Zoya lowered her voice. “Just . . . No offence, but she freaks me out.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
Dionne did, in fact, know exactly what she meant. Sister Teresa was a short Spanish woman who had been with the Sisters of the Saint since before Dionne had joined the order. The woman must be near sixty, but it was hard to tell. Her square face seemed to have one, and only one, expression – that of sleepy-eyed disapproval. Her voice, on the rare occasions she used it, had a distinctly croaky quality. It gave her the overall vibe of a disappointed frog. She had a tendency to walk around with an eerie quietness, so she would often just appear beside you, only making her presence known when she spoke.
Two nights ago, when she couldn’t sleep, Dionne had gone down to the kitchen for a glass of milk. She’d been lost in thought when Teresa had appeared out of nowhere and offered her a cookie. Dionne had promptly thrown the milk all over herself. The embarrassment had given her something else to keep her awake at night. It was still an improvement on the incident a couple of years ago when she had surprised Sister Bernadette and received an unintended punch in the boob.
The memory of that made Dionne smile for a moment, and then she felt an ache in her heart. Bernadette. The reason they were here. She and Assumpta had been prisoners for five long months now. The Sisters had agreed to their captor’s demand, but it had taken time – so much damn time – to get the pieces in place. Meanwhile, every night, Dionne had gone to bed and thought of Bernadette and Assumpta, somewhere in a cell, worrying about what would come next.
Zoya waved a hand in front of Dionne’s face. “Earth to Dionne.”
Dionne sat back. “Sorry, I …”
“You were miles away. Still not sleeping, huh?”
Dionne gave a weak smile. “This from the girl who doesn’t sleep at all?”
“I’m Gen Z. We don’t sleep.”
“Ouch!” said Dionne. “Way to make a gal feel old.”
“You know what I meant.”
“So, where were we? Oh yeah, you’re rigging up Teresa with access to all the feeds from inside the prison.”
“I could—”
“That wasn’t a question, Zoya. We will need your talents elsewhere.”
“Speaking of which, you know I can just wang-dangle the computer and do the next bit?”
Dionne sighed. “Zoya, Zoya, Zoya. Have you ever heard the expression ‘If all you’ve got is a hammer’?”
Zoya pulled a face. “No, O wise one. Is the rest of it, ‘When what you really need is a super-squiddly wrench set’?” She wafted her hands to indicate she considered herself to be the super-squiddly wrench set.
“No, the rest is, ‘All you see are nails.’ You have computer skills, so you think everything is a computer-skills problem. You need to check out your hacking history.”
Zoya raised her eyebrows. “Is that right? You gonna school me on the keyboard?”
“No. The telephone. Because do you know what the weakest point in every system is, and always has been?”
“I know you’re going to say people. But I feel like me saying that is going to spoil the cool little speech you’re about to roll into.”
Dionne faked a glower. “You are correct. I was even going to cite examples, but you’re not getting it now.”
“Bummer,” said Zoya. “Still, though, I thought that out of the two of us, you were the one who was supposed to like people?”
“I do,” Dionne replied. And she left the rest of her thought unspoken: That’s why I’m so good at lying to them.
“Actually,” she continued. “Speaking of people …”
Zoya pulled a face “Why do I not like where this is heading?”
“Hey, c’mon now. I just wanted to say … Y’know, we love you and you’re a valuable part of the organisation.”
“Am I being fired?”
“No,” said Dionne. “I’m just … I just wanted to clarify that, well … You know how we’re not normal nuns.”
“Yeah. No kidding. One of the Sisters just tear-gassed a biker gang.”
“Right,” said Dionne. “So, I mean, I’m technically not a ‘nun’ nun, in the religious sense. So, for example, I haven’t taken a vow of celibacy …”
A grin spread across Zoya’s face. “Has D got herself a fancy man?”
“No. God, no. Not even … No. I was talking about you.”
Zoya’s facial expression changed to match one that you’d expect if someone had dropped a paint-stripping fart. “Oh no.”
“Now, don’t be like that,” said Dionne, already deeply regretting starting this. “I’m just saying, you’re a normal, healthy young woman and you have normal, healthy urges.”
“I’ve got an urge to leave right now.”
“It’s just … You’ve not taken a vow of celibacy, so you can do whatever you like.”
“Right.”
“I’ve seen you smiling at your phone, and I know it’s none of my business.”
“Agreed.”
“I’m just saying …” Dionne forced a smile and attempted a friendly punch on the shoulder. “Go get some!”
Zoya looked horrified. “‘Go get some’?”
“Yeah, sorry. I mean … Y’know. I’m just … I mean, be sensible. Not that I’m saying you wouldn’t be. I’m just … Y’know. Take precautions.” Dionne winced.
“Oh God. If you’re about to put a condom on a banana, D, would you mind if I saved us both the embarrassment and walked into that nice buzz-saw I got over there?”
“I only …”
“Please stop.”
Dionne started to nod furiously. “Right. OK. Good talk. Good talk.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Go, team!” Out of the many moments from the previous couple of minutes she’d spend days cringing about, ending on “Go, team” was probably going to be the bit Dionne cringed about most. It was between that, “Go get some” and “Take precautions”.
“So …” said Zoya.
“So …” said Dionne.
“How about we commit some fraud?”
“Oh God,” sighed Dionne, relief washing over her. “Yes, please.”
Zoya handed her a phone. “OK, sensei. It’s all set up to spoof the number like you
