“I’d be the one to show up,” Emma said. “If I offered myself up as a target—assuming that they’ll want to capture me, not kill me—it would be the easiest way to spot their people. Surround me with covert operatives, and when the Network moves in to grab me, our people move in to grab them.”
“A counter-ambush,” Caitlin said. “But now we have a problem: if we were supposed to work out their scheme, and they’re expecting us to respond in the most likely manner…what’s the point? If they want to abduct Emma, they’ve just made their job that much harder.”
“That’s because she’s not the target,” I said. “I am.”
Emma stopped pacing. They both looked my way.
“Emma’s going to need backup, watching from a safe distance. You asked whether they’re targeting your court—”
“Our court,” Caitlin said.
“—or the Commission. Doesn’t matter, because there’s only one other person with a foot in both worlds. Me. No matter which side I’m repping, if Emma decided to play the bait, I’d be there to watch over her. See, the King of Worms overplayed his hand. He wanted to pitch me on his ‘game,’ this death match with his wannabe disciple. But he slipped when he said the guy’s a big deal in the Network, and that he’d already started making his move.”
“That’s what this is all about,” Caitlin said. “This entire scheme, from start to finish, was intended to draw you out and distract you. While we’re watching Emma, expecting that she’s the target, they’ll be coming for you instead.”
“Exactly. So we get a line of sight and backup on both of us. We can surround Emma with obvious muscle, so it looks like we took the bait, while everybody else keeps their eyes on me. When they pounce, we pounce.”
“One problem,” Emma said. “This man who’s trying to impress the king…he’s been ordered to murder you, yes?”
“Well, I’m hoping he’ll want to snatch me and kill me someplace less public.” I jammed my hands in my pockets and stared up at the onyx sky. “Hoping. If I’m wrong, this could get messy. We may have to improvise.”
12.
I wanted to keep improvisation to a minimum. I’m good at thinking on my feet, but knowing somebody out there wanted me dead put a chill on my adventurous spirit.
I wasn’t sure why it should matter. Lots of people wanted me dead. All the same, it wasn’t every night that I willingly walked into a trap orchestrated by a necromancer who planned to kill me for a job promotion.
“I want coverage at all high points,” I said to Jennifer. “My worst nightmare is this guy turning out to be a sniper. If he jumps me, I can roll with that. A shot from a few hundred yards away, not so much.”
Her voice crackled over the phone. Tired, and I could hear a strain as she scribbled frantic notes.
“Done and done. I’ll see if I can round up some of those Triad boys who helped us out at the Cobalt Lounge. Nobody spots a sniper like another sniper. They won’t be able to carry long arms, though, not without starting a stampede. Best you’re gonna get is a heads-up.”
“Long as my head stays intact, I’ll take what I can get.”
“I’m not sure what we can get, not until I make a dozen last-minute phone calls. You know we’re cuttin’ this down to the wire, right?”
I glanced to the dashboard clock. I was back in Todd’s van, latex gloves gripping the dusty wheel as I muscled through nighttime traffic. I kept to the side streets, staying away from the congestion on the Strip as I hunted for a good place to dump the ride, but taking the long way around wasn’t helping my time-crunch problem. The clock read 10:14, which gave us just over forty-five minutes to round up as many guns as we could, set up a counter-ambush, and plan for every contingency.
Like Caitlin said, it felt like a game of speed chess.
I almost called the whole thing off. The opposition couldn’t make their next move if we didn’t show up to play. But this was our best shot yet at digging up some serious intel on the Network and their so-called “kings,” and I couldn’t let it go to waste. If I blew this, there was no telling when we’d get another chance.
The King of Worms expected me to kill his protégé before he killed me. Forget that. I planned on taking him alive. Then, once we got him locked down someplace nice and far off the grid, we could have a chat.
My next call bounced through two other extensions before I finally landed on Mayor Seabrook’s desk phone. She was burning the midnight oil again, just like I hoped she would be.
“I’m listening,” she said. Not exactly a warm hello. We weren’t there yet.
“Need you to use your leverage with Commissioner Harding,” I told her. “We’ve got a thing. Kind of thing where it would be good to keep Metro clear of the area until we’re finished.”
“When and where?”
“Container Park,” I said. “Forty-five minutes. We’ll need…maybe half an hour of clear sailing and closed eyes. Call it an hour to be safe.”
“Park’s open to the public until midnight,” she said, cagey now.
I read between her lines. The place would be crowded with civilians, and I’d just asked her to pull the cops away.
“No rough stuff,” I said. “Nothing in public, nothing that breaks our agreement. We need to have a word with some people about the ink epidemic in our fair city. If the fine members of law enforcement saw us politely escorting them from the park, they might get the wrong idea. We wouldn’t want to make a scene.”
The line went dead quiet. I could hear her gears turning.
“I’ll make the call. One thing.”
“Yeah?” I said.
“If anything happens that makes the papers tomorrow, in any way, shape, or form, I’ll be making a second call to the commissioner.”
“Don’t worry,” I told her. “The papers never print good news.”
*
Container Park was an open-air mall on the end of Fremont Street. The architecture coined its name; the three-level walls ringing the rectangular park, lined with shops and cafes, were all built from recycled shipping containers. A riot of colors adorned the ridged steel, ivory and hornet yellow and Halloween orange, giving the place a funky, art-hipster vibe. Like a wasteland settlement from a Mad Max movie, but more boutiques and Frappuccinos than leather and spikes.
A geodesic dome out front lit up like a giant glowing beach ball, next to a towering metal sculpture of a praying mantis. As I walked past, blending in with the evening crowds, twin gouts of flame erupted from the mantis’s antennae.
A soundstage stood at the far end of the park, where throngs of people packed an artificial lawn. Raw, grinding guitar chords drifted through the chilly night air. It took a second, picking up the lead singer’s warbly, underwater voice, before I realized it was an Aerosmith cover band. Not a good one, though the audience was too raucous and too drunk to care. I found a spot to stand out of the way of foot traffic, ducking under a steel awning. Caitlin sidled up a moment later, her gaze tracking faces in the crowd.
“Well, now I know everything’s going to be all right.”
“How’s that?” she asked me.
“Because I have too much self-respect to die to an Aerosmith tune. I just won’t do it. How’s Emma?”
“Eager,” Caitlin said. “I called up everyone I could reach; she’s surrounded by some of our finest, who are all under orders to be very obvious while pretending to be discreet. They’ll stick out like a sore thumb.”
Good. If I was somehow wrong, if I’d overthought this entire plan or given the Network too much credit for being clever, that should stave off any would-be kidnappers.
Her kidnappers, anyway. If I was right about all this, I still didn’t know if my mysterious adversary was going to try to grab me off the street or just kill me right here in the park. I scouted the tiers, looking up at the container-built shops, trying to spot Jennifer’s people. They were doing a good job of blending in. Or they were late. I wouldn’t know until I needed them. I flexed my wrist. Howard Canton’s wand—my wand now—dropped from its concealed sheath and into my outstretched hand. I palmed it and passed it to Caitlin.
“Hang on to it,” I told her. “We know the Enemy is hot to get his hands on this thing; the Network might want it, too. Can’t risk losing it if they grab me.”