“Yes,” said Sally. “We still do. Very badly.”
“So the orders were yours.”
“Yes,” said Sally. “We can’t always play by the rules. But neither do our enemies.” She ticked them off on her fingers. “The Chinese, the Russians, the Islamists. Not to mention every wacko with an Internet connection.” She looked down the table at June. “It’s time to get serious here. I want that algorithm. So who am I talking to, Junebug? You? Or your watchdog here, all chained up?”
“You’re talking to me,” said June. “He doesn’t know anything. He’s just hired protection.”
“June, I’m sorry.” Peter cupped his cuffed hands around his mouth. “Hey, Lewis,” he called loudly, his voice carrying well. The fifty meters to the outcrop wasn’t too far. “If I raise my hands, shoot the woman in the white shirt. Then start on everyone else. Now show them we’re serious.”
A lantern hanging from a tree branch exploded, scattering glass. The still-glowing mantle fell, igniting the fuel in a broad splash of blue flame on the undergrowth. The crack of the shot followed an instant later. Then another tree-hung lantern shattered in place, the sound of the shot arriving as fuel began to burn merrily from the broken top of the still-hanging ruin.
Sally froze in her chair. June’s eyes were wide. The Yeti looked up from his notebook, suddenly interested in the present moment. Sally’s men dropped to the ground and began to scramble for their weapons in the wild and flickering light.
“Stop.”
It was Oliver, the smooth-faced young man, with a pistol in his hand. His voice was clear and strong and full of command. Sally’s men froze in place.
Maybe, thought Peter, Oliver wasn’t as young as he looked.
The lantern fuel burned crazily. Shadows leaped in the trees. Oliver looked down the table at Peter. “Who else do you have out there?”
“Friends,” said Peter. “Well-armed, trained, motivated friends.”
Oliver, with exaggerated slowness, set his weapon on the table and leaned back in his chair. Despite his unlined face, there was definitely something older about him now. He looked tired.
“Ms. Sanchez,” he said. “Consider this moment your letter of resignation.”
The flaring light of the fires illuminated her face, making it grotesque. The orchard shadows seemed deeper, darker. Weeds burned slowly with a soft crackle.
“Who the fuck are you to say that to me?” she demanded. “Wilkes, it’s one man with a fucking rifle. It’s almost dark. Get your asses out there.”
Wilkes wouldn’t look at her. He shook his head. “Sorry, ma’am.”
“Shepard,” she shrieked. “Shepard, I need you.” Her voice echoed off the high granite ridges. It became a shriek. “Kill them all.”
Nothing happened.
Oliver’s smooth face was expressionless. In a voice just slightly louder than normal, he said, “Mr. Shepard. This is Oliver Bent, your commanding officer. Game’s over. Please come in now.”
Outside the light, a shadow resolved into a silhouette, which became a man, barely there. The flickering glow of the broken lanterns revealed him in jagged flashes. Peter saw an empty shoulder holster worn over a black commando sweater, and the mild face of a minor bureaucrat. Had Peter seen him before? He couldn’t say.
Shepard looked at Peter, then at Oliver. He didn’t speak.
Maybe he was still looking at Peter out of the corner of his eye.
“Fuck,” said Sally. “You too, Shepard? What is this?”
Oliver spoke softly. “Last assignment, Mr. Shepard.”
Shepard extended his arm, something black and angular in his fist.
There was a brief spit of fire and Sally Sanchez rocked back in her chair.
June covered her mouth with her hand, her face pale. Her dad put his arm around her, his mouth grim, his notebook forgotten on the table before him.
Peter turned to look at Sally and saw a neat red hole in the direct center of her forehead. He leaned over to see the back of her head, a ragged mess. Her shirt back and the barn coat slung over her chair were sodden with blood, soaked and spreading.
He slipped the small gray automatic from her coat pocket and held it in his lap.
Then he looked for Shepard and found him leaning against the flatbed, his pistol back in his shoulder holster. Watching Peter.
“Mr. Wilkes and company,” said Oliver. “Thank you for today. I am taking command of this facility until further notice. You are to put out these fires and remove the body of Ms. Sanchez. After that, your time is your own until ten hundred tomorrow at the dining hall. If you have any concerns about today’s events, please note that I hold myself entirely responsible for any irregularities that may have occurred.”