Danny's jaw actually dropped as an announcer he didn't recognize said, "In a related story, we now take you live to a press conference with House Minority Leader Nancy Pelosi, for reaction to recent revelations concerning the secret prison facility maintained by the United States government in Virginia—"
"Fuck, Nikki," he breathed into the phone. "I gotta go. I gotta call Chaz up right the fuck now and tell him to get his ass to fucking Croatia."
There was a banging on the other end of the line, the sound of a door slamming open. An angry voice Danny recognized as that of Victor Celentano.
"I'm sorry, Danny. I didn't hear you," Nikki said. "I've got to run. Get well soon."
*
Charles Travis Villette got up out of his chair. He unclipped the microphone from his collar. He said
thank you
to the techs and the sound girl and the makeup guy and the World Famous Television Personality. He wiped the pancake makeup off his face with cold cream, fighting back a stabbing memory of three dead women brought on by the scent.
His phone, silenced, buzzed against his hip. A text message from Gray Putnam, which meant from Danny.
He glanced at it anyway, even though he already knew.
As he walked out the door, eight FBI agents—Pete Pauley, Lisa Marshall, Gordon Francis, Marion Hastings, Stanley Murchison, Arthur Tan, Victor Celentano, and a green-faced Nicolette Lau—were walking in.
Murchison actually brushed his sleeve. He had to stop himself from reaching out and pushing Lau's hair off her cheek.
Not one of them saw him leave.
He turned and watched them out of sight, into the building. He held his breath, then made himself let it out again. He had to breathe. It would be all right, he told himself. Breathing came first. He just had to remember to breathe.
*
The old world is dying away, and the new world struggles to come forth: now is the time of monsters.
—Antonio Gramsci
"Hey, Steve."
The voice was familiar. It wasn't one that had ever before called him "Steve."
"Hey," Reyes said. "How are you?"
"Good." A strained laugh. "Well. As good as I could be. Warm and fed and usefully employed. Lonely. Sad."
"Me too," said Reyes. "You saw Duke's book hit the
Times
list?"
"I saw he finally got his Pulitzer."
Posthumously. His sister Sal had collected it for him, and given a thoroughly moving speech. Eloquence was not a limited resource in that family.
"Better," Reyes said, settling back into his chair. Autumn was on the carpet, building something improbable with her space Legos. He felt a knot ease inside. "Nikki's got a boyfriend."
"Boyfriend?!"
"Nice guy. Two kids. Hikes. They seem to get on. Danny's back at work as a civilian consultant. He and Gray tied the knot."
"In Rhode Island?"
"I baked them a cake. Your recipe."
"Good." The familiar voice caught. Snagged on gratitude or grief. Both. Other things too. "Good, that's good."
"Nikki says the job is easier now."
A sigh. "That's why I did it."
"Casey says so too. Suddenly, all sorts of people are coming forward. Most of it's nonsense. Some is useful."
"How's Dice?"
"Not bad. Night school. Suze is doing well too."
Another sigh. "Thank you."
"I knew you wouldn't ask."
A long hesitation, and then: "Nikki's not mad, is she?"
Reyes laughed softly into the phone. "Not that we talked about this, of course—but if we had, I'm confident she would have told me to tell you to stay safe, stay hid, be a smart, quick bunny, and if you ever need anything, you know where your old friends live."
"Did you just say... 'smart, quick bunny'?"
"Well, that's what
she
would have said. I'm pretty sure of it."
"Yeah," said the soft voice on the other end of the phone. "Me too. I'm pretty sure of that too."
Executive Producer:
Emma Bull
Co-Executive Producer:
Elizabeth Bear
Producer:
Sarah Monette
Art Director:
Amanda Downum
Technical Director:
Stephen Shipman
Cover Artist:
Kyle Cassidy
www.shadowunit.org