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One man sitting at table four presses the button on the microphone in front of him then leans forward and speaks into it.
“What of Lysandra Hollis?” he asks.
“Miss Hollis was also killed in the line of duty,” Victor answers.
The man turns off his mic, but I can still hear when he says, “Well, that’s good news.” The few sitting around him all nod in unison. It doesn’t surprise me that Lysandra wasn’t popular among these people.
“Any of you who reported to Miss Hollis for any reason,” Victor says, “will only report to your unit leaders from now on.”
He goes on and on for another ten minutes about the technical aspects of the business, and I’m relieved he doesn’t put any kind of spotlight on me. This meeting isn’t really what Victor brought me here for, anyway. Yes, he wants me to see how things have changed, to know that it’s finally happened, that he has taken down Vonnegut and claimed The Order as his own—as ours. But he isn’t stupid. He's not going to put me on a pedestal in front of a room full of killers and let it be known just how much I mean to him. Of course, there are people here who have heard about me and know that Victor and I are much more than colleagues—there’s no way around any of that. But to put the wrong kind of spotlight on me will only serve to also put a target on me if anyone present ever decides to go that route. It’s like passing a group of thugs on the street; they see you and know you’re there, but chances are that if you don’t make eye contact, they’ll leave you alone.
After another fifteen minutes of Victor putting together a couple of new units, he finally turns to me.
“Faust,” he says, and I suddenly feel the need to stand, despite the mending. “I am assigning you to unit seventeen.”
He’s assigning me a unit of my own…to lead.
I nod even though he wasn’t asking me a question.
“Anders, Moore, Winthrop, Scholz, Gulsen, Moroz, and Azevedo.” Each of these people, four men and three women stand from their seats upon hearing their names. “Izabel Faust is your unit leader. You will report to her Wednesday morning to get acquainted, and so that she may assign your first mission as a team.”
I look at each of my team in the eye, nod, and feel them out briefly. All seven give me nothing but respectful vibes, nod in return—two even smile—and then they retake their seats. To say I’m relieved that I didn’t get any stink-eyes would be an understatement.
Just then, the doors open, and a familiar face enters the room: Kenneth Ware from the Special Special Activities Division of the United States covert operations.
29
Izabel
Every pair of eyes turns in his direction, but I feel a strange pang in the pit of my stomach at seeing Mr. Ware, of all people, here at this meeting. Kenneth Ware seems only to exist because serial killers exist. And he has an unhealthy fascination with Fredrik Gustavsson—the reason for the pang. Maybe he has news on Fredrik’s whereabouts. After all, if anyone could find Fredrik, it would be Kenneth Ware.
I lean forward in anticipation of the announcement that Mr. Ware looks like he’s preparing to make.
“Please excuse the interruption,” Kenneth says to those in the room. “I can wait until the meeting is over.”
“I was just wrapping up,” Victor says.
I get the feeling Victor already knew that Kenneth Ware was coming here. I know he wouldn’t have been able to walk in on the meeting if Victor hadn’t already given someone on the ground floor the go-ahead to let him pass.
Kenneth nods and stands patiently by the wall.
Victor makes a few final announcements and then dismisses everyone.
“Woodard,” Victor stops James at the door while everyone else slips out, “I would like you to stay.”
Looking nervous, as he often does, James steps aside to let those behind him pass; he stands with an electronic tablet pressed to his full belly and a briefcase strap hanging on his shoulder. He still can’t make eye contact with me.
In anticipation of whatever Kenneth Ware came here to tell us, I give him my full, undivided attention, despite feeling like I need to hurry and put James’ mind at ease.
After the last of the crowd has left, Kenneth Ware adjusts his tie and begins. But not with what I had hoped he came here for.
Kenneth glances around the room and nods his approval. “This is a nice place you have here. Tell me, Faust, how you came to be in command of such a massive undertaking so easily.”
Victor appears mildly surprised; one brow raised higher than the other.
“Easy?” he says. “Mr. Ware, I believe you must have suffered a head injury on your way here. Shall I call a medic for you?” He gestures with an open hand. “My personal doctor is still on the premises.”
It surprises me to see Victor in a jesting mood.
