Page 54 of V-Day
“It does have a rough effectiveness. You’re anchored, either way.”
Thorne grunted, his gaze on the board.
Duardo pushed his king’s pawn forward two squares. “Serrano has demonstrated he does not think in military terms. He’s linear. There might be a way to use that.”
Thorne looked up, his eyes narrowing. “Explain,” he rapped out. It was a general issuing an order. For a moment he had forgotten who he was speaking too. Duardo let it slide. This was too critical a moment to get bogged down in matters of protocol.
“What if you being anchored here wasn’t a limitation, but a tactic?” Duardo added the kicker. “A tactic which would win this war.”
Thorne sat back, the game forgotten. “You have a plan,” he said flatly.
“I do have a plan.”
Thorne considered him. “You want something from me, to make this work,” he guessed.
“Yes,” Duardo said.
“Beyond sitting on my ass here, waiting for the green light.”
“Yes.”
Thorne raised his brow. It was a silent question.
“The tanker of aviation fuel sitting on the beach behind us, where you landed,” Duardo answered.
Thorne’s gaze shifted inward. He was thinking hard. His gaze remained unfocused as he straightened, took the lid off the whisky bottle and poured himself another slug. He picked up the glass and met Duardo’s gaze and smiled. “You crafty son of a bitch.”
*
COMING TO HER SENSES TOOKa while. Calli let herself drift, trying to put together the last moments she remembered. Nausea swirled in her belly and she pressed her hand against it, still unwilling to open her eyes.
“It’s the Benzodiazepine making you sick.”
Calli opened her eyes. She was lying on one of the folding beds in the front half of the bordello green room. Annamaria sat on the empty bed beside her, a paperback novel in her hand, a coffee cup in the other.
Calli swallowed. “I don’t remember much. What time is it?”
“Nearly dawn.” Annamaria put the cup down. “The shop is closed for the night.” She laughed. “We shut early. You did that.”
Calli swallowed. Her throat and mouth were parched. A memory of Ibarra leaning over her leapt into her mind and she shuddered. “I bit his ear…”
“You damn near tore the thing off, is what you did,” Annamaria said. “Then he hit you and knocked you out. That’s why you can’t remember much.”
“I’ve been out since then?” She looked down at herself. She was wearing another robe. A cotton bathrobe, which was a faded blue, but clean. “You cleaned me up?”
“You remember the blood then?” Annamarie smiled. “It was everywhere, sweetheart. He bled like the pig he is.” She reached into the spine of the book she was reading and lifted the bookmark she was using. “We cleaned you up because we figured we owed you for this.” She dangled the bookmark.
It was an electronic security pass, which the Insurrectos used to pass from section to section inside the Palace.
Calli stared at it. The second step. “I remember…” She frowned. She could hear the tearing of flesh. She shuddered at the sound it had made. She had not had to do more than hold onto his ear. Ibarra had jerked backward, tearing the ear himself. He howled, clasping his hand to the side of his head.
His lurch backward dropped Calli’s head against his shoulder. It has been a simple matter to lower her chin and grip the edge of the security badge with her teeth. His jerking movement of pain had slid the spring clip off the top of his pocket. Calli dropped the pass to the quilt beneath her and shifted her hips so she was lying over it.
Then…ah, yes!...now she remembered the way he had twisted, then brought his hand, arm and shoulders around in a powerful back-hand blow which smacked against her temple. After that, nothing.
Calli looked at Annamaria, and the security pass she dangled. “Put it away before someone sees,” Calli told her.
“Everyone in the room is a Loyalist,” Annamaria said. She slid the card back into her book. “What are you planning on doing with it?”
