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Juneau knelt and dialed; it took way longer when you had to wait for the wheel to finish spinning to input the next number. But the sound quality was good as the call went through. Her mother picked up on the third ring; she sounded faintly out of breath. Maybe she’d been outside in the yard or sitting on the porch.
“Hi, Mom. It’s me.”
“Junie!” Nobody but Melva Bright ever called her that. Right now, she didn’t mind. “God, we’ve been so worried about you, ever since we heard about the quake. Your brother’s been calling all over Ecuador, trying to get news.”
“Jack?” she guessed. He was the lawyer, better suited to getting information out of people than Joseph, the surgeon.
“Who else? Where are you? Are you safe?”
“Honestly, I’m not sure.” That much was true. “I got a lift with some other survivors, and we’re making our way out of the country. I’ll come home as soon as I can. Things are . . . unbelievable here.”
“I can only imagine. But thank God you found a phone to let us know you’re all right.”
“I have to go. There are others waiting to use it. Give my love to Jack and Joe.”
“Of course, sweetheart.”
After she disconnected, she sat for long moments, holding the phone as if she’d lost her lifeline. Her mother’s voice lent the situation an illusion of normalcy, but clearly things weren’t. Taking a deep breath, she headed back to the others. She entered silently in accordance with Tanager’s gesture and propped herself against the wall. The other woman perched on the edge of a worktable, swinging her legs.
At first, she didn’t know why she had to be quiet, and then the laptop crackled. A ray of energy shot from it—and holy shit—she’d never seen anything like it, outside the movies. A small, holographic image appeared, glowing blue. Surely this was fake; this thing couldn’t actually talk. But the figure turned as if acclimating itself, and focused on Silas. It didn’t have features—didn’t look like any particular person—it was just an avatar.
“I see Tanager got you out.” The voice was unquestionably male, but it came out with electronic interference, different than a voice scrambler. This was a new thing altogether.
“I always get my man.” The blond woman grinned, showing straight, white teeth. She’d fit right in at clubs where Juneau had partied in college; everyone wore black and too much eyeliner. Leather and metal spikes, preferred attire.
“That’s why I sent you,” the hologram said to her and then added to Silas, “I imagine you have questions.”
“To say the least. Who are you? For that matter, who’s she?”
“I’m Mockingbird. You already know Tan. We don’t use real names, even in private, in case one of us is captured. We’re both part of a resistance movement, working covertly against the private organization that created us.”
Whoa. To be honest, Juneau hadn’t given full credit to the big guy’s story. He’d seemed to want to unload, and it seemed churlish to deny him that opportunity, even if she didn’t buy what he said. Although it was damned hard to explain what he could do otherwise, but her worldview didn’t allow for secret labs and Mengele-style human experiments. That was way darker than she’d wanted to believe. However, now she’d watched Tanager Jedi-mind-trick two men, using the power of her voice alone. In conjunction with Silas breaking people with his brain, she had to admit the evidence was compelling. The Chinese curse May you live in interesting times had come true with a vengeance. Shit didn’t get more interesting.
Which presented an interesting question. If they were a covert operation, what did they do with normals? A cold chill surged through her. She didn’t want to die for the uber-cliché of knowing too much. It might be her imagination, but Tanager watched her with greater than necessary focus, given she wasn’t doing anything.
Surely Silas wouldn’t let them hurt her. If he can stop it, a small voice said. If Tanager works her siren mojo on him, he may not be able to resist. Come to think of it, she’d only seen the ability work on men. Maybe it wouldn’t work on Juneau, and if so, she could defend herself. Die trying, anyway.
“And what do you want with me?” he asked.
“For you to come work for us.”
Silas laughed, but the sound faded as he realized nobody else shared his amusement. “You’re serious?”
“Deadly. We could use a warrior to help us take out their hunters.”
His black eyes turned
sharkish. “You mean set myself up as bait. Use my ability to lure them in and then execute them when they show up.”
A shiver rolled through her. He didn’t sound offended; he sounded . . . intrigued. Silas studied his hands once more, as if he saw blood on them—and maybe he thought he could mitigate that with more. She didn’t know if she agreed, but she couldn’t imagine what he’d gone through either, if what he’d told her was true.
“I wouldn’t have put it that way, but essentially, yes. I coordinate all the agents from a secure location. Under most conditions, you would be working alone, though if we locate another facility like the one in Virginia, you would definitely be on the strike team sent to clear it.”
Silas froze. “There are others?”
“At least four. Two have been relocated since Shrike took out Dr. Rowan, and the other two never pop up on my informational grid. It’s possible those have shut down because they’re old—they were established in the seventies—but I won’t rest until I’ve liberated all the test subjects and shut down this program for good. If we make it too difficult and too expensive, the moneymen will cut off the research and close those divisions down. By yourself, you can go individually to each family and say you’re sorry for their loss. That’s all. With us, you can accomplish much more.”
“I’d work with him again,” Tanager said. “He’s cool in a crisis. He was swatting those bloodhounds like flies when I arrived.”
