The Drafter (53 page)

The cranberries were almost burning hot, and Peri swallowed fast, enjoying their tangy sweetness. “Silas said there was a gun involved?”

Taf nodded enthusiastically. “Oh yes. I got to shoot someone in the foot and drive the getaway car. I, ah, brought you a change of clothes,” she said as she glanced at the guards. “They should fit.”

Peri set the basket down, wiping her fingers on her pants before reaching for the bundle. “Thank you!”

“There's an athletic body wipe in there, too,” Taf said, looking eager to help. “I've used them before in a pinch. They're almost as good as a shower.” She turned to the guards playing with the fireplace, turning it off and on with their voice commands. “Big strong men afraid to let you shower!”

Peri found the packet, her mood brightening. “Thank you very much!” she said, dropping back deeper into the wine cellar and out of the guards' sight.

“This place has twelve bathrooms, and they won't let you into one. Barbarians.” Taf's attention went to the guards again to make sure they kept their distance as Peri stripped to her skivvies. “I can't bust you out this time, but I can at least help you look good for your lynching.”

The body wipe was a spot of clean, and Peri relaxed at the chill menthol scent. “It won't be that bad,” she said as the dampness air-dried with the heat of her body. “I've got something they want, they've got something I want. Win, win.”

Slumped over her knees, Taf shrugged. “Silas said that chip wasn't the list.”

She's been talking to Silas?
The feeling of an impending something grew, but she felt almost normal as she slipped into the tailored navy
blouse and slacks and buckled the tiny belt. Taf had good taste. “I've got more than that,” she said, coming forward as she tapped her head. “There's no reason we can't work together.”

Taf's eyes brightened, and she handed Peri a brush. “You remember?”

“No, but it's in there. Silas can get it out.” Peri ran the brush through her hair, then checked out her distant reflection in the bar mirror. Not her best effort, but a hundred times better. “Thank you.”

Taf stood up, and the suits came forward. “I hope you're right.”

“Me too,” she said, then jumped, outraged, when a dart buried itself in her thigh.

“What the hell is
wrong
with you!” Peri exclaimed as the guard with the glasses lowered a dart gun and Taf protested hotly. She immediately jerked it out, but the smooth metal against her fingertips felt fuzzy. It was too late, and the chalky taste of a jump blocker coated her tongue.

“Maybe you shouldn't keep busting the audio blockers,” the guard said, and she threw the dart down to look at the tear in her new slacks.

“Those pants are Chanel,” Taf complained. “Brian, this is coming out of your paycheck. Open the door.”

But the other agent had his stopwatch app going on his phone, and Peri knew they wouldn't let her out until they reached some arbitrary number that made them feel safe.

“Put them on,” Brian said, tossing in a pair of cuffs.

Peri's jaw clenched at the metallic ping as they slid across the flagstones.

“No one said
anything
about cuffs.” Taf was furious, face red and lips in a tight line, but Peri put them on, glad they let her do it so her hands were in front instead of behind.

“Don't worry about it,” Peri said as the guard with the phone nodded and tucked it away. It was irritating, and they'd slow her down, but if she wanted out, she'd get out. In fact, seeing her cuffed would make them careless.

Brian unlocked the door. Immediately Taf grabbed her arm, yanking her onto the carpet. “This way,” the young woman said, glancing back at the two men as she stalked to the elevator. The weapons of the men behind her were holstered but unsnapped. She could probably
take them out with minimal risk even cuffed, but why bother when they were clearly headed upstairs?

“If you move too fast, you'll be shot,” Brian said, then gave her a shove. “Go.”

He got a dark look instead of the foot in his face that she wanted, and eyeing him appraisingly, Peri stepped into the elevator.

One of them hit the button for the fourth floor, and the panels slid shut. She only remembered seeing three floors, but then the doors opened with a cheerful ding to the window-lined, octagonal aerie she'd noticed from outside when she'd arrived. She'd thought it was only decoration, but the enormous room was at least fifty feet in diameter and was set up for high-class entertaining, with a neon-strewn bar against one side and a circular comfort pit of white couches taking up the majority of the space.

The vista out onto the cloudy mountains was almost overwhelming, with an astounding 315-degree view, even in the light fog. It was hazy and overcast, and a line of storms threatened. A biting whiff of electronics came from the small camera on a tripod set in the middle of the circular room. Lines snaked from it to a card table, where an awkward tech guy in an off-the-rack suit fussed over two glass-technology tablets. It was clearly a teleconference, and Peri watched an aide come up a staircase, furtively crossing the camera's line of sight to whisper in a security guard's ear.

Howard sat glumly at the bar under the restraint of an agent, and a confident older woman, draped in jewelry and attitude, stood beside the camera in the middle of the room, her white business dress tight and her heels making her tall. Her hair was done up in a French chignon, and before her on the couch and in front of the camera was Silas.

Peri's breath caught, and she stumbled to a halt on the thick rug as something struck through her. He didn't know she was here, clearly angry, his neck red and his muscular shoulders pulling his shirt tight as he sat on the edge of the indulgent couch with his back to her and argued with that woman. Peri's thoughts went to the note she'd written to herself not to trust anyone, and she wished she could take it back.

“Mother, why is Peri in cuffs?” Taf said loudly, and the tech guy had a fit, waving his hands for her to be quiet.

Silas jumped, emotion crossing his face as he turned to her. Peri moved to join him only to be pulled back.
This domineering woman is Fran? The head of the alliance?
Peri looked between Taf and Fran as Taf continued to argue, seeing not the resemblance, but the resentment when Fran's cheeks reddened and she told her daughter to be quiet.

“Shut up!” Brian barked, and she started when he poked her.

“I haven't said anything,” Peri protested. “Why don't you go poke Taf? She's the one who won't shut up.”

“You still maintain your actions were for the
benefit
of the alliance?” Fran said as Taf was pulled to the bar where Howard tried to mollify her. Fran's attitude was so familiar that Peri felt as if she should know her, but nothing was clicking.

“I do.” Silas shifted on the couch so he could see Peri. It put him at odds with the camera, and the tech guy made an exasperated sigh and went to adjust it.

“From our first encounter in February, Peri Reed has been looking for asylum from the same corrupt Opti faction that we're trying to eradicate. My actions and those of the people with me were to prevent her from being returned to Opti—where she would be scrubbed and remade into what they wanted. Our actions were never intended to betray the alliance but to prevent a mistake that would set us back another three years. It's time to end this, Fran.”

“I agree,” the woman said with so much bile and frustration, a sudden doubt erased Peri's confidence. Something was going wrong. “But let's finish with you first. You ran with her, Denier. After you were instructed to bring her back in. You refused to disclose where she was until we could do nothing. How do you explain that?”

Silas's expression was peeved. “You were hell-bent on giving her back to Opti. I never agreed to that.”

Fran took a step closer, almost in front of the camera. “That's where she belongs. She doesn't have what we need to bring Opti down, and I don't think she ever will.”

Peri's lips pressed. Clearing her throat, she said loudly, “I do. I simply need Dr. Denier's help to dig it out.”

“On the couch . . . ,” the tech guy bitched. “Say it in front of the camera on the couch. The mic doesn't pick up the back of the room.”

“Then tell grabby fingers here to let go of me,” Peri said, yanking out of the agent's grip again.
I'm going to take those glasses of yours and shove them up your nose
.

Fran waved the tech guy back to his station. “You'll have a chance to state your case shortly, Ms. Reed. Please refrain from comment until then.”

“I should be allowed the opportunity to regain my memory before an inquiry,” Peri said loudly, and the woman narrowed her eyes. “That's what this is, isn't it?”

“If there are enough credible witnesses, your recalling your actions won't factor in,” she said, then turned to Silas. “Nothing has been changed by what you have said. You'll join Howard in protective custody until such time as we can be certain of your loyalties.”

“My loyalty is to the alliance,” Silas exclaimed, but an agent had come forward at Fran's directive and pulled him to his feet. The screen on the tech's temporary desk showed only an empty couch, but the chat room associated with it was busy.

Peri's gut clenched as they forced Silas to sit at the bar beside Howard and Taf. Her past made her appear both guilty and untrustworthy, and her association with Silas wasn't helping.

“Your actions show that your loyalty is to yourself,” Fran said, gesturing for security to bring Peri forward to take Silas's place.

“Thinking for oneself does not imply disloyalty,” Silas said, but it was likely no one outside the room heard him. “She thought she was giving us the information we needed,” he added as Brian manhandled her forward. “She shouldn't be standing before you justifying her actions. She should be in conference with you to bring Opti down!”

Pulse fast, Peri scrambled for a way to make this work for her. Clearly Silas hadn't told them about the chemical tracker. Opti was likely on their way, to find out where she'd gone if nothing else. And
Opti was coming. She could feel it—brewing just over the horizon like a summer storm.

“Enough,” Fran hissed. “Get her on camera.”

That man shoved her again. Peri had had enough, and she spun, arms jabbing out with a palm thrust to break his nose. Brian fell back, screaming and clutching his face. Peri froze, cuffed hands in the air as safeties clicked off, but Howard only laughed.

“Someone get Brian a towel,” Fran directed tiredly. “Can we move forward, please?”

“Peri, this isn't how I wanted to do this.”

It was Silas, and Peri's expression blanked. Someone else had said nearly the exact same thing to her—right before her world fell apart the first time. First chance she got, she was going to run and keep running. But she wouldn't leave without Silas. He'd brought her back, given her something to build herself on. His own people were turning against him. She didn't know which side was right, but she knew how that felt. The alliance and Opti could tear themselves apart for all she cared.

Finally they got Brian behind the bar with a pack of ice. The new agent at her side was more polite, and Peri smiled at his gesture for her to continue, putting a sway in her hips as she made her way to sit in front of the camera.

“Please state your name,” Fran said, though it was obvious everyone knew who she was.

“Peri Reed,” she said as she settled herself into the white cushions and the technician adjusted the camera.

“You're here to account for your crimes done under the auspices of Opti,” Fran began, careful not to get her face on camera, “your actions against humanity, and your efforts to reduce the inherent rights of every citizen. If found guilty, you'll be taken from here and permanently stripped of your ability to draft.”

Peri's head snapped up. “I thought this was to discuss what I had to offer you in exchange for asylum.”

Fran's thin lips pressed as she scrolled through a tablet. “You thought wrong. We're going to make you normal, Peri Reed.”

“I am normal.” Peri glanced at Silas, whose expression mirrored the
surprise and horror she knew were evident on her own features. “The only way to eliminate my ability to draft will leave me unable to make any long-term memories, and that's if you do it right. Pardon my concern, but you can't possibly possess the equipment or the finesse. You'll make a vegetable out of me.”

Fran put on a pair of diamond-encrusted bifocals and brought her gaze back from the hazy mountains, thick with the coming rain. “Your actions carry their own sins. You're accused of the murders of Hans Marston, James Thomas, Daniel H. Parsole, Kevin Arnold, Thomas Franklin, Nicole Amsterdam, and, most recently, Samuel Smity.”

Seven deaths, most of them probably people who'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time. It bothered Peri that she didn't remember most of them. Taf had gone pale, and even Silas looked uncomfortable. “Hans beat his children and mutilated other men's wives to convince their husbands to do what he wanted them to. I did the world a favor. Kevin Arnold was an accident. He didn't move when I told him to, and someone shot him as he went over a fence. I don't remember the rest,” Peri said, ignoring the rising murmur of outrage behind her. “You can't try me for something you might have made up.”

“You've been linked to a multitude of corporate espionage events that resulted in massive illegal gains in the private sector,” Fran continued, peering down through her glasses. “I have them listed here, if you feel the need to refute them. Numerous accounts of theft or arson to eliminate records detrimental to Opti personnel . . . several mentions of technological terrorism. Most of them involving biological warfare.” She peered accusingly at Peri over the glass tablet. “We're not sure what you were doing in old Russia, but I'm not liking that the Korean ambassador developed Legionnaires' disease the same week you were there and died of complications. Here's my favorite, though. Under the cover of installing a U.S.-friendly government, you set in power an extremist group who went on to commit a nationwide genocide, more commonly known as the White Plague.”