Deadline
Page 66
I woke to the sharp, sweetly metallic tang of gun oil. It had managed to perfume the entire room, overwhelming the less-intrusive smells of toast and greasy hotel turkey bacon. I scrubbed my eyes with the back of a hand, clearing the gunk away before sitting up and squinting at the figure perching on the end of the bed.
“I was starting to think you’d sleep until we got attacked again,” commented a female voice. For a single, heart-stopping moment, it sounded like George—but the moment passed. Becks raised her eyebrows at my expression, asking, “You see something green, Mason? Or are you just pissed that I messed up your beauty sleep?”
“Some of us don’t need beauty sleep, Atherton,” I shot back, pushing myself into a sitting position and reaching for the room-service tray someone had kindly placed on the bedside table next to my laptop. “What’s the status?”
“Alaric’s in the other room keeping an eye on the princess while Maggie makes a grocery run and checks in with the staff at her house. She’s worried they’ll forget to feed the dogs if she doesn’t remind them.” Becks continued wiping a silicon cloth along her gunstock, removing the marks her fingers left behind. Her entire kit was open in front of her, explaining the scent of gun oil in the air.
“And the princess herself?” I started making a sandwich from fake bacon and dry toast. It didn’t look all that appetizing, but I was hungry enough not to give a damn.
“Awake, anxious, the usual.” Becks started packing up her kit “She’s a good kid, but she’s also a liability. We should find a safe house and turn her into someone else’s problem.”
“She’s a useful liability—and what do you mean ‘kid’? She’s the same age you are. We need her, at least for now.”
“I wish I were as sure about that as you are.”
“I thought you were the one who started out as a Newsie.” I took a bite of my sandwich, swallowing before saying, “She knows things we don’t know—and if worst comes to absolute worst, I bet she knows the layout of the Memphis CDC pretty darn well. Whoever tracked her to Oakland may not have thought to rekey the biometric sensors to take her retinal scans and fingerprints off the security locks yet. Everyone thinks she’s dead, right? So why waste the money to do a rekey when they don’t have to?”
Becks blinked before admitting, “I hadn’t thought of that one.”
“That’s why I’m in charge.” A drop of hot grease hit me below the collarbone. I hissed and wiped it away, realizing as I did that I’d managed to remove my shirt sometime during the night. This led to the unpleasant but suddenly important question of whether or not I was wearing pants. “Kelly has more to tell us, and she’s going to tell us. We just have to give her time to realize that she doesn’t have a choice.”
“I don’t like it.”
“Never asked you to. Look, I’m pretty sure I don’t trust Dr. Wynne, but I still have to admit that he’s a damn good doctor, and she worked with him. Maybe she’s not the most efficient data-delivery mechanism ever. She still risked a lot to come here and help us out. She’s a dead woman walking. She’s got nothing left to lose. That makes her a damn good ally.”
“It also makes her a damn big suicide risk.” Becks stood, taking her gun kit with her. “How long before you’re ready to roll?”
“Give me twenty minutes to shower and clean up. We want the CDC to let us in, don’t we?” I gave her my best camera-ready smile. Becks rolled her eyes, looking unimpressed, and stomped out of the room.
The door slammed behind her. I yanked the sheets off, relieved to see that I’d managed to keep my jeans on through the night. Accidentally flashing my female colleagues has never been one of my secret aspirations.
The hotel might be shabby, but it was good enough to have a full decontamination shower, with an attached clothing sterilization unit for people who didn’t have sufficient gear for fieldwork. It was a nice touch that probably didn’t get used too often. I stripped down and shoved my clothes into the sterilizer, hopping into the shower and triggering the bleach nozzle. The water came on at the same time, spraying me down with a heated combination of sterilizing chemicals, bleach-based antiseptics, and something that smelled like cheap lemon disinfectant. I squeezed my eyes tightly shut and started scrubbing.
The amount of bleach in the average shower is why blonde highlights have become so common. They’re almost a badge of safety for some people—“See, I’ve been decontaminated so many times that my hair has lost all natural color.” Gorge always hated that. She re-dyed her hair at least twice a month, keeping it dark brown and snarling at anyone who said she was being girly. I always liked the way her hair dye smelled, caustic and sweet at the same time. A lot like George.
The shower finished running the decontamination cycle a few seconds after the clothing sterilizer beeped to signal that my clothes were once more safe to wear around other humans. I dried off, dressed, and stepped back out into the main room to find Alaric waiting for me in an eerie, unintentional imitation of Becks.
“Ready to go?” he asked.
“Ready to stay?” I countered.
To my surprise, he shook his head, and said, “No. Maggie and I were talking, and we want to take the van—and the Doc—back to the house while you’re at the CDC.”
“Why?” I asked, as I moved to shut down my laptop and start packing it to go.
“I was starting to think you’d sleep until we got attacked again,” commented a female voice. For a single, heart-stopping moment, it sounded like George—but the moment passed. Becks raised her eyebrows at my expression, asking, “You see something green, Mason? Or are you just pissed that I messed up your beauty sleep?”
“Some of us don’t need beauty sleep, Atherton,” I shot back, pushing myself into a sitting position and reaching for the room-service tray someone had kindly placed on the bedside table next to my laptop. “What’s the status?”
“Alaric’s in the other room keeping an eye on the princess while Maggie makes a grocery run and checks in with the staff at her house. She’s worried they’ll forget to feed the dogs if she doesn’t remind them.” Becks continued wiping a silicon cloth along her gunstock, removing the marks her fingers left behind. Her entire kit was open in front of her, explaining the scent of gun oil in the air.
“And the princess herself?” I started making a sandwich from fake bacon and dry toast. It didn’t look all that appetizing, but I was hungry enough not to give a damn.
“Awake, anxious, the usual.” Becks started packing up her kit “She’s a good kid, but she’s also a liability. We should find a safe house and turn her into someone else’s problem.”
“She’s a useful liability—and what do you mean ‘kid’? She’s the same age you are. We need her, at least for now.”
“I wish I were as sure about that as you are.”
“I thought you were the one who started out as a Newsie.” I took a bite of my sandwich, swallowing before saying, “She knows things we don’t know—and if worst comes to absolute worst, I bet she knows the layout of the Memphis CDC pretty darn well. Whoever tracked her to Oakland may not have thought to rekey the biometric sensors to take her retinal scans and fingerprints off the security locks yet. Everyone thinks she’s dead, right? So why waste the money to do a rekey when they don’t have to?”
Becks blinked before admitting, “I hadn’t thought of that one.”
“That’s why I’m in charge.” A drop of hot grease hit me below the collarbone. I hissed and wiped it away, realizing as I did that I’d managed to remove my shirt sometime during the night. This led to the unpleasant but suddenly important question of whether or not I was wearing pants. “Kelly has more to tell us, and she’s going to tell us. We just have to give her time to realize that she doesn’t have a choice.”
“I don’t like it.”
“Never asked you to. Look, I’m pretty sure I don’t trust Dr. Wynne, but I still have to admit that he’s a damn good doctor, and she worked with him. Maybe she’s not the most efficient data-delivery mechanism ever. She still risked a lot to come here and help us out. She’s a dead woman walking. She’s got nothing left to lose. That makes her a damn good ally.”
“It also makes her a damn big suicide risk.” Becks stood, taking her gun kit with her. “How long before you’re ready to roll?”
“Give me twenty minutes to shower and clean up. We want the CDC to let us in, don’t we?” I gave her my best camera-ready smile. Becks rolled her eyes, looking unimpressed, and stomped out of the room.
The door slammed behind her. I yanked the sheets off, relieved to see that I’d managed to keep my jeans on through the night. Accidentally flashing my female colleagues has never been one of my secret aspirations.
The hotel might be shabby, but it was good enough to have a full decontamination shower, with an attached clothing sterilization unit for people who didn’t have sufficient gear for fieldwork. It was a nice touch that probably didn’t get used too often. I stripped down and shoved my clothes into the sterilizer, hopping into the shower and triggering the bleach nozzle. The water came on at the same time, spraying me down with a heated combination of sterilizing chemicals, bleach-based antiseptics, and something that smelled like cheap lemon disinfectant. I squeezed my eyes tightly shut and started scrubbing.
The amount of bleach in the average shower is why blonde highlights have become so common. They’re almost a badge of safety for some people—“See, I’ve been decontaminated so many times that my hair has lost all natural color.” Gorge always hated that. She re-dyed her hair at least twice a month, keeping it dark brown and snarling at anyone who said she was being girly. I always liked the way her hair dye smelled, caustic and sweet at the same time. A lot like George.
The shower finished running the decontamination cycle a few seconds after the clothing sterilizer beeped to signal that my clothes were once more safe to wear around other humans. I dried off, dressed, and stepped back out into the main room to find Alaric waiting for me in an eerie, unintentional imitation of Becks.
“Ready to go?” he asked.
“Ready to stay?” I countered.
To my surprise, he shook his head, and said, “No. Maggie and I were talking, and we want to take the van—and the Doc—back to the house while you’re at the CDC.”
“Why?” I asked, as I moved to shut down my laptop and start packing it to go.
