She nodded vigorously, and I spun the chair and cut the tie. She moved quickly but made sure I was aware of her movements, sprawled on the bed and stuffed her face into the pillow.
We grabbed bags and walked out the door. We moved briskly, because we didn’t have bugs on everything and I don’t ever trust a criminal. For all I knew, she really was a high-end spy herself, and had conned me.
We were in a rental vehicle soon enough, and rolling. The one I bought I’d abandoned, with contents. We needed to relocate a good distance and clear DNA traces. That would take a bit of work.
Silver was silent for several segs. When she spoke, she asked, “Would you really have forced it out of her with the pliers and knife?”
“Yes,” I said.
I looked at her and noticed her expression.
Goddammit.
We said nothing very loudly for awhile. I realized I had to offer something.
I was surprised how soft my voice was.
“Silver, I’ve interrogated people in the field before. I’ve killed before. I’ve personally killed several hundred people, directly caused the deaths of fifteen million or so, indirectly killed a couple of billion. I’m an asocial, self-centered thug with egotistical tendencies. That’s why I got where I am. I don’t like hurting people, but I’m able to compartmentalize ‘enemies’ as not-people, and do whatever needs done at the time. Then I realize afterward that they were actually people, and hate myself for it.”
There was silence again for a while. When she broke it, she said, “I feel very sorry for you.”
She meant it. That hurt.
“Thank you. I’m glad someone does.”
Yeah, I’d never been very sociable. After I enlisted, I cared about Deni and a few friends, and less about anyone else as time went on, partly because I’d had to treat everyone as an intel threat, had nothing in common with most, and spent a lot of time among enemies. Then I’d infiltrated a society I hated, become part of it, wound up hating my own because of it. These days, I cared about my daughter, Andre, and now Silver. Not much else in the universe mattered to me.
I didn’t want to hurt her, and I didn’t see any way not to.
You know those dogs they rescue from illicit fighting rings, who have to be kept in a cage and only warm up to the person who brings them food every day after a few years? I envy them. They don’t have to think about the philosophy of their past.
***
We found a light industrial area near the regional airport on the west side of town, and called in another car rental. Across the street was a hauler stop with a cheap inn. We checked in with cash, showered, wiped down with enzyme-soaked rags, bundled back out with sealed luggage, walked across the street, grabbed the new rental, and got back on the road.
“South,” I said. “Near the starport is useful, and we already have traces in the area.”
“Got it,” she said.
At a small chain hotel, we set up shop. The port was five minutes by car, rail or taxi. We had a nice little kiosk for groceries or franchise food and good access to civilian communication.
“What now?” Silver asked as she threw her bag on the bed.
“Either find some more forensics, or wait for another kill to track him.”
“How hideous.”
“It’s all we have. Hopefully, we can keep narrowing the gap, reduce his options, put him under stress.”
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“Only as an intellectual challenge. Okay, yes. I’m an assassin and this is a tough one.”
“The only moral difference is that you have government sanction.” Her tone had a clear tinge of disgust.
“Yes,” I agreed. “And I don’t like governments. How’s that for irony?”
She said, “I feel frustrated. I wish this would move faster.” She looked around at everything and nothing.
“It’s one of those things we have. Months of boredom, moments of bowel-emptying terror.”
“I know,” she said with a sigh. “How am I doing?” she asked again.
I repeated, “Still great. You’re discreet and professional, and your support is first class. Keep working on your nerves.”
“Thanks,” she said.
I understood the need for feedback. Myself, I either like detailed feedback, or to be left alone. I hate someone asking for regular status updates, but I sometimes preferred to give them. Or I had, before I took on a position that made me a solo artist.
A thought occurred to me.
“If we do trace his money, I could go into competition with him.”
“How?” she asked. She was changing clothes. I kept my gaze elsewhere.
“Put the word out I’m available for kills, boast of a background, work cheaper. Prove to be incompetent and wait for ‘replacement’ by him, because I’ve blabbed a bit. The bad news is, I make our vets look bad. Good news is, that dilutes the market.”