The Rise and Falling Out of Saint Leslie of Security (19 page)

Tom made his face go blank again.

"The first step now is to deal with Leslie as quietly as possible."

"
Deal
with her?"

"It seems clear to me your motivations in this were admirable, even if you did make the wrong decisions, even if you did betray me and your agency. But it's obvious you already know you're through in Security. I want to believe you're the man to bring our Leslie home. This drama of inter-office politics, this blaming and back-stabbing, offends me.” Washington turned and jabbed the pipe of his index finger at Meyer. “Be sure you tell your boss that."

"Mr. President, I am deeply sorry,” Tom said.

Washington slowly shook his head. “I will not hear any apologies or supplications at this point. How we decide to deal with all involved in this fiasco is secondary right now to resolving the crisis. And it's clear to me you are needed for us to do so. I will see to it your counseling is suspended until Leslie has been returned to Washington. I'm having Jefferson reinstate you for this operation. If Leslie's going to trust anyone to bring her back, it's going to be you—it's that simple. I'll send orders for him to share whatever new intelligence they have on the matter. So here's a chance to redeem yourself, Mr. Russell. At least to some extent. Don't squander it. Bring my niece home. Then we'll see."

"Thank you, sir."

Rising, Father Washington stretched like a great lion. “There is to be no discussion of any of this. No one who doesn't already know about it will be brought into confidence.
No one.
Understood?"

Tom nodded. Meyer murmured something incomprehensible.

"By the way, Russell. No one, I mean
no one
, has spoken to me the way you did today in a very long time.” Washington looked down at him. Tom hadn't been frightened during the entire course of the interview. But now his stomach began to churn and his shoulders shook.

"It's refreshing,” Father Washington said, and he left the room.

Meyer stared at Tom for a long time before finally standing up. Then he scratched at his chin, his nostrils flaring. “
You
are dead,” he said softly. “You are fucking
dead
.” He followed The President out the door.

Tom didn't allow himself a sigh of relief until later that evening, when he was in the lift car and on his way to Vermont with the auto-pilot on. The car's headlights cast hazy cones of illuminated falling rain into the darkness in front of him. Tom hated flying in the dark.

Father Washington had ensured him unencumbered passage through the restricted flight zone along the southern Vermont border. That alone would take a lot of time off his travel. He had a remote work screen set up on the lift car's console and was trying to set up a comm link to Leslie's Gun. When she'd been in Boston he was pretty sure he'd gotten a one-way message through to her. Now, he tried to hack a two-way path. It was theoretically possible. It wouldn't foil the scrambler she was obviously using, but he was still convinced he could reason with her.

If only we could talk without anyone's interference.

If he knew her at all, she was probably scared and close to turning back anyway. He was sure part of her wanted to be found by him, wanted to be saved again. She knew she couldn't survive on her own. Maybe he could tell her he would set up some way for her to have the baby.

Yes, that'll probably do the trick. But I'll have to go delicately—to convince her I still love her and I'm worried about her safety. If she doesn't believe those things first, she probably won't buy the baby thing. I have to take it slowly.

He thought about Jefferson and Meyer. If they'd been his enemy before Father Washington got involved, they were even more dangerous to him now. They'd still do everything in their power to abrogate their responsibility in all this to him. And with so much now out in the open with Washington, their actions would be more devious—and more aggressive. Tom remembered the look on Meyer's face when he left the counselor's office.

Tom was back on Operation Gentle Net, but now, at least for him, things wouldn't be so gentle. Tom disgraced both Meyer and Jefferson, and they wouldn't forget. He knew how they thought, too, and to them the only way to save face would be to destroy him. The stakes were raised now, and this made Security even more dangerous for Leslie. Because she was just a pawn, an embarrassing factor to control. Jefferson and Meyer both knew if they could make it look like Tom was failing, they'd be heroes and it wouldn't matter if Leslie lived or died, as long as the secrets surrounding her were safe. Red Hell, they might even be thinking they could still get promotions out of it in the end.

Jefferson had briefed Tom over his work screen earlier to bring him up to date on the investigation—he couldn't even bring himself to face him. Tom chuckled at that. It was a pleasure to get under their skin to such a degree.

The vague, fifty-mile radius they were able to extrapolate for location in spite of the scrambler had finally stopped moving and placed them roughly in the middle of the Adirondack Territory. Jefferson's operatives had been chasing the moving blur up through Maine all this time, and then into Canada, which had obviously been a waste of time. Tom could have told them this at the beginning.

As much as he'd been dreading the possibility of Leslie's father getting involved in her escape, Tom was now actually relying on it. He was the only man in Security familiar with Everett's old haunts in the mountains. For Jefferson and his men, those fifty miles or so of a blurred, vague location was nothing more than a blanket of forest and hills. To Tom, it suggested the guiding hand of Everett. Tom knew where his hideouts were. He was banking on the idea Leslie had been led to one of those places. If nothing else, it was an informed place to start.

The only other thing he had to worry about was what he would say to her when they stood face to face.

She'll listen to reason—if I can figure out what's reasonable.

And if no one else interferes.

The swollen river became visible just as Leslie stepped in a puddle. With cold seeping in over the top of her shoe, she continued along the path. Shaggy trees, their roots exposed along the banks, tilted over the water and dangled wooden fingers. The path led to a rotting dock with a boat, covered by a tarpaulin, moored against it. Roger hopped two feet down from the steep bank and slipped on the damp boards. Gaining his balance, he untied and pulled away the tarpaulin, splashing rainwater on his thighs. Leslie watched from the bank.

"It's full of fuel and ready to go,” he said. “And, so far, no sign of Security."

Leslie slipped down the muddy bank to the dock. A breeze crossed the river and blew clean air to her nostrils. “So far no Security."

"Only because I'm good at what I do,” Leslie heard from behind her. Startled, Roger straightened and stepped backward. Leslie grasped his arm to steady him. Then she let go and turned around, shaking with an odd mixture of anger, fear, and resignation. Tom stood in the path, ten yards beyond her. “I've been following you for the past ten minutes,” he said. “Really, Les, I taught you better than this.” He stood there looking casual, his hands hanging at his hips.

"What are we going to do now, Tom? Have a shootout?"

"That's not what I want, Les."

"Good. I'm going to get into the boat now.” She gestured with her thumb.

"Leslie. Just talk with me for a minute."

"What is there to say? It's already clear this has gone too far. There's no way I can go back to Washington."

"But there is, don't you see? All Father Washington wants is an end to this without any embarrassment. This can all be put behind us."

She shook her head, disbelieving. “And what about Roger here?"

"Saints have been known to wield the power of clemency in certain situations."

"Are you telling me I can be assured of the power to offer clemency to Roger?"

"Well, it's poss—” Tom stopped and squinted at Leslie. His voice grew louder. “What does this guy matter to you? He's nobody. You need to start thinking about yourself. I don't even get it."

"Then I guess there's not much more to say."

"Les, please don't.” His voice grew softer. He walked toward her. She watched him approach until he was close enough to jump on the dock. His thin hair was uncombed. He looked so pallid, and his eyes were red within their hollowed sockets. For a moment, Leslie worried for him.

"You look like Hell, Tom."

"You aren't exactly looking your best either, Leslie. Listen. The fact I'm here alone shows I can still protect you, at least to some degree. Washington felt I could convince you to come home. Baby, this can be all over within twenty-four hours. All you have to do is take my hand.” He reached out to her. “I promised them I could get you safely home. That's what's right. That's what's best."

"Best for whom? Don't hold me accountable for your mistaken promises to them.” Leslie surprised herself with the response. And, with its utterance, any fear she'd felt evaporated away—
that
surprised her even more. She watched his face go blank. The same vacant stare that always irritated her so much. Now
she
stared coolly, unselfconsciously, back. He broke the gaze first.

"Everything's on the line here. Don't you understand that? I think I've got things squared away, so they don't do anything stupid. But the situation can only be allowed to go so far.” He swatted the air in a frustrated gesture. Leslie felt sorry for him.

"How could I trust you, Tom? Even if I wanted to go back."

"I just want what's best for you!"

Behind her, Roger snorted. She shook her head very slowly, deliberately. “I'm sorry, Tom. I don't believe you know what's best for me any more."

Through his teeth, he said, “Les. I
have
to bring you in. I'm begging you, all right? Is that what you want? Come back with me. If not for your own sake then for me. Les, I'm in a lot of trouble."

"I'm sorry."

Tom sucked in a long breath and looked up at the sky. His whole body had gone rigid, and she realized how much he fought himself to make his next move. When he looked at her again he reached into his jacket and pulled out his gun. She mirrored the motion with her own.

"And so, like well-trained guards, we fully have each other's attention,” she said.

He waved the weapon casually, as if it were more a form of emphasis for his words than anything else. “What about the baby, Les?"

Leslie let Gun drop slowly against her hip. “What about it?"

"I never did right by you,” he said. “I tried. Believe me, I tried. I'm sorry, too, Leslie. But you have to come home. If the only way to get you to come with me is to figure out a way for you to have the kid, then we'll have to work it out somehow."

The flesh of Leslie's back turned hot and needles pricked her spine. Her head went suddenly numb. She gasped as she tried to talk. “Wha ... what are you saying? That y-you'll help m—"

Her limbs rippled out like an expanding helium balloon. Then the balloon was torn by a hot iron rod sliding up her back, her neck, and spearing her skull. Immediate fear strangled her. She was impaled.

Tom was frowning. She could barely hear him through the ringing. “Les, what's the matter—what's wrong?” Through her pain she realized something was dawning on him. His expression splintered into confusion, then the pieces sharpened into diffused panic. He bellowed, throwing up both his hands. “Jefferson! Meyer! Don't do this! Don't you understand! You fucking bastards. Father Washington gave
me
this job.
Me!
” His fists trembled as he whirled and waved the gun at the woods around him, a futile gesture. Leslie's body became less than an Agent, compelled to climb off the dock and join Tom. She fought it—her will one enraged point of light. She gritted her teeth and tried to make fists against the strain in her muscles to climb the bank.

No. No. I will. I. Will. Stay here.

It was useless. A foot slipped forward. Then the other. Remembering Gun, Leslie fought to raise her weapon—and her arm turned to lead. The comforting imagined motion of the head mem had swollen into a turbulent swirl, a storm of vertigo and nausea. She smelled lemons and her vision blurred. She was spinning. Then all her muscles, all her tendons, urged her to half-turn to Roger and ... aim.

Tom stopped yelling and bent to spring on to the dock. Leslie chewed her tongue until the pain seared all through her. She fought, but her body was inexorable. The spinning, the blurring, the lemon smell, all grew unbearable. Tom jumped at her. Then, for a brief moment, the force controlling her stopped like an unexpected silence. All the strength with which she had been fighting released, and spun her wildly, and she squeezed Gun's trigger. The shot ripped off Tom's arm at the elbow and spun him to the side. His forearm turned in the air behind him to bounce once on the path as his chest and leg slammed into the dock. Then he slid into the water.

The splash reached to Leslie's waist. Then vertigo and spinning returned in an overwhelming rush. She went rigid, convulsed, lost her balance on the shaking boards. One elbow hit the bank. Gun slid into the river. Then her face was in the mud and she couldn't breathe. Everything disappeared in a bright explosion. And the convulsions started.

When her eyes opened, she was lying in the boat. She smelled bitter vomit; it burned the back of her throat. Roger had put cushions under her between the steel seats. He steered from the back seat as the engine hummed. Her vision clouded as she looked up at him, fragmenting into pieces of electric pulsing black. Her crotch was slick with ... something. Warm oil. Her stomach was shaking, cramping.

He saw her wake up. “Are you okay?” he said. “I think you had a seizure. A pretty bad one.” He looked scared.

"Roger,” she whispered. “I think I'm bleeding."

"You're what?"

She watched his expression change as his gaze rested between her legs. He lurched over her and undid her pants, yanking them down off her buttocks and below her knees. “Oh sweet Washington,” he said. The smell rose to Leslie—sweet, rancid, metallic, salty—and when she looked down there was all the dark blood and the huge clot curling across her twitching inner thigh. Her eyes burned.