“Isn’t she wonderful?” Boar Face beamed.
Saul leaned against the door, absorbing Zelda’s extraordinary insights into the world beneath the sea and how it relates to the world on land and how that generates money.
“Katrina said she found you in the education world.”
Zelda glanced curiously at Boar Face, snorting slowly. “I was an art teacher, but I didn’t get along with the school authorities.”
Katrina hugged her. “They didn’t understand her mind as I do.”
“Understanding’s important,” Saul agreed.
“The parents and kids also didn’t…”
“But I saw enormous potential,” Boar Face continued.
“Finding good workers is so difficult,” Saul said.
“I actually started with Mr. Pietro.” Zelda smiled sweetly.
“Ah,” Saul said sadly.
“Yes,” Boar Face agreed solemnly.
Zelda tensed. “Is he dead?”
“Moved on,” Saul explained as Katrina’s eyes twinkled triumphantly around Mr. Pietro’s corporate carcass. “Fortunately we have Katrina and her remarkable gift for discovering talent.”
“I only had to give Zelda direction, show her my vision and then harvest.” Katrina reached up to an imaginary fruit tree.
Saul studied Zelda as if she were an apple. “What were some of Katrina’s best ideas?”
“Giving personality to the salmon, right, Zelda? You loved that one.” Katrina pawed the ground with her high heels.
Zelda squirmed in the tight skirt. Deep breath, balloon girl. You don’t want to find out what happens to unemployed single pregnant women.
“Actually I think…” They waited. “The dancing came first. Singing and dancing salmon gave birth to the personalities. Diego was your best character.”
“Yes, Diego.”
“You came up with him on the bus, right?”
“Oh yes. The uh…”
“The bus driver was the model. And then she turned to me. I’m good at executing other people’s ideas.”
Boar Face smiled like she’d just gobbled down a monkey.
“Keep it going. I won’t rest until tuna salad is an afterthought.” Saul shuffled down the hall as if suddenly very bored.
“Wonderful man. Genius, actually.” Katrina picked up a thick folder. “Good, Zelda. Knowing how to talk to the boss is very important.”
“Especially knowing what to say.” She smiled coldly.
“That’s my job,” Katrina returned the frosty look, hued with warning. “Stick with me. You might actually learn something.”
I don’t have a choice, Zelda realized sadly. All her life, failure had given her real options.
27
Derek motioned Yen down so they could catch their breaths. Neither would admit that sixty-five-year old men playing soldier in the middle of the night needed naps.
Yen grunted gratefully and lay on his stomach, hoping the forty armed men who had crept along the desolate country road were all in place. They had no communications devices that wouldn’t be detected.
Singh glanced at his watch and signaled two minutes. Yen rolled over on his back, staring upside down through the electrified fence. At thirty seconds, sparks flashed one, two, three, done. The men exchanged pleased nods and Yen rolled back onto his elbows, cradling the Bannister C20 rifle.
Singh finished slicing the wire and slid forward, rising to hands and knees and then a bent back trot. On all four sides, khaki-uniformed men and women hurried forward. Yen peeled off slightly to the left, waiting around the side of one of the long horseshoe shaped cottages until a Black Top guard strolled past on his two-fifteen patrol. Yen cut his throat and motioned for Singh to follow.
Using a twister blade, Derek popped open the lock. The room was dark, not even a night light. Twenty beds, ten on either side. Yen jostled the first orphan, who bolted up, gasping. He placed his hand on his lips; the men edged down the rows, waking the children.
“Where?” asked a girl in a heavy Eastern European accent.
“Safe,” Singh answered.
“Safe here.” She shook her head and the other children stopped putting on their shoes and jackets.
They’d expected this; Singh was half-surprised at how obedient they were. Do what you’re told in the orphanage. Do what you’re told in this bullshit camp where you’re kept out of sight. Like we are. Shove all of Grandma’s mistakes under a rug in the woods.
Derek sat on the bed as Yen anxiously tapped his watch and held up two fingers. At least there was no gunfire yet.
“What’s your name?”
“Patricia.”
Singh managed a smile; children made him uncomfortable since he lost both of his during 10/12. “This is not safe anymore, Patricia.”
“Grandma says…”
“Grandma lies,” blurted a fat little boy in a thick wool hat and shorts.
“Yes, she does,” Singh said, standing. “If anyone wants to stay, that’s fine. Just keep quiet until we’re gone so the Black Tops don’t kill your friends.”
That set off a little murmuring. Patricia stubbornly folded her arms. At the far bed on the right side, a teenage girl reached under the mattress and pulled out a snot-nosed Kenyon rifle.
“Put your guns down.” The girl leaned toward a small communicator on her wrist. “This is Bedroom Five…”
Yen shot the BT plant through the forehead; hopefully there’d be equally good shots at all the cottages. , Singh and Yen exchanged worried glances. We overlooked that.
“Her accent always sucked,” said the boy by the adjoining bed, ignoring the BT’s blood splattered on his arm.
Yen quickly bound and gagged the suddenly docile Patricia as the orphans watched almost listlessly; they’d seen worse. As he left, Yen tossed an orange wig on Patricia’s chest.
They hurried back through the split fence, lines of orphans flanking them.
A shot rang out. Then a volley, followed by screams. Singh and Yen kept a steady pace as ‘copters whirred into the night. By the tree line, two Miners fired a mini-SAM, blowing up a ship. The blazing debris and seared limbs rained around them, along with gunfire from two more ‘copters.
They crossed the road, stopping by the convoy of trucks. Behind, missiles and ‘copters traded fire. Six separate groups waited. Singh and Yen ran along the vehicles, signaling by pounding on doors. The convoy roared ahead as the Miners led more than two hundred Muslim Europe orphans deep into the other side of the forest.
They ran for half a mile away from
