Windfall

Which was a wreck, too. Not as much as the door, but definitely not in the best of shape. Computers tossed around, papers lying everywhere, chairs overturned.

The filing cabinets had tipped over, and the big metal drawers were out, their contents spilling in waterfalls of folders to the floor. Everything looked thoroughly bashed and dented.

“Love what you’ve done with the place. Sort of Extreme Makeover meets Robot Wars,” I said. John—middle-aged, fit, graying at the temples in fine patriarchal style—smiled at me, but his heart wasn’t in it. He looked strained and a little sick. “Okay, that was lame, I admit it. What happened?”

“We’re trying to figure that out,” John said, and extended his hand. “Sorry, Joa

“Paul was trying to raise you on the phone and couldn’t get an answer. He sent me to check up.” I looked around, eyebrows raised. “Robbery?”

“I doubt it,” Ella said, and kicked a destroyed flat-screen monitor moodily. “They didn’t take the electronics, and there wasn’t any cash here. Maybe it was kids, smashing things up.”

“You’re not going to say kids today, are you? Because I never really thought of you as grandmotherly, despite the hair.”

That earned me a filthy look.

John sighed and put his hands in his trouser pockets, watching me. “We’re fine, thanks. Tell Paul I’m sorry. My cell battery ran down hours ago. How are you?”

He sounded guarded, which wasn’t unexpected. I realized, from the wary light in his eyes, that my arrival was looking more and more suspicious. I mean, he’d taken me for a ride and practically accused me of corruption, and here we were, standing in his wrecked offices, and I was saying I’d been sent by the boss.

I could see how it could be misinterpreted.

“I didn’t do this,” I said. “You know me better than that, John.”

John and Ella exchanged looks. “Yeah,” Ella agreed. “We do.” John didn’t say anything. He kept his arms folded.

I took a deep breath and plunged in over my head. “Any trouble with the Dji

“What?” John frowned. “No. Of course not.” He had a Dji

“Some of the Dji

Another look between the two of them. Silent communication, and me without my decoder ring. “No,” John finally said. “Not about that.”

“But you heard about some of the Wardens going rogue.”

He looked grimmer. “Yes. And that’s a subject I don’t think we should be discussing with you.”

A not-so-subtle reminder that I wasn’t in the Warden business anymore, and therefore not privy to the fun, interesting politics. I changed the subject with a wave around the trashed office. “Think this is related?”

“I doubt it.”

“Yeah? You get this kind of thing often around here?”

“Never,” Ella put in. “I guess it could be kids, though the timing’s odd. But Dji

“Were they out to steal records? Destroy them?” I asked.

Oh, boy. Another significant glance.

“Again,” John said, “I think we’re on a subject that’s off limits. Look, you did what Paul asked, you checked. We’re fine. I think you should go now.”

It hurt. I’d worked for John for a long time, and we’d been friends. Not bosom-buddy friends, but strong acquaintances, good to get together for the occasional drink, chat about family and friends, exchange Christmas presents.

I’d trusted him with my life. I couldn’t believe that had changed overnight.

But maybe I should have known, considering how many things were changing overnight these days.

“Jo, don’t take it personally. You did quit, you know,” Ella said. “And I’m still finding that hard to believe, sunshine. You’re the most dedicated Warden I’ve ever met.”

“I was the most dedicated Warden you ever met,” I said. “Trust me, I had reasons.”

“Well, if you quit over some dumb disagreement, it’s a bad time for it,” she said. “Bad Bob is gone and we’ve down three Wardens around here. From what I’ve heard, half the senior members of the organization are dead or disabled, and the other half can’t decide what to do about it. We’re barely holding together.”

I hadn’t come to listen to the we-need-you-back speech, but something Ella had said stopped me. “Three team members?” I asked. “Me, Bad Bob… who else?”

“Ella,” John warned. She ignored him and kept talking.

“We lost another Weather Warden two nights ago,” Ella said. “Carol Shearer. Car accident.”

Another Dji

Maybe John had already been targeted for death, but his Dji

“I’m sorry to hear about Carol,” I said. “But I can’t come back right now even if you’d have me. And frankly, I wouldn’t be any good to you if I did. I’ve got some, ah, issues.”

John gave me the unfocused, faraway look of someone using Oversight. Whatever he saw, he went a shade graver and nodded. No comments. He’d seen the damage that had been done to me.

“Thanks for the offer, anyway,” he said. Not that I’d really made one.

“Let me help you clean up. Least I can do, after all the chaos I’ve caused over the years.”

John hesitated, but hell, he was shorthanded. I called Paul and reassured him all was well. While I was doing that, John called up his Dji

It depressed me. It reminded me of just how much I wasn’t, even when I was at my best. I was a messy, sloppy, emotional maverick. I couldn’t color inside the lines even when I wanted to.

I helped Ella with the grunt work of restoring files to the cabinets, and as I did, I realized that most of the folders had to do with perso

About the fifteenth folder I picked up—and it was huge, papers spilling everywhere—had my name on it. I paused, startled, and flipped it open. The clips that held reports in the file were missing, and everything was crammed in at odd angles, as if it had been gone through fast.

The memo on top was signed by Paul Giancarlo, National Warden Pro Tem. It was an order to keep me under close surveillance for any suspicious activities related to fraud, blackmail, and illegal trading in weather control.