Ronan: Ziva Payvan Book 3 (16 page)

“So you demanded I come over here in the middle of the night?”

Unless she was mistaken, Ziva saw something that might have been fear flash through her mother’s eyes, but with as good as Namani was at hiding her emotions, it was impossible to tell. They’d always been too much alike, both hurting but unwilling to give in to each other. Ziva knew good and well why she’d been called here: Namani was afraid of dying. She would never admit that, of course, and Ziva would never admit the thought scared her a bit too, now that she thought about it.

“You really haven’t changed, have you?” her mother said.

“Neither have you.”

“Ziva, I’m going to die. Doesn’t that bother you at all?”

Jada let out a small whimper and rushed away.

“You can’t expect me to suddenly start caring after all this time,” Ziva replied, her voice hardly more than a whisper. The words hadn’t come out with as much ease as she’d hoped. Aroska had been right – she may have spent most of her life loathing these people, but they were still family.

She wasn’t entirely sure which one of them was more at fault when it came to the breakdown in their relationship. After the War, her mother had dealt with her grief by moving on and starting a new life as quickly as possible. Ziva had dealt with hers by running away to escape the pain, then subsequently throwing herself into her training with Gamon. Neither agreed with the other’s method, especially since Ziva had been considered a missing child for a full year after escaping to Noro. They’d found her and brought her back to Haphor only to have her run off again. The pattern had continued for another two years, but once the twins were born, Namani had given up trying to make her stay in the Royal City. They both continued to distance themselves, and neither one of them was willing to admit they were wrong.

“I know you’ve got work to do, so I’ll make this fast.” Namani reached out and took her by the hand, and somehow Ziva managed to avoid pulling away. “Put an end to this, okay? You’re strong.” She hesitated for a moment before adding a sharp nod. “Your father would be proud of you.”

Would he be? Enough time had passed that it was growing increasingly difficult to remember him. Ziva had only been six years old when he’d been killed, but one thing she did remember was his kind spirit and the utter selflessness with which he lived his life. That’s what had gotten him killed after all: sacrificing his own life to save the Royal General, the very man her mother had ended up marrying. Somehow Ziva couldn’t imagine Kalim Payvan approving of the way she constantly bent the rules, the way she could kill without hesitation, the way she regarded everyone she met with such apathy. But those things were all necessary in order to function in her line of work, practically requirements. No, she decided, her father would most definitely
not
be proud of who she had become.

She realized she’d given Namani’s hand a squeeze only after the fact and quickly loosened her grip. “I will,” she answered, turning her attention back to the crowd to locate Kade. He approached when he saw her looking and she broke away from her mother to meet him by the front door. “I heard you have someone in custody.”

He nodded and beckoned for her to follow. “I’m sorry about your family,” he murmured, leading her downstairs toward the safe room.

“Don’t feel sorry for me,” Ziva said. “This house…these people…they’ve caused me a lot of pain over the years.”

Don’t forget all the pain
you’ve
caused
them.

They entered the security room that served as a foyer for the emergency bunker below the house. Several RG agents were gathered around the control board listening to a man who must have been the Jaroons’ Captain of the Guard, fresh out of quarantine. He gestured toward one of the small security offices across the room as he recounted his story, and Ziva caught sight of Luko Zona standing inside. The two agents guarding the door moved aside as she and Kade approached.

Ziva leaned into the room and found Zona staring down at a young man who had been seated haphazardly at an empty desk. His jaw was set and he slouched with one leg extended in front of him. Yet another RG agent stood behind him, maintaining a firm grip on his shoulder. Ziva could smell blood from the gunshot wound but no disinfectant; they’d only patched up his leg well enough to keep him from bleeding out during interrogation. Upon further consideration, she couldn’t smell
anything
other than the blood. The man appeared human, but he wasn’t giving off that odd sour scent most humans did. Judging by the high-quality stealth suit he sported, she guessed he’d been well-equipped to infiltrate their culture and wore some sort of odor-masking spray.

Zona threw a quick glance her way then did a double-take and gave her a nod of approval. She sent him a look that she hoped did an adequate job of thanking him for submitting evidence for her trial, and he managed a faint smile that said
you’re welcome
.

“Captain Payvan,” he said, stepping aside to give her more space in front of the desk. “Perhaps you’d like to have a go at our new friend here.”

It was a petty thing, but finally meeting someone high enough in the chain of command to acknowledge her new rank was a bit of a relief. According to Emeri, Zona’s supervisory position within the Royal Guard had also earned him a spot on the initial list of people who were briefed about the nostium and Ronan’s connection with the Resistance. Ziva was glad he was there.

“Who do we have here?” she said, crossing her arms as she studied the man in the chair. It was always hard to tell how old the humans were; perhaps he was in his mid-twenties. He had dark hair and tanned skin, but his eyes were a pale blue. A patch of his suit had been cut away from his shoulder, no doubt where this suicide pill had been stashed.

“Won’t give us a name,” Zona answered. “Won’t tell us who he’s working for, either, but it’s a safe bet he’s a Resistance agent.”

Unless it was Ziva’s imagination, the man tensed a bit at the mention of the rebel organization. It was difficult to tell for sure thanks to the periodic grimaces he made in response to the pain, but something in his eyes told her he was interested in what Zona had just said…and not in a good way.

“Does he have a way to contact his people?” she asked.

“No communication devices were found on his person. He’s been scanned for implants, too, and we came up with nothing. This was a dark mission.”

Based on the agent’s reaction to Zona’s words, the Resistance likely had no idea the Haphezians knew they were behind these attacks. He seemed surprised to hear them talk about it, and he had good reason to be. After all, the government only knew what it knew because Ziva had told them, however indirectly. The fact that he’d been carrying and willing to take a suicide pill told her he hadn’t wanted to risk capture, which meant Ronan and the Resistance were trying to keep their presence under wraps. The existence of the Resistance as a whole was no secret, but the fact that nobody – including the Federation – had even heard of Ronan until a few short months ago made her wonder exactly what kind of clandestine operation this person was running.

If her theory was correct and the Resistance didn’t realize the Haphezians knew they were involved, she imagined HSP and the rest of the government should attempt to keep that information secret for as long as possible. She agreed with Aura’s suggestion to not let the media into the loop, and she was glad this agent had no means of contacting his people. Considering the way Ronan had reacted when Kat was investigating Corey’s captivity, she couldn’t imagine the Resistance would take kindly to the entire Haphezian civilization knowing what they were up to.

Unsure how many of Zona’s people knew the gas was nostium, Ziva opted to err on the side of caution before proceeding and dismissed the guard with a jerk of her head. She shut the door behind him and turned to survey all the items in the room. Zona had retreated to the corner and stood in front of a table upon which all the former contents of the desk had been piled. One of those items was a comm receiver that looked like it belonged on one of the consoles outside. She picked it up and looked it over for a moment before hurling it as hard as she could toward the Resistance agent’s head.

Just as she’d expected, it came within centimeters of hitting him in the face before veering off in another direction, propelled by what could only be Nostia. Even with the way he was slumped in the chair, there’d been something about the way he held his head and shoulders that reminded her of the way she’d carried herself in her teens – and had carried herself for the past several days, now that she thought about it. Something about that tingle at the base of the skull prompted a person to hold their neck a little straighter, regardless of where you were or what you were doing.

The agent’s eyes widened as he realized what he’d done and he looked up to meet her gaze. Deflecting objects was one of the most basic skills she’d ever been taught, and after a time it had become a simple reflex, something she did without really thinking. If she hadn’t been forced to keep her abilities secret and go years without a real nostium infusion, it would have been a skill she’d have used on a daily basis. Breaking the habit after Gamon’s death had been harder than she’d anticipated. The fact that this agent’s first reaction had been to deflect the comm receiver told her two things. One, he had received a successful nostium infusion at some point in the not-too-distant past, and it hadn’t had any lasting negative side effects. Two, he’d been properly trained as a Nosti, and if his instincts were still so sharp, it had probably been recently.

Zona had drawn his service pistol and stared the man down over the barrel. Ziva had half a mind to draw her own weapon and shoot the agent then and there, but he represented an opportunity that needed to be taken advantage of. “I hope you’ve got a good grip on that gun, Special Agent Zona,” she said, moving around to the other side of the desk to keep a better eye on the Resistance fighter’s hands. “This man needs to be properly secured. Get a restraining block in here, now!”

Zona went to the door and relayed her instructions to the men outside while she stepped behind the agent and seized him by the shoulder, digging her fingers into the space above his collar bone. It was unnerving to think he was capable of attacking anyone in the vicinity without moving from the chair. If he’d been so intent on taking a suicide pill, she wondered why he hadn’t just used his Nostia to grab someone’s gun; it would have been a surefire way to earn a bullet or plasma bolt between the eyes. She assumed the only reason he hadn’t done such a thing was fear of revealing he was a Nosti and thus who he was working for. He’d exposed himself by unconsciously deflecting the comm receiver, and now that he knew
they
knew who he was, she thought it reasonable to once again consider him a suicide risk.

“I know exactly what you’re capable of,” she hissed in Standard, leaning down to whisper in his ear. “I’d threaten to kill you, but I’m sure that’s exactly what you want. So how about this: you move a muscle, and I shoot your other leg. We’re going to do everything we can to keep you
alive
until you tell us how to find Ronan.”

She felt him tense up at the mention of the Resistance leader’s name and he swallowed. “You people have no chance,” he muttered. He turned his head to address her, watching her in his peripherals. “So, you’re Ziva Payvan.”

Without hesitation, she drew her pistol and brought the butt of it down hard against the back of his head. He fell forward with his face resting against the desk, a trickle of blood running from his hair and down his neck.

Ziva stood there motionless for a moment, willing her pulse to slow as she attempted to process all the new information that had presented itself over the past several minutes. This man was a Nosti; there was no doubt about it. That meant the Resistance had to have an effective nostium formula, one that had been working for a reasonable amount of time. Why, then, was the gas having such an adverse effect on everyone who came in cont—

She stopped when it dawned on her. Kat, Corey, the GA soldiers, her family…all the victims they knew of were Haphezian. This agent – a human – was unaffected. Jada – a human – was unaffected. These experimental nostium formulas were tailored specifically to Haphezians. But why?

On top of that, this man knew her name, which meant others in the Resistance did as well. It made sense when she thought about it. Gamon had clearly been in contact with other Resistance survivors throughout the course of her training, albeit unbeknownst to her until that fateful day when she’d finally killed him. They’d been waiting for him to bring her to them. She wondered for a moment if she was the true target in all of this, and the thought tied a sickening knot in her stomach.

This all registered with her in a split second and she looked up as Zona returned to the room carrying a restraining block. He didn’t even ask her what had happened as he began fitting the device over the unconscious agent’s hands, rendering them immobile. It wouldn’t stop the man from using his mind to move or throw objects, but at least he wouldn’t be able to hold said objects.

“I want him transported back to Noro Headquarters with me,” she said. “We should have his brain scanned and see how the results compare with the soldiers.”
And my family
.

She had to admit she was surprised when Zona nodded; the Royal Guard had always had a reputation of being so egotistical when it came to jurisdiction and any matters pertaining to royal families. “Good idea,” he said. He glanced briefly toward the door and lowered his voice. “How did you know he would do that?”