“Roberta, actually. Roberta Grace. My protégée. She’s already back at Malfeasance, preparing to use what we’ve learned from you to weed out the Troop’s other moles.”
“And what about him?” she asks. “Is he really my brother?”
“Yes. And he really does work for the Troop. But really, he works for the organization.”
“How? He was ten when they took him. Don’t tell me you recruited him before that.”
“No, and we didn’t recruit him afterwards, either. He came to us. The Troop’s indoctrination specialists had done their best, but your brother proved to be something they never planned on. Incorruptible.”
“Incorruptible!” She snorts. “The little shit just didn’t have what it takes to be a bad monkey, that’s all!”
“You asked on the day we met, what it is that I want,” Dixon says, ignoring her outburst. “The answer is: to demonstrate the futility of evil. You and your brother, each in your own way, have helped me do that. But your part of the demonstration is over now.”
He opens his coat to reveal another NC gun. This one does not resemble a toy. It’s black, and its dial has only two active settings. Dixon draws it from its holster, then turns to Phil and asks with uncharacteristic deference: “May I?”
“No,” Phil says. “She’s mine.”
“Of course.” Dixon hands off the pistol, and brushes his palms together as if wiping away dust. “Good-bye, Jane Charlotte,” he says. “We won’t meet again in this life—or in the next, I hope.” He leaves the room.
“Prick,” she says, as the door shuts behind him. Then she looks at Phil and her demeanor softens. “So, little brother. I guess congratulations are in order.”
“Are they?”
“Don’t be a sore winner, Phil.”
“You think this is winning for me, Jane?”
“Bad monkey dies, good monkey lives to fight another day…”
“That’s Dixon’s victory,” he tells her. “Dixon took for granted that you passed the shibboleth tests by hiding your true self. I was hoping that there might be another explanation.”
“Oh my God,” she says. “You actually thought I might be good?”
“Conflicted, let’s say.”
“Oh my God…You wanted to redeem me.” She shakes her head in wonder. “How has the Troop not seen through you yet?”
“The answer to that is simple enough. Evil people are easy to fool.”
She laughs. “Guess I can’t argue with that. Still, I don’t know what the hell you were thinking. After what I did to you…”
“About that,” he says. “I know I probably can’t trust your answer on this, but I have to ask: When you gave me to them, was that…Did you hate me?”
“Was it personal, you mean? Eh, not so much…Mom was personal,” she says. “Definitely. But with you, well, it was a little personal maybe—you were my brother, after all—but mostly it was just, what did Dixon call it, ‘a truly extraordinary sin’? Yeah. I guess I do have a weakness for those.” She looks over at the door, not too hopefully. “So listen, I know you can’t let me get away clean, but is there any chance I can talk you into giving me a thirty-second head start?”
“Sorry, Jane.”
“Fifteen seconds, then. Come on, Phil, you said you wanted to save me. I could still have a change of heart.”
“If you do, you’ll have to take it up with God. How do you want it?”
“Yeah, OK…I’ll take the stroke. Less painful than the heart attack, and maybe I get a nice light show on the way out.”
He nods, and fixes the dial on the CI setting. He takes a deep breath. Lets it out slowly.
His efforts to steel himself are a fresh source of amusement to her: “Jesus, Phil, I’d have shot you ten times already.”
“Sorry,” he replies, but still he hesitates. She watches him, drawing strength from his ambivalence. As the gun comes up, she is calm, and her final words are almost kind.
“It’s all right, little brother,” she says. “I’m ready. Send me to Nod.”