“We have no choice,” Imanuel replied.
“One of us could pose as you.”
Imanuel laughed. “And successfully deliver a high-risk baby? How much obstetrics training did you get in the D.C. police force? The Red King will burn the whole place down for sure if it goes wrong.”
“Train me, then. Teach me what to do, and I’ll go in and do it,” Malik said.
“We don’t have four years to boot camp you through a medical degree, Malik. We have four hours, based on Ory’s description of the mother. Maybe less.” Imanuel shook his head. “I’ve delivered hundreds of babies. It has to be me.” He made a fist. “This is our chance. The best chance we’re ever going to get to walk in there and find Paul’s book.”
“Do you really think the Red King is going to let us choose which book we want, even for—whatever she is to him?” Ory asked. Ahmadi glanced up from the planning table—they made eye contact for the first time since he’d deliberately disobeyed her orders. Stares can’t kill, Ory thought. He buckled after two seconds and studied his hands intently. The guilt he felt at having made her so angry surprised him. It was an achingly familiar sensation—it was the same way he used to feel after arguing with Max.
“For this, maybe,” Imanuel finally said.
Malik shook his head. “Even so, we still can’t let you go alone.”
“The Red King won’t let a whole unit walk in, weapons out. You know it.”
“He’ll have to, if he wants her and the baby to survive,” Ahmadi insisted.
The Red woman’s face, streaked with agony, flashed into Ory’s mind. Did she even know what a baby was anymore? He tried to imagine a child in that red place, being painted crimson for the first time, having its soft downy hair dyed.
“Or he’ll burn an entire wing of the library,” Imanuel said.
“This is not up for discussion,” Malik interrupted. “I won’t allow our General to walk into the enemy stronghold with no reinforcements or weapons.”
“They aren’t the enemy,” Imanuel said softly. “They just forgot.”
Malik put his face in his hands and sighed. Ahmadi looked worn as well. They’d all been arguing for almost an hour, and were still at a stalemate.
“I’m the only one who’s ever done it,” Imanuel continued. “I went into all that red once before, and came back out.”
“That was a year ago, at least,” Ahmadi said. “The Red King had only just appeared and had half the forces he has now. You said the fever was so bad he was nearly delirious—he might not even remember you.”
“He’ll remember,” Imanuel said.
She sighed. “General, I admire your determination, but that’s just not a good enough reason to undertake a suicide mission, no matter how uniquely qualified you are. I can’t work with emotional pleas. I need strategy. I need a tactical explanation for why you should do this alone.”
“Well then, how about this one?” Imanuel looked at her. “New Orleans. Now.”
Ory froze.
New Orleans.
Malik and Ahmadi were staring at each other from across the table, trying to calculate the other’s reaction. He could feel the fluttering, infectious excitement radiating off them, so strong it made it hard to breathe. “You’re serious?” Malik said at last.
Imanuel nodded. “If she’s already in active labor, which sounds pretty likely, based on Ory’s description, then we can’t afford to send a unit with me. Because you’ll need all the help you can get to make ready before I get back with that fucking book.”
Malik and Ahmadi were almost hovering in their chairs now. Ory couldn’t breathe fast or deep enough, it seemed. New Orleans. It was really happening. He would get his two soldiers, for two weeks. He would search again. He would—no. He wouldn’t think about what would happen after. He would find Max or keep looking. There was no third way.
“Malik.” Imanuel turned to him. “Give the order right now. Operations start immediately.”
“Yes, sir,” Malik said. He stood and saluted Imanuel fiercely.
Ahmadi put her hand on Imanuel’s arm for a moment as Malik marched out of the room almost at a run. “You’re sure?”
“It’s time,” Imanuel said. He put his hand over hers and squeezed reassuringly. “Give me a moment with Ory.”
Ahmadi nodded, almost in a daze, closing the door behind her as she left.
“You . . .” Ory trailed off once they were alone. He moved around the table to Imanuel’s side. He didn’t want to ask, to show his friend he didn’t fully trust him, but he had to be sure. “You still plan to . . .”
“On one condition,” Imanuel said.
Ory nodded. “Anything.”