Chapter 23 #2
That day, Rowan had prowled his room restlessly, and finally—hallelujah—asked where the infirmary was.
For two months now she had slowly been exploring Headquarters and learning about the new place she found herself in.
And if she didn’t seem to notice that Delgado was sleeping in an armchair, if she didn’t notice that he was building on the foundation he’d laid while she was sedated, teaching her how to control her gifts, if she didn’t notice that he was always there when she woke shuddering and sweat-soaked from another nightmare—well, he was happy enough.
What she didn’t notice, she couldn’t tell him to stop doing.
Henderson had begun to spend an hour a day with her, too, teaching her some basic psionic theory. It was excruciatingly slow, but Del had time. As long as she let him stay close to her, he had time.
“Why doesn’t someone stop them?” she asked.
He felt a quick swell of pride in her. It usually took most new recruits, especially the shell-shocked ones, at least eight months to ask that question.
“They’re government, Rowan. They believe they’re fighting the good fight.
Each psionic they get hooked on Zed and obedient is one more psionic to make America strong.
Since they’re black sector, they have the funding they need as long with no Congressional oversight as long as they produce results.
And they’ve been producing results for a good forty-seven years now. ”
Rowan sighed as they turned the corner. “It just seems so wrong.”
You have no idea, angel. “It’s making certain people very rich,” he pointed out. “Very powerful people.”
“But the newspapers, the media…” She sighed again.
“Some of the media magnates are the ones getting rich,” he pointed out. His door slid open as they approached. “It’s a dirty thing. We do what we can.”
He scanned the room before letting go of her shoulders and locking the door with a touch on the handpad set in the wall. Nobody here, of course. He paused. It looks different in here.
Books were piled on a new nightstand of pale blond wood, and two new bookshelves of the same unfinished type flanked his old metal shelving.
Rowan had found a length of green chiffon somewhere and draped it over the top of the curtain rod.
She sometimes remarked that she wanted to sleep with the French door ajar when it wasn’t so chilly anymore.
A rubber tree in a terra cotta pot stood on a wrought-iron plant rack by the window, and he’d put up ceiling hooks so she could hang airplane plants and one plant with pretty, trailing purplish leaves.
A fern she’d rescued from a neglected corner was now green and healthy, perched atop one of the bookshelves, and she’d thrown a blue and green shawl over the plain white bedspread.
Rowan dropped down on the bed and yawned, her shoulders slumping. She would probably sleep in tomorrow.
Well, she’s moved in and made herself at home.
The flush of heat that went through him wasn’t unpleasant at all.
She’d made a wistful remark about a CD player yesterday, and he reminded himself to requisition one for her.
Nobody said anything directly to Delgado, of course, and nobody asked her why she was staying in his room instead of requesting a suite of her own.
She stopped yawning and looked up at him, probably catching the direction of his thoughts. “So… is this your room?”
He shrugged. How could he explain to her that no place was home? He just slept wherever he could find a moment to close his eyes. He hadn’t had a place to call his own since Sigma had trained him. “I like what you’ve done with it,” he said cautiously.
“You mean I’ve kicked you out of your own bed for months and you haven’t said a word about it?”
He shrugged again. “It’s not a big deal.”
“I thought you were just worried about them coming after me again.” She shivered, slightly.
“They would have to spend a lot of money and man-hours to crack Headquarters. That is, if they could find it, which they can’t. We have defenses in place, Rowan. They can’t attack us any more than we can attack them.”
She looked down into her lap, her fingers twisting together. “This is really happening, isn’t it.”
Christ, just when we were doing so well.
He crossed to the window and peered out.
It was habit, and he barely paid attention, only noting the frozen garden below and the field beyond lying under a scrim of moonlight.
“I wish you’d talk to one of the counselors.
They’re qualified; I’m just an operative. ”
“They’re all frightened of you,” she observed, mildly enough.
He let it go. He knew well enough not to push, now. “Are you?”
“I don’t think so. Should I be?”
“Maybe. Probably not.” His neck was beginning to hurt.
“You’re trying to teach me, aren’t you?”
“Just what you want to know, that’s all.”
“I’ve been wondering if there are… classes. Psychic classes.”
“There are. You can attend if you want.” They’re required classes if you want to be an operative, angel. But you need time. The thought of anyone trying to force her, even into something as simple as a meditation seminar, made a bubble of anger rise inside his spine.
“If I do…” She worried at her lower lip with her pearly teeth.
God, please don’t let her say what I think she’s going to say.
“…what will you do?”
Relief welled up inside him. “I’m officially your mentor. I’ll be with you.”
She nodded and her hands relaxed. I doubt she even knows how tense she is. I should have forced the issue with her when I had the chance. It would give me an excuse to try some old-fashioned therapy on us both right now.
“Okay. Can I talk to you about something?”
He leaned against the closed door. “Sure.”
She pulled her legs up on the bed, sitting Indian-style, fully awake. “About… about my father.”
Delgado sighed inwardly and stuck his hands in his pockets. He’d been sleeping in his clothes for months now, not that he minded. “Your father.”
“Did they cover it up? How did they explain it?”
We just keep going from one dangerous subject to the next.
He actually winced. One question leading to another and another, and before he knew it, he’d be telling her everything.
“There’s been total media silence, but there’s a warrant out for your arrest as a material witness.
Your father was buried at the VA. Hilary had insurance, and her boss—some guy named Vernon—made the arrangements for the memorial service. She’s buried at Mount Hope.”
Hope sprang up on her face, but it was swiftly smothered. “I can’t even go to their graves, can I.”
Christ, she’s too smart. “Rowan…” What can I tell her? “Look, it’s dangerous. But if you have to go, tell me. We can find some way to get you there.”
She stared at him, an expression of such patent surprise that he was tempted to laugh.
Did she think he would tell her she couldn’t visit her own father’s grave after seeing him die violently right in front of her?
You haven’t even gotten out of the numb stage of grieving yet, angel. And when you do…
“You’d really do that?”
“Of course.” I want you safe, and I want you happy. You won’t ever understand.
“Justin?”
He surfaced from mulling over the dilemma to find her examining him. Her eyebrows were drawn together, and her lovely eyes were shadowed with something he was uncomfortably familiar with.
Anger.
“These… these Sigma people.” She took a deep breath. “I want to stop them.”
Delgado blinked, shoving his hands even further into his pockets.
“Are you listening to me? I want them stopped. They killed my father. I want them in court. I want them to go to prison.”
Delgado stared at her. Whatever he’d expected, it hadn’t been this.
She was waiting for him to reply, something suspiciously like trust shining in her luminous eyes, and faint color brushing her cheeks. Why hadn’t he pushed her when he’d had the chance? He could be on the bed next to her right now, and he could distract her from this conversation.
He cleared his throat. “Ah, Rowan.” How am I going to tell you this?
“The justice system won’t help us. Believe me, we’ve tried.
Witnesses disappear, papers get destroyed, all of a sudden people get alibis or can’t be found, and the whole thing’s swept under the rug.
They have carte blanche to do what they like.
The cops and the judges and the media won’t stop them.
Hell, in some cases they are the cops and the judges and the media.
We’ve tried taking them down before, and all we’ve accomplished is losing a lot of good people. ”
She stared at him like he was speaking a foreign language.
He tried again. “Look, Rowan. Sigma’s government.
They have the weight of the government behind them, and the work they do for the intelligence agencies makes them golden.
FBI, CIA, ATF, NSA—nobody can touch them.
If we gave proof of their activities to media outlets, all we’d have would be a bunch of dead journalists and missing pieces of proof.
And it would be heart attacks and car accidents instead of surgical seek-and-capture teams, angel. ”
“There’s got to be something—” she started.
“There is,” he interrupted. “We recruit who we can, and we save kids like Bobby and train them. We fight where we can, we stay alive, and we wait. Someday we’ll have the odds in our favor, Ro.
When we do, we’ll erase the motherfu… ah, we’ll strike where it hurts ’em most. Sooner or later they won’t have enough psionics to do any work, if we just quietly keep stealing them.
That way we don’t have a lot of dead bodies. ”
“Except my father.” Her eyes glittered. “And Hilary.”
“What do you want me to do? We’ve tried before. We can’t do it. They have too much help from the big boys in politics, angel. It goes all the way to the top.”
“Why doesn’t anyone talk about this?” she almost yelled.