Annum Guard: Blackout Part 18

Abe, Green, and I each grab a platter, keep our heads ducked, and follow the line of waiters heading up the stairs to the second floor. When we get to the top, I halt. Green b.u.mps into me and has to use two hands to steady his tray.

"Watch it!" he growls.

But I can't stop staring. Because I'm in a ballroom. The entire second floor of this house is a ballroom. The ceilings have to be at least twenty feet high, and there are grand, sweeping drapes that fall all the way to the parquet floors. The whole room is painted a light blue, and portraits of very important-looking people line the walls.

The party must have just started because there aren't many people here yet. There are easily more waiters than guests. I make the rounds, keeping my eyes peeled for the defense secretary.

Senator Wharton is the first of our suspects to arrive, half an hour later. Abe nods at me, then sets off in his direction. The room is growing more crowded. In no time, I can barely move through the people. It's almost suffocating. I've completely lost track of Green and Abe. Unless I climb up the drapes to get a better visual, I don't think I'm even going to notice when Howe arrives.

But no sooner do I think that than I see him walk in. He's over in the corner, shaking hands with the congresswoman running for reelection. He says something I can't hear, then turns to head in another direction. I have to follow.

"Hold on a second!" someone says.

I spin around to find a man wearing a very ill-fitting suit waving greasy fingers at my tray of spanakopita. I glance back toward Howe. He's heading for the front windows. I look back at the man. He's trying to squeeze about seven spanakopitas next to a lump of meatb.a.l.l.s on a tiny appetizer plate.

"Seriously?" I mutter. I've lost sight of Howe.

"What was that?" the man asks.

No, there he is! Talking to a woman with long, wavy brown hair swept into a low side ponytail. She's wearing a tailored black dress that stops at her knees and black, pointy-toed stilettoes. The woman turns her head to the side, and I gasp.

"Take the tray." I thrust it into the man's hands. He fumbles and nearly drops his plate but I don't turn to help him.

I keep walking toward the spot where the future secretary of defense is speaking to a much younger, much different version of Jane Bonner.

CHAPTER 17.

I squeeze past Abe on my way across the room. He's keeping an eye on Wharton, who's talking to someone I don't recognize.

"Forget Wharton," I whisper to him. "New target." Then I jerk my head in the direction of Howe and Bonner.

"No way," Abe whispers back.

The two of us make our way through the crowd. We slide past men in suits and women in black dresses and blazers. Tall, white, powerful. That's a good way to describe this room. Or just about any high-level political fundraiser, I guess.

I have my eyes trained on Bonner. Howe leans down and whispers something in her ear. His expression is flat, annoyed even. But Bonner lights up with a smile, something I've never seen before. Bonner rests her hand on Howe's elbow. He looks down, and his glare makes her move it. Then he turns and continues toward the front of the room, not glancing back.

I grab on to Abe's sleeve. "You follow Howe. I'm going after Bonner." Abe nods once and takes off.

I hang back as Bonner weaves through the crowd. I brush past Green, and he touches my arm.

"Whoa," he says. "What is she doing here?"

Green shoves his tray at me. It's about three-quarters full of some sort of raw salmon and avocado thing. "Take it. You look too conspicuous walking around without a tray. I can get another. Don't take your eyes off Bonner."

"Obviously." I s.n.a.t.c.h the tray and leave Green where he is.

I push my way past a woman who is clearly overdressed in a floor-length, emerald-green, satin evening gown, and watch as Bonner talks to a doughy man in an expensive suit, then a man who's shorter than I am, and then a man with silver hair and a weak chin. Each time, it's the same deal. A touch on the arm that's borderline inappropriate, followed by a girlish giggle. Who is this woman?

"Caroline!" Bonner calls, raising a hand. My gaze follows, and I see the moment the future vice president realizes it's Bonner who's calling her. There's a fleeting look of disgust, followed by an almost immediate smile that's sweet as saccharine-and just as artificial.

I push my way closer, ignoring the hands reaching for my tray. I beeline for a group standing about five feet from Caroline Caldwell and hold the tray out to them while glancing over my shoulder. Bonner and Caroline do a double cheek kiss, and the future VP looks like she's about to vomit.

"Well, howdy, little lady. What do we have here?"

It's a voice I know. A voice that makes me squeeze the handles of the tray. I turn, and Joe Caldwell is staring at me. I open my mouth, but no sound comes out. I'm violating the first rule of reconnaissance, which is to not be seen by anyone you know.

Breathe, I tell myself. He's not going to remember a waiter at one of the countless political fundraisers he's been to over the years. Don't draw attention to yourself, and he'll have no reason to remember you.

"Sorry?" I say.

Joe points to the tray. "What is it?"

"Oh!" I look down. "Salmon and avocado. It's a chef specialty." Maybe that's true.

"Don't mind if I do!" he says as he takes one, and he's talking so loudly I can't hear what his wife is saying to Bonner. And then there are more reaching hands. Almost a dozen of them, and everyone is chattering, and I'm missing the whole freaking conversation that I need to be eavesdropping on!

"Deeeee-lis.h.!.+" Joe takes the last one and pops it into his mouth. "My favorite of the night. Hey, sweetheart, why don't you go back down to the kitchen and grab another tray of those." He plops an empty gla.s.s onto my tray. "And while you're at it, get me another of these. Three fingers of Scotch, a splash of soda, two ice cubes." He pulls out a dollar and shoves it into the top of my vest. His hand lingers a second longer than necessary. Then he flashes me a grin. "For your troubles."

A dollar. A dollar. Are you kidding me, a dollar? I have to bite my tongue-literally bite down on it to hold back the words I want to say. I settle on a simple, "Yes, sir."

Joe claps the man next to him on the back. I'm already forgotten. So I return my attention to Caroline. Senator Wharton has now joined the conversation. I find Green in the crowd, and he shakes his head at me, like he's disappointed in me for the momentary attention lapse. I look away.

"Well, it was lovely to see you," Caroline says to Bonner, "but if you'd please excuse us, Senator Wharton and I have a few matters of business we need to discuss."

The smile vanishes from Bonner's face. "Um, of course. It was lovely to see you again, Caroline."

"Mm-hmm."

And then Bonner leaves. She pa.s.ses right by Joe, and his head turns to gaze at her a.s.s for a few steps.

"Who's that?" Wharton asks.

"That," Caroline says with a sigh, "is Marie Quail."

I'm not ready for that answer. I fumble the tray in my hands and have to grab onto the sides to steady it. Joe's gla.s.s tips over but doesn't fall off. Wharton and Caroline both look at me.

I clear my throat. "Do either of you have any gla.s.ses for me to take?" As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I realize what a dumb question it is. Wharton's holding a full gla.s.s of amber liquid. Caroline's hands are empty. She looks at me like I'm a complete moron and doesn't even acknowledge the question. I duck my head and turn to the side.

"She works in Was.h.i.+ngton," Caroline continues. "She probably knows half the men in this room." It's clear from her tone what that means. It's also clear the conversation about Bonner-Marie-whatever the h.e.l.l her name really is-is over. "Listen, where are we on the energy vote?"

Wharton starts talking about this senator and that senator and what they expect the vote to be, and I don't care. Green meets my eyes and jerks his head back, a "come here" gesture.

"Don't ever beckon me again," I say as I sidle up to Green. "Did you hear what Caldwell said?"

Green stares at me for a second before he nods. "Who in the sweet h.e.l.l is Marie Quail?"

And then Senators Wharton and Caldwell are shaking hands, and Caroline taps her husband on the shoulder. "We've made our appearances. I'm ready to leave."

"Sure," Joe says, and I turn my back as they walk past, but neither of them pay me a second glance.

Abe finds us in the thinning crowd. "Howe left about five minutes ago."

"Anything about XP?" I whisper.

He shakes his head.

I sigh. "So should we call this thing? Wharton's the only one left, and I don't think it's him."

"It's definitely not Wharton," Green says. "He doesn't have the air. I actually think he's trying to be a genuine lawmaker and stay away from the nasty underside of politics." He snorts. "Good luck with that."

"I say we head back and have a very serious conversation with Marie Quail."

"Who?" Abe says.

I explain to Abe on the walk back to Annum Hall. As we climb into the closet, I'm thinking about how I'm going to do it. I'm just going to come out and tell Bonner that I know she's hiding something. I'm going to demand answers.

But as soon as we get back, all that is forgotten. Because there's an alarm going off. The same alarm we heard when Orange went missing.

Someone else has been blacked out.

CHAPTER 18.

Yellow, Indigo, Violet. One of them didn't make it back.

My mind goes right to Yellow-the only one flying solo-as my hand finds Abe's. His fingers close around mine, and for the moment, every bit of tension, of awkwardness, between us is gone. Green pushes past us. "Red!" He's racing down the hallway now. "Who? Who's missing?" His voice is almost panicked.

Red steps out into the hall, and Yellow is behind him. I blow out the breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. Yellow is safe.

But there are tears streaming down her cheeks. Big black smudges of eyeliner and mascara drip down her face, and she doesn't raise a hand to wipe them away.

And then I know.

Indigo.

No. NO.

Abe throws his arm around my shoulder and hugs me tight.

"Who?" I whisper, as if daring Red to say the name.

Then there's a familiar ziiiiiip, and all of us spin around to see Violet tear out of the gravity chamber. She's choking and stumbling and holding onto the wall.

"I tried!" she yells. "They got him! They tried to get me, too. I wanted to go back for Indigo, but I couldn't. I just . . . It was chaos and confusion, and I don't even know what happened."

She sinks to her knees and gasps for breath, and I feel like someone should go to her, hug her, rea.s.sure her. But no one does. We all stand there. My feet are anch.o.r.ed to the floor. Indigo. They were following Secretary Howe. And now Indigo is gone.

"How many of them were there, Violet?" Red asks.

Violet swallows. "Two. There were two."

"Describe them."

She's still trembling. "I don't know. I couldn't see their faces. They were wearing ski masks. They weren't that tall, not that muscular, but clearly male and trained in combat. They had these long metal poles that whirred and hissed and lit up. One of them grabbed me, one grabbed Indigo, and I just sort of lost him. I was too focused on freeing myself, and as soon as I did, I ran and ran and ran. I was going to project back from where I was, but I just kept running."

No one says anything.

"We have to do something!" Yellow wails.

Red reaches out and helps Violet off the floor. He has to hook his elbows under her armpits to get her to stand. "Violet, pull yourself together. What did they say? How far into the mission were you?"

"Neither of them said a single word the whole time." Her eyes fly to each of us. "We were hours into the mission. They just showed up at the end, right as-"

The door to the stairwell bangs open, and the Narc storms through it.

"What is this?" Her voice is loud and screechy. "What are you doing?" She stares at us individually, and when she gets to me, her expression sours.

And then she's in my face. "It was you! You did this!"

Red lets go of Violet and pushes between me and Bonner. "It wasn't Iris. It was me. It was all me. Indigo was taken."

Bonner throws back her shoulders. "Both of you, my office. Now!"

Abe squeezes my hand. Violet looks around nervously, while Yellow stares at me with pink, puffy eyes. I try to give her my best rea.s.suring look, but I don't think it works.

Red and I follow Bonner upstairs to her office.

"You can leave Iris out of this," Red says once we're inside. "I authorized the missions."

It's like she doesn't even hear him. Bonner's finger flies in my face. "You've been undermining my authority ever since I got here, Iris. You have a real problem with me, and I'm done taking your att.i.tude."

"Jane," Red says, "let's not-"

I hold up a hand to stop him. "You're partially right," I tell her. "I thought I had a huge problem with Jane. Funny thing, though, turns out my issue is with Marie."

Her face goes white.