Page 133 of Secret Weapon

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NINE

“Don’t you think this is weird?”

Ana glanced at me, chopsticks in hand, a sushi roll halfway to her mouth.

“Our whole life is weird.Which particular part are you talking about?Being back together again?”

“Being so far behind the front lines.”

While Emmy and her people planned their entry into the terracotta eyesore, Ana and I had been exiled to Santa Clarita, with nights spent at Skywater House.Instead of plotting to retrieve a deadly weapon from under the nose of our former colleague, we were puzzling over a much less significant problem.The weapon was already gone.Getting it back was the priority, not working out which scientist betrayed their country.ARU—Acronyms R Us—could do that later.

But Ana only shrugged.“Operationally, it makes sense for us to stay out of Ilya’s way.”

“I know.It’s just…weird.”

Plus I was being paid eight thousand bucks a day for breaking and entering, which, let’s face it, was child’s play.Even weirder.

The ARU file had described Timothy Stern as “peeved yet cooperative,” but having spent the afternoon listening to him via the bugs I’d installed while Ana followed him to his lawyer’s office this morning, I was inclined to go with “indignant.”His sister had visited with her son this afternoon, a boy of seven or eight years old, and Stern had spent the whole time complaining while the kid played video games in the background.

His suspension from work wassounfair.Those assholes wouldn’t let him see Ottie.Only a monster would betray his country, and he was a gosh-darned-patriot, didn’t they understand that?Beep-beep-boop.Rinse and repeat when his brother got home from work in the evening—the brother appeared to be sleeping on the couch—minus the video game soundtrack.

A case of a man who doth protest too much?

Or was he just a whiner?

Either way, I couldn’t understand what Ottie Marquette saw in him.In any normal situation, her taste in men—or the lack of it—would beherproblem, but thanks to Anton Stepanov’s desire for power, now it was our problem too.A Blackwood team would continue to monitor the Stern bugs tomorrow while we tackled the next candidate.Santoro.Or rather, his estranged wife.

Laurie Santoro was referred to by ARU as both “hostile” and “cagey.”I’d add “quiet” to the list.So far, she’d spoken only with her daughter, a pony-obsessed four-year-old named Esme.I’d paid a visit to their apartment while they stocked up on groceries—it had been a busy morning—and there were toys lying everywhere, most of them of the equine variety.Housekeeping wasn’t one of Laurie’s strengths, or maybe she’d just been distracted lately?

Either way, she’d sounded slightly teary when she promised Esme they could go to the Jumbo Jungle tomorrow afternoon, so perhaps José’s disappearance had left her more stressed than she’d originally let on.The Jumbo Jungle Bounce-n-Play was neutral territory and potentially a good place to get to know Laurie better, but there was a slight technical hitch—it was a kids’ play centre.Sure, there was a café too, but the café was themed with chairs shaped like ladybugs and giraffes and tables modelled on giant lily pads.Not a place where adults went alone.

Ana’s phone vibrated its way across the table, and she checked the screen.

“They’re coming.Sam isn’t happy, but they’re coming.”

Fantastic.Our surveillance team had just doubled in size, and tomorrow, I was going to become Aunt Dede.

“We can’t make a habit of this.She’s missing kindergarten.”

Quinn—Ana was the only person who called him Sam, apparently—folded his arms as he watched his dearly beloved help Tabby into a new sweater.We’d bought it last night at Walmart, along with fabric paints and yarn, and after dinner, I’d painted a pair of multicoloured ponies on the front, then made them swishy little tails.Tabby was distinctly unimpressed.The way she curled her lip was all Ana.

“We’re only taking her to a play centre,” Ana told Quinn.

“Today, it’s a play centre.This is a slippery slope.Next thing we know, she’ll be twelve years old and jumping out of an airplane with an MP5.”

“If she’s jumping out of a plane, an Uzi Model B Carbine would be more appropriate.”

Ana was correct—the Uzi Model B had a higher tolerance for rough handling.At twelve years old, Tabby would still be a relatively inexperienced skydiver, and nobody wanted a hard landing to ruin a carefully planned operation.

“That wasn’t the point I was trying to make.We agreed to let her be a normal kid.”

“Normal kids bounce around on inflatables.If it wasn’t totally safe, I wouldn’t be taking her.”

Tabby rolled her big brown eyes and looked up at me.The kid had Ana as a mom and Emmy as an aunt; normal was relative.

“Aunt Dede, can I have a juice box?”

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