Each of the conference rooms was secured before Ken, Joe, Jun, Jinpei, and Ryu took their places outside the doors. Boring, but not as boring as actually being in the meetings would have been. Ken spent most of the morning down the hall from Jun, and if they kept their voices low, they could talk while they waited.
The afternoon was much the same, though he was close to Jinpei part of the time (and Jinpei was actually extremely entertaining, except when he talked about his fish) and Joe the rest.
Like a number of the other diplomats, Aleksandra Demakova didn't come in until evening. The meetings were going on practically around the clock so the alliances could be formed as quickly as possible. Ken thought--even hoped--he might catch a glimpse of her. She couldn't possibly be as enticing as he remembered, he thought, but he didn't see her.
It was after nine when a sound made him stiffen. He glanced down the hall at Jun, whose post was near his again. "You hear that?"
The question was virtually hypothetical. He could see from the look on her face that she had.
He had just lifted his bracelet to his mouth when Joe's opened the line from his end. "Room 12," he said tersely.
"On my way." For the sake of the others, Ken added, "Stay where you are. Could be a diversion." Jun nodded as he passed her.
A number of the diplomats were bunched in the door of Conference Room 12, and more people were spilling out of the rooms to either side.
Ken frowned as he drew close. "Out of the door," he said sharply, raising his voice to be heard over the din. He pointed to the room to the right of 12. "Go in there and wait. Someone will be in to talk with you."
No one argued with him, though they moved more slowly than he would have liked. They might be diplomats, but they were as obscenely fascinated by whatever had happened in that room as any group of bystanders.
Still, they parted around him, giving him enough room that even the tips of his wings didn't brush against them.
Splashes of vermilion on the eggshell-white walls, gaping black bullet holes, and Joe bent over one of the three bodies.
Several of the diplomats hovered above him, and by glancing at their engraved nametags, Ken was able to identify them as representatives of Canada, Mali, and Cyprus.
Aleksandra, the fourth diplomat still on her feet, had plastered herself to the wall well away from the blood.
Ken noted the other two bodies; one was the diplomat from Slovakia; the other was from the Zhinsk Foundation.
"Help is on the way," Ken said to Andorra.
A gun lay in Zhinsk's limp hand, and Joe shook his head as the third man's final breath escaped him.
A group of medics burst through the door, and within a minute they had pronounced him dead.
Ken sent them away, and Aleksandra and the Canadian diplomat started to go with them. Ken told them to stay.
Aleksandra began to cry. Her skin had grown even whiter than it had been last night, but her pupils were dilated, her breath coming too fast.
Joe touched her arm, and she jerked away, sliding unsteadily away from him, her back to the wall. "Please don't touch me," she gasped. "I need to get out of here. Please."
Joe glanced at Ken, then returned to her. "We need you to talk with us about what happened."
She sounded like she was going to start hyperventilating. "Please. I have to get out of here."
"We can use one of the other conference rooms," Ken said.
He and Joe ushered the four diplomats out of the room and into the empty conference room to the left of 12. Ken noticed that Nambu and President Anderson and several other people were in the conference room to which he had directed everyone else. Jun had joined them; Nambu had probably called her in to help calm everyone.
The diplomats took seats at the conference table, all of them looking shaken, but only Aleksandra seemed possessed by that sick, almost feverish agitation. She covered her face with her hands.
"What happened?" Joe said.
"The Zhinsk guy just stood up and started shooting people," said the Mali diplomat. "No warning."
"How were the talks going?"
Canada shook her head. "Great. Everyone seemed pleased. We were getting ready to finish up. And he just stood up and started…killing people."
"Then he shot himself?" Ken said.
"When I opened the door," Joe said. "No hesitation."
Ken glanced again at Aleksandra. The sexy, composed woman he'd met the night before could have been someone else; this woman appalled him. "Ms. Demakova?" he said, perhaps a little sharply. "Is there something we can do to assist you?"
"I'm sorry." She kept her face covered. "I have… I have PTSD. Post-traumatic stress disorder. I have a therapist but I… This triggered…memories…"
Joe looked concerned, but Ken felt more irritated than anything.
"Gatchaman," Nambu said from the door.
Ken turned, and Joe looked up.
"Let's give them a chance to recover themselves, change their clothes if they want to. Then we can discuss what happened."
Ken narrowed his eyes at Nambu, but this was not the average situation. These were Very Important People, and Nambu understood the delicacies of politics better than Ken ever wanted to. He nodded once.
The four diplomats climbed arduously to their feet. Ken reminded himself that the situation was difficult for these people. They did not deal with the horrors of war--at least not this directly--every day.
"Joe," he said, low, so Joe would not follow the others out.
Joe moved around the table and leaned back against it, his arms folded comfortably, waiting.
"I want you to stall the woman from the WMA--Demakova, the one who's so upset--for a couple of minutes. Can you do that?"
"Sure. What gives?"
"I think she might be Galactor. I want to check something out. I'll call you in a couple of minutes."
Joe nodded and went after her. Ken headed in the opposite direction. He walked through several sets of security doors, and when he was alone, he changed out of birdstyle, never breaking his stride.
He passed into the main lobby, which was being covered by armed police. None of them knew him; they were just hired help for the summit. In anticipation of the adjournment of tonight's talks, limos had parked along the brick drive. Though the cars' plates were almost all Utoland issue, each bore a sticker identifying the country from which its consul hailed.
Ken quickly identified the WMA limo and rapped on the driver's dark, tinted window. The glass slid down with a quiet buzz, and the driver peered up at him.
"There's been some excitement inside," Ken said, making himself sound a little breathless, a little harried. "Some of the diplomats were hurt. I'm supposed to tell their drivers to come inside."
The man rolled the window back up and agreeably climbed out of the limo, locking it carefully behind him, and followed Ken through the revolving glass doors. Ken flashed his clearance badge at the police, even though they'd just watched him walk out through the doors they guarded.
He led the driver to one of the empty rooms, purposely tripping over him as they walked through the door. The driver glared at him but said nothing. "I'm supposed to tell you that someone will be here to talk to you," Ken said. "They said it might be a while though, so I'm sorry if you have to wait."
"Is Ms. Demakova all right?" the man said.
"I don't know. I don't know anything, they just told me to get you. I have to go back out now." He closed the door behind him, changed back into birdstyle, and walked outside, the keys he'd lifted off the driver in his hand. He unlocked the car door, slid into the front seat, and raised the dark barrier to within a couple of inches of the ceiling. He could see into the back with the rearview mirror.
He touched his bracelet. "Ok, Joe."
Aleksandra appeared within minutes. She moved with purpose, and the concierge opened her door for her. She slid inside.
"Did you get what I asked you to?" she said. She still sounded breathless, but all of the helplessness and delicacy was gone.
Ken opened his mouth to say "yes" and bluff his way through whatever came next.
"Never mind," she interrupted. "I see you did."
He watched her take a reinforced silver case off the seat in front of her, listened to her snap back the locks. His heart beat a little faster in anticipation of learning what was inside.
She glanced out the window, or maybe at the window, but it was silvered and tinted, and nobody could see in. She reached into the case and lifted out something soft and red.
Ken's eyes widened. A bag of blood.