I want to test a shot but the room is too pretty to destroy. I have to hope my virtual training is enough.
Before I leave the room, I remember Ensi’s jacket. I duck down and take out the notebook. The Kalar suit will hide my fingerprints. I unzip the suit enough to free my face. Will scanning work? I turn on my ocular implants. As long as I don’t try to upload it yet, I can scan the notebook. I turn each page, running my eyes along the text. Each shot downstairs makes me flinch. I want to help, but I have to finish this, first.
The notebook is his personal schedule and diary. It’s all in a code of scribbled acronyms, and I can only hope I can find a way to decipher it. When I finish, I pick up the datapod dangling from the bookmark. I set it to my ear, but, of course, it’s locked, and I don’t have time to even attempt to break the encryption. I set everything back in his pocket and arrange his jacket just as I found it.
I leave the room, peeking out into the darkened hallway. All the sounds of the melee are from the ground floor, the ballroom. I grit my teeth against the screams of pain and fear.
My mind spins. Who can it be? Is it the police? Is this why Nazarin snuck off? Was I actually the distraction against Ensi? I swear, if that man has lied to me yet again, I’ll harness my new penchant for violence and use this gun to shoot him in the leg. Or between the legs. I’ll decide when the time comes.
If he’s not responsible for this, then that means Nazarin is in just as much danger as I am. More, if he’s still down there in the ballroom.
I reach the top of the staircase. Bits of the banister are riddled with bullets. I peek over the edge. The guests are rounded up in one corner. The grand, green chandelier has been shot down, leaves and emeralds strewn along the floor. There are a few casualties scattered on the floor, sprawled out with legs akimbo, red mixing with the green. I swallow hard, memories of the vision of Ensi’s Test fresh in my mind. Of seeing Mia killed in the hologram. The death in Mia’s dream world. The crime scene in Zenith. Death and blood is following my every move.
Focus, Taema. Focus or death will catch you, too.
A bullet whizzes by my ear and I duck down. At least the other side doesn’t have lasers, or we wouldn’t stand a chance. I look over the banister again, taking the safety off the gun. There are about twenty people in dark blue Kalar suits, holding weapons. Enough to overwhelm the guards, though dismantling the security must have been a bitch. I see security people and droids scattered on the floor, the droids spilling wires, the people spilling blood. I try reaching out through my implants to contact the police, but that signal’s still blocked. We have two members of our team just outside. Did they hear the shots? If so, is there anything they can actually do?
A suited figure fires another warning shot to gain people’s attention. He has a rapt audience.
“The King of the Ratel has lost his power,” the man says. Who is it? For a moment, I fear it’s Nazarin; but the detective is at the back of the huddled former revelers. I let out my held breath. He’s crouched low, poised to pounce, his eyes not moving from the main man with the gun. Is this what he’s been planning? Nazarin said he was trying to sow unrest within the Ratel. From the shocked look on his face, though, I’m not sure he expected rebellion so soon.
“I’ve taken control of the biggest Verve drop the Ratel has ever done. I’ve taken control of the biggest arms smuggle. You can see the result right here.” He holds up the bulky gun. His voice radiates with pride. “Ensi is so used to his routine that he’s weak. It’ll all crumble, having an old man like him at the helm. He makes too many deals with the other side. Getting soft.”
Where is Ensi? While I was upstairs, has he already been executed? Would I care?
I crouch and move down the ramp. At one of the circular cut-outs, I peer out again. Part of me wants to hide upstairs. The masked leader takes a string of men and women and lines them up against the white, curved wall. Even though most of the partiers are hardened criminals, not all of them are, and I think the masked man chose at least some of the business associates under Ratel control. People unafraid to get their hands dirty in crooked deals, but who’ve never before had guns pointed at their faces. A man pisses himself, the dark strain spreading down his trousers. Another woman shakes so badly she can barely stand. Malka has also been chosen for the line-up, but she does not look afraid. She stands tall, like the Queen she is.