“In my room.” Genie wrapped her arms around Elspeth's shoulders and hung on tight. She was almost as tall, these days. In another year, she'd be taller. Elspeth hugged her back, distracted. “How come all the alarms?”
Papa looked up again, but didn't turn, and his hands didn't stop moving. Oh, no, Genie thought, and stepped back to look right at Elspeth, hoping Elspeth would say something to change what Genie was afraid she already knew.
“There's something going on, on the ground,” Elspeth said, in that quiet I'm-not-going-to-lie-to-you voice. “We don't know what, exactly. But there are reports on the Net that there's been gunfire inside the United Nations building, and they've shut off the streets around it—”
“And Richard's gone all quiet,” Genie finished.
Elspeth nodded.
“Are you scared, Ellie?”
“It's better now you're here,” Elspeth said, so Genie gave Elspeth an extra-big hug, just in case.
There's no two ways about it. I've lost my edge.
Which is a hell of a thing to realize when you're crouched under a table, every sense straining, covering a cowering head-of-state with your body, a bleeding general prone on your left side and a couple of teenaged kids huddled together on your right, and all hell breaking loose in every direction.
It's been a couple of seconds since the shouting stopped, and I listen through the noise of another three-shot burst that doesn't come near us. All around, I hear the rustling clothes and staccato breathing of cowering dignitaries, sharp calls in languages I don't recognize, one soft, bitten-off animal moan, the floor-shaking rumble and hysterical screams of the people who ran for the doors instead of diving for cover, and who are now caught in the bottleneck.
I wonder how the hell they got the weapons in here.
I wonder how the hell we're going to get out.
“We have to stop meeting like this,” Riel says against my chest, pushing my uniform off her nose with the flat of her hand.
“I wouldn't mind so much if, next time, you could arrange to be assassinated when I was armed.”
Valens chuffs like a big cat, a sound halfway between a laugh and a gasp. I twist my neck to glance at him; the idiot's shoved himself onto his back and red seeps thickly around the fist he's pressed into his gut. His face is chalky yellow-green, the color of mold on cheese. Our eyes meet, and I don't say anything, and neither does he. No need. It's nothing he can't survive, if we get him into surgery before he bleeds to death, and he and I both know it.
I bet he's in agony, though. I wonder if he ever thought he'd get gutshot diving across a table to take a bullet for Constance Riel. He was luckier than the Mountie that soaked up the rest of the clip, at least.
Riel looks like staying flat to the floor, at least; no idiot, our Connie. “So you could help?” she says, and doesn't try to ease her shoulders off the floor, even though she's lying in a puddle of red that's rapidly thickening to the consistency of ketchup. Hell, at least she keeps her sense of humor under fire.
“Hah. Patty, you and Min-xue all right over there?”
He's got her pressed to the floor much the same way I have Riel down, except Patty's on her belly, and Min-xue is absolutely shuddering with the effort of holding his body against hers. His eyes are squinched up tight; he looks out between ink-slash lashes, head tilted and his slick straight hair brushing the carpeting as he peers under the privacy panel on the front of the desk, straining after whatever it is that neither of us can see.
“Not hurt, Jenny.” Patty's scared enough that she doesn't hesitate before my first name. “I can't reach Alan, though.”
“I know. I can't reach Richard either.” The worldwire might as well be gone. Just gone. Which isn't reassuring at all.
“Michel,” Riel says, and at first I have no idea who she's talking about. “My bodyguard.”
Her eyes darken when I shake my head. That's all his blood we're lying in, except maybe a pint or so of Fred's. “I don't believe they're shooting up the UN to get you, Connie. The United Nations. That's some amazing shit. Congrats.”
“Did anybody get a look at who was shooting?” She's trying to inch forward and peer under the privacy panel. I squish her against the floor as another three-shot burst splinters wood over our heads.
“Xiong.” Valens scrunches under the table. “Did you see how the UN security went down? Like somebody cut their strings.”
“Lie the hell still, Fred, before the rest of your guts ooze out between your fingers.”
He doesn't laugh, which is good, because laughing would hurt him like a son of a bitch right about now, and he stops paddling his heels against the carpet and trying to crawl on his shoulder blades. Patty squeaks, though, and I wince at my own brutal choice of words. Sorry, kid.
Ah, hell. She might as well get used to it now.
Riel starts to say something, but it's cut off by a string of liquid syllables from Min-xue. He swears sharply in a language I don't recognize — I know it's swearing by the tone — and then shakes his head, black hair sweeping his forehead like a rattled curtain. “Not Xiong,” he says.
“It was Xiong's bodyguards that had the guns.” Riel, proving her powers of observation.
Valens, wheezing. “Is she dead?”
“Janet? She took at least two in the chest.”
“Quel domage,” Riel mutters, and Fred gags on a noise that's got to be flavored with blood. “If they hadn't decided to take Janet out first, we wouldn't be having this conversation.”
“They didn't take her out fast enough to keep her from spilling the beans on Hardy,” Fred mutters. I wish he'd stop talking. It hurts to listen to him.
“If only she'd gotten to whatever she had to say about the Americans and the Chinese.” The blood is cold by the time it seeps through my pants legs, sticking the cloth to my knees. I wish I could say it's the most disgusting thing I've ever felt. “There's still four people out there with guns and security is lying on the floor, looking like their hearts stopped. How the hell do the Chinese plan to explain away Xiong's involvement?”
“That's just it,” Riel begins, and Min-xue says at the same time. “Did anybody see the minister of war before the shooting?”
General silence, which Riel takes for general agreement. Typical. Bitch. “He came in with Xiong and the PanChinese. He got up and left when Janet took the stand.”
“I believe Premier Xiong is intended to be a casualty as well,” Min-xue murmurs, still shuddering like a racehorse in the gate although his tone is level — as if his brain were utterly divorced from the demands of his body. He brushes a strand of hair out of Patty's eyes with the back of one white-gloved hand.
Yeah, I think I'm a fucking tough girl. Balls of sterling plated brass. Bullshit, baby: look at that kid. “A casualty?”
“Or a… how do you say—”
“Scapegoat.”
“Thank you, Patricia.” He shakes his head. “We must rescue Premier Xiong as well, if we can. If he is not already dead.”
“Not possible—”
“Casey.” Riel's breath cools my cheek. “It's got to happen.”
“Bien sûr.” I sigh. “I won't leave you unprotected, ma'am.”
“Miss Valens and I will make a run for it while you and Pilot Xie distract the Chinese assassins and attempt to rescue Premier Xiong. Much as I hate to suggest it, if you get a chance, check Janet for a pulse as well.”
The sorely tried resignation in her voice makes me chuckle, despite the clotting iron reek of blood filling my sinuses. All right then. I catch Patty's eye, and Patty nods. I nod back and turn to Valens. “Fred, if Patty and Constance break for the door and get lost in the mob while Min-xue and I go for Xiong—”