Unknown

That did sound like Rashid. “He didn’t like you turning against us. Neither did I. Neither, I suspect, will the other Wardens.”

“You think I give a crap about what the Wardens think?” Turner snapped. “I did what I had to do. You people are out of control. Look at what they just did in Florida—Jesus Christ, they stole a fucking cruise ship. With i

It was a long speech, and he was winded by the end of it. And emotionally exhausted from the passion he’d poured into it. I wondered what collateral damage he had seen, or experienced himself. I wondered if his own hands were entirely clean of the blood.

“I have never loved the Wardens,” I said, which was entirely true. As a Dji

But I also knew that the Wardens were what they were for a reason. They were ruthless, self-centered and ferociously competitive, yes; they were also self-sacrificing and magnificent, when necessary. These things did not make for comfortable, easily categorizable analysis. The Wardens, like nature itself, were neither good nor bad. They simply were. And were required to be, for the sake of the fragile lives in their trust.

“You think the government can control them?” I asked. “You think you have enough will and power of your own to force the Wardens into it?”

“I’m not alone,” he said. “There are other Wardens who think things have gone too far.”

“Then take it back from within. But if you think that subjugating them to the will of political appointees is a good idea, then I suggest you are allowing your hatred to blind you to reality,” I said. “It doesn’t matter now. We will need your help.”

“My help?” He laughed, but it had a wild, dark sound. “Why the hell would I help any of you?”

“Because you’re not a bad man. Because you are sworn to help, to protect, and not to run from battle, yes, but mostly because you, Ben Turner, the man beneath all that, wants justice. And wishes to save children. I saw that in you when we first met, Ben. You want to save them. You need to save them.”

He blinked, but he didn’t disagree with that, at least. “There are children in that compound,” I said. “Isabel Rocha is one of them. You saw Bria

He leaned against another tree across the clearing, cradling his wounded arm in his good hand. He looked tired, and achy, and a little lost. “So what are you going to do?”

“Go get them,” I said. “And you will come with me.” He held up his hand. “Yeah, about that. I don’t really think I’ll be a whole lot of help.”

Luis stepped out of the tent, looked from me to Agent Turner, and said, “Hey. Are we going to beat the crap out of this guy?”

“I think Rashid’s already performed that service,” I said. “What’s left is healing him so that we can use him.”

“Dammit. I always miss out on the beat-down and end up doing the cleanup. Sucks being an Earth Warden sometimes.”

“Sometimes,” I agreed, straight-faced. “Will you do it?”

“Of course I will,” Luis said grumpily. “I’m not going to waste my energy on pain maintenance.”

I did not blame him. Turner, for his part, looked apprehensively relieved, if such a thing were possible. Luis glared at him, then went to him and took his wounded hand. He was true to his word; I heard the tiny snaps and pops of bones straightening, being forced back into their shapes and sockets, and Turner’s face went dirty-pale, and he leaned his head back against the tree, rigid and fighting to control his impulse to scream, faint, or vomit. Or some combination of those three. But I suspected Luis did, after all, put in some nerve blocks. He wasn’t u

It took a few long moments of concentration, and then Luis let go and stepped back. Turner lowered his hand and stared at it in bemused wonder. Tried to move his fingers, and winced a little.

“Yeah, the muscles will complain for a while,” Luis said. “They got beaten up too. But the bones will hold, as long as you don’t do something crazy with them, like hit somebody. Best I could do on short notice.”

“It’s better,” Turner said, with a little sense of wonder to it. “I think it’ll do.”

“It will have to,” I said. “We’re going into the compound.”

Turner’s head came up, and his eyes widened. “What? When?”

“As soon as the other teams are in place,” I said. “Luis will be able to hide our presence from any regular humans; if they have Wardens on their side, it might be a bit more difficult, but we can manage.”

Fooling Pearl would be the much greater challenge. That was why I had asked for the coordinated raids on each location; if her attention was split, if she realized she was under threat on all fronts, she might miss me until it was too late.

Perhaps. Or perhaps she’d simply recognize my presence, withdraw from every other front, and focus on killing me.

If killing me was her intent, of course. I wasn’t altogether certain of that. If she’d wanted me dead, surely she could have sent overwhelming force to manage it by now. No, I thought she wanted this. She wanted me to come here.

I didn’t think it was merely for the satisfaction of watching me die, although that might easily be a consideration. No, there was something else.

Something I was missing.

Luis was watching me. “You all right?”

“Fine,” I said. “And the Wardens?”

“Got them to coordinate something out of New York, but we’re screwed having any Wardens on the ground for this—it’ll be remote attacks at the other locations, but they’ll make it as good as they can. I’ve got them on standby. All you have to do is give me the go.”

“We go now,” I said. “I will give the signal for the attack when we are in position there. Get ready.”

Agent Turner raised his eyebrows, but didn’t respond otherwise; he walked into the tent. A moment later, his superior burst out, looking thunderous. “Are you out of your mind?” he demanded. “I’m not letting you take people in there now. You don’t even have cover of darkness!”

“It wouldn’t matter if I did,” I said. “Either we’ll be able to hide, or we won’t. Light or darkness is irrelevant to her. But if you want to be useful, make a distraction that will draw the attention of her soldiers.”

“What kind of distraction?”

“Mass our people at the chasm. Make it look like you’re going to come across,” Turner supplied, unexpectedly. “Start using the bullhorn. Tell them you want to talk.”

I nodded. I had been frankly thinking of something more violent, but that would work and expose the men and women here to less risk overall. “One hour,” I said. “It will take that long for us to get across the chasm, deal with her countermeasures, and reach the dome.”

“Without being detected,” Sanders said. “Right. Sure.”

It was not a perfect plan. And I knew, knew that I was missing something vital. But my conviction was that I had no time to waste, or this would be intensely worse, very soon.

Chapter 10

KITTING OUT LUIS, TURNER, and me in FBI- issue bulletproof vests—worn beneath my leather jacket, for my part, and with the FBI identification blacked out with tape for Luis—was the work of moments. Turner was freely given one of the compact assault weapons. Luis and I were flatly denied, although Sanders did, in private, slip us sidearms.