"Promise?"
"Yes," she said softly. "I promise."
She pulled the Hummer into two spaces—it wouldn't fit in just one—next to a dull green minivan. "Out. Grab whatever you think we'll need from the back. Flak vests, definitely. Rocket launchers optional."
She took her purse and the backpack holding the EMP. She had the minivan started when McCarthy slid inside. He had a Kevlar vest. "FBI issue," he noted.
"Without the FBI printing. Yes. I think Manny has some friends in federal procurement. Did you get one for me?"
"Basic black," he said. "Goes with everything. Jazz is meeting us?"
"Says she is."
"I got extra."
"Of everything?"
"Pretty much."
They hit sunlight, and she steered the minivan toward the freeway.
"I forgot to ask," he said. "Where is Eidolon's great big headquarters of evil, anyway?"
"Las Vegas," she said.
He smiled.
"Yes," she agreed. "After we save the world, we can take in a show."
"We take Simms, we could gamble." Ben glanced out the window, checking for tails. "What about a Vegas wedding?"
"That can't be a proposal."
"Why not?"
"Let's see—I hardly know you, we're on our way to a suicidally crazy mission, and I'm pregnant from immaculate conception. You'd be insane to propose to me now."
"Haven't you noticed that I'm not necessarily sane?"
She stopped for a light, the last one, and looked over at him for a long few seconds.
"I have," she admitted. "It's one of your better qualities."
"Vegas wedding," he said, and leaned his head back against the plush upholstery as she accelerated the van through the green light and made the on ramp. "I'm going to sleep now."
It was going to be a twenty-hour drive, at least. Lucia settled in, and wondered how Jazz was expecting to meet her.
She just knew, though, that somehow, Jazz would.
Jazz showed up at a diner outside of Fremont Junction in Utah, and immediately took a turn behind the wheel. "Simms," she said, which eliminated the need for any other explanations. Lucia, who'd already switched off with McCarthy once, gladly gave up driving and stretched out on the bench seat behind. McCarthy stayed in the passenger seat, talking in low tones with Jazz, and Lucia slipped off into a deep, exhausted sleep for a few hours, until the van stopped for gas again in Cedar City. She was driving once more when they crossed a narrow strip of Arizona desert, black and hypnotic at night, and then into Nevada.
The sun rose as they approached Las Vegas, and all three of them were wide awake for it.
"Straight there," Jazz said, as she stripped off her flannel shirt and pulled a bulletproof vest over her long-sleeved T-shirt. She snugged it tight, then donned the flannel shirt again. "No stops, right? Simms said it himself. The more we keep in motion, the harder it is for them to predict where we're going to be."
"I hope he's right," Lucia said grimly. "This isn't home turf for either of us."
"We'll be okay." Jazz grinned at her, the devil in her eyes. "We're the scary ones, remember?"
"Boy," McCarthy said without looking up as he cinched his own vest tight, "you're really not wrong on that one."
They cruised down the strip, because it was there and besides, it was on the way, and Jazz made verbal note of all the things she wanted to do later, when things were over. It was nervous talk. No matter how it came out, Lucia doubted they'd be hanging around to catch Cirque du Soleil.
Jazz got on the phone. "Manny? Your guy ready to rock?"
"Two guys," he said on speakerphone. "On your word. Jazz? Got a call from Agent Rawlins. They're letting Susannah Davis go today."
"What? They were supposed to keep her in protective custody!"
"She stopped cooperating. He said either we pick her up, or they show her the door and she can call a cab. What do you want me to do?"
Jazz chewed her lip and raised her eyebrows. Lucia said, "Can Pansy pick her up? Bring her to the bunker until we get back?"
Manny didn't like it; that much was obvious from his tone. "Yeah. Okay. Not for more than a day, though. She doesn 't stay here."
"Fine. Thank you, Manny. Go with Pansy, okay?"
"Of course. Hey, I got the Hummer back. Cops are looking for you, but I guess you already knew that. Thanks for the damage."
"Yeah, sorry."
"I just ordered a red one. And it cost me ten grand to get the upgrades transferred over. You're paying for it."
He hung up.
Jazz sighed. "Unbelievable. You've seen the office, right? Ten grand to him is what he finds vacuuming the carpet."
"He's getting a red one? I didn't think it could possibly stick out any more."
"Well, let's face it, we don't love the damn thing for its ability to blend in…"
They both fell silent as Lucia made the last turn, and Jazz silently checked addresses. She pointed to a ten-story building at the end of the street. It wasn't pretty, wasn't ugly, wasn't much of anything. A nondescript structure, a victim of industrial-park architectural school. Glass and granite, concrete and steel. It looked strong, but not imposing.
"Parking," Lucia said. "On the street?"
"We all going to have our vests covered?" asked Jazz.
For answer, McCarthy put his shirt on over his and buttoned it. It looked tight, but would pass a quick visual inspection. Lucia had a problem for a second, because she didn't want the sweat-and-blister-inducing Kevlar against her bare skin, but by the time she'd pulled into a space, Jazz had found an extra T-shirt in her duffel bag. Lucia donned it, then the heavy armor. McCarthy tightened the straps for her, although she didn't need the help, and Jazz handed her a blue-and-white-checked outer shirt. She buttoned it as far as her collarbone and picked up the backpack.
"Ready," she said.
Jazz slid back the door under the blazing morning sun. "I hope to hell it's Casual Friday in there." She opened the phone and speed-dialed Manny. "We're going."
Ben, as they'd worked out on the drive, took up a post sitting in the lobby. He didn't look out of place, especially when he sat down with a copy of Business Week and relaxed with a foam cup next to him.
It was surprisingly easy infiltrating the headquarters of Eidolon. Part of that was due to corporate mentality—there was security, and it involved key cards, but loitering at the elevators; talking idly until a group of workers showed up, netted a ride upstairs. Jazz and Lucia just drafted on the first one's key card through the big glass doors into the work area.
Jazz knew the floor plans backward and forward, evidently. She unhesitatingly turned left, then right at a junction, then left.
They ended up at the bathrooms. Lucia blinked, startled, but Jazz just lifted a shoulder. "Look, I've been on the road for what feels like a week, and if we're going to do this, the last thing I need is a full bladder, if you know what I mean."
Lucia choked down a laugh and followed her.
Business done, they took a quick stroll around the slowly filling work cubicles. It was a busy place—apparently, evil's stock was up this week—and every person they saw might know them, or at least their photographs. But this floor seemed to hold worker bees, not executives, and be devoted to systems and finance.
There was an empty cubicle against the far wall. The server room—which they couldn't possibly get into—was on the other side. Lucia set the heavy backpack down with a breathless sigh of relief. "You're sure there isn't shielding on the room?" she asked.