She knocked on the second door, said firmly, “Max!”
The door replied with a muffled, “Come!”
She found Moody seated behind his desk, on his cell phone; he waved for her to enter and take a chair across from him, which she did.
The wall to her left, the one that abutted the booby trap room, was loaded floor to ceiling with sandbags to protect Moody’s office should the trap be sprung. The desk was an old metal one accompanied by three unmatching metal-frame chairs, one for Moody and two on the other side. The wall to the right had a doorway carved into it, and a curtain of purple beads separated Moody’s private quarters from the office. A few of the ancient movie posters — Sean Connery in Goldfinger, Clint Eastwood in Dirty Harry (both meaningless to Max) — salvaged from somewhere in the theater, were tacked here and there.
“Don’t insult me,” he snapped into the phone, but his face revealed calm at odds with his tone. He glanced at Max, rolled his eyes, made a mouth with his fingers and thumb, and opened it and closed it rapidly: blah, blah, blah.
Perhaps fifteen seconds later, Moody told the phone, “I know it’s a bloody depression, but this is a diamond bigger than that one good eyeball of yours, you ignorant, cycloptic son of a bitch.” He hit the END button. “That’s what I’ve always hated about these damn cells,” he said, his voice as blasé as if he were ordering tea, “you can’t slam a receiver into a hook, and put a nice period on a sentence.”
Max’s head was cocked. “Was that?...”
“That was someone who, if I’ve done my job correctly, will be calling right back.” Five seconds later the cell phone rang and Moody smiled. “Got him.”
Max had watched Moody negotiate before and knew he usually got what he wanted. The man had charm and cajones and a tactical sense second to none.
“Yes,” Moody said into the phone.
He listened for a few seconds.
“Well, that may indeed be true about my mother,” Moody said, “but then we’ll never know, will we, since she passed away some years ago... but one thing is certain: my price is a fair price.”
He listened again, tossing a twinkling-eyed smile at his protégée.
“Splendid,” he said finally. “Where and when?” Moody jotted something on a pad. “A pleasure, as always. I like nothing more than a smooth transaction.” He hit END again.
Max’s eyebrows went up. “How much is fair?”
That white smile of his could have lighted up a much larger room than this. “Don’t concern yourself with details, Maxine. Suffice to say the Clan can move somewhere where we don’t have to worry about the ceiling falling in on us... though it will be hard to leave here. However shabby, it has come to be home, after all.”
That she understood.
“My dear... you’re not smiling. Is something wrong? Is the notion of leaving this palace a sad one to you?”
Suddenly, Max seemed unable to speak. All the way back from the restaurant she had rehearsed the speech, and now came time to let it out, and she couldn’t find a damn word.
“Do you believe you’ve earned a bigger share? Perhaps you’re contemplating heading up your own subclan?”
Max took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, just as she had in Manticore training. This felt a lot like defusing a bomb, though she would much rather be doing that. Centering herself, she started again. “Moody, I have to take off.”
He rocked back in his chair, tented his fingers, smiled gently. “For where, my dear, and for how long?”
Looking at the frayed carpeting on the floor, Max said, “I think for good.”
Moody’s smile disappeared. “Please don’t tease me, Maxine. Things are just about to turn around for us. You can be a queen here.”
She lifted her eyes to his. “I’m sorry. I’m grateful to you — you’ve taught me so much, but... I just never wanted to be a queen. I only wanted to be...”
“What?” he asked, his voice edged with irritation and something else... disappointment? “You just wanted to be what?”
This was getting hard again, emotions surging through her, stress gnawing at her guts.
“Free,” she finally managed.
His displeasure accelerated with the volume of his voice. “You’re not... free, here?”
She shook her head. “Of course I’m free here. That’s not it... this isn’t about you or the Clan. It’s about me. Moody...” She touched the back of her neck, indicating her barcode. “... you know I’m not the only one like me.”
“Yes,” he admitted, quieter now.
Max sat forward. “I came upon information this morning, about where one of my brothers may be. I’m not positive. But I need to find out for myself.”
Moody’s sigh was endless. “I always feared this day would come. I always... dreaded it.”
“You do understand, then?”
His dark eyes were sad as he gave her a little shrug. “You don’t have enough... family here?”
“I have a large family here. The Clan will always be my family, but...”
“But?”
Max looked at the floor, then up at Moody again, their eyes locking. “They were my family first. Yours was the family I adopted.”
“And that adopted you.”
“That’s right. And you’ve been good to me. And I’ve done well by you.”
He nodded slowly.
She shook her head, dark hair bouncing. “We’ve talked about this, Moody. You know all I’ve ever wanted is to find my sibs.”
He looked at her for a long time. Then, wearily, he said, “I know I’m being unfair, Maxine... but I don’t want to lose you.”
“I’ll be back someday. If not to stay, to visit. Visit my family.”
That made him smile, but it was a melancholy thing, nonetheless. “The Clan has been strengthened by having you in it, Max.”
“Thank you,” she said, standing. “But with the payday you’ll get for the Heart of the Ocean, everything should be fine.”
Rising, he said, “That’s probably true... nonetheless, your absence will be felt.” He came around the desk and stood facing her. “Can you wait until after the exchange? I could use the backup.”
She shook her head regretfully. “I think he’s in trouble, my brother, and I need to find him as soon as possible.”
“Where is it you’re going?”
“I’m just going, Moody. Where I’m going means nothing, except to me.”
Moody accepted that with a nod. “You have enough money?”
“I have a stash. It won’t last forever, but it’ll get me where I’m going... Moody, I’m sorry.”
“Maxine, don’t apologize for following your heart... not ever. Such instincts are the only pure thing left in this polluted world.”
Her smile was warm, her gaze fond. “You have been a hell of a teacher.”
“Have I?” He reached for something on his desk: a photo. “Know this?”
She took it in with a glance, answered matter-of-factly, “Trafalgar Square by Mondrian. Piet Mondrian.”
His smile was admiring — and she could tell the admiration was not just for her good looks.
Gesturing with the photo, her mentor said, “Most of the cretins who inhabit this city believe the Mondrian to be a hotel from the pre-Pulse days and nothing more. But you know his paintings, all of them...”
“... Most of them...”
“... all of them, and what they’re worth, and what they can be fenced for, and where to find them.”
“You taught me how to be a good thief.”
“I refined you, my dear. You were a good thief when you joined the Clan... Now, you are the best.”