Jules’s hand grabs for mine and squeezes. Somehow, I recognize from his grip what he wants to do—and just now I’ve got no better ideas. If we run, there’s a chance we could make it past the parked cars on the other side of the crossing, and down the embankment on the far side of the highway before anyone could organize a chase.
The officers have guns—but they wouldn’t fire on a couple of teenagers. Especially since it’s not like we’re wanted for murder or armed robbery. But then, I haven’t seen whatever wanted bulletin went out. I don’t know what the IA is saying about us. I don’tknow.
And seeing a line of IA uniformed officers, all with rifles slung over their backs, makes my legs feel weak and rubbery.
I squeeze back, holding for a while, and then release. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” I say aloud. For Jules, I squeeze his hand once, twice—I ready myself to run, and tighten my hand a third time.
“Hold your questions,” a crisp, authoritative voice calls. A woman in an IA Intelligence uniform strides past us. “I’ll take it from here.”
“Intelligence has no authority at border crossings,” protests the officer detaining Neal. “This is a directive from international security to detain and question those two.”
The woman retrieves Neal from the officer holding his arm. “Call De Luca’s office yourself if you want an explanation. But I outrank you, Officer, and I had breakfast with De Luca this morning, and I don’t owe you anything.”
Neal, baffled, stumbles along as the woman steers him toward us. I don’t blame him for his confusion—I’m confused myself, and Jules’s hand in mine has gone lax with shock.
The woman ushering Neal toward us, and gesturing for us to come with her, is Mink.
“LET’S GO,” MINK SAYS TIGHTLY, ANDMIA ANDIEXCHANGE Aglance that contains a whole conversation.
What’s she doing here?
I don’t know.
Can we trust her?
When have we ever been able to trust her?
Do we have a choice?
I don’t know.
As if sensing our doubts, Mink speaks in a low voice. “I said, let’s go. Unless you want a bullet in the back, you’ll shut up and come with me without making a fuss.”
My breath catches in my throat, my whole body responding to the threat.
I don’t doubt she’s capable of shooting us. We’ve seen her do it before, and she’s got a gun holstered at her waist.
Before I have a chance to reply, or even to think, the IA officials have caught up with us once more, all protesting volubly.
With an exasperated look at the crew of genuinely innocent civilians waiting for their own border-crossing inspection—all of whom are straining their ears to figure out what’s going on with this sudden burst of activity—she opens the door to the guardhouse and marches inside, all of us following her like a confused, terrified, and in some cases outraged, parade.
Mink points at what looks like the guards’ break room. “You three, in there.”The adults need to talkis the unspoken corollary to that.
We do as we’re told, and I leave the door carefully ajar so we can overhear the territorial dispute happening outside. I hover by the crack for a few moments, straining my ears.
A man’s voice is speaking, loud and strident. “With respect, ma’am, nobody is taking anybody anywhere until I’ve scanned your ID.”
Mia’s already on the far side of the room, and my eyes widen as I realize she’s stuffing the jacket of an IA uniform inside her backpack.
“What are you doing?” I hiss, despite the fact that the answer is bloody obvious.
“What I can,” she replies, shoving the fabric down and cinching the bag closed. “I don’t know what’s coming next, but let’s be ready as we can be.”
“There’s an ID in this locker,” Neal says, pulling out a card on a lanyard, and tossing it across the room to Mia, then closing the door of the locker beside him.
With a nod, she shoves it in her bag.
Deus, they’re two of a kind.
