“You need sustenance,” Malee said, hearing the sound.“The meal will be ready soon.Then, sleep.We must plan how to keep you safe in case the Americans want to tie up loose ends.”
“My father will protect me.”Sophie finished her tea and set down the cup.“They’ve done enough.Blowing away the entire Yam Khûmk?n.Speaking of—I have to let him know I’m okay.”Sophie took out her satellite phone.She made quick calls to both Ambassador Frank Smithson and Armita, letting them know she was safe and making her way home.
Soon Ema brought out a tray loaded with savory stir-fry and a big bowl of rice.Feirn joined them; they ate companionably around the low table, Malee with the tray across her knees.
Sophie wanted to stay awake, but now that her stomach was full, exhaustion was pulling her under like river current.The room had taken on a dreamlike quality—dust motes dancing in shafts of light, the wooden walls expanding and contracting with each gust of wind, the distant bells marking a sort of minute-by-minute eternity.
“There are clothes in the guest room,” Malee said.“Your mother’s, from when she stayed here.You’re taller, but otherwise close to the same size.”
“Thank you, Auntie, I’ll?—”
The front door opened without warning, flying back to hit the wall with a bang.
Sophie’s body reacted before her mind did.She rolled sideways, her hand reaching for a weapon she wasn’t wearing.She took cover behind a large ornamental vase, peering out to assess the threat as Feirn reached for the gun at his hip.Before he could get it free, the silenced shot of a weapon rang out with a muffled spit.The young man dropped his weapon, falling backward to the floor.Ema screamed, throwing her apron over her head as if it would protect her.
Pim Wat Smithson stood in the doorway, dramatic as a figure from a shadow play.Her mother wore tight black leather and tall shiny boots that probably cost more than a new car.Her hair was a short, spiky platinum, and its cut emphasized the architectural perfection of her face.She wore no jewelry but a single jade bangle on her left wrist—the one that concealed a garrote wire, if the CIA’s reports were true.
“Sister.”Malee’s voice was flat.“You always did like to make an entrance.At least we finished our meal before you ruined it.”
Sophie was frozen, unable to react or respond.Her mother had come to kill her at last.She’d probably kill everyone here—and what about Armita and the children?She had to do something!
Feirn groaned.Blood bloomed on the shoulder of his weapon arm.
Pim Wat lifted her weapon and shot him again, this time in the leg.
He screamed in agony.Ema screamed too.Sophie bit her lips to keep from crying out as well, thus giving away her location.
“Quiet, or I’ll put you out of your misery,” Pim Wat said to Ema.The only apparent change in her mother was that Pim Wat’s voice was hoarse, unfamiliar.Maybe the torture Agent McDonald had promised to put her through had left a mark after all.
Sophie scanned for something, anything, to use to defend them; but couldn’t see anything nearby effective enough.Her mother wasn’t just deadly with a gun, and right now Sophie was too far away to intervene without a weapon.
Pim Wat moved into the room with an assassin’s grace, inclining her head to Malee seated in her wheelchair.“Malee.Sister.You’re looking crippled, as usual.”Pim Wat then turned her beautiful brown eyes—Sophie’s eyes—to her daughter, hiding in her fragile, cowardly spot behind the urn.“Hello, Sophie.I heard you were in the country.Thought I’d drop in for a visit with family.”
Sophie found her voice.“I was looking for you, too.”
“You came to support Connor, you mean.”Pim Wat settled onto a chaise with fluid dignity, her weapon now pointed at Sophie.“Foolish girl.Always leading with the heart.”Her expression didn’t change, but something flickered in her eyes.“It was fun watching him die.Worth everything to see that whole place burn.”
The cruelty of it—so casual, so precise—took Sophie’s breath away.
But before she could respond, Malee spoke.“Pim, please.The child just watched hundreds die.Including the man she?—”
“Why are you here?”Sophie interrupted.“To hurt your family more?”Rage rose in her chest like lava, extinguishing the shock and exhaustion that had muffled her responses.Her gaze found Feirn’s fallen pistol on the floor.One good lunge and maybe she could get it in time ...
“I’m here to take over.There’s a hole in the ground and in the markets where the Yam Khûmk?n used to be.Room for a new organization to rise; one with me as its Master.”Pim Wat picked up Feirn’s abandoned teacup and sipped.“The CIA wiped the fortress and everyone in it off the face of the earth.They announced they’re done with subtlety.And they work for me now.”She set down the cup with a soft click.She smiled.“They’ve given mecarte blancheto rebuild the organization as I see fit.”
“What?”Sophie stuttered.
“I made a deal, you see.Intelligence so they could do their worst in a targeted strike.In return, they gave me my freedom—and more.”Pim Wat leaned forward, and through some trick of the air, Sophie smelled gunpowder and her mother’s expensive perfume.“The question is: are you your father’s daughter, content to pine and die for love?Or are you mine, ready to make the CIA pay for every drop of blood spilled?”
Outside, a street vendor’s bell announced the evening food carts making their rounds.Through the windows, the Ping River gleamed like hammered bronze in the dying light.A mynah bird squawked.
Sophie stared at her mother—the woman who shaped her worst nightmares.
She had to find a way to get closer to the weapon.Any weapon.Move Pim Wat somewhere further away from the vulnerable hostages in the room.
“What did you have in mind?”Sophie felt something cold and patient wake where her heart used to be.She stood slowly, and stepped out from cover to stand tall, her hands loose at her sides.“I’m all ears, as the Americans say.”
Pim Wat’s smile widened; for the first time Sophie could remember, she saw approval in her mother’s eyes.“You’re finally asking the right questions, daughter.”
