Anabelle doesn’t say anything, but I can feel her eyes on me as I leave the kitchen. I catch Jack’s eye one last time before closing the door between us to give Dan and me the illusion of privacy. Jack looks back at me, dipping his head in a quick nod that hopefully signifies his faith in me.
Dan is sitting on a pale-blue sofa, the material rough and worn. It’s probably uncomfortable, but Dan is settled into it, resting a bent elbow on the armrest, one booted foot raised and planted against the coffee table. He’s using that deceptively relaxed pose again, his entire body uncoiled like a rattlesnake bathing in the sun. I don’t trust it for a second. If he wanted to, be could spring across the coffee table and bite a hole out of my throat at lighting speed before I could even register the movement as an attack.
Dan watches me as I sit down next to him on the sofa, careful to keep the right amount of distance between us: not too far as to appear standoffish but not too close as to invade his personal space.
“You heard what they said?” I ask hopefully since this’ll go a lot quicker if I don’t have to explain.
Dan just goes right on staring at me, eyes wary but not discomforted, his mouth slanted awkwardly, like he’s forgotten how to smile. He keeps up the obdurate lack of response for a handful of seconds before he finally inclines his head without a word.
I steel myself, inhaling and exhaling slowly, forcing a casual air that I don’t feel. “Are you gonna tell me where the machine is, then?”
Dan’s eyes narrow ever so slightly, like a nocturnal predator who just spotted a prey animal scuttling out from its hiding place in the dark. “What do I get if I do?” He sounds belligerent where Jack would be sardonic. Earnestly asking as if we’re striking a deal he could actually count on being kept when it came time for reciprocation.
I lean back a little, skeptical about engaging in what could easily turn out to be a game. Dan might seem sincere, but he’s a trained liar, so I can’t count on that. “What do you want?”
Dan tracks my small retreat with no small amount of interest, and I feel bizarrely caught out by it, like I’ve either disappointed or impressed him, and I can’t for the life of me tell which.
“I don’t know yet,” Dan says. “I can’t tell what’s mine and what’s theirs. But I might know later.”
I raise my eyebrows, unsure whether to be incredulous or frustrated by the absurdity of his request. “You want me to promise something nebulous that you could want in the future? That sounds like a fucking awful idea.” I stop, appraising him dubiously for a moment. “Do you even know where the machine is?”
There’s another long pause, where Dan lets the silence hang purposefully. It’s a tactic to put me on edge so I’ll be more likely to jump at whatever he tells me, relieved just to get any sort of response at all. I imagine that works out great for him with most agents who interview or interrogate him. No one’s as patient as they want to be, no matter how well trained they are.
“Yeah, maybe,” he says eventually, and I resist the urge to smack him with a pillow.
I let a tiny expulsion of air out through the small gap between my lips, almost a sigh but softer, less confrontational.
“Are you still working for OI right now?” I try to sound neutral so as not to spark any kind of defensiveness in Dan.
Turns out the Roth brothers don’t need tinder or gasoline to start a fire. Just a lighter and some enthusiasm for being bloody pissed off at the world and everything in it.
“How the fuck would I know that?” Dan growls at me, like I’m idiot for even asking, which is probably fair since it was a pretty stupid question. Howwouldhe know? OI has messed with his head so much it’s a wonder he even knows his own name.
“Yeah, okay,” I concede. “Tell me where you think the machine is, and I’ll … I dunno, promise to give you what you might want one day. Because that makes sense.” I don’t bother to hide how ridiculous I think that is, which seems extremely amusing to Dan, so at least one of us is getting something out of this interaction.
“Deal,” he says, and it’s just on the right side of caustic. His eyes dart to my hands. “We won’t shake on it, though.” He jerks his chin at the door. “Jack’ll get all jealous if I touch you again, and I could do without the headache.”
I scoff at him and chide, “Don’t be annoying.” He knows full well Jack can hear him from the other side of that door.
Dan flashes me a quick, sharp-toothed grin, like a wolf in a fairy tale, and this time I give in to the urge to sigh.
Dan gives me the location of the machine, and an hour later, I’m sitting in a car with Jack and Dan, speeding off down the road after the others in their designated vehicles as we head toward what Rex quite rightly pointed out could be another trap.
Anabelle didn’t need as much convincing as I thought she would to trust Dan’s new intel although I guess we’re at the point now where every decision is a veritable coin toss anyway. She divided us into teams, giving the Roth brothers to me like she was handing over a bag of feral badgers that she found in the bins out back.
To say the atmosphere in the car is tense would be a severe understatement. I sit up front with Jack, and Dan stays sprawled across the back seat. It’s a silent journey to the airport, where Anabelle called ahead to have a small plane waiting to take us to the Scottish Highlands. Apparently, Ian Stone set up OI’s machine inside an abandoned, crumbling castle, of all things. Never let it be said that both the Roth twins and Rohan came by their flair for the dramatic dishonestly.
To be fair to Jack and Dan, none of us talk much outside of reaffirming our plan, which is mostly just “find the machine and blow it the fuck up.” We’ve taken explosives with us as well as every weapon we could strap to ourselves. Dan didn’t know much about any defenses for the machine, but it’s safe to assume it’ll be well guarded at the very least.
When we drop down into Scotland, I catch Jack’s eye from where he’s sitting across the aisle, in one of the private plane’s large brown chairs that more closely resemble love seats than the typical closely packed plane seats. He jerks his head once, nodding at me like we’re soldiers about to go over the top and risk a spray of enemy fire. He doesn’t ask if I’m ready, because it doesn’t matter. I nod back at him.
Ready or not, the fight for humanity’s future is officially on.
Past
Rohan
After that last mission, Snow pulls me off active duty. I’d snarl at her about it, but I don’t actually mind too much. Staying on the FISA base, with completely free access to their labs, gives me time to work on a project I got the idea for after Guardian was shot. More accurately, it reminded me of a project I started and abandoned years ago when I realised the implications of it. There were some lines I drew for myself, even when I worked for OI. I didn’t want them getting their hands on something too potentially game changing.
