily, it’s open,” she said.

It seemed celestials were at least as strong as demons.

I glanced up to see a camera pointed down at us, but it was too late to worry about that. Hopefully, the darkness would blur the footage enough to keep our faces unrecognizable. A problem for another time.

“Apartment 108,” I read off from my phone as we climbed the stairs to the first floor.

“How do you want to do this?” Kara asked.

“Well, we know he’s working with Moreau and we’re short of time. So, the fast way.” I had a lot less guilt over Turner than I did for Farron. He was complicit in the attempt on my life, and he was responsible for Myas’ death. That alone justified consequence.

The hallway outside his apartment was dimly lit with nightlights, enough to find his door and see there were many others. The apartments weren’t large.

“We’re going to wake up a few people,” I murmured, keeping my voice low.

“In a place like this, make enough noise and they won’t want to come and investigate,” Kara said.

Probably true. “Well, let’s get it done. In fast, secure him, I’ll ask the questions. Who wants the honors—”

I stopped talking as Kara’s nimbus flared to life, and she put her shoulder to the door.

It burst open like it hadn’t been locked, but the splintering of wood proved otherwise.

Iyoni was hot on her heels, and the two of them swept through the small apartment, quickly identifying the door at the end as the bedroom.

That one got a similar treatment, and in seconds of entering, they were both in Turner’s room.

A single gunshot rang out, followed by a cry of pain—Turner’s, not one of the girls. I clenched my jaw, flicking on the bedroom light as I followed them in.

Turner lay in his bed, cradling his hand to his chest and sobbing. Iyoni was dismantling a revolver, ejecting the bullets onto the floor.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

“He missed,” Kara said, waving at a bullet hole in the wall.

“You crushed my hand,” Turner whimpered.

“You tried to kill me,” I replied, “so we’re square.”

His eyes widened as he recognized me. “Assis … Assistant Director. What are you—”

“You know damn well why I’m here. You have two minutes to tell me everything you know about Moreau’s plans and his bomb.”

“I’m a SPAR agent … I’m on your side … I haven’t done anything—”

“Spare me, please,” I said, shaking my head. “One minute fifty.”

His eyes hardened as he dropped the act. “I don’t know anything,” he spat at me, “and I wouldn’t tell you if I did.”

“Wrong answer. Both of them.”

I leaned forward and grabbed him by the hair, dragging him off the bed and onto the floor, Kara stepping back to make room. I really was much stronger; Turner had no chance of resisting me, even as a supe. A below-average hydro from what I could sense, and his water aether was no great threat.

He tried anyway, blasting scalding steam, but I tugged on Kara’s bond, borrowing her nimbus and its heat resistance.

The spray barely grazed me, leaving a small burn that only spurred my mood.

I kicked his kneecap and forced him down, and he screamed as the bone shattered.

I hadn’t intended that, but I wasn’t sorry.

“One minute thirty,” I said. “You better start talking.”

“Fuck … you …” he grunted through the pain.

I’d wondered if I had the stomach for an interrogation like this, but as I grabbed his other hand and snapped all the fingers back, I discovered I really didn’t care.

I took no pleasure from his screams, but the whole business was merely Machiavellian: a means to an end.

Weighed against the lives at stake, Turner’s meant nothing, and I still owed him for Myas.

“One minute.”

“You’re an academic . Just an ethics consultant ,” he gasped out, the words full of his contempt. “You won’t kill me.”

“Ethics focuses on what’s morally right or wrong, so trust me when I tell you I really will.”

He stared up at me in fear, the whites of his eyes visible all round his irises. “I don’t know anything, man! I don’t know where the bomb is!”

“I’m sorry, I don’t believe you.” I pulled his wrist up, applying an arm lock. I had a rough idea of what I was doing, but when I was so much stronger than he was, technique mattered less.

He screamed again, but I kept the pressure up. It was distasteful, and I grimaced at what I was being forced to do. But I still had no compunction in torturing this man if that’s what it took.

Was there a difference between Virelle and me in that moment? I saw Farron as mostly innocent and Turner as absolutely guilty. Self-justification or superior morality? I was past caring.

“Thirty seconds.”

“Please,” he whimpered between sobs. “I’ll tell you what I know.”

“You have twenty-five seconds to impress me.”

He started talking fast. “I was told to keep tabs on you. Tell them of your movements and what you were doing. Then one of Moreau’s lieutenants told me to let him know when you were vulnerable. I texted him the patrol information. That’s all, I swear!”

“It’s not all, is it?” I said coldly, twisting his arm as bone ground on bone. “You haven’t told me which lieutenant, and you haven’t told me what else you’ve done.”

“Leighton Anders! It was Leighton Anders.” There was desperation in Turner’s voice. “He’s Moreau’s inner-circle, one of his sons. You killed him in the street. I’ve been sharing SPAR info with Moreau’s men for months, but it’s low-level stuff—patrol routes, numbers, nothing significant.”

“And Farron?” I asked, curious to check the elf’s story.

“Yes, yes, and Farron,” he said through teeth gritted against the pain.

“Moreau wanted to target another faction. Dacien Halden. House Val’Sheran.

They’re getting too big. Moreau doesn’t like competition.

We used information to have Reyes and his team do raids on Halden’s empire. That’s all, I swear!”

“What about the ambush at the docks? Did you set that up?”

“What? No! I had nothing to do with that!”

I believed him. It still left that mystery unsolved, but maybe it was another faction. I should ask Dacien sometime; it was probably him, fighting back. He hadn’t known Kara and I were there. Might not have cared if he had.

“Fine. Now the bomb. Where is it?”

His urgency grew. “I don’t know where it is! Moreau wouldn’t tell me that!”

“Who does know?”

“It would only be those closest to him, I swear!”

The problem was, I believed him. I knew everything else he’d said was true, and had no reason to doubt this either.

Damn it.

“Names.”

“I don’t have them! Leighton Anders was my handler, and you killed him!”

“So who’s your handler now?”

“Always anonymous calls,” he gasped. “I only got Anders’ name by accident.”

I looked up at Kara and Iyoni. They returned my gaze with helplessness.

I released Turner and he half fell to the floor, whimpering in pain as he cradled his arm to his chest. Think I broke it.

“If I learn you’ve been holding out on me, I’ll come back,” I told him.

He said nothing, his breathing labored as he huddled between us.

I nodded to the women, and they both headed out past me, shoulders stiff and their faces tight with resignation.

I followed them, weighed down by the same despair. Turner had been our last chance for a lead.

He spoke as I reached the door. “Moreau will kill you for what you’ve done to me.”

I paused, glancing back. He pushed himself up, kneeling beside his bed while holding his damaged arm and glaring at me.

“Be right with you,” I said to the women, then closed his bedroom door.

Turner’s defiance and anger faded to horror as he took in my expression. “You can’t … you won’t …”

I grabbed his hair in one hand, yanking back his neck. “No loose ends, hmm? Isn’t that what Moreau would say?”

“I won’t talk! I swear!”

“This time, I don’t believe you.”

I grabbed his chin and twisted. His neck snapped too easily. I let go, and he slumped to the floor of his bedroom, eyes staring and unseeing.

Killing in self-defense was one thing. This had been murder.

I stared at my hands, wondering what I felt.

Yes, I’d killed him. Not because he’d threatened me, but because I knew, if he told Moreau, it would be Kara who paid the price.

I didn’t feel anything much. A sense of disgust at the act. Vindication that Myas had been partly avenged. Relief that Moreau wouldn’t know for sure what had transpired here tonight.

Nothing more than that.

Part of me wondered if the Xander Sullivan of three weeks ago would’ve been horrified at what I’d done. I wasn’t. That probably said enough.

I stepped over his body and opened the door. Kara and Iyoni looked at me, searching my expression, then as one, they both carried on out of the apartment.

There had been no judgment or disgust in their eyes, only concern for my welfare. And they hadn’t seen anything to worry them.

Morality wasn’t black or white, not really. Not when lives were at stake.

Yet the only thing I really felt was despair. Not for Turner’s death or what I’d done, but because this was the last lead.

All this time, I’d nursed a flame of hope that we’d find something, anything, to help with the search for the bomb.

That hope had been snuffed out.

I’d failed.