“What if he doesn’t go for it, though? Let’s say I bring him in alive, and he tells you to stick your redemption. What then? You let him walk?”
“No. If he’s truly beyond saving, we obviously couldn’t let him go. But we don’t have to execute him, either. We can keep him contained, indefinitely.”
“You mean lock him up somewhere? I thought you didn’t—”
“It’s not our usual policy with irredeemables. It ties up resources and creates a security issue. But we can do it, if circumstances warrant. So what do you say, Jane? Will you help us try to save Phil?”
Of course I was going to say yes. I just needed a minute to let my brain catch up, to process everything I’d been told. But I guess True read my hesitation as uncertainty.
“There is another factor you may want to consider,” he said. “We chose you for this operation because we believe you are uniquely suited to draw your brother out into the open.”
“You think I’ll make good bait, you mean.”
“Yes. And there’s already evidence that your brother is moving to take that bait.”
“What evidence?”
“The Ozymandias operation. I understand you were upset about the script.”
“That business about Wise and me having a son named Phil? Yeah, I was upset.”
“Yes, well, we didn’t write that. The two of you were meant to pose as man and wife, but the script we composed in Cost-Benefits said nothing about a dying son or a disobedient daughter.”
“So someone rewrote the script before Wise got it…And you think that someone was Phil?”
“More likely a deep-cover agent working on his behalf.”
“And what’s his point? What’s he trying to tell me?”
“Obviously he’s aware you’re working for us. This could be his way of letting you know that he knows. Perhaps he hopes to recruit you. Or…”
“Or?”
“You understand, the indoctrination process your brother was subjected to would have been extremely unpleasant. So while he may be a committed Troop member now, that doesn’t mean he’s grateful for being delivered into the Troop’s hands in the first place.”
“You’re saying Phil’s mad at me?”
“If he is, can you blame him?”
“I…No. No. But if he wants revenge, why wait until now?”
“Perhaps he felt the life you were living before you joined the organization was revenge enough. The point is this: we can’t force you to accept this mission. But saying no to your brother, whatever he has planned, may not be so easy.”
“Well, that works out just great for you, doesn’t it?”
“Don’t misunderstand. We’re not going to abandon you to the Troop if you turn us down. But your best and safest course is to work with us on this…There’s also the matter of atonement. I don’t know how much you care about that, but—”
“Atonement? I let Bad Monkeys Incorporated steal my brother, True. How do I atone for that?”
“By stealing him back. Will you do it?”
Like I even had a choice. “Where do we start?”
“With the man who took him. John Doyle.”
“He’s still alive?”
“Not for lack of trying on our part,” True said. “In the weeks before he kidnapped your brother, Doyle was the target of a Bad Monkeys operation. He survived one execution attempt, and then, after abducting Phil, he disappeared completely. That was our first clue that he was more than just a lone predator. In the decades since, he’s popped up periodically—usually on some mission for the Troop—only to vanish again before we could get to him. Then, a few days ago, Doyle checked into the Venetian Hotel on the Vegas Strip…” True set a wrinkled newspaper, the Las Vegas Tipster, on the table. Under the headline CASINO GUEST AIDS IN MANHUNT was a face I’d last seen in a police mug shot twenty-three years ago. Doyle’s hair was white now, and he’d lost some teeth, but there was no question it was him.
My palms were suddenly sweating. “When did you spot him?”
“Almost immediately,” True said. “It is Sin City, after alclass="underline" our surveillance coverage of the Strip is more comprehensive than the casinos’ own. Also, he registered under his real name.”
“Sounds like I’m not the only one being used as bait. You have his room number?”
“He’s staying in one of the penthouse suites.”
“OK, then. Let’s go see him…”
Wise, who’d been quietly eating his pancakes this whole time, put down his fork and cleared his throat. “Not so fast,” he said. “Before you go to the Venetian, we need to make a stop at Harrah’s.”
“What for?” asked True, looking annoyed.
“Love wants to meet her.”
“Who’s Love?” I said.
“I thought we agreed we weren’t going to have this sort of interference,” said True.
“I don’t know what you agreed to,” said Wise, “but my orders come from the man himself. Love isn’t happy with the way the Ozymandias op played out. Before we take this any further, he wants to be sure of her.”
“And he couldn’t have met with her yesterday, or the day before?”
“He’s got a full schedule. This is when he had time.”
“Who’s Love?” I repeated.
“The Trickster-in-Chief,” said True. “The leader of the Scary Clowns.” To Wise: “Very well. We’ll go see him.”
“Not ‘we.’ Love wants to talk to her in private. You’re welcome to wait in the casino, but she goes up to the Mudgett Suite alone.”
At that point, True got more pissed off than I’d ever seen him. He bitched at Wise about how totally unacceptable this was. Wise listened impassively, like he knew True had to complain for the sake of form, even though it wasn’t going to change anything.
A new waitress came to collect our plates. Once we’d settled the bill, Wise was in a hurry to get going, but when we got outside, I broke away from him and followed True to his car.
“What’s this Mudgett Suite?” I asked him. “And what did Wise mean about Love wanting to be sure of me? Am I going to have to do another one of those shibboleth tests?”
“I don’t know,” True said, still steaming. “As you may have gathered, I wasn’t consulted about this.”
“Well OK then, let’s just blow him off. Go straight to the Venetian.”
“No. That won’t work.”
“Jane!” Wise called. “Come on!”
“True…”
“No.” He shook his head firmly. “Go with him. I’ll meet you afterwards.”
I could see there was no point in arguing, so reluctantly I let him go. As I headed back to the SUV, I heard True get into his car, start the motor, and drive off. The sound of the engine was just beginning to fade with distance when the world changed color again.
I was far enough from the blast this time that I didn’t fall down, just stumbled. When I caught my balance and looked back, I saw True’s car rolling to a stop in the middle of the road, with all its windows gone and no one in the driver’s seat.
I ran for the SUV. Wise had the door open and was reaching for something. He came out holding a fire ax. Then he dropped it and collapsed.
“Wise?” I crouched down to check on him, then looked up, sensing another presence. But the parking lot was empty.
And then it wasn’t. Maybe five yards off to my left, the air seemed to shimmer, and this person just…materialized. It was Jane, the waitress. She’d swapped her work uniform for a pair of black jeans and a T-shirt silk-screened with a mandrill face, and she was holding an orange pistol.
I jumped up, raising my own gun to fire, but the air shimmered again, and suddenly she wasn’t five yards away, she was right in my face. She slapped my gun aside. She punched me, two quick jabs that dropped me helpless to my knees. A hand cupped my chin, and a plastic pistol muzzle pressed against my forehead.
“Welcome to Las Vegas, Jane,” she said. “Little brother sends his regards.”
She pulled the trigger.
The world went away for a while. When it came back, I was lying in a morgue with my skull blown open. That was my first guess, anyway: I was stretched out on my back on a hard, cold surface; I was paralyzed, blind, and had a headache a hundred times worse than anything I’d ever experienced.