A worry nudged. “Colette, see if you can reach Francine.”
She texted. Waited. No response. She called. “Hey, it’s me, call me the moment you get this.” Colette looked worried as she hung up. “She’s never unresponsive.”
“Perhaps she’s using the restroom,” Antoinette suggested.
“Or, perhaps someone snuck in and found the ‘First Lady’ alone in her rooms.” Got the “huh?” look from several people, but not all. “Francine is my double,” I explained for the confused. “The world knows I’m here. Our greatest enemy, therefore, knows I’m here.”
Reader nodded. “Cliff wouldn’t come himself, he’d send someone. And that someone probably wouldn’t know you well enough to notice the differences between you and Francine.”
“I assigned guards to the rooms,” Raheem said.
“So either they’re hurt, doing their jobs, or flipped out like the dude here. We won’t know staying in here.”
“Let’s roll out,” Buchanan said briskly. “I’d suggest we go alone,” he indicated himself and Siler, “but I know Missus Executive Chief would object. We’re in the lead,” he said to me. “You can be right behind me, but you’re not going first.” He motioned to Butler, who moved next to me. White went to my other side.
“Fine. Where’s Wruck?”
“He was scouting the palace the last time we saw him,” Siler said. “You want me to try to reach him?”
“No. I want to hope he’s with Francine in some way.” Because if he was, then he was going to get into Cliff’s latest lair or at least be able to help her. I didn’t want Francine hurt, and though I knew she was a trained A-C CIA operative, she’d be alone if Wruck wasn’t with her, and alone with our enemies was never the best place to be.
We headed off at hyperspeed, though we were walking, not running, mostly because every woman was in heels and none of us felt like breaking an ankle right now. Still, it was faster than normal walking, and we reached the wing where our rooms were quickly. There was no one in the halls.
“This isn’t normal,” Raheem said. “And I don’t mean the speed. We should have passed many people by now.”
“We call that boding,” I shared over my shoulder. Turned back so I didn’t trip, even though White and Butler both had a hold of me. “Everything we’re planning is going to be screwed up if Francine’s been taken,” I said softly. “In addition to the worry about her being taken in the first place.”
“We’ll adapt as we have to,” White said, sounding as worried as I felt.
“Malcolm, are we in every room in this hallway?”
He stopped walking, and therefore so did the rest of us. A-C’s had such good reflexes that they couldn’t operate human machinery—fast stops were something I was pretty sure only I worried about.
“We are. I know what you’re thinking. You all stay here and on high alert.” Buchanan grabbed Siler, who blended. They disappeared and went into each room. They were back quickly.
“Nothing out of place that we can tell,” Buchanan said. “Looks like everyone’s things are in there, unmolested. No people in the rooms, which isn’t a surprise.”
Lorraine and Claudia zipped off and did the same search. They were back just as fast. “We just wanted to be sure,” Lorraine said, to the “really?” looks Buchanan and Siler were shooting them. “But you’re right. We checked every room before we came to the theater and nothing looks moved from what we saw.”
“Professionals can toss a room in just a few minutes and you wouldn’t know,” Oren pointed out.
“However, we’re going to assume that your underwear isn’t what they were after,” Buchanan said, sarcasm meter at eleven and rising.
We all moved on and quickly reached the cul-de-sac at the end of the hallway where the royal suites were. To find bodies littered about. We stopped and Buchanan and Siler checked every body. “All dead,” Buchanan said grimly as he examined the last body.
“Mine, too.” Siler shook his head. “Whoever did this, they’re professionals. Every hit is from the rear.”
“Some of these were guarding us outside the theater,” Raheem said, sounding ill.
“Meaning they were lured away, which would have been easy to do.” Wave a gun around and run away and watch most of the guards run after you.
Considered who was in the Crazy Eights these days. Cliff, the LaRue and Reid clones, Casey Jones, Chernobog’s son Russell Kozlow, Darryl Lowe, Nerida Alfero, and Nigel Kellogg.
There was no way in the world that Cliff was doing this particular raid, and it was unlikely that he’d have the LaRue and Reid clones do it regardless of what ages they were now or what powers they’d acquired along the way—they were necessary to too many other things and the only two people Cliff likely honestly cared about.
Kozlow, Lowe, and Nerida were all hybrids, all children of Ronald Yates and their respective mothers. Lowe was an air bender and Nerida was a water bender, but neither one was a trained assassin. Neither was Casey, who was a full human.
Kozlow and Kellogg, on the other hand, were both trained killers. Kozlow supposedly had no powers other than the ability to affect magnetic fields in a small way, but he’d been enough of a danger to be on Israel’s Most Wanted List and had been locked up for years before our enemies broke him out of prison in order to get Chernobog’s help. Kellogg was a human and the guy who’d almost murdered Mrs. Maurer during Operation Defection Election. He’d been caught by Prince when he was trying to murder Jeff. And his MO was to attack you from behind.
“Nigel Kellogg is my first guess for who did the killing. I’m also willing to bet that he was assisted by Russell Kozlow, and yes, Vance, I’ll call Chernobog really soon.”
Buchanan, Reader, Tim, Len, and Kyle all had guns drawn. Siler grabbed Buchanan then blended, and they disappeared. Saw them going into the rooms at hyperspeed, but only because I was watching the doors.
Lorraine grabbed Tim, and Claudia took James, and they did the same thing, albeit without being invisible.
“Don’t even think about it,” Len said to me and White.
“Spoilsport.”
The six of them were back fast. “No one and nothing in these rooms, either, other than everyone’s personal items,” Siler said. “No sign of Francine, though. Or Wruck.”
“Which room is mine?”
Was led to the room at the end of the cul-de-sac. Vance hadn’t been kidding—this place was like a movie suite—one where you had to be a gazillionaire just to hope to spend one night. “Wow, this is amazing and gorgeous,” I said to Raheem. “I’m going to feel all shoddy when you visit us and stay in the infinitesimally smaller Lincoln Bedroom.”
He beamed at me. “However, the invitation is what matters most. And the congeniality of the hosts.”
Saw Mona out of the corner of my eye. She looked pleased. Well, at least something was going right.
Looked around. “You know what I don’t see, and what I assume you guys didn’t see in each room?”