Change his mind. Fuck. If Dawna could say one thing with confidence, it was that she could change anyone’s mind.
Except—
Wait a minute. If they’d pierced Rio’s cover back with the cartel, and had known where he was, then why wasn’t he Pithica’s obliging tool already? He hadn’t known who Dawna was until she’d put the whammy on me; he wouldn’t have recognized her as a threat. She could have walked in and done her ESP thing on him without arousing the least suspicion. Unless—I felt my eyes widen.
Dawna smiled at me. “Your deduction is correct. My insights—those that help us relate so well to people—they fail us here. Mr. Sonrio is, as I am sure you know, a special case.”
Holy crap. They couldn’t control Rio. They couldn’t control Rio! Note to self: to avoid being vulnerable to telepathy, become a psychopath. No, bad plan, Cas.
“Hence all the experimentation,” I breathed. “You were trying to see how he’d react.”
“Precisely,” said Dawna. “Science would tell us what our intuitions could not.”
I cleared my throat, almost afraid to ask. “So, what did science tell you?”
“Our research could fill three textbooks,” she said, still smiling. “But I shall give you the short version. Our insights—we see people’s emotions. What they feel, what they desire; we see it and empathize with it. Mr. Sonrio’s psychology was simply foreign to us before, but we believe we now have a better understanding of him. He is not driven by emotion in the same way as others, but he does have…needs.”
No. No, no, no, no, no. Rio’s immune. You just said Rio’s immune!
“Ms. Russell, please; you insist on such a dramatic view of us! I assure you, all we wish to do is talk to Mr. Sonrio, as I am talking to you now. Discuss our views with him. His goals are so similar to our own; I think once he sees our point of view, he will agree to a mutually beneficial working relationship.”
If they got Rio…even discounting the insane accomplishments Dawna claimed he had to his name, I knew what Rio could do, what he was capable of that most people weren’t, and it didn’t have to do with his skills.
If Pithica got to Rio, I wasn’t sure anyone would be able to stop them.
“Ms. Russell,” said Dawna, that earnest passion back in her voice, “I know you haven’t yet been wholly convinced of our motives here. But don’t you think it could only be a good thing for Mr. Sonrio to have another check on his…inclinations? You know him—you know we would help him be a better man. As his friend, you must want that.”
Like all of Dawna Polk’s arguments, it seemed so reasonable, such a perfect compromise. But for some reason—perhaps because I’d known and trusted Rio for so long, and it was Rio I trusted, not a Pithica-aligned Rio—I couldn’t find myself agreeing. I wasn’t even sure why.
“You have a very special relationship with him,” Dawna observed.
Yes, well, I trusted Rio, which meant I could rely on him, and for his part, he wasn’t actively annoyed by me. It was a nice symbiosis. Generous of her to call it a relationship.
For the second time in our chat, Dawna seemed to be waiting for something, but I had no idea what.
I brushed aside my momentary puzzlement and reordered my thoughts on the number field sieve I had going in the background—and the next question I wanted to ask Dawna. “Okay. So you were trying to run psych experiments on Rio and I got caught in the middle. Fine. What about the other group working against you—the international one? What’s their game? And what were they looking for at Courtney’s house?”
“At Courtney’s house? Oh.” She thought for a moment. “I do not know for certain what they sought, but at a guess it was a keepsake I gave her. It was something of little importance, but I will admit I led Courtney herself to believe it needed protecting.”
“Why?”
“I wanted her to trust me. There are many ways of earning such trust, and granting it yourself is one of them.”
Then whatever they’d tossed the cottage for, it was meaningless. A stupid trinket Dawna had given to Courtney to make her feel trusted. “What about Anton Lechowicz? Was Pithica involved in his death?”
“Not to my knowledge. I’m afraid I don’t know that name.”
“And Reginald Kingsley? Everything in his file?”
Dawna shifted suddenly. “Excuse me.” She pulled out a sleek cell phone and examined it briefly. “I apologize, Ms. Russell. I have an urgent matter I must address. Perhaps we can continue this interview later?”
I had so much else I wanted to ask…so much more I needed to know…
“And I promise I shall give you the chance, the next time we talk,” Dawna said, with a regretful smile. “Ms. Russell, I have to say, it truly has been enjoyable having this dialogue. It is so rare that I can discuss our goals in so frank a manner with another open-minded person. I hope you’ll at least think on what I’ve said here.”
“Oh, I’m sure I’ll think about it,” I answered. “But don’t get your hopes up.” The retort felt good. As annoyingly logical as her arguments had been, I had survived our talk and was still instinctively blowing her off. That had to be a good sign, right? And I still had my layer of obfuscating mental arithmetic going, too. Maybe my slight resistance to her was helping.
“You really do have quite a false impression about what we do,” Dawna told me with patient exasperation as she stood up. “I assure you, my insights into human nature do not work quite the way you seem to think they do. We just finished a very civil conversation, don’t you agree? And you feel no different than you did before.”
It was true. I felt a small spike of self-doubt.
“Please question your assumptions about us, Ms. Russell. I don’t know where you got such ideas, but we are not the monsters you think we are. We’ll speak again shortly.”
And with that, Dawna Polk smiled at me and left the library.
Chapter 25
“What did she do?” asked Arthur in a low voice after the guards had—politely, as always—ensconced me back in my cell next to him.
“I’m not sure.” I frowned. “She…talked to me. And I guess I talked back. We had a conversation.” A few hours ago the idea had been terrifying, but it didn’t seem so bad anymore. After all, nothing had really happened, had it? I couldn’t figure it out.
“What about?” Arthur asked.
“You know, Pithica’s out to save the world, all the crap Courtney told us already.” I didn’t mention Rio. No need to get Arthur on his high horse again.
Arthur leaned back against the wall, staring at the ceiling. “Think it could be true?”
I felt the same spike of niggling self-doubt as during my conversation with Dawna, along with anger at Arthur for reinforcing it. “I don’t know,” I snapped.
We lapsed into silence. The guards brought food and water. The light didn’t change, but I tried to sleep.
The sound of the metal door at the end of the cellblock woke me from a not-quite-doze against the wall. I registered a couple of soft thumps and the clack of rifles against the floor—I jerked awake, scrambling to my feet.
Rio stood in front of my cell like a larger-than-life dream, two black-clad guards sprawled behind him, unconscious or dead. Instead of his tan duster, he wore black fatigues matching the uniform of Dawna’s troops, complete with the same assault rifle and sidearm. He pulled a small explosive charge from a pocket of the vest, packed it into the lock on my cell, and took a step back; the lock blew with a pop and a clack of metal, and Rio gave me a friendly jerk of his head as if to say, come on already.