Page 53 of Wired Courage

All three of them drew comfort from Momi through these difficult times. Caring for the infant felt like caring for their own hurt inner children.

What a strange insight to have while watching her once-beloved mistress be taken away, quite possibly dying. Armita felt nothing but relief—perhaps she would die, and then Pim Wat’s venomous presence would be gone from the world.

Armita shut her eyes and wished death on Pim Wat.

Sophie was speaking to the man she called McDonald. The blustery agent gestured with his hands. He pointed to the stretcher and tossed his hands skyward, clearly frustrated that his captive spy had almost fallen to her death. Sophie shook her head, shrugged her shoulders, and turned and walked back to Armita.

Her former ward’s face was expressionless, unlike her aunt Malee’s had been.

Life had not been kind to Sophie. She had learned inscrutability to protect herself, but the suppression of her emotions cost her dearly.

The two women stood side by side, shoulders almost touching, as the stretcher was secured in the helicopter with the doors open for it to fit. Once they’d stowed Pim Wat securely, McDonald clambered on board.

The chopper’s rotors began their heavywhop whop whop. The sound increased, the helicopter’s roar eliminating everything else. Sophie and Armita withdrew, heading into Sophie’s former home.

They ascended the steep exterior wooden stairs that had so recently claimed a victim. When they reached the living area, Armita turned to Sophie. “Are you all right?”

“I don’t know. I still can’t tell if she tripped, or if she jumped. In any case, I did not mean for that to happen.” Sophie’s impassive mask slipped. Her lips trembled. Her eyes were haunted. “Maybe I did push her. I just don’t know.”

Armita had half of her answer. “Will she live?”

“I don’t know that either. She was still alive, but barely—that head injury seemed severe, and she was barely breathing. One of the agents had some medical training and he looked her over but didn’t have much of an idea what was going on. Her cheekbone and jaw were broken, judging by the way they were looking. I don’t know if moving her will make her worse, or save her. But since the CIA was on their way, and emergency services being what they are out here—having them take her to the closest US treatment facility seemed best. McDonald will do all he can to keep her alive.” Sophie rubbed her own damaged cheekbone, a habitual gesture. “I don’t know whether I hope she lives or dies.”

“You did the right thing.” Armita squeezed Sophie’s shoulder.

“I did the only thing.” Sophie walked into the kitchen and poured them each a glass of water. “It’s important to stay hydrated in times of stress, and I’m breastfeeding now.” Sophie sipped, staring out the window over the overgrown yard.

Armita drained her glass too, feeling numb and heavy.

She was liberated at last from the control of a fickle, cruel mistress. So why was she so sad and conflicted? Because Pim Wat wasn’t always horrible. Her beautiful mistress could be high-spirited and generous. Pim Wat had no one in her life but Armita and the Master—and in her twisted way, she loved them both.

Sophie set down her empty glass and turned back to Armita. “I want you here while I call the Master. I want you to help me figure out what to say to him. I do not want to give away any unnecessary information. He must have no idea what has happened to Pim Wat; if he finds out I had anything to do with her injury and capture by the CIA . . . I don’t know what he would do to Connor.” Sophie’s face was pale with stress. “I need to stay very focused and calm for this call.”

Armita’s heart rate picked up as Sophie’s apprehension spread, but she had to stay strong for all of their sakes. Sophie really had no idea the extent of the power the Master wielded—he had massive influence with a number of world governments because he kept the sons of officials from all over the world at the compound, studying his arcana—as willing hostages.

While the Master did not seem the vengeful type, the man was absolutely cold when it came to achieving his objectives. Right now, that objective was obtaining Sophie’s bone marrow. But how would he react to news of Pim Wat’s injury and capture? Armita didn’t want to find out.

“Get a pen and paper. Let’s make some notes, develop a script for you. The Master is uncanny in his persuasiveness. You will find yourself telling him things you never would have intended to.”

“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of,” Sophie said, and got out her tablet. “I’ll make notes on this.”

“How didyou get this number, Sophie Smithson?” The Master’s rich voice, on speakerphone, filled the small bathroom the two women had crowded into to contain the sound, and so that Armita could monitor the conversation.

“You are not untraceable, sir. I am calling because you have something I want.” Sophie’s voice was steady, but tension bracketing her eyes revealed her stress. Armita patted her arm encouragingly.

“The man I released must have told you by now about the prince and his condition.”

“He has.”

“My offer is this: provide what the prince needs, and I will return your man to you. Provided, of course, that Connor wants to go.”

Sophie frowned. “Why would he want to stay at the compound?”

“Connor has a taste for the deeper things. He has a wonderful mind and a great curiosity,” the Master said.

Armita felt the appeal of the man’s words, as Sophie must. “Don’t hurt him,” Sophie whispered.

Facing Sophie, Armita shook her head vigorously and made a throat-cutting gesture. But it was too late. The Master’s voice was already casting its spell over Sophie—Armita could see it happening and could do nothing to stop it.

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