Anew: Book Three: Entwined (25 page)

“Which will merely heighten the excitement,”
Adele says serenely, “and make people clamor all the more to attend.”

I spare a thought for the virtues
of elopement, put that firmly from my mind, and focus instead on the vital
question of bridal colors. Apparently, this will determine almost everything
else from the design of the invitations to the table linens and the color of
Ian’s boutonniere.

I have settled on silver and rose
when Heidi produces what I have to believe is her first real smile of the day.

“You’re doing splendidly,” she
says, not even attempting to hide her surprise. “Keep it up and we just might
be able to pull this off.” Her normally stern look reasserts itself. “Provided that
absolutely nothing go wrong. One false step, one complication and--” She throws
up her hands as though to indicate the chaos that will result.

“Nothing will go wrong,” Adele says
firmly. She leans over and pats my hand. Quietly, so that only I can hear her,
she murmurs, “After all you’ve been through, this is a time to just be happy.”

I want to believe her and I almost
do. But as we turn to the menu selections, the small hairs at the back of my
neck prickle. From the moment I awakened for the first time, life has been a
rollercoaster series of surprises and shocks, some delightful, others decidedly
not. As much as I want to think that Ian and I have come to a more tranquil place,
something in me doubts that.

I tell myself not to be foolish but
as we turn to a detailed discussion of hors d’oeuvres, I long for the warmth
and safety of his arms. My thoughts wander to Pinnacle House. Hours have passed
since Ian and I talked this morning. What is so urgent that it keeps him there?

Ian

“D
oc Norris wants to speak with you,” Hollis says. “He
called half-an-hour ago.”

“He didn’t sound happy,” Gab warns.

I nod despite the jolt of
adrenaline that hits way down in my limbic system where the dark, primal stuff
lives. Somewhere in among all those dank weeds the thought stirs that things
have been going way better than I deserve.

Getting Amelia out of the club…surviving
the drone attack…killing Davos. Above all, her saying ‘yes’ to marrying me.
It’s all good and that last part is flat-out great. But I can’t shake the
nagging sense that the universe balances itself. There’s bound to be a
reckoning.

“Let him know I’m free now. Have
him come up here.”

Whatever the good doctor is about
to drop on me, I’ll face it on my own turf rather than his. I know that’s
ridiculous given that all of Pinnacle House is mine and I’m responsible for
everything that happens here. But I’m going to give myself a pass on that.

Norris doesn’t waste any time. He
comes bustling up from Medical, his white coat flapping around his legs.
Pausing only to rub his bloodshot eyes, he says, “That was some heavy shit with
Davos.”

“It was,” I agree. “Now that you’ve
had a chance to look Mister Crispy over, what do you have to tell me?”

He snorts, ever appreciative of my
humor. “The good news is that we were able to get enough cells to work with.
Had to go into the long bones for them but they were there. I can confirm the
DNA field test. We’ve got a match.”

I exhale slowly with relief. Not
that I thought the field test could be wrong. Technically, it can be but I’ve
never had that happen. Still, it’s good to hear Norris confirm it.

Before I relax too much, I ask,
“What’s the other news?”

Doc hesitates, looking from me to
Gab and Hollis and back again. Slowly, he says, “I’m not certain and I sure as
hell don’t want to start up anything. But we’re seeing what could be skunky
output from the cell imaging system.”

“Skunky?” Hollis repeats.

“Yeah,” Doc says, “as in something
doesn’t smell right. I can’t tell you yet what we’re dealing with or even if
there is anything. An artifact of the napalm maybe. That stuff’s a carcinogen
so who knows what affect it might have on cells. Clarence is looking through
historical data for any indication that the chemicals in it could be
responsible for what we’re seeing. But the problem is that the bulk of
information on the use of napalm is from almost a century ago. It wasn’t likely
to be digitized. Clarence requisitioned a dozen Library of Congress bots to
start finding and scanning relevant paper documents. We’ll see if that produces
anything.”

Seriously, paper? Why not go
straight to papyrus? I don’t care how fast bots can scan, this could take
forever. The last thing I need is any loose end dangling from Davos’ well
barbecued remains.

“Stay on it,” I tell Doc, striving
for patience that I’m far from feeling. “Let me know as soon as you have an
answer.”

“Yeah, sure, but like I said, we’ve
got the DNA. Odds are we’ll be laughing about the rest before too long.”

Maybe but I’m not laughing now. On
the contrary, as soon as Norris leaves, I refocus sharply. For the next several
hours, my team undertakes a thorough review of all assets, deciding how best to
redeploy them in light of this latest development, if it even is that. Call me
crazy but on the chance, however remote, that Norris is going to turn up
something that really ruins my day, I want to be prepared.

Hollis and Gab don’t question me.
We’ve worked together long enough and know each other too well not to have the
same concerns. If nothing comes of Doc’s ‘skunky’ output, no one has to know
how seriously we’re taking it.

 It’s mid-afternoon before I’m
satisfied. I check in with Norris but he’s got nothing new. Once again, he
assures me that what he’s seeing is likely related to the manner of death and
nothing more.

I want him to be right like I want
to keep breathing. But beyond all that, I need to see Amelia, hold her in my
arms, touch her, be certain beyond any doubt that she’s safe.

The urgency of that need is so
overwhelming that it’s close to being irrational. I control it as long as I can
but as soon as the last pieces are put in place for a contingency plan that I
hope like hell I won’t need, I’m gone.

“I’ll be at the McClellan house,” I
say.

The quick look that Hollis and Gab
exchange reminds me of what I was planning to tell them earlier, before events
crowded out everything else.

Cautiously, mindful of the fact
that they know Amelia’s identity is fake, I say, “Yesterday, Amelia agreed to
become my wife.”

She and Hollis exchange one of what
I’ve come to think of as their patented ‘looks’, the kind that makes me wonder
if they’ve gone and gotten communicator implants. Realistically, I know they
wouldn’t do that. Hollis and I experienced enough of that shit in the Special
Forces to not want anything more to do with it. As for Gab, she’s been too
smart from the get-go to let anything so intrusive inside the marvel that is
her brain.

Still, it’s eerie what they can say
without saying anything. Within seconds, they seem to carry on a whole
discussion and come to a conclusion.

Hollis laughs out loud and thumps
me on the back. “Hell, it’s about time. We were wondering what was taking you
so long.”

“Damn drone slowed me down.” I
can’t repress a grin. These are my friends, after all, and they’re going to
support me even if they do know that there’s more to the story than I’m telling
them right now.

Without warning, Gab grabs me in a
hug that has me gasping for breath. “You’re a good person,” she says. “You
deserve to be happy.” Letting me go, she steps back briskly but her smile
remains. “When’s the date?” she asks.

“Soon,” I say, so emphatically that
she and Hollis both chuckle. “I’m heading over there now to work out the
details.”

And to make sure that we get this
done pronto. Balcony climbing may be fun for a while but I won’t be satisfied
until Amelia is in my bed once and for all, truly mine in every possible way.

I check out of the Operations
Center, take the elevator down to the ground level and exit through the lobby.
That’s not my usual route--more typically I come and go by helicopter from the
roof or armored vehicle from the garage. But it’s a nice day, I’m inclined to
walk, and besides, I want to see what kind of reactions, if any, my presence
gets.

 Out on the street, I pause for a
moment to take a few deep breaths. The southern end of the park is directly in
front of me. Through the fringe of trees, I glimpse the rambling pond crossed
by the arched bridge where I proposed to Amelia. I don’t think of myself as a
romantic but arranging to have the park to ourselves and doing it up right was
a stroke of genius. The way she looked…

There’s a definite bounce in my
step as I cut through Grand Army Plaza toward Fifth Avenue. The massive gilded
bronze statue of Civil War general, William Tecumseh Sherman that has stood
there for a century-and-a-half glitters in the sun. Seated astride his horse
and led by the goddess Victory, he looks ready to lay waste to anything that
gets in his way.

I’ve studied Sherman’s campaigns
and I respect the guy, if only because he had the guts to tell the truth about
war. But his “scorched earth” policy isn’t anything I’d ever want to have to
put into practice.

This morning, when I headed back to
Pinnacle House, it was so early that the streets were all but deserted. Not so
now. With the strike over, the usual crowds are out, residents and workers
alike. The latter are easily identified by their mostly monochromatic uniforms,
many sporting crests that identify the powerful family or corporation that the
worker serves.

But something has changed. I’m used
to seeing workers keep their heads down and their eyes averted as they scurry
along. When the sidewalks are as crowded as they are right now, workers
routinely step into the street to make room for residents to pass.

Or at least they used to. Today,
their heads are up and their eyes, while they aren’t making direct contact, are
staring straight ahead with more than a hint of pride. Moreover, I don’t see a
single worker step off the sidewalk to make room for anyone.

When one young man in the dark blue
and burgundy livery worn by McClellan retainers comes face-to-face with a
resident, a brief stand-off ensues. The resident clearly expects the young man
to give way. Instead, he holds his ground, politely but firmly until they
maneuver around each other. The resident goes off exuding indignation but
doesn’t attempt to do anything more.

Whatever impact the one-day strike
had, this change in behavior, if it continues, is likely to make even more of
an impression. Denied the deference they regard as their due, how are the
residents likely to react? If I had to guess, I’d say not well.

My attention shifts to the members
of the Municipal Protection Services who are in evidence. Hi, boys, I’m back!

The officer who walked me into the
drone’s strike zone is cooling his heels in lock-up. I’m inclined to leave him
there but I can also see the usefulness in letting him loose. If his actions
were just a weird coincidence, he should be out. But if he’s in league with
others in the MPS who want me gone, letting him move around and make contact
with them is the smartest course.

The officers I see on patrol along
Fifth Avenue are in their standard blue uniforms. Their helmet visors are up
and they aren’t wearing body armor. Moreover, their weapons are holstered. The
Council is going all out to create the impression that everything is
hunky-dory. Too bad for them that no one’s buying.

A few blocks south of the McClellan
house, I notice a MPS lieutenant speaking into his wrist mike. When he sees me
looking at him, he glances away quickly.

Edward must know that the Council
is keeping him under surveillance but I make a mental note to step up security
around Amelia all the same. So far, I’ve kept it discreet but with our
engagement about to be announced, I’m not taking any chances. She won’t like
being kept in a bubble but she’ll just have to accept it.

The guards on the gate open it as
they see me approach. I pass through and take the steps to the main doors two
at a time. A young footman greets me in the entry hall.

“Good afternoon, Mister Slade. The
ladies are in the conservatory, if you’d like to go through.”

“I’ll do that but first, is Mister
McClellan at home?”

The footman smiles slightly. “No,
sir, he left early for his offices downtown.”

I’ll just bet he did. Edward’s got
as much guts as any man I know but he’s no dummy. With Adele in full wedding
planning mode, any male with half a brain is going to get as far away as
possible.

Which I guess settles once and for
all what part of me does most of the thinking when it comes to Amelia.

“The conservatory, you said?” I
ask.

The footman nods even as he glances
warily toward the back of the house. I square my shoulders, take a breath, and
proceed.

Straight into… Whoa! The glass
walled conservatory with its white wicker furniture, fragrant orange trees, and
hanging baskets of flowering plants is ultra feminine to start with but now-- All
I can think is that it looks as though an estrogen bomb went off.

Long ribbons of delicate, airy
fabrics are draped over the chairs. Flowers are everywhere--loose, in vases,
gathered in bouquets. Wheeled tea trolleys are crammed with little plates
holding slices of cake. In a holo-chamber, what looks like an entire orchestra
is playing a selection from Mozart.

Meanwhile, a woman with stark white
hair cropped short is going on about the absolute need for a human
calligrapher, not any sort of machine, while my sister is staring bemusedly at
what appears to be a bird of paradise made out of a folded napkin. A swan, much
larger and sculpted from ice, drips quietly in a corner. Nearby, Adele and
Helene are knocking back little aperitif glasses filled with samples of
champagne. By the look of them, they’ve been at it for awhile.

Every instinct I’ve got tells me to
back out quickly and quietly. But just then Amelia sees me. At once, her lovely
face lights up. With laughter dancing in her eyes, she mouths a single word:
Help!

All thought of retreat vanishes. I
go straight to her side, rest my hand on her shoulder and bend down to drop a
light kiss on her forehead. She smells so good--a delicate, flowery perfume
combined with…vanilla custard? Whatever it is, it’s enticing.

“Ian!” my mother exclaims. “How
marvelous that you’re here. Do sit down. We have so much to discuss.”

Before I can reply, Amelia leaps to
her feet. With a smile, she says, “I’ve a bit of a headache, nothing a little
fresh air won’t fix.” Turning to me, she adds, “Would you mind a walk in the
garden?”