Zhukov's Dogs (26 page)

I ran a hand over the bit of stubble I’d grown. The scratch of it put my skin on edge and roused the memory I’d been suppressing. Val’s cold fingers curled between mine. How they shook and how I held them tight, silently trying to assure him everything would be okay, even when I knew it wouldn’t be.

What happened to Val? Did he make it out of the Oxford District? What had he been doing during the last eight hours while I slept? I imagined how he was probably sitting on the porch, taking a long drag from his hundredth cigarette and tapping his fingers against his ribs. Waiting for me to come back.

A deep breath became a low growl. I scowled at my reflection, appalled at my foolish sentimentality. I was Lieutenant Colonel Nik Zhukov. There was no reason to think about Val anymore. The mission was over. It was time to stop thinking about my targets.

Governor Granne’s Estate—Seattle, WA
Tuesday, November 17th, 2076—8:00 p.m.

hen I came out of the bathroom, there was a three-piece suit laid on the bed. An elephant would have been just as out of place in the underground as the expensive getup. It fit too well to be one of Tristan’s, and I suspected the governor, known for his lavish spending, had it made specifically for me. A quick once-over in the mirror reminded me why I hated suits; everything about them screamed espionage.

I found the governor’s wife waiting in the hall. She curtseyed so low; I nearly mistook the movement as her fainting. Her attire was more extravagant than my own. The purple gown shimmered as though it was made entirely of glitter, and it hurt my eyes to look at when it caught the light. With a pound of makeup on her plump face and tight red curls caked in hairspray, she looked like a big, porcelain doll.

“Such a pleasure to finally meet you, Lieutenant Colonel,” she said when she rose from her curtsey.

“Likewise, Mrs. Granne,” I replied.

“Please, call me Ramona.”

I extended my arm and offered to escort her to dinner. She prattled away about how delighted she was to have me staying in her home, how she admired how much I’d accomplished at my age, how she’d been looking forward to meeting me, and on and on.

Occasionally, I would nod or offer a humble chuckle to indulge her, but my heart wasn’t in it. After the day I’d had, the last thing I wanted was to be social. As we sat down to eat at the long table, though, I realized it was going to be more of a press conference than a meal.

So, how are things in D.C.? Is this your first time out west? Did it take you long to find those silly revolutionaries? You look thin; have they been keeping you fed? Does your injury hurt? Would you like more morphine? Was that the first time you’ve been shot? What about the other times? How long have you been doing this?

They were relentless. I’d managed to get in three mouthfuls of food in the course of fifteen minutes. At least I didn’t have much of an appetite; a shame, since everything looked delicious. I got a break from the questioning when Ramona struck up a conversation with her husband about the whereabouts of their dog. I raked my fork through a scoop of couscous on my plate, tuning out their words and letting out a small yawn.

As I let my focus slip from their conversation, I became aware of how intently Tristan stared at me from across the table. He seemed far more interested in me than his dinner. “What’s wrong with your eyes?” he asked.

“Tristan,” scolded his mother.

Tristan didn’t mind her, and I didn’t mind his question. It had been a while since anyone asked me about them, and I was proud of my mutation.

“Born this way,” I told him.

“Fascinating,” Tristan said. “Don’t you worry someone might recognize you?”

“I have a contact I wear so they’re both the same color.”

“Well, where is it?”

“I took it out before dinner.”

Tristan leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table. He folded his hands under his chin and grinned. “So, you’re saying nobody down here, present company excluded, knows who you really are?”

He’s going to tell him
. The morphine in my veins was replaced with chilling dread, and my mind rushed into damage-control mode. Would Val listen to him? Would the revolutionaries even let Tristan anywhere near the house? Would I have to dive across the table and silence him with a fork to prevent the truth from coming out?

“Nobody,” I said, keeping my tone even. I would not let a brat like him think he could get away with intimidating me. “And it’s best if it stays that way. Blowing the cover on an undercover operation, like this one, would result in a very, very bad situation.”

“For you?” he asked.

I dropped my voice and leaned forward a bit so Tristan understood I was speaking directly to him. “Yes, but it wouldn’t be nearly as bad for me as it would for whoever was responsible for the slip.”

“Are you—?”

“Tristan, hush and eat your vegetables,” Ramona interrupted with a huff. Unfortunately, the next thing out of her mouth was almost as bad as Tristan’s veiled threat. She placed a hand on her husband’s arm and smiled at me as she said, “We think it’s incredible what you do, Lieutenant Colonel. So young and yet so gallant in serving our nation. You know, Charles and I were even thinking we should send Tristan back with you.”

I reached for my glass of wine. Normally, I didn’t enjoy drinking, but if I was going to make it through dinner, it would be necessary. I took a long, bitter swig as the governor added his two-cents.

“Yes, we talked it over as a family and decided it would be good to get him out in the world. Put some hair on his chest. How better to do that than through the S.O.R.? Bit old for the Y.I.D., don’t you think?”

“Well…” I began, not at all sure where to go from there.

Fortunately, Ramona was happy to chime in again. Her eyes glossed, and she sighed dreamily. “Can you imagine? My son, serving his country.”

“Aw, Mom.” Tristan chuckled. He sneered at me from across the table, like he knew how much the conversation irritated me.

I took another drink, hoping it would help with putting together a delicate rejection. “It’s very difficult to get into the S.O.R. If he’s serious about serving, then he should apply first and work up through the General Field.”

Governor Granne responded with a booming laugh. He waved his hand dismissively and said, “No, no. He belongs in the S.O.R. I was just telling Brigadier McKee so the other day. He said he was welcome to apply. I said I’d send him with an application and a generous donation.”

“What do you think? Wouldn’t he make a fine soldier?” Ramona beamed.

Unbelievable. They were really going to send him back with me. They were going to send their spoiled, soft-handed son to D.C., thinking he would become a dog in the S.O.R. with no work at all after I’d spent my entire life fighting to get there. Any desire to let them down tactfully vanished. Pandering to this delusional family’s idea that Tristan Granne could ever fill my shoes was something I couldn’t do.

“No.”

Ramona gasped. It sounded like Tristan knocked something over, but my focus was on the fidgeting governor. He looked positively dumbstruck, and I’d only begun.

“The S.O.R. is for the best of the best,” I continued. “People can work for their entire lives and never get in.”

“He’s a fast learner,” the governor insisted.

“Yeah,” Tristan added, slamming his fist on the table. I glanced at him. He’d puffed himself up to try and look bigger, tougher, and fit for duty. To me, he just looked like some kind of deranged bird.

I scoffed and rolled my eyes. “Good. Then you can start in the G.F., and maybe in ten years, you’ll make the cut.”

The governor’s face went beet red, and he opened his mouth, bringing a hand up to point a finger at me. Ramona smacked his hand immediately. Her eyes locked on her plate as though she didn’t know where it was safe to look anymore.

“Charles, that’s enough! We shouldn’t be making light of what he does,” she piped. The governor silenced, and his wife looked up at me, cheeks red even as she tried to smile and not let her embarrassment show. “I am so sorry, Lieutenant Colonel. That was very rude of us.”

The rest of the meal went by with tense bits of awkward conversation. Ramona tried her best to lighten the mood. I felt bad for the poor woman struggling to keep the failing dinner party together, and for her sake alone, I relaxed into the setting. Finishing my second glass of wine helped, too. By dessert, we were getting along again, and nobody mentioned anything else about Tristan going to D.C.

“So, do you think you’ll be staying with us for the remainder of your visit?” the governor asked.

He didn’t know I was supposed to leave tomorrow. Not even the governor knew the city was coming down. The thought made the chocolate cake hard to stomach. I couldn’t tell them what was going on, though; it wasn’t my place to disclose that sort of information.

“I think it would be better if I went back to collect more data,” I lied. “Not like I’m going to get a lot on those revolutionaries if I’m sitting here eating cake.”

“But you’re wounded,” Ramona said.

“I’ll heal quickly. Dogs are given daily boosts of amino acids, protein, and half a dozen different vitamins. I should be pretty much back to normal in two or three days.”

The ugly, little-known truth startled them. To avoid their shocked stares, I stuffed another bite of cake into my mouth. Ramona laughed nervously and changed the subject. “Well, did you learn anything interesting? About that group I mean.”

“Brigadier McKee hasn’t sent you the reports?” I asked. That seemed strange. What was the point in having me here if he didn’t report back to our sponsor?

“He says he’ll send the full reports when the mission is over,” the governor said. “What can you tell us? If you don’t mind, please share what you’ve learned.”

“They aren’t any real threat,” I replied, hoping that would satisfy them. The governor and his wife looked anxious to hear more. Tristan looked even more haughty than usual. My wine glass looked empty.

“Okay… Well, um, there’s a bunch of them. They’re spread out in different bases around the city, and I spent my time at the main one.” I avoided mentioning the actual address of the base and skipped straight to its inhabitants. “There were seven of us living there, not including the kids.”

“Kids?” Ramona interjected.

“Yeah, there were three of them. One of the girls kind of adopted them.”

Ramona shook her head disapprovingly. “Children can’t take care of children.”

“They’re a responsible group, actually. Between Fritzi and Tibbs alone, the brats had as good a family as any.” I chuckled. “They all look out for each other over there…”

The more I thought about it, the more I missed it. The strange smell of damp clothes, dusty surfaces, and Fritzi’s cooking. The sound of Tibbs roaring and chasing after the three tots, followed by loud crashes as one of them broke something in the parlor. Benji showing off an old magic trick to impress Michael and Finn in the foyer. Jayne grumbling as he watched them from a rickety chair the dining room, while Anya and Gemma gossiped at the opposite end in a fit of giggles. Val sitting on the porch, smoking a cigarette and waiting for me to come back.

“I probably shouldn’t tell you any more. Technically, I’m not supposed to relay anything unless Brigadier McKee gives the okay” I said, biting back the lump in my throat. It was a bold lie, considering the contact the governor had been keeping with Aiden.