“Look at you, little miss 007,” I snicker. “Turns out, you’re the traitorous spy they all thoughtIwas all along.”
He winks, then chuckles. “Spy team comin’ for ya.”
We giggle and high-five. Then I shake out my arms, exhaling a rough, nervous breath.
“Okay, wish me luck.”
Angel pats me on the shoulder. “Go get him.”
Yea, you too, little sparrow.
Now…
Once the initial shock wears off from hearing his voice again, after weeks of not hearing it—and it sounding likethat—my body kicks back into action, and I dive for the walkie on the floor.
It must have fallen off me when Reznikov kneed me in the nuts. For thesecondtime.
I’m just saying, the kid might have an actual death wish.
Although… given what was just happening in here, prior to The Ivory’s frantic call, I’d say the kid might be justified in acting out. He clearly has a lot more issues than I ever gave him credit for.
Even with the device in my hand, I’m still hesitating for an extra second or two. Maybe preparing myself for the strenuous act of speaking with him again—our last conversation was the night of the storm, when we took the prison.And we all remember how that went.
Maybe thinking of what to say that’ll make me sound like someone who’stotallywinningthis war, when in actuality, he’s tired, stressed, and hanging on by a goddamn thread.
Like aCharlie Sheen winning!MeetsNew phone, who dis?type response.
Or could it be the equally likely, though not something I would ever admit to anyone,ever, fact that I’m giving myself a couple of extra seconds topanic, because despite everything that’s happened in the last thirteen years—everything that lead to the fall of Alabaster Penitentiary, and what’s followed—he might still wield some form of control over me, however frayed and weakened over time.
But it’sthatthought which has my muscles stiffening in the purest wrath I’ve ever felt, as I clamp the button down and bark through a clenched jaw, “Took you long enough.”
The roar of his Rolls-Royce engine accompanies his voice. “I know… I know, okay? I’ve called my men off… so that we can talk.”
My gaze narrows, scanning over the faces looking back at me. All frozen solid, chatter finally having gone silent. You could hear a pin drop.
Well, that and the rumbling of his car speeding closer. He must be coming up the coast to the spot where sand meets trees.Barely a quarter-mile through the woods from Oscar’s Attic.
My eyes linger on Angel as I respond, “I have something of yours… What’s it worth to you?”
Tires screech. “Jonathan… please,” he’s out of breath, like he’s running. “Just… don’t hurt him. I’ll do whatever you want.”
I can feel my own eyes trying to leap out of my fucking head, the same way that damn-near everyone else’s currently are at the sheerinsanityof those words; such a plea, in such adesperatetone. Coming fromhim.
A bunch of shouting in Spanish comes from outside. And then I hear him.
“Retirarse!” He barks at his men, who must have followed him here, since they’d been retreating only moments ago, I’m guessing reluctantly, at his order.
“How close is he?” Peters calls to our nearest lookout.
“Ten yards, due west,” Linetti responds. “Velle, I’ve got a clean shot…”
“Stand the fuck down! Jesus…” I bark, rubbing my eyes. “Let him through.”
I take a moment to look to my partners. Unfortunately, they’re no help. Rook and Joy both appear just as mystified as I am right now.
This is the moment we’ve been fighting for…Weeksof active battle; blood and gunpowder and so much achingadrenaline,I’ve been subsisting on it more than the limited food and sleep we’ve all gotten.
Only for it to end likethis…
