The Long Game
Page 77
Dr. Clark stood up. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, the muscles in her face taut. “These things take time.”
“Unfortunately, Moira, time is one thing we do not have in any abundance.” Mrs. Perkins turned her attention from Dr. Clark to me. The gleam in her eyes was darker and harder than anything I’d seen in Dr. Clark’s.
Some people do horrible things because of their beliefs, I thought, a chill settling over my body. And some people choose beliefs that let them do horrible things.
“You killed John Thomas,” I said, unable to look away from a woman I’d always considered welcoming and warm.
“When the president was shot and it seemed likely the vice president would be taking office, I put a new plan into motion. We needed to kill a student in order to get the headmaster to agree to bring in extra security. Armed security.” Mrs. Perkins shrugged. “The fact that Mr. Wilcox had been poking around in his father’s files made him an obvious choice. We would have had to deal with him eventually. Two birds, one stone. I saw an opportunity.” There was a gleam in Mrs. Perkins’s eyes when she said those words. “And I took it.”
“His father was working with Senza Nome,” I said. “He was one of you.”
“He was never one of us,” Mrs. Perkins replied. “Never trusted. He was a viper whose goals aligned temporarily with ours. Why overlook an opportunity like this for someone like that?”
An opportunity to orchestrate a takeover of Hardwicke while the vice president was in charge.
“So that’s it?” I said. “You saw an opportunity, and you took it? And you expect me to believe you had nothing to do with the president being shot in the first place? That was just a happy coincidence?” I asked. “Senza Nome claimed responsibility for the attack!”
“Did we?” Mrs. Perkins returned, an edge creeping into her voice. “Did we really?” Her eyes bore into me.
Daniela Nicolae had told interrogators that Senza Nome hadn’t been behind the attempt on the president’s life.
“No matter,” Mrs. Perkins said, shrugging. “The attack on President Nolan might have disturbed one plan, but it gave us an opening for another.”
One plan. Daniela Nicolae, Walker Nolan, and a PR attack that would have crippled the current administration during midterm elections.
An opening for another. The seizing of Hardwicke.
“Now,” Mrs. Perkins declared, “I have a problem, and you, my dear, are going to solve it.”
That isn’t going to happen.
“Certain parties remain unconvinced that this is a battle they cannot win,” Mrs. Perkins continued. “The United States does not negotiate with terrorists, et cetera, et cetera.” She gave a roll of her eyes. “And the people who are more amenable to negotiating have asked for a show of good faith.”
Good faith wasn’t a phrase anyone should apply to these people. Ever.
“We need your help,” Dr. Clark told me. “I need your help to get all of your classmates out of here alive.”
All of them? I thought. Or just the ones who aren’t disposable?
As if to punctuate my thoughts, Mrs. Perkins turned, lifted her gun, and put a bullet between the headmaster’s eyes.
My stomach rebelled, nausea slamming into me with the force of a truck. I fought back against it, swallowing and willing my ears to stop ringing.
“Do I have your attention?” Mrs. Perkins asked.
“Yes.” I gritted out the word.
Mrs. Perkins knelt next to me, the way Dr. Clark had. The expression on her face was almost motherly. “You and I are going to have a chat, Tess. And then, as a show of good faith, I’m going to let you go.”
I stared at the hole in Headmaster Raleigh’s forehead, the blood streaming down his lifeless face.
“Let me go?” I repeated.
“Oh, yes,” Mrs. Perkins said. “I’m going to let you go, and you’re going to tell dear Ivy and the acting president and everyone else who asks everything I’m going to tell you. You will communicate our requests, and you’ll encourage the powers that be to respond appropriately.”
Respond appropriately. As in, give the terrorists what they want.
“And if they don’t?” I asked.
“You’re a resourceful girl,” Mrs. Perkins said, “related to some very powerful people. I have every confidence that you’ll work this out.”
My mouth went dry. “And if I don’t?”
“I’ll give you eight hours. After that, every hour on the hour, I will put a gun to one of your classmates’ heads. And, Tess?” Mrs. Perkins reached out and gently pushed a stray hair from my face. “I’ll enjoy pulling the trigger.”
“Unfortunately, Moira, time is one thing we do not have in any abundance.” Mrs. Perkins turned her attention from Dr. Clark to me. The gleam in her eyes was darker and harder than anything I’d seen in Dr. Clark’s.
Some people do horrible things because of their beliefs, I thought, a chill settling over my body. And some people choose beliefs that let them do horrible things.
“You killed John Thomas,” I said, unable to look away from a woman I’d always considered welcoming and warm.
“When the president was shot and it seemed likely the vice president would be taking office, I put a new plan into motion. We needed to kill a student in order to get the headmaster to agree to bring in extra security. Armed security.” Mrs. Perkins shrugged. “The fact that Mr. Wilcox had been poking around in his father’s files made him an obvious choice. We would have had to deal with him eventually. Two birds, one stone. I saw an opportunity.” There was a gleam in Mrs. Perkins’s eyes when she said those words. “And I took it.”
“His father was working with Senza Nome,” I said. “He was one of you.”
“He was never one of us,” Mrs. Perkins replied. “Never trusted. He was a viper whose goals aligned temporarily with ours. Why overlook an opportunity like this for someone like that?”
An opportunity to orchestrate a takeover of Hardwicke while the vice president was in charge.
“So that’s it?” I said. “You saw an opportunity, and you took it? And you expect me to believe you had nothing to do with the president being shot in the first place? That was just a happy coincidence?” I asked. “Senza Nome claimed responsibility for the attack!”
“Did we?” Mrs. Perkins returned, an edge creeping into her voice. “Did we really?” Her eyes bore into me.
Daniela Nicolae had told interrogators that Senza Nome hadn’t been behind the attempt on the president’s life.
“No matter,” Mrs. Perkins said, shrugging. “The attack on President Nolan might have disturbed one plan, but it gave us an opening for another.”
One plan. Daniela Nicolae, Walker Nolan, and a PR attack that would have crippled the current administration during midterm elections.
An opening for another. The seizing of Hardwicke.
“Now,” Mrs. Perkins declared, “I have a problem, and you, my dear, are going to solve it.”
That isn’t going to happen.
“Certain parties remain unconvinced that this is a battle they cannot win,” Mrs. Perkins continued. “The United States does not negotiate with terrorists, et cetera, et cetera.” She gave a roll of her eyes. “And the people who are more amenable to negotiating have asked for a show of good faith.”
Good faith wasn’t a phrase anyone should apply to these people. Ever.
“We need your help,” Dr. Clark told me. “I need your help to get all of your classmates out of here alive.”
All of them? I thought. Or just the ones who aren’t disposable?
As if to punctuate my thoughts, Mrs. Perkins turned, lifted her gun, and put a bullet between the headmaster’s eyes.
My stomach rebelled, nausea slamming into me with the force of a truck. I fought back against it, swallowing and willing my ears to stop ringing.
“Do I have your attention?” Mrs. Perkins asked.
“Yes.” I gritted out the word.
Mrs. Perkins knelt next to me, the way Dr. Clark had. The expression on her face was almost motherly. “You and I are going to have a chat, Tess. And then, as a show of good faith, I’m going to let you go.”
I stared at the hole in Headmaster Raleigh’s forehead, the blood streaming down his lifeless face.
“Let me go?” I repeated.
“Oh, yes,” Mrs. Perkins said. “I’m going to let you go, and you’re going to tell dear Ivy and the acting president and everyone else who asks everything I’m going to tell you. You will communicate our requests, and you’ll encourage the powers that be to respond appropriately.”
Respond appropriately. As in, give the terrorists what they want.
“And if they don’t?” I asked.
“You’re a resourceful girl,” Mrs. Perkins said, “related to some very powerful people. I have every confidence that you’ll work this out.”
My mouth went dry. “And if I don’t?”
“I’ll give you eight hours. After that, every hour on the hour, I will put a gun to one of your classmates’ heads. And, Tess?” Mrs. Perkins reached out and gently pushed a stray hair from my face. “I’ll enjoy pulling the trigger.”
