“Can you see anything?” Gallie whispers. “I can’t.”
“I’m not putting my head up,” I say. There are enough leaves on the vines to keep us concealed, but also enough to prevent our seeing what’s happening. We look down the aisle of vines and it’s long without an end in sight.
“We could just keep going,” Gallie says. “It must come out somewhere.”
“Once they pass this row, they’ll see us no matter how far we get.” I say. “We’d be like pins in a bowling lane.”
“I’ll strangle Bruce if I survive this,” Bess whispers. “He could be picking them off like sitting ducks. I know these dirtbags.”
“The car is a mobile arsenal,” I say. “If we could get to it–”
“Without a key?” Gallie whispers.
“You know,” Bess says, “I’m put right off winemaking.”
Two black, shiny boots land in front me. It happened too fast to be sure, but I think Gallie had balanced on her hands and kicked out hard with the soles of her feet, bringing the owner of the boots down on top of me. As I pull myself from under him, another one of them jumps the vines and I see Bess lunge at him. She’s too light to bring him down but as he takes a couple of steps backwards, it gives me a chance to take a run at him, jump and kick him in the stomach. We hit the ground at the same time. I see Gallie, red-faced and struggling fiercely with the first man she had brought down. He’s on his ass holding on to her rather than fighting. I try to get up to help but then stars fill my head and I stagger sideways into the vines. I hear a voice asking if I’m okay. It’s Bess. Gallie and the man she’s struggling with are there, and then they’re not. It takes me seconds to realize that they’ve popped out. Accelerated. Bess is kneeling by me, holding my hand and looking into my face. Then I turn to see the barrel of a gun pointing at me.
“No,” I hear someone shout. “ ’ee didn’t say to kill no one.”
“Yer better not,” another voice says. Then there’s suddenly quiet but for the vines rustling in the evening breeze.
“They’ve gone,” Bess says. The stars are dispersing and I feel a trickle on my forehead.
“They wanted Gallie,” I whisper.
FORTY-SIX
Bess helps me into the van. Zhivov is driving and Prasad is in the back row.
“How the hell didn’t you detect them coming?” is the first thing I say.
“Are you okay?” Zhivov asks.
“There must have been little or no uptime bow wave,” says Prasad.
“No, didn’t see ‘em coming,” Zhivov adds.
“How is that possible?” Bess pulls the sliding door closed and we take off with a jog.
“You’ve got to remember they have technology we don’t,” Prasad says, with irritating calm.
“Gallie is gone,” I say, lightly touching the egg on the back of my skull. “Accelerated. Bruce too, maybe.”
“How didn’t anyone in there see Bruce vanish?” Bess asks.
“Maybe they did. We were out of there too fast to ask.”
“Where do you think they’ve taken her?” Bess asks. I try to think through the pain.
“Between the escape and the strike,” I say. “Must be.”
“Make sense,” Zhivov says. “He’d come looking for you after you got away, and, hope to god, he’d be in no condition to be doing anything after the strike.”
“We’ll confirm that,” Prasad says.
“So now our plans change,” I say.
“No,” Prasad replies.
“Yes they do. Now Gallie is probably in the mansion–the one that’ll be a crater.”
“Or she’ll wind up in the barn with the others,” Prasad says. I look back at him and wince with the pain it causes.
“You want us to take that risk? This was a tit-for-tat mission. I took his wife and he takes Gallie. Those goons had no orders to kill anyone, or to do anything but abduct Gallie. Asmus wanted her and I’m betting he’s going to keep her close.”
“I understand,” Prasad says, “but you know we can’t send anyone in until after the strike. We’ve been through that and nothing has changed. They’d be dead on arrival, literally. No way around it.”
“Nothing has changed?” I echo, incredulously. “A fuck load has changed. Just now, everything changed. We’re not going to let Jane Galois get incinerated by a missile that we fired.” I look at Zhivov but he says nothing, his eyes on the road. Bess is staring at me.
“Missile strike?” she says.
The medic exits after having applied something to my head that stung like hell. The detector facility sick bay is a bed, two chairs, a chunky computer and monitor, a metal sink, a poster describing the benefits of a healthy diet, and a few primitive-looking machines. Bess and Zhivov are silent.
“We’re not going to let this happen,” I say.
“No, we’re not,” Zhivov replies. I’m nonplused. I’d said it to begin the argument. Are we talking about different things? Is Zhivov straying from the company line? I know his type. The company line, rational or irrational, fair or unfair, smart or idiotic, is what they defend beyond all reason. You don’t get to be the Director of TMA any other way.
“We’re going to get Gallie out of there?” I ask, waiting to be corrected.
“Yes, we are.”
“You mean talk your boss around?” Bess asks.
“That’s not possible,” Zhivov says. “There’s no talking Prasad out of anything. And his logic isn’t wrong.”
“You’re telling me you’re willing to go against Prasad’s will?” I ask but don’t risk waiting for an answer. “Any ideas? How do we prevent popping up inside a hurricane of bullets?”
“I did have an idea,” he says. “It’d been too unhinged to bring up, but like you said, things have changed.”
