Page 114 of Gates of Tartarus

The feeling of dread won’t leave me. The air is heavily charged with it, ions swirling sharp and metallic. Jorge’s eyes darken to burnt umber when he meets me for lunch. I try to shrug his concern away, making a feeble joke, but even the date and walnut cake he buys me won’t settle my nerves.

It’s almost with a sense of relief that I see Tennireef in his office. I half expected to find him mutilating another young woman. He’s talking on the phone, leaning back casually in his chair. I look around. Everything is modern and shiny and chrome and looks like it’s come out of a corporate catalog. There are no personal touches – the office could belong to any wealthy CEO. It’s a bit soulless, I decide, just like the man sitting in front of me. He’s smiling as he listens, blue eyes sparkling, gelled hair just so. He looks smug and smarmy, and I’m itching to punch him. Let me guess: wanker-chops has got his bill through.

“Well, what did you expect? You weren’t up to the job. I know you think you’re God’s gift, darling, but really.”

Ugh. Has he looked in the mirror?

“I don’t know what you want me to do, Artemis.”

I snap to attention.

“The only reason you were put in charge is that you wereliterallythe only choice. And now you’ve fucked up.”

Well now, this is interesting. I feel a pulse of satisfaction. Something has clearly gone wrong at Kronos. Perhaps this is the break we need.

“How difficult was it to transport them without being seen? I’ve done it. Why didn’t you just dispose of them when you got the tip-off? No one would have been the wiser.”

Jeeesus. Is he saying what I think he’s saying? I shiver, feeling goosebumps on my non-existent skin.

“Sometimes, it doesn’t pay to show initiative… Speak to her? For you?” He laughs. “Sorry, sweetie. I’m going to have enough trouble calming things down here once the press gets wind of it.”

Wind of what?What’s happened?I stare at Tennireef, as if I can somehow psychically coerce him into revealing the details.

“I wouldn’t worry too much. You’re still an asset, even though you’re clearly not as good as you thought. Anyway, I’ve got to go. Do try to pull yourself together. You’ll probably just get a slap on the wrist.”

No! Come on. What’s happened? What’s happened!

He hangs up.Damn! Damn, damn, damn!

Tennireef sits still for a moment, smirking and shaking his head, then presses a buzzer. “Stacey, are my notes for the committee ready? I’ve got a meeting in five.” I hear a faint voice say “yes, sir”, and he nods and stands up, shrugging into his jacket.

No! Just, just talk to yourself or something! Aargh. Anything!

But he only strides to the door, and I’m left biting my lip as he goes out.

Emlyn and Seef are electrified by the news. Something big has clearly happened in the States. Seef’s on the phone to Maddox almost before I’ve finished speaking.

“Come on, come on, pick up,” Seef mutters. We wait, then he grimaces and barks out a short message. He rubs his chin thoughtfully. “This explains why I haven’t been able to get in touch with him. He’s clearly got his hands full. From your vision, it doesn’t sound as if Tennireef’s been caught out, but Maddox may have a bead on Artemis, whoever she is. She’s panicking.”

I nod. I’m dying to know what’s happened, but we’ll have to wait for the US team to brief us. For now, all we can do is to keep looking into the Russian angle. Robert E. Deveraux returned from the Caymans yesterday, and Emlyn went to question him, but, as suspected, the interview was a waste of time. No, the Right Honourable M.P. did not meet any woman matching Magda’s description. I trust you’re not implying what I think you’re implying. The idea! I’ll have you know I’m a happily married man, very happily married. The CCTV footage the agencies have been able to obtain hasn’t yielded any hits, and hotel management are dragging their feet, citing privacy concerns. We’re not going to find out anything soon from that angle. Whatever has gone down in the US is now our best lead. It sounds promising, but I still can’t shake the feeling that something’s actually gone horribly wrong.

The One Who Runs Barefoot

Wednesday, 28 November – Kailani

When I wake up again, the only light in the room is the soft glow from the machines next to me, and a faint halo of light from the parking lot through the window. I adjust uncomfortably, hair trapped beneath me. I’m unable to move it with the IV in my hand and groan in frustration. Earlier in the day, the nurse, in the most horribly awkward twenty minutes of my life, had done a thorough wash of my hair and body in the shower while I stared at the tiles on the wall praying for oblivion but unwilling to let the blood and dirt remain on my skin for a moment longer. Then she’d transferred me directly back into bed and left me with a wet, tangled mop of hair.Oh well, I think, at least it’s clean.

Stretching slightly, I moan a little as pain races down my skin like tiny cactus prickles. A consciousness flares to life beside me, and I realize suddenly that Walker has fallen asleep in the chair next to my hospital bed and is slowly waking. He blinks blearily at me and rubs his calloused hands over his face roughly, before shaking his head a little and refocusing on me.

“Hey,” he says, deep voice quiet even in the silent hours of the night. “You okay? You need anything?”

I shrug, try to reply, and cough a little, throat dry. He fumbles at my bedside for a moment and brings a water glass with a straw up to my lips. I drink a little, and, ridiculously, my eyes well up with tears, which I blink back angrily. He sighs, rubbing his face again, trying to shake off the last of the sleep from his mind, and looks at me carefully.

“Kai,” he begins, and I blink up at him, jaw flexing against the softness in his tone, trying desperately to get myself under control. “Kai,” he says again, “I’m…” he swallows convulsively, shaking his head, and reaches out for my hand, staring at my fingers in his. “Christ. There’s not a section of you that’s not bruised.” Frowning deeply, he looks up and takes me in. “You got a shower at least, right?”

I press my lips together, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from crying, and I raise my hand to my hair. “It’s going to take me ages to get through it,” I reply, choking on my sadness, almost unable to speak through the tightness in my throat.

Walker looks at me for a long moment, then asks slowly, “I could… Is it alright... I mean... I could braid your hair? I’ll do a good job, I promise. Is that okay?”

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