particular. It had been taken from directly above. They were seated on the floor of Onvel’s small flat, huddled over the mess of papers he’d snuck out of his office.
Melni swallowed.
How much do they know? What could I say that would get me out of this room?
“He…he wanted to show me the sort of work he did. I understood none of it.”
“Birdshit,” Valix said. Another series of prints was pulled from the drawer. Melni, working under the light of a candle, making copies by hand of the pages Onvel had said were important. In the next she saw the safe house on Bandury Lane, Melni climbing the steps. Then another: Melni walking into Croag & Daughters, the antiques shop in Harborsedge. The image had been taken from a second-story window, somewhere across the street. They’d been waiting for her, watching the place. Did they know about the drop? Had her last message, and Onvel’s final research, made it out? Garta’s light, how long had they been watching her? Some of the images were from her earliest days with Onvel, after he’d confessed sympathy for
desoa,
and even the South.
She thought back through the events of the evening. Boran offering to let her be here in the first place. The time she’d spent hidden, so she thought, in the bathroom. The surprise invitation to this interview. She’d been lured here. She’d isolated herself, out of contact for hours. Melni could see NRD and Valix agents alike fanning out across the city, arresting everyone she’d been in contact with. She’d been expertly played.
“Search her,” Alia said.
ONE OF THE GUARDS stepped in behind her. He grasped her by the upper arm and hauled her to her feet.
At that instant every lamp in the room flickered, then died. The computer’s fan whirred to a stop.
Swallowed in absolute darkness, Melni froze. A terrible empty silence held the room for a fraction of a second. Across the desk, Alia emitted a thin, sharp breath, more frustrated than afraid. Melni heard her fingers probe around the surface in the dark, then fiddle with something. The intercom. “This is Alia. Someone give me a status report.”
Nothing, not even static.
The guard holding Melni’s arm let go of her, fumbling for his own radio or perhaps a flashlight.
Melni drove an elbow straight back into his gut. He grunted, fell. She dropped to the ground and lay flat on her back. Buttocks raised, knees at her chest, she reached up her own skirt and slid the knife from its hiding place against her thigh. She flicked it open as she rolled, expecting the lamps to bloom again any second.
Flight was not an option. She needed a hostage, the highest-value unarmed asset present. She came up to a crouch and, trailing one finger along the outer edge of the desk, worked her way behind it. She found Alia’s chair and reached out, ready to hold knife against neck. Her hand brushed the fabric of the backrest. Empty.
The guard she’d hit groaned. The other made sounds of a frantic search through clothes. There was a thud and he cursed. A dropped lamp, or pistol? And where had Alia gone?
Melni’s foot brushed against something solid. She knelt and found the tip of a shoe. The woman had hid below the desk. Melni reached for her but her fingers only found the walls of the empty space below. She felt for the shoe again and found it, and another, empty and resting on the floor.
A brilliant beam of a light swept frantically about the room. Melni pushed back from the desk and came up to a half crouch, then pretended to fling her knife toward the guard wielding the lamp. He flinched, dodged to one side. She used the distraction, vaulting the desk. Landing before him Melni kicked the man hard between the legs, followed by a punch to his throat, her fingers a flat, hard wedge. The combination sent him to the floor, desperate to cry out yet unable to get a breath. His light fell and rolled across the carpet, splaying long ugly shadows along the bookshelves.
Melni whirled back to the
Melni swallowed.
How much do they know? What could I say that would get me out of this room?
“He…he wanted to show me the sort of work he did. I understood none of it.”
“Birdshit,” Valix said. Another series of prints was pulled from the drawer. Melni, working under the light of a candle, making copies by hand of the pages Onvel had said were important. In the next she saw the safe house on Bandury Lane, Melni climbing the steps. Then another: Melni walking into Croag & Daughters, the antiques shop in Harborsedge. The image had been taken from a second-story window, somewhere across the street. They’d been waiting for her, watching the place. Did they know about the drop? Had her last message, and Onvel’s final research, made it out? Garta’s light, how long had they been watching her? Some of the images were from her earliest days with Onvel, after he’d confessed sympathy for
desoa,
and even the South.
She thought back through the events of the evening. Boran offering to let her be here in the first place. The time she’d spent hidden, so she thought, in the bathroom. The surprise invitation to this interview. She’d been lured here. She’d isolated herself, out of contact for hours. Melni could see NRD and Valix agents alike fanning out across the city, arresting everyone she’d been in contact with. She’d been expertly played.
“Search her,” Alia said.
ONE OF THE GUARDS stepped in behind her. He grasped her by the upper arm and hauled her to her feet.
At that instant every lamp in the room flickered, then died. The computer’s fan whirred to a stop.
Swallowed in absolute darkness, Melni froze. A terrible empty silence held the room for a fraction of a second. Across the desk, Alia emitted a thin, sharp breath, more frustrated than afraid. Melni heard her fingers probe around the surface in the dark, then fiddle with something. The intercom. “This is Alia. Someone give me a status report.”
Nothing, not even static.
The guard holding Melni’s arm let go of her, fumbling for his own radio or perhaps a flashlight.
Melni drove an elbow straight back into his gut. He grunted, fell. She dropped to the ground and lay flat on her back. Buttocks raised, knees at her chest, she reached up her own skirt and slid the knife from its hiding place against her thigh. She flicked it open as she rolled, expecting the lamps to bloom again any second.
Flight was not an option. She needed a hostage, the highest-value unarmed asset present. She came up to a crouch and, trailing one finger along the outer edge of the desk, worked her way behind it. She found Alia’s chair and reached out, ready to hold knife against neck. Her hand brushed the fabric of the backrest. Empty.
The guard she’d hit groaned. The other made sounds of a frantic search through clothes. There was a thud and he cursed. A dropped lamp, or pistol? And where had Alia gone?
Melni’s foot brushed against something solid. She knelt and found the tip of a shoe. The woman had hid below the desk. Melni reached for her but her fingers only found the walls of the empty space below. She felt for the shoe again and found it, and another, empty and resting on the floor.
A brilliant beam of a light swept frantically about the room. Melni pushed back from the desk and came up to a half crouch, then pretended to fling her knife toward the guard wielding the lamp. He flinched, dodged to one side. She used the distraction, vaulting the desk. Landing before him Melni kicked the man hard between the legs, followed by a punch to his throat, her fingers a flat, hard wedge. The combination sent him to the floor, desperate to cry out yet unable to get a breath. His light fell and rolled across the carpet, splaying long ugly shadows along the bookshelves.
Melni whirled back to the
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