Revolution: Book Three of the Secret World Chronicle - eARC Page 16

  It is permitted me to tell you. Verdigris believes you are an incompetent airhead.

  Bella looked up so fast she nearly gave herself whiplash. The angel was sitting on the chair across from her tiny desk in the little storage closet Ramona had stolen her for an “office.” The Seraphym looked like a Sulamith Wulfing painting; wings folded, hands laid one over the other on her lap, strange eyes staring through her.

  “You know, things like ‘incompetent airhead’ sound really odd coming from you.” She ran her hand through her bangs, fluffing them to cool herself. The room always seemed too small and too warm when the angel was in it. Even when the room was the size of a football stadium.

  The lips curved a little. I seem to be picking up odd phrases from John Murdock. But it is permitted me to tell you that your ruse still holds. Verdigris selected you because he believes you are a fool.

  Bella narrowed her eyes. “So…he wants ECHO Med to be in chaos. The titular leader is a moron. And…” she sucked on her lower lip, and thought aloud. “If I were a vain little airhead, I would turn all bitchy boss on everyone. I’d insist on doing the running of things even though I don’t know squat about it.”

  Yes.

  Bella smiled grimly. “All righty then. We’ll give him the show he expects. Overwatch: Command. Call Victrix.” She heard the tiniest of clicks as her Overwatch wire came on. “Vix, you live?”

  “I’m never not live. You check your email?”

  “That’s a Roger.” The angel smiled at her, and vanished. She shook her head. She was never going to get used to that. “How many Overwatch wires have you got now?”

  “How many you need?”

  * * *

  One by one, the staff of ECHO Medical filed into the conference room. Most of them had been taken aside by Ramona Ferrari over the course of the last day, taken to a broom closet that emitted a curious hum, given a couple of sentences of briefing and given what looked like a perfectly ordinary ECHO field-op headset—the sort that was easy to hide. They were all wearing them now.

  Vickie watched them from the cameras in each corner of the conference room—cameras Verdigris was either watching now, or would pull the footage from some time soon. As the doctors and nurses and techs and support staff shuffled around to find seats, she cued a discreet little bird chirp to their headsets to alert them.

  And Verdigris would never, ever be able to detect this. Overwatch no longer used radio signals. Every one of those headsets was getting her voice via the magical equivalent of a radio frequency. It had taken her a lot of brain-sweat and even more work to get it working right, but now they were secure in a way no encryption could ever manage.

  “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. Don’t look startled. You are now listening to the Voice of Overwatch, a very clandestine little operation that started as a support net for a few chosen field teams and allies, but is now the coordination arm of the revolution to take down Dominic Verdigris III. Most of the people in the room have these headsets. The only ones who don’t are those whose discretion is somewhat lacking, or who we suspect are Verdigris plants or sympathizers.” Einhorn was one of the former. She couldn’t keep a secret for thirty seconds. Fortunately, she was one of the few who didn’t care who was in charge. “The voice in your ear will be giving you Bella’s real speech. So pay no attention to what comes out of her mouth. This little show is all for Verdigris’ benefit.”

  Bella came into the room at that point, looking flustered and smug and pleased all at once in a…somewhat radically tailored version of her ECHO uniform. She looked like what Verdigris thought she was—a supermodel put in a position of power she in no way deserved or was suited for.

  She had papers in her hand and arranged them on the podium, and cleared her throat. “Hi everybody!” she chirped. “I guess by now you all know who’s head of ECHO Med!”

  Vickie cued what Bella had recorded previously. While Bella churned out a speech consisting entirely of cliches, this was what was playing into the ears and minds of the people who were the heart, hands, and backbone of ECHO Medical.

  “First of all, I know most of you, and most of you know me. Some of you like me, some probably don’t, but regardless, I am pretty damn sure that all of you are in some stage of disbelief, anger, and resentment over this whacked-up promotion. I’d like you to try to continue to look that way, please, if you can.”

  Vickie could see that some of them were doing their best to do just that. Some were just looking bewildered. That would work too.

  “No, I didn’t sleep my way to this. This is our Lord and Master’s way of turning ECHO Med into a seething mass of unorganized chaos. Some of you are going ‘wha—?’ and some of you have suddenly had your suspicions confirmed. Yes, Verd wants us to fail, spectacularly. He wants all of ECHO to fail, I suspect, so he can disband the entire organization, cherry-pick the pieces, and put together his own version of ECHO without any messy nonsense of pre-existing charters or legal considerations—or the safety and continued existence of the metas in it.”

  Vickie was very good at reading expressions. The flashes of anger she saw would be read by Verd as anger at Bella. But those expressions boded very well for Bella’s ability to be what Verd had set her up for, and more.

  “I’m not alone in this little conspiracy, although for a while it was just me, Ramona, Yank, and a couple more folks you’ll be hearing about later.”

  Brief flashes of relief at the mention of Yankee Pride and Ramona. Good move, Bell.

  “Yank and Ramona are obviously too high profile with Verd to be the chief rabble-rousers for this, so it kind of fell to me. We were going to bring you guys in slowly, but Verd forced our hand. Now, if you want out, turn in your headsets to Ramona later today. No one but you and Ramona will ever know who you are. No one is going to judge you either. If I was in your shoes, I’d be thinking twice and three times about this myself. Going up against Verd? We gotta be nucking futz.”

  Not a word about “don’t rat us out.” Another good move. With people who were nervous, but mostly trustworthy, implied trust tended to become real trust.

  “If you’re sticking, or even if you’re not, I want you to act the way you would if an incompetent, power-hungry moron just got promoted over you. We need to make Verd think ECHO Med is about to fall apart as soon as we get hit with a big emergency. This is going to have to be the most convincing acting job you’ve ever done in your life, and I hope to hell we are all up to the performance. The lives of our friends are going to depend on it. Overwatch will give you all a further briefing later today after those of you who are opting out have turned in your headsets. So, okay, everybody, thanks for listening. I’m about to wrap up the speech now. Showtime.”

  Vickie cut the recorded speech, as Bella chirped into the mic at the front of the room. “And I just know we are all going to be the best team there ever was! Thanks for coming everyone!”

  There was tepid applause as Bella beamed fatuously. People began filing out quickly, even before she had a chance to step from behind the podium. The only person who came up to congratulate her—and sincerely no less—was Einhorn. Vickie found that oddly touching. Too bad she didn’t have the sense God gave a goose.

  Ramona was outside the conference room door with a bag open just enough that people could discretely drop their headsets in as they filed out. When they were all gone, Vickie cued up her freq and conferenced with Bella’s.

  “OK, give us the bad news. How many bailed?” Vickie asked, before Ramona could say anything.

  “Zero.”

  Vickie was sure she hadn’t heard right. From the sound of Bella’s voice, so was she. “Uh—what?”

  “Zero,” Ramona repeated gleefully. “Zilch. Nada. Everyone’s in.”

  There was silence from Bella. Then, “Goddammit, I want to holler and dance and I don’t dare with the cameras everywhere.”

  “I’ll do it for you,” Vickie replied gleefully. Even at her most optimistic she had figured for about a
third to bail. Pessimistically, she had figured more like half.

  “OK. Phase two. Vick, I’m signing off the ranch right now, and heading for a very noisy, very trendy hotspot. Which is exactly what an airhead would do to congratulate herself. Let me know as folks come off-shift, and conference our headsets so I can do more detailed briefings.” Bella let out her breath in a long, heartfelt sigh. “God, I hope I am up to this…”

  “You are,” Vickie and Ramona said simultaneously.

  “I’d better be.”

  * * *

  Bella took a long pull of a virgin Bloody Mary as inane chatter rang around her. She’d chosen the latest, hippest bar in Atlanta as being a place Verd was least likely to have ears, and as one that would have enough noise to cover her sub-vocalizations. Her headpiece and mic were no longer visible at all. Vickie had implanted them, somehow. She was the walking test-subject for that particular piece of magic. If her body didn’t have some sort of horrible reaction to the apparatus, they’d implant the rest of ECHO Med and Sovie first. And if they didn’t, everyone but Djinni would get the implants. He, obviously, didn’t need his gear implanted to hide it. Then again…maybe Djinni would get them. Vix had hinted she had more planned than just the mics and pickups.

  She was glad for the cooldown period before everyone else started coming off-shift. She needed to stare something right square in the face and decide if she had the…well, it wasn’t bravery…she wasn’t sure what it was. But working with the paranoid Vickie had convinced her that if Ramona and Yank’s plan to use the Charter against Verd didn’t work, they needed a backup.

  Talking with JM had convinced her that there was only one thing that backup could be. Someone was going to have to take out Verdigris, permanently. ECHO could not survive his leadership. And if ECHO didn’t survive…

  This was not something she could confide in anyone else. This was a plan that had to stay in her head, and her head alone. Yank couldn’t assassinate a fly. Ramona didn’t have the skills or the means. CCCP? Could, and would, but the only one with a chance in hell was People’s Blade, and Nat had confessed the little Chinese girl had gone off the reservation—and was probably working with either Verdigris or Blacksnake.

  The angel could, but wouldn’t.

  At least, Bella didn’t think she would. Assassination didn’t seem to fit the parameter of “permitted.”

  That left Bella. Who had the power, the skills, and the access, now that she was head of ECHO Med. Who could kill him in a way that would leave no sign that he’d suffered anything but a perfectly natural aneurysm or heart-failure. All she had to do was touch him.

  But could she?

  I don’t want to.…Murdering—there was no other word for it—that gang-banger still left her feeling sick and filthy and guilty as hell. And he’d been about to kill her and her friends. This would be murder in cold blood.

  What would that make her?

  What other choice would I have? It was like that old sci-fi cliche. If you could go back in time and murder Hitler—would you? Could you?

  She thought about Tesla. About Bulwark, still unconscious. About all her other friends who would certainly be picked off one at a time or by wholesale groups if she didn’t do this.

  I can’t let them die.

  No matter what this does to me.

  Then she felt her mouth quirk in a wry little smile. Of course…if that creepy bodyguard of his figures out what I did, I might not have to worry about what it does to me.

  The chirp of Vickie’s incoming signal put an end to any further thoughts on the matter for now. “OK Bells, I have Doc Fluke, Panacea, Chiron, Gilead, Doctors Read, Morse, Sayers, Childreath, Kyne and Joyce, and Nurses Romanski, Charam, Fields, Liam, Lin, Wong, Sakamuti, and Jeanne on conference. Folks, the floor is Bella’s.”

  She took a deep breath and a last sip of her drink. “First of all…thanks guys. You are the bravest, best people I know…”

  Smoke and Mirrors

  Dennis Lee and Mercedes Lackey

  Even in the middle of everything falling apart, even in the middle of war, revolution, disaster, people stubbornly have the habit of falling in love. Part of it is the old survival-instinct, by which I mean survival of your genes, not yourself. Fall in love, do the wild thing make a baby or more and your genes go on, in theory at least. Part of it is that in horrible times we either break apart or come together.

  But of course, when one person falls in love, it doesn’t follow that the other person is going to do the same. Or at least, not with the person who loves him.

  And if the person falling in love is me? Well, in that case…I already knew it was going to end in tears.

  “…so there was this artifact that the Hungarian side of the family had, that went all the way back to the Romans. It hid the bearer from the fangs. Small problem, once every twenty eight years it had to be renewed with the blood of an innocent child, by which I mean…” Vickie made a throat-slitting motion, barely visible in the gloom where they were waiting. “…and once every ninety nine, it had to be done with the blood of twenty one innocent children. Charming, huh?”

  The Djinni rolled his eyes. “I swear, you’re making this up. It sounds like some god-awful drive-in flick from the sixties.”

  She managed a feeble smile, the merest flash of teeth in the dark. “Yeah, well the Dark Ages were evil and brutish. You could pretty much find dead or dying kids anywhere without having to kill any yourself. And my family line is pretty serious about fang-hunting. It started getting really problematic the closer we get to modern times. Nobody really wanted to start offing infants until Uncle Bela got his hands on it. That was when this guy I had the hots for in college turned up. Alistair Greenstall, and I swear, in college he was okay. I mean, I know all about good girls always falling for bad guys, but when I knew him he was fine. One thing led to another, and the pillow-talk turned into ‘how can you let him have this thing when you know he intends to repower it?’ And that was where I let my hormones do the talking. And it turned out Alistair was a Renfield.”

  Red frowned. “Why does that name sound familiar?”

  “It’s out of Bram Stoker’s book. Handy term for what the Hunters call people who are still normal who serve the fangs.” She shrugged. “Some people will do anything for the promise of power. Magic wasn’t enough for Alistair. Or maybe I should say, the magic he had wasn’t enough for Alistair.” Vickie paused as the memories flashed through her mind. She was actually pretty proud of herself. She’d gotten choked up a time or two, but she hadn’t lost it. It just took some controlled breathing, a few choice, silent mantras, and a lot of willpower.

  “Victrix, you don’t have to go on…”

  She waved him off and continued. “Let me cut right to the chase. I grabbed the dingus from Uncle Bela; as per the plan, Alistair and I were going to ambush him when he came after us. Alistair bailed when I wouldn’t just hand it over to him for safe-keeping. So I broke the dingus just as Uncle caught up with me. Uncle was very mad at me. Mage battle ensued. Uncle Bela is a Fire Mage, and what he lacks in understanding the modern world he more than makes up for in experience. You know the saying, ‘old age and treachery beat youth and idealism hands down.’ I lost. So, that’s how I ended up like this. It never was losing control of magic, it was being a hormonal overachieving kid out of college, falling for the wrong guy and pissing off someone bigger, stronger and nastier.” She pondered that for a moment. “Not that I wouldn’t have gone after Uncle Bela and taken that thing from him when I found out he was going to murder all those kids to repower it…but without Alistair in the picture, I would have gone to Hosteen Stormdance and got him to get me backup if my folks wouldn’t agree to help. That was where I was monumentally stupid.” She licked her lips. “Just goes to show that Mom was right. You just can’t trust vampires.” She cupped her hands and brought them to her eyes, cueing the little spell that let her use them like real binoculars. “No sign of life at the alleged rendezvous, by the way. Are yo
u sure this was good intel? Did it sniff of something not on the level from Verd?”

  “No,” Djinni said. He crouched next to her, bobbing gently on the balls of his feet. “Verd’s got a particular style. He either knows something’s so concrete he doesn’t even bother to hide what he’s doing, or he goes for the extravagant to beat you over the head with how clever he is. This is pretty run of the mill, probably masterminded by one of his flunkies. Small stuff, by the smell of it. Simple munitions deal.”

  “Yeah, well the last ‘simple munitions deal’ we knew about netted the Rebs a freaking shoulder-held missile launcher. I can really do without them picking up a satchel nuke or something.” She shifted her position, missing her zero-gee chair.

  “Yeah, well, that’s why we’re here, isn’t it? To keep an eye on things, to make sure they don’t get out of hand.”

  “Yes,” she agreed. “To watch. Which, I’ll remind you, I would be doing with a cup of coffee and a Reuben from my chair right now if you hadn’t persuaded me I needed ‘field work.’”

  Red didn’t answer. It wasn’t the coffee, or the damned sandwich, that Vickie was missing. It was her fortress of an apartment she craved. It was the security, the safety of it. Overwatch was a good idea, but he knew, in his bones, that she needed to get out of that hole and start pushing her boundaries. Now. Or one day she’d never be able to cross the threshold. Even up here, in the relative safety of unlit rooftops and sheltered by a rough canopy of camouflage tarp, he could tell she felt exposed. Across the street, the warehouse was dark. Two in the morning in an unused section of the industrial district. It didn’t seem to matter, he might as well have asked her to sprint across the 285 Ringroad during rush hour. Still, baby steps. The girl needed to feel the night air, to get back to acting like a human being and not a troglodyte.