Richard shook his head. “That’s not entirely accurate either, Elena. Your father’s become quite a provocative figure in the last three months, particularly in certain nations of the Undeveloped World. From both the standpoint of his memory, and security for his family, an immediate post-mortem ceremony on Earth would not have been prudent.”
Trevor frowned. “But you didn’t deny that his memorial is, at least in part, a cover for something else.”
In the uncomfortable two seconds of silence that followed, Trevor felt as though the Uncle Richard he had always known was undergoing some swift and horrible transmogrification into an unknown entity, a creature which, if stuck with a pin, would bleed shadows and mist. “Why didn’t you tell us?”
Downing looked at his hands. “I couldn’t. Things have been changing dramatically since Parthenon. And they’re about to change even more dramatically.”
Elena’s eyes had never left Richard’s face. “You’re bringing us inside, aren’t you?”
Inside: the word that Trevor and Elena had adopted as the shorthand label for whatever it was that Dad and Uncle Richard did together—and could never talk about. Inside was the forbidden place—so forbidden that they intrinsically knew to keep Dad from learning that they even had a special word for it.
Richard had been nodding. “Yes, you’re being brought inside. At the request of others.”
“Others? What others?”
“That’s part of what we’ll be talking about after the memorial.”
Elena looked up as the car began slowing. “This is where I get off.”
“Not anymore.” Downing’s tone was sad, not imperious.
Elena stopped, half-risen, to look at him. “What do you mean?”
Trevor nodded, understanding. “He means you can’t stay on your own. You were kidnapped, and we can’t even be sure of the reasons yet. Right now, we’ve got to arrange security for you, keep you close.”
“For how long?”
The car had started again; Downing looked out the narrow slit window into the rushing darkness. “I wish I could say.”
ODYSSEUS
The attacks seemed to come from every direction. First a low kick, which Caine reflexively downblocked, but before he could launch into a counterpunch, he was battered back by a flurry of strikes: a downblow (fended off with a rising block), then a front snap kick that he narrowly backstepped and a quick right-left sequence of punches (inside block, outside block) followed by a roundhouse kick—
—which did not come. But having anticipated it, Caine had started to turn inside the expected arc of the kick, intending to interrupt the attack before it could come around.
But suddenly, there was no attacker there—not standing, anyway. Caine felt the sole of a small, hard foot slam into the back of his knee. He had just enough time to realize—she dropped low and then kicked straight—before he went down.
He broke his fall—and was then knocked flat as she landed on his back. The air went out of him with a sound that was part groan and part hoot—a noise so comical that instead of feeling disappointment at being dropped again, he started laughing into the floor mat. A moment later, he heard—and felt in her body—that she had joined in.
He rolled over—and found Opal’s face very close—unnecessarily close—to his. He smiled. “You win.”
“I ought to. But you’re getting better. Pretty good, actually.”
“Well, I have a great teacher.” He decided not to move.
She apparently made a similar decision to continue their conversation nose-to-nose. “And I’ll keep teaching you—as long as you keep it our secret.”
“That’s a deal. Time for another fall?”
“Yeah, I guess I’ve got enough time to kick your butt again.” Her eyes widened. “Shit! The time! I’m late!” Her weight was suddenly off of him, departing with a farewell waft of her shampoo.
“Late? Late for what?”
“For a meeting with our favorite spy guy, Downing. He paged me just before we started. Shall I send him your regards?”
Caine just looked at her. “Have a nice time.”
“Yeah. Sure. It’ll be a party. I’ll be dancing on his desk.”
“That I would like to see. But maybe you’ll consent to tell me about all the fun later. Over dinner?”
He held his breath a little: It’s a small step, but all our prior meals together have been happenstance or convenience. This time, there’s no real reason for us to eat together—which means it can almost be interpreted as a “first date.”