Back when I thought she was Charlotte Stapleton, when I thought she was recruiting me for a private expedition to Gaia, this woman and I spent hours in London cafés, talking about the importance of exploration. Of discovery. Of what can be achieved when we think beyond the immediate, and seek out ways to exceed ourselves. I saw in her a kindred spirit then, a mind as devoted to understanding our universe as my own.
But as Mink, as the head of the covert IA operation that tracked me to the heart of the Undying temple … she manipulated me from moment one, perfectly willing to let me die in the process of trying to unravel the Undying’s mysteries and extract the ancient ship from the Gaian ice cap. Mia and I watched as she shot an expendable operative in the head.
I worked until my eyes nearly gave out to get the ancient ship operational while she held a gun to Mia’s temple. She stood unmoved as we pleaded with her to listen to us, to believe us when we told her that the ship was dangerous and that the future of our entire planet could very well hang in the balance if she went ahead with her plan to send the ship through the portal back to Earth.
But she did it anyway. I couldn’t get her to listen to me then.
“Mink, we have to talk.” It’s an instant before I realize the voice raised over the sound of the motor is mine.
Her gaze swings around, glacial. “We really don’t,” she says simply.
“Well, then I’ll talk, you listen,” I say, lifting my zip-tied hands in supplication. “You’re not incompetent—youknowthe two we had with us in Catalonia weren’t scavvers you hired. You know they came from somewhere else.”
Mia leans in to rest her shoulder against mine in support, and raises her voice too. “Youhaveto believe us. What we saw in Lyon? Just the beginning.”
Mink’s gaze is flat, and completely unmoved. She studies first me and then Mia, ignoring Neal—the boy she spent hours with, pretending to hire him to convince me her company was real—and ignoring the soldier who sits clutching his rifle beside her.
“Think of the consequences,” I urge. “If we’re right and nobody listens, we could be wiped out. If we’re wrong, what do you lose by looking into it?”
“Mr. Addison.” My hopes shrivel and die under the weight of that tone. “Let me be clear. My IA status has been suspended. Director De Luca is under the impression I was involved in your escape in Catalonia a few days ago. My only way back into the fold is with the two of you in my custody.”
“Does that include me?” Neal asks, all charm, with no hint of the anger he must feel for this woman. He wasn’t on the poster. Perhaps he can still get to my father somehow. “You can just forget about me if you like. I mean, usually I’m the popular cousin, but—”
“Enough,” she snaps.
“Can you at least take a message to my dad?” I’m pleading now, my voice cracking. Even if nobody listens to us, perhaps when they finally realize we were right, he can do something. “Tell him to finish his work on closing down the portals. Tell him that’s what he’ll need to do.”
“Mr. Addison,” she snaps. The soldier at her side shifts his grip on the gun, responding to her tone. But Mink glances at the guard, as if she’s about ready to take the soldier’s gun and sort me out herself. “Be silent.”
And so we all are. I’m exhausted, and my eyes are hot and aching, and beside me Mia’s slumped, her head in her tightly bound hands.
Slowly, eventually, the trees sliding by outside the truck give way to the outer suburbs of the city, and then to the city itself. Prague is a mish-mash of historical buildings with cobblestone streets, and sleek, modern construction.
Almost at walking pace, the truck begins to climb a hill. Neal’s the closest to the back, and he’s looking out, watching the streets go by. I can see the tension in his body—we’ve played sports together for years, and I know when he’s considering a move. But he can’t, not with the armed soldier right there, and Mink’s gun at her hip.
We edge past a pair of black wrought iron gates, the curls of metal ornamented with gilded highlights, and pull in to the side of the road, the engine shifting tone as the driver sets it to idle. Beyond the gates is a large courtyard, teeming with guards in IA uniform, and a long, snaking line of what I realize are tourists waiting for admission. On the far side of the courtyard is an ornate, U-shaped building several stories high, bordering the courtyard on three sides.
It’s Prague Castle—International Alliance Headquarters—a sprawling complex made up of old and new, public and deeply classified. The place from which the IA sets the course of humanity—or used to, when they had the full support of the entire world behind them.
The driver climbs out, and Mink leaves her place opposite me to jump down from the back of the truck. She turns to meet our eyes one by one, her hand resting on the pistol at her hip.
“Stay here,” she says, fixing me with a long stare, before she moves on to Mia. “Are we clear?Stay here.”
And with that, she moves around to join the driver, and presumably argue with the gate guards about her ID, or let them know who she’s bringing in.
Mia, however, is staring straight past me, out at the crowds. “Wow, there’s a lot of tourists here,” she says suddenly.
I blink, but follow her gaze, looking out to the milling throng making their way along the streets. “Yes,” I agree, bewildered, but waiting to see where she’s taking it.
“You could really get lost here,” she says, leaning forward to get a look past me. “I can barely see half a block.”
Ah.And there it is. I’m about to fall headfirst into one of Mia’s on-the-spot plans.
In fairness, they work far more often than I expect them to.
And our alternative is a cell.
“You’re right,” I say, nudging Neal with my foot. “Talk about busy.”
