Ruthless (14 page)

“Yeah,” I said. There hadn’t been any info on the perps, just a basic description of the event. “They didn’t mention what was taken, though.”

“That place held Sarin, VX gas, all sorts of nastiness.” Now Reed’s voice had gone solemn, which was probably more appropriate given the subject matter. Someone had made off with the kind of weapons of mass destruction that could turn New York City into a ghost town. “If they didn’t say what was taken, it’s probably because it was something inconceivably bad.”

I frowned. “You mean like something we haven’t even heard of?”

He shrugged. “That’s kinda how the government works, right? Secrets upon secrets. If it was just VX, they’d have mentioned it in the report.” He talked about these things like he knew what they were.

“You know anything about those gases?” I asked. A chemist I’m not.

“You see that movie
The Rock
?” he asked, kind of cringing. “That stuff they used was VX. Sarin is pretty bad too, as I understand it from reading Wikipedia.”

“Ugh,” I said, shaking my head. Part of me was glad that this particular assignment was not mine to deal with. “I hope stuff like this doesn’t happen all the time.”

“If it does, I guess we’ll know about it now.” He shook his head. That was a dreadful thought.

We emerged from the tunnel into the basement of the headquarters building and climbed the stairs to the lobby. A guy was just hanging out there, on a chair in the stairwell, loitering with his back against the wall, laptop computer spread across his legs. I frowned and looked at Reed, who shrugged like this was perfectly normal.

“J.J.?” I called out, experimentally. The guy looked up at me through glasses with thick black frames. Hipster.

“Oh, hey, Sienna,” he said, cool as a January morning. He nodded at Reed. “What’s up, Reed-with-a-screed?”

Reed chuckled. “That one’s not bad.” He looked at me, almost guiltily. “It’s this thing we do.”

“I know,” I said, shaking my head. I’d seen it before. “Geeks. I’m surrounded by geeks.”

“Don’t dis the geek,” J.J. said, turning his attention back to his laptop. “Diamonds are overrated;
we
are actually a girl’s best friend.”

I started to respond to that utter nonsense with an appropriate verbal slapdown, but Reed grabbed me by the elbow and pulled me toward the door past J.J. “Come on, we’ve got a public embarrassment to attend.”

The lobby was buzzing with anticipation. Security was there, and a flotilla of white-suited waitstaff was making their way through the room with trays of canapés and stuff, feeding our personnel. Our guys were on the guard, but taking a few bites here and there. I couldn’t blame them. It smelled great.

Ariadne was waiting for us there, a glimmering silvery gown highlighting how pale she was. Her red hair was hanging loose today, styled nicer than mine. Wait, no, that’s not a good comparison. Hers looked really nice. Jackie was standing next to her, also dressed to the nines.

“Is this it?” I asked as Reed and I made our way over. “Are we the welcoming committee?”

“Director Phillips will be here momentarily,” Jackie said with a relaxed smile. It wavered a little as she looked at me, like she realized that using his title was like salt in the wound. Her gaze flicked to Ariadne, and I could see the comment had found its mark with her, too; there was a little flush on her cheeks, more subtle than her flaming hair. To Jackie’s credit, she looked like she wanted to apologize, but didn’t. She shouldn’t have to apologize for stating a fact, I thought. But it still stung.

The metal detectors trilled as I walked through them to lead the way out toward the doors. I could see a limo parked just outside. I glanced at the security guy manning the detector, and he shrugged at me. I always set them off; I was never unarmed. He glanced out at the limo. “Been here about ten minutes,” he said.

“Trying to be fashionably late?” I asked, looking back at Jackie.

“Probably downing a few bottles of vodka before they get out,” Reed said. “They are Russian, after all.”

“Best behavior,” Jackie said under her breath.

“It’s a formal occasion,” I said. “We’ve got an open bar, right?”

“Yes,” Jackie said with a hint of hesitation. “But may I suggest …” she said it lightly, and the inference was not lost on me.

“I’m not much of a drinker,” I said in reply, heading her off.

The limo door opened and a woman got out first. I had the immediate impression that she was the sort who wanted to set foot on the battlefield before her compatriots. She loomed when she stood, a tall figure, scanning the glass front of the building as she took it all in. She caught sight of me lit up by the lobby lights and did not hesitate, offering a thin smile, the sort I expected was regularly employed in these situations. I knew their names, and I knew she was the leader. Natasya Sokolov. Tall, blond, regal, austere … she just radiated toughness and seriousness. I could identify with that.

The next guy out of the limo was a charmer. He had that smile, the dark hair, the cool eyes, and he fiddled with his cuffs like he was Bond, James Bond, as he straightened up. He was average height, way above average in the looks department. I had a file photo of him taken from Russian news media, and he’d looked handsome in it. His charisma was even more apparent here, even with thirty feet and a series of glass partitions between us. Vitalik Kuznetsov. That was his name.

The next one out was another man, this one below average height, with a look like he was about to fall asleep. His eyes drooped, but he took it all in like there was nothing here that he hadn’t seen before. The light dossier hinted he was Hungarian-born, and ended up recruited by the Russians solely because he was a meta. Miksa Fenes. He gave not one hint that he had ever smiled in his life.

The last guy was a bear, fitting for a Russian. He got out of the limo with a hint of a stagger, like his balance wasn’t all there. He had a long beard that had been somewhat groomed but still looked kind of wild. Leonid Volkov was his name. I didn’t know exactly how to pronounce it, but I suspected it was like Leonard, maybe.

They stood out in the subzero weather like it was nothing, cold frosting their breath. It misted in the lights, clouds swirling across their faces. I stared at each of them in turn, and felt a presence next to me.

“Try to smile?” Jackie suggested. She hadn’t set off the metal detector.

“Where’s Phillips?” I asked as I did what she’d told me to, pressing my lips into a tight line. I went for friendly and welcoming. Or maybe like when you’re passing a coworker in the hall and nod to them. Something in that vein.

“You look like you’re about to dive into their midst and kill them all with your teeth,” Phillips said as he passed through the metal detector. No beep for him, either. “Do you not know how to smile?” He was still expressionless, which I thought was ironic, considering.

I kept from throwing the obvious reply right into his blank face. “I’m working on it,” I said instead, and tried to think of something that would give me cause to genuinely smile. I had trouble with it.

“The bathroom scene in
Dumb and Dumber
,” Reed said from behind the security post, like he could read my mind. I knew he didn’t want to walk through the detector because it’d be sure to go off.

“Heh,” I said. “Hehe.” I felt my lips stretch into a broad grin, and I barely restrained a giggle. I looked back at the entry in time to see that the Russians were coming.
One if by land
, I thought.

Phillips and Jackie flanked me, while Reed and Ariadne hung back behind the security checkpoint. Ariadne looked hesitant, and I wondered what was up with that.

Natasya Sokolov entered the lobby, Vitalik holding the door for her. She surveyed everything warily while trying not to look like she was. She had a smile on, too, but it reminded me of a wolf trying to convince you that she wasn’t about to eat your flock.

It probably wasn’t that far off what I’d been displaying a few moments earlier, actually.

“Ms. Sokolov,” Jackie said, taking the lead. “I’m Jacqueline Underwood. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She offered a hand, which Natasya Sokolov looked at for a moment before she took it, shaking it awkwardly.

“A pleasure indeed,” Sokolov said, without a trace of Russian accent. That caused me to raise an eyebrow. It also caused my mind to race; where would she have learned flawless English? We had the public version of her file that had been compiled over the last month or two by PR hacks like Jackie. I suspected there was a government version of her file somewhere else, maybe in a CIA or FBI vault, something in the intelligence or counterintelligence sections. I gathered that this was not her first visit to the United States, though that was total speculation on my part. Her eyes flicked to me. “And you must be Sienna Nealon.” She offered me a hand and waited to see if I’d take it.

I faked a smile, thoughts of scenes from comedies gone in an instant. “I must be,” I said and hastily took her hand, giving it a quick shake before letting it go. It was two seconds contact, max, but she didn’t pull away first; I did. She studied me all the while, waiting to see what I’d do, how I’d handle the contact. It was in her interest not to touch me any more than she had to, but she was fearless in the way she did this; she was measuring me in her own way and giving me a little insight in the process.

This was not a woman I would happily choose to mess with.

“How do you do, Ms. Nealon?” Vitalik Kuznetsov asked, sliding up to me. I had a sudden vision of a shark gliding through the water, nothing but a fin cutting gently above the surface to warn its prey.

“I’m doing just fine, Mr. Kuznetsov,” I replied, noting the unmistakable pleasure in his eyes that I’d gotten his name right. “How was your trip?”

“A little bumpy in the middle,” he said smoothly, “but it’s looking oh-so-much better now.” His English was flawless, too, and this once again made me uneasy. There were a lot of classified files in government keeping that I had no access to, but I had this sick feeling that I was missing a whole lot of stuff that I should have been privy to. There was a story here, somewhere. These people were not just prisoners for the last thirty years because of some whim of the post-Soviet government. I had a whiff of something here, and I did not like the smell of it. And it wasn’t Phillips, either, though he did have a distinctive and unpleasant cologne.

“Sienna Nealon,” Leonid Volkov said to me, and I caught the faintest hint of a slur to his words. “The face of American metahumans.” He broke into a grin. “And a pretty face at that; no wonder Vitalik dotes on you.”

“I have an affinity for beauty,” Vitalik said, and he offered me his hand. When I gave him mine he took it with both hands, clasping it warmly. I could feel a slight tingle as he rubbed against the back of my hand for a few seconds, then, almost reluctantly, let it slip away. It felt like he’d been counting the seconds and released it only with the greatest regret. Beneath my mind’s whirling curiosity and discomfort at their English-language skills and all the little implications that came with them, I had to admit that Vitalik was … charming. Handsome.

He smiled at me, warmly.

Dangerous.

“This is Miksa Fenes,” Vitalik said, still smiling, introducing me to the silent Hungarian, who gave me a subtle nod. “But you probably already knew that.”

“Well, you are all pretty famous at this point,” I said, my eyes flitting to Sokolov, who was now in conversation with Phillips and Jackie, listening to them with stiff politeness.

The first flashbulb reminded me that this wasn’t just a chance to meet new people and worry about their pasts. I froze, Vitalik staring straight at me, almost warmly. Almost. “Ah, the press. A curious Western sort of tradition.”

“I’m pretty sure they have reporters in Russia now,” I said.

“They had them before, too,” Vitalik said with a wide grin, “but they used to be so much more manageable.” Was that regret in his voice? He placed a hand on my elbow and gently steered me to face a half dozen people with cameras. “Now, smile,” he said quietly. I looked to the side to see Jackie making a similar suggestion with both fingers pointing to the corners of her mouth, which were twitching madly.

So, I smiled. On command. Like a trained dog. Certainly better trained than my dog.

The photos lasted about a minute, and then one of Jackie’s people funneled the reporters away from us, back toward the elevators. “Well, that’s a relief,” Vitalik said.

“They’ll be upstairs at the party,” I said, grudgingly, and watched him steel himself.

“In the days of old,” Leonid said, words still slurring just slightly, “these people would have been in the—”

“Leonid, recall your manners,” Vitalik said gently, still smiling at me. “We are guests here, at this party.” He leaned in closer to me. “And what a party I am sure it will be.” He offered me his elbow. “Care to lead the way?”

“Sure,” I said, feeling just a smidgen of unease as I guided him through the metal detector. It honked once, for me, and I smiled apologetically and pushed my free hand toward the metal chopsticks in my hair, just to reassure him. Turns out people get antsy when they know you’re armed. Vitalik nodded, and we walked arm in arm toward the elevators, that same nagging feeling tugging at the back of my mind, like it was trying to tell me that some disastrous social faux pas was soon to follow.

There was a round of applause from the guests as we entered the reception room. Most people don’t applaud when I enter a room. Leave it, maybe, but not when I enter it. Vitalik refused to detach from my arm, not that I demanded it of him or anything. He smelled nice, not drenched in anything offensive to the nose, and he seemed genuinely glad to be here. I felt like my mind was playing shadow games with me; the cold war was long over, after all. Russia had changed, the new administration over there had been pretty docile, and their human rights record was pretty glasnost-ic.

I still felt a nervous murmur in my stomach.

Phillips announced each of the Russians like royalty, as I looked around the room. I didn’t recognize half the people here, and I suspected it was because they were either from the press or from Washington. You don’t throw a shindig like this without making sure some of the right people are in proximity for political purposes, and I suspected there were more than a few figureheads to spare. I recognized at least one big-mouthed senator from the president’s party as well as a couple other familiar faces that looked like members of the House. I’m no political junkie, but these were some fairly big names. Everyone wanted a piece of the action on this one, I guess, and getting a handshake photo with recently released political prisoners was probably a golden ticket to somewhere. Not sure where. Re-election, maybe. It all felt like image-work to me, attempts to look concerned without actually being concerned. That sense of nerves was now coupled with a disgusted sense that I was part of this theatrical display, and I was suddenly glad that I wasn’t wearing makeup. Maybe it’d keep me off the front page.