“Perhaps,” responded Lynne, leaning back in her chair. “But to be honest, it’s unlikely. If she had time to clear them out, she would’ve… And destroyed the facility for good measure, no doubt. Just in case any of us were tempted to go back in a desperate attempt to see our boys.”
“That’s Desmond for you,” Amber chimed in, dropping into an unoccupied chair. “When she carries out a plan, she follows it through.” She paused and squared her shoulders. “Look, when Violet and Viggo first told me about what was happening, I was honestly like ‘so what?’ To me, as a Patrian-born female, the only thing I could think of was that this war hadn’t come soon enough. Most of you know my story… You know what my father did. I had every reason to hate him and any other Patrian male. But, after everything, after working with Viggo and Violet, I realized not everyone is like that. They genuinely care, and what’s more, they taught me working together makes us stronger than being apart. I urge you to consider this proposal. They care about the boys too, and it’s one of our highest priorities to get them free.”
“Those goals are intertwined,” Owen added, taking a step toward the conference table. “Getting them free will help us stop this war—and on the other hand, stopping this war will help us keep the boys from being used as human weapons. It helps, either way. So working with us might be the best way forward. We can help each other in more ways as well. Once we push the Matrians out of Patrus, we can focus our goals exclusively on Desmond, and by extension, Elena. She’s the real monster here—she’s the one who wants to use the boys, boys like my brother, like soldiers in her army. We are going to need all the help we can get in taking them down.”
“You know, we are in a unique position to cause some harm,” said Meera thoughtfully, giving Erin a cautious look. “We could spy on Desmond for them. Use the information we receive from her to help them coordinate plans of attack. Anyone who doesn’t want to go out and actively join the war effort could still—” She paused, letting the venom of her words sink in. “—get some payback… Start up some lies of our own.”
Erin squinted at Meera, considering her, and then gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. “That might be something,” she said after a beat. “It would certainly make me feel better, after she took our boys away from us, right out from under our noses.” She turned to me and arched an eyebrow. “What exactly do you want from us? What would you need, were we to consider doing this?”
“Dr. Tierney,” I replied automatically. “For Quinn, Henrik, and Violet… and anybody else who gets hurt out in the field, which seems more and more likely. She can also help us take care of Solomon,” I said, directing the point at Meera. “Medical equipment, and a few operatives to help with training and general operations until we can get our own people trained up. Also, any information you can get on Desmond would be incredibly helpful.”
“Well, to be honest, Desmond has been less than forthcoming with us recently,” said Lynne. “But there are a few people she’s set to tap at any time. If we can get them on board, we might be able to figure out what she’s up to. But their safety comes first. If she wants them to plant a bomb somewhere, we have to let them plant the bomb. She can’t have any hint that we are working against her. None.”
I nodded. “I understand. But… is that a yes?”
The others at the table looked around at each other for a moment, and then Meera nodded. “You have our support, Mr. Croft. But let’s be clear. We’re getting something out of this deal, too. We want any and all information on the boys, as you encounter it. That is non-negotiable. They become top priority when you find them. Is that clear?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said solemnly, nodding my head.
“Then we have a deal.”
11
Viggo
The darkness that had served as our cloak was beginning to fade into early-morning shadow as Amber lowered the heloship into the clearing. I stared at the lightening sky, having spent the flight home in a kind of triumphant, half-awake daze. Beside me, Dr. Elizabeth Tierney clutched the harness securing her to her chair, her brow furrowed, sweat shimmering on her temples. I could understand somebody being nervous about flying, but it seemed Dr. Tierney was beyond nervous—she was practically allergic to it. We’d barely gotten off the ground when she had begun shaking her head, cinching down the safety harness nobody else had ever used.