Lust (12 page)

I mean, I'm not an idiot. I understand my dad's point. When
Oliver was Loki, he was absolute undiluted evil. Caused us pain beyond measure. Hurt people thoughtlessly. Almost for the sport of it.

But I've checked him out. And I believe he's changed. And if I can investigate him and come to that conclusion, Dad should trust my instincts.

Then again . . . then again, maybe I
am
wrong, and Dad's right. I mean, we both trusted George Niven. He was Dad's oldest friend, the person he'd left me with to take care of me, and neither one of us could tell he'd hooked up with a wife who was trying to kill me. And then there was George himself. He got Dad captured in the Caribbean.

And me? Everything I believed in has fallen apart. I thought I could trust Natasha and Tatiana, until I found the gun used to shoot at me hidden in the very same bedroom I shared with the little creep. So maybe I'm not as smart as I thought.

This is complicated, but I have to go with the plan. Unless Oliver shows some reason for me to stop trusting him as much as I have, I have to let him guide us home. That's how missions like this work. I have to take care of my dad, get him healthy, and hope his emotional outbursts go away as the drugs leach out of his system. And I have to follow Oliver's lead.

Thank goodness I have my dad back. He's reminding me to think critically about everything and everyone. Maybe when we're on the train, I'll have a chance to talk to him—really talk this through and fill him in on how Oliver's been acting. Maybe together we can figure out how much to trust him.

Because right now, I want to. And this is one thing I really don't want to be wrong about.

I'm
guiding this snowmobile across the frozen tundra, with my daughter on the back. The air is cold and refreshing. The snow is bright and sharp. But I don't feel right. I do not feel right at all.

Part of it is physical. The buzzing in my ears? It could just as easily be the snowmobile's engine—or it could be an internal ringing, the siren song that hits just before unconsciousness. I shouldn't be driving this thing. But I can't admit to Gaia how sick I still feel.

Yes, the food was nourishing and good. But I took many beatings in the short time I was in that prison. And those drugs . . . whatever they were, they've diminished my capacity to react reasonably. They are clouding my judgment. I'm useless as a father right now. Useless as an agent.

But if Loki finds out how diminished my abilities are, he's sure to strike—sooner than he'd
planned. At least this way, if I fake feeling relatively healthy, I can buy enough time to get back to normal.

Focus, Tom. Focus hard. Everything rides on your ability to steer this snowmobile—and this mission—as much as you can.

Then again, I have to confront the possibility that Gaia trusted Oliver for a reason. I raised her to have a critical mind. And Loki has given her enough reason to hate him for life. She's certainly not naïve, nor is she naturally trusting in any way. Maybe she sensed something in him that has really changed.

Difficult as it might be to believe, I have to accept that possibility. I'm an agent, after all; I'm supposed to be able to consider any possibility, no matter how unlikely.

What a concept. My brother, Oliver . . . could be my brother, Oliver, once again. I buried him years ago, deep in my heart, accepting and mourning him as
dead. Because he was dead to me. Now, the idea that he might be resurrected . . . I don't know what to do about that. Right now, I can't even process it. I can't admit to myself how much I have missed my brother over these years, and how fantastic it would be to have him back.

My God, what if what Gaia says is true? What if Oliver is back from the dead, and Loki is really gone?

I can't focus on that now. I have to keep my defenses up as much as possible. I have to work to control my emotions. I have to fight to keep my mind focused and functional. And I have to appear much healthier than I feel.

It's a tall order. But I've fought tougher battles. And won.

I'll win this one, too.

I just hope that hum is the snowmobile after all.

Steel Wheels

GAIA PICKED HER HEAD UP AND
peered down the mountain. In the distance she could see the railway yard. The trains were lined up, ready to rejoin the regular rails and return to Moscow. They could hop on one easily, if they could figure out which was the next to go. Otherwise they'd have to wait till one moved, then board while it was still rolling slowly. That was less safe, but surer. She tucked her head back into the wind-free zone behind her father's back. They were still a long way away; it would be a while before they got there. She tried to calculate in her head how fast they'd have to move and how much time they'd have to get on the train, mentally rehearsing the moves she'd have to use, flexing her muscles to keep them warm.

Gaia relaxed as much as she could on the back of the snowmobile. It wasn't as cozy as the train car. For one thing, the wind was freezing wherever her skin was exposed, and she had to keep shifting so she wouldn't get frostbite. Not to mention that this was a snow-mobile, not an upholstered couch on steel wheels: She couldn't exactly lean back and have a snooze. But the steady buzzing of the engine and the smooth sailing of the journey were enough to lull her into a state of calm.

Until she sensed something strange. Like when she
was riding the subway and it took on too much speed. Or when she was in an old elevator and it dipped unexpectedly before stopping at a floor. She picked her head up again. She could see Oliver and Jake up ahead, on the right, and she squeezed her father's arm to make sure he saw them, too.

She felt a distressing lack of response. Something was wrong.

She shook Tom's shoulders and felt the snowmobile waver in response. She couldn't even tell if he was conscious or not. But it was clear something was going drastically wrong. Gaia clung to him for dear life as the snowmobile skipped over the snow at a ludicrous speed. Wiping out at seventy-five miles per hour would turn them both into red smudges in the white snow.

She had to get it under control—and fast!

Tom and Oliver, identical in every way, sat on opposite sides of the fire, both glaring into the flames.

Peculiar

GAIA POUNDED ON HER FATHER'S
back, trying to wake him from whatever stupor he was in as they sped across the snowy plane. Her fists bounced off him like pebbles, he was so steely and tense. She shouted at him, then reached as far forward as she could and grabbed the handlebars of the snowmobile. It was tough—she could barely reach—but if she shoved herself forward, she could just get a handhold. She tried to squeeze down on the hand brakes. The bike slowed, but wobbled again because her balance was off. Gaia let go and they sped up again.

To make matters worse, they had almost caught up to Oliver and Jake. The two of them were looking back curiously. She tried to shout to them to keep away—that she was out of control—but the words were whipped out of her mouth by the wind. She just prayed they'd steer clear—literally.

The next step was going to be tricky. She could lose a leg if they landed wrong. But if it was her leg versus all four of them in a midsnow collision, she'd have to make the sacrifice. It was a gamble she had to take.

This was where having no fear came in handy. She knew pain might be coming, but that didn't stop her from doing what she had to do.

Gaia wrenched the steering mechanism to the left,
yanking herself and Tom off course and causing a sickening lurch. The snowmobile, like a puzzled horse, tried to stay on course, but the sudden change of direction threw it completely out of control. Gaia pushed forward so she'd be flung back when the snowmobile crashed, which it did almost immediately. She landed on the icy crust of snow with a brutal crack. Tom landed facedown and spread-eagle, like a snow angel, and the snowmobile spun wildly a few times, then lay on its side, still buzzing, then shorting out and stalling with a hopeless cough.

It was a good thing they were close enough to the railway, because the snowmobile was dead.

Oliver and Jake pulled up immediately. Oliver hopped off and ran over, first pulling Gaia to a sitting position.

“Gaia! Are you all right?” he asked. “My God, what happened? Did you lose control?”

“Uh . . . I don't know,” she said, thinking fast. Had her dad tried to kill Oliver in a fit of drug-induced rage? Had he briefly lost consciousness? Was he sicker than she realized? Whatever the case, it wouldn't be smart to let Oliver know there was any weakness at all. Just in case there was more Loki in him than she thought.

“Get Dad,” she said. “Here, let me.” She stood, wincing in pain at the wrenched feeling in her leg, and ran over to him. She flipped him over on his back and
was relieved to see him blink up at the darkening sky. He turned his head toward her.

“Your nose,” he said. “You're bleeding.”

Oh, crap.
She swiped the blood away and tilted her head back.

“I'm fine,” she said. “The snowmobile lost control. Right, Dad?”

She peered down at him sidewise, hoping he'd play along.

It took him a moment longer than it should have, but his mind clicked into sync with hers.

“It lost control,” he agreed. “Damn thing must be fifteen, twenty years old.”

“Well, at least it got us here,” Oliver said. “I'm glad you're all right.”

Jake looked at Tom curiously, but he was busying himself taking care of Gaia's nose.

“What happened?” she hissed up at Tom.

“I'm not sure,” he said. “I think I lost consciousness.”

“Is that really what happened?”

They stared at each other, wary. Gaia wasn't sure if her dad was all the way back from his drug- and prison-induced weakness yet. Tom wasn't sure he could—or should—admit to her how weak he really was. So the silence blossomed between them, replete with the aroma of distrust.

But they were father and daughter, after all. The
moment passed, and they stood up, trudging behind Jake and Oliver toward the rail yard.

Since they couldn't actually enter until well after nightfall, they set up camp in the woods at the edge of the plain, in view of the railway yard but far enough away that they wouldn't seem suspicious. They set the temporary shelter up, all vinyl and space-age metal rods. It was surprisingly comfortable, creating a little igloo of warmth. They built a fire, creating a ring of wood to house the unlikely element of heat in the frozen tundra. Oliver unpacked more of the aluminum foil-style blankets.

“I'll never understand how these work,” Gaia said. “They're warmer than fur.”

“They used to sleep under shiny metal blankets on
Star Trek,”
Jake pointed out. “I knew that show was ahead of its time. It always looked kind of uncomfortable, but now I get it.”

Gaia smiled at him gratefully. Okay, so things wouldn't be as easygoing as they'd been on the train ride up to the prison. But if she could just get everyone talking, maybe she could reevaluate Oliver's trustworthiness—and assess how incapacitated Tom was.

It seemed impossible, though. Tom and Oliver, identical in every way, sat on opposite sides of the fire, both glaring into the flames like they were waiting for a phoenix to hoist itself up and into
the sky. Their low-slung camping chairs sagged, not just under their weight, but under the weight of their respective bad feelings. Tom had pounds of suspicion, and Oliver, it seemed, had pounds of guilt.

Gaia spread a blanket on the ground and sat between them, facing the fire. If her dad was high noon, her uncle was 6
P.M
., and she was three o'clock. Time for a truce—of sorts.

Jake sat down next to her. With a rush she realized she'd barely spoken to him in the last twenty-four hours or longer. It was strange—she'd missed him. And she wanted to talk to him now. To explain the strange tension between her father and Oliver. From his point of view, her dad was probably just a peculiar, scattered, ungrateful jerk. If you didn't know he was shot full of sedatives, and that Loki was a seriously evil overlord who had taken over Oliver's consciousness for the better part of the last twenty years, you might have thought that.

But this was no time for an intimate tête-à-tête. She had to play ambassador.

She cleared her throat. “So, did I mention that my dad and my uncle are twins?” Gaia asked. Ostensibly she was talking to Jake, but she said it loud enough for everyone to hear. “My—my mom used to tell me that when they were kids, they dressed alike. Not by choice. She said their mom made them. Their mom had a picture with both of them in sailor outfits. She couldn't
even tell which was which, they looked so similar. It always cracked her up.”

“Sailor outfits,” Jake said, playing along. “I didn't know they really made those.”

“I saw the picture when I was a kid. It was pretty funny. Dorky. Extremely dorky.”

A silence so loud it seemed to scream settled over the campfire. It crackled hopefully, but neither man said a word.

“My dad was kind of a nerd,” Gaia said. “They both went to Columbia University.”

“Oh, my dad's dying for me to go there,” Jake said.

“I couldn't stand those sailor suits,” Tom muttered, staring into the flames. He didn't sound angry. But he didn't sound exactly friendly, either. “I put mine on to make Mother happy, but I did feel extremely . . . dorky.”

“I didn't mind,” Oliver said. “It was clean and white. That appealed to me.”

The two of them were addressing their comments to the fire, not to each other.

“Yes,” Tom added after a pause. “Oliver did like things neat. His side of the room was always well ordered and tidy.”

“And Tom made a point of not being neat,” Oliver said. “Right after that photo was taken, he ran off into the woods. Came back so covered in dirt, bark, and sap, the suit would never get clean again. Mother had
no choice but to throw it out. That was the end of our naval careers.”