The Lives of Tao (39 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

MONACO DECENNIAL

Inside the Chest of the Menagerie, Zoras found hundreds of small animals, each with a Genjix prisoner inside. It was there that he freed Chiyva. Enraged at the imprisonment of the Genjix, Zoras decided to teach the Prophus a hard lesson. And what happened next was a crime among the Quasing that echoes to this day.
 

Prior to the incident with the Chest of the Menagerie, we were content to wage war in a manner that delayed and inconvenienced the other side. Killing a Quasing’s host was enough to set that Quasing back for years. In an act of unspeakable horror, Zoras raised the stakes.
 

Roen was as nervous as a teenager about to ask a girl to prom as he stepped off the plane and blinked into the very bright sun that beat down on him. There was a different feel to attending the Decennial than any other mission. It felt significant. Like Stephen and Paula had said, being allowed to attend meant he was considered an agent worthy of a Quasing. It was almost like his Quasing bar mitzvah.

Being in Monte Carlo didn’t hurt either. It was the perfect blend of tropical weather, gorgeous old-world Europe, and glitzy Las Vegas, all wrapped up in a few square kilometers. But the conference wasn’t the reason he was nervous – what made him nervous was waiting at the bottom of the stairs.

Sonya waved enthusiastically as she barreled into him with an embrace that nearly knocked him off his feet. They hadn’t seen each other since the Dublin assignment and he missed her like crazy. Command had pulled her off his training after the Yol assignment and had kept her in England to deal with the Labour Party’s precarious position. The last he heard of Sonya, she had just been promoted to command the Prophus security detail for the Decennial.

Roen often saw her name in the communiqués from Command. She was climbing fast through the ranks and becoming a star in the organization. He received an occasional email from her – with a reminder to stay in shape, and study up on this weapon or that world event – but nothing ever remotely personal. He had begun to think that all that time they spent together was nothing but business to her, a mission for her to complete and then forget.

For Roen, her absence had been a painful void in his life that slowly faded as the months passed. He had nearly stopped thinking about her, until Sonya emailed him telling him she’d pick him up. Their embrace was held a bit tighter and longer than appropriate. Roen felt a twinge of guilt about Jill.

He studied Sonya as they walked through the airport terminal. She looked a little tired and had a few gray strands in her otherwise luxurious black hair, but still looked gorgeous. Roen had to keep himself from gawking. Sonya would never be a Bond girl. She would just make James Bond look bad; could definitely kick his ass too.

The two walked very close and chatted as if no time had lapsed. Roen felt ashamed, but he missed being so close to her. As much as he didn’t like to admit it, his infatuation with her returned as strong as ever. Though they were and always would be good friends, there was something about that first crush, especially with someone who taught you how to shoot a target a hundred meters away at a full sprint. The window for anything past friendship had long passed, and he couldn’t help but feel regret for that lost possibility.

Hello? Jill? The girl you are ring-shopping for?
 

“I know! I’m just regretting. Can’t a guy do that?”

Depends on who you ask; I am sure Jill will say otherwise.
 

“Listen, Thought Police, I’m only reminiscing.”

Reminiscing is when one is thinking about the past. What you are dreaming about never happened. The word for that is fantasizing.
 

“Well, good thing you can’t tell on me.”

Technically, I could.
 

“Traitor. So what’s the history with this shindig, anyway? The briefs were vague on the history of this soiree. How did this Quasing convention come to be?”

As the name implied, it began in the 1800s, after the second American war, and was meant to be held every ten years. Our conflict with the Genjix changed from a war of control, to one of outright revenge. Entire host families were being massacred, and the violence spiraled out of control to humans not involved with the Quasing. It culminated with a group of Prophus causing the Boston Broad Street Riot in the 1830s, just to cover their escape from an attack on a Genjix safe house.
 

From that time on, both factions decided to sit down every ten years and hammer out rules of engagement. Guidelines, if you will. Thus, we now have the Peace Accords, a toothless yet constricting document that tells us how to not annihilate each other. However, ever since the 1871 Decennial, which caused the Chicago fire, they have been held only when both sides agreed to meet.
 

“So Mrs O’Leary’s cow didn’t kick over the lantern, huh. And isn’t not annihilating each other a good thing?”

Depends on which way you look at it.
 

Roen and Sonya got into the car and sped off toward the Metropole, their hotel. She wanted to know everything that had happened to him since Dublin. He was surprised to find out that she had kept detailed tabs on all his missions. And when he told her about his conflicts with being an agent, she admitted to him her own struggles with being one as well.

“Then why didn’t you call or visit?” he asked, a bit subdued. Her doubts would surely have helped give him perspective.

Sonya paused, and then looked away. “Stephen told me not to. After Dublin, he said you needed space to find yourself. I was told to keep my distance to see if you’d come back on your own. I’m sorry.”

Roen was speechless. It made sense, he supposed, but still, that’s why they lost touch? He knew he shouldn’t care; they were just friends, but he did care, and it made him furious. The two sat in silence until they reached the Metropole.

The Metropole was owned by Vinnick, a powerful Genjix on the Council that the Prophus trusted to be honorable. During the four-day conference, the two factions operated under a strict banner of truce. The regular staff was replaced by non-combat personnel from both factions and strict rules were put in place to deter violence. All agents were forbidden from open conflict under the penalty of being sent to the Eternal Sea.

Covert work, however, was still tolerated as long as no one was caught. This made the Decennial dangerous, and the friendly daytime meetings sometimes degenerated into assassination attempts at night. These conference protections only extended to the four walls of the hotel, so it became open game once anyone stepped off the grounds.

As a precaution, they formed a joint task force consisting of members from both sides assigned specifically to keep the peace. Roen marveled at the first three checkpoints on the way in, and they were still on the driveway leading to the hotel. Once he got out with his bags, he had to join another line to the fourth checkpoint, where security searched through his luggage. They confiscated his pistol, knife, even his flashbangs.

“Man, Tao. It’s worse than airport security here.”

You should have seen it before these rules were set up. We almost started World War III one year when they snuck in a biological weapon.
 

“What?!”

It is all right. We brought incendiaries that year, so it kind of evened out.
 

“Why do I feel like coming here was a very bad idea?”

Why do you think I was originally against you coming? I did not think you would be ready by the time the Decennial was held. You have proved me wrong though.
 

Roen checked into his room and went over the conference itinerary. Tao did not have any issues to bring up, but wanted to keep up to date with current events. In the past, his previous hosts had always played a contentious role in these negotiations, but Tao did not think Roen was ready for that sort of limelight.

Next Decennial, perhaps?
 

“I get stage fright.”

Roen pulled out a map of the resort and looked at the layout for all the emergency exits, committing them to memory. The Metropole was divided into two large wings connected by a central area that housed the lobby, restaurants, and stores. There were large circles on the map, around all the connecting points between the exits, and a big red square around the eastern wing. The Prophus had the western one.

“Guess I’m not supposed to go to that wing,” Roen muttered.

Most of the action will occur in the central lobby or pool area during the night. It is not unheard of for teams to make incursions as well. Just stay in your room.
 

“What if I need to go down to buy toothpaste or a magazine?”

Then you deserve to die for your stupidity.
 

“You’re in a bad mood, aren’t you? I guess a night out on the town is not going to be on the cards tonight, huh?”

Only if you want to get assassinated on the way back. This is serious, Roen. The most peaceful Decennial we ever had involved four deaths across both factions, and that was a hundred years ago.
 

“Jesus. Why do we bother coming?”

I agree with you there, but even warring countries need to communicate sometimes. Think of it as a United Nations with only two countries.
 

“Not a big believer in email, huh?”

Roen spent the afternoon unpacking, taking the opportunity to shower and nap before meeting up with Sonya and Paula for dinner. Stephen and Dylan joined them for drinks afterward at the bar.

You can relax tonight. The night before the conference is called the Homestead Reunion. It was the one time when all Quasing put aside our differences.
 

Roen watched Genjix and Prophus interact as if there wasn’t a five-hundred year-old war going on. Many old friends torn apart by the conflict reconnected here. Even the others sitting with him were frequently greeted by many of the agents from the other faction. No one greeted Roen, though.

“Tao, I have no Genjix friends, and it’s your fault. Sonya and Paula both have a line of people waiting to talk to them. Heck, even Dylan and Stephen got a few.”

I find this reunion experience preposterous. If you are at war, be at war. This is not halftime at a ball game. Timeouts should not be allowed.
 

“Really? I find it quite civilized.”

There is nothing civilized about war, Roen. Do not be fooled by this charade. These same Genjix buying you drinks tonight were trying to kill you yesterday. And they will try to kill you tomorrow.
 

“No one is buying me drinks, thanks to you.”

Some friends you can do without.
 

It was obvious most of the other Quasing did not share the same views as Tao. The bar was becoming crowded as the revelry grew into a full-blown party, though Roen did notice a few scowling faces of Genjix sitting at the far end. Obviously, Tao’s views were shared by some on the other team as well.

Tao wanted him to have a clear head for the next four days and forbade him to drink. That suited Roen fine, since no good ever came from drinking with Stephen and Dylan anyway. His “Tao won’t let me” excuse worked for the most part, though Dylan called Tao “Mother Hen” for the rest of the night. As the night wore on, the others dispersed to mingle with the crowd until he found himself alone.

After sitting by himself for an hour and experiencing a pre-agent life flashback of loneliness, he decided to stop looking like such a loser and went for a walk. Roen was pretty sure no one would miss him anyway. He left the main building and went to a small outdoor café on the balcony. He ordered a latte and sat back, admiring the city lights.

“Hello, Roen, is this seat taken?”

Roen turned and looked at a distinguished looking gentleman standing before him.

Chiyva!
 

Roen had never heard Tao snarl before, if a Quasing could even snarl. He jumped out of his chair, eyeing Sean warily. Roen didn’t know much about the man, except that Sean was a high-ranking Genjix, heading up much of their American operations, and that Tao hated Chiyva’s guts. Their paths had crossed often and Chiyva had been responsible for the deaths of Tao’s hosts on more than one occasion.

Tao made another snarling, strangled sound when Roen noticed Marc standing just behind Sean. Marc’s look expressed pure hatred. Roen’s hands tightened into fists as he returned the glare. He briefly considered throwing his beverage at Marc until he remembered where he was.

Sean rolled his eyes. “Oh, sit down, Roen. We’re not going ten rounds right now. Ruining Homestead Reunion would be bad form, and I just got my suit back from the cleaners. Besides, are you sure you want to go toe to toe with me? You might have escaped from old Omer and a few incompetent troops, but you’ll find me a bit more challenging. Please, sit. I trust you’ve met Mr Kenton?”