Sixteen hours later, Violet was in a jet. She had snuck out early in the morning, had told Kari to cover for her if her parents called, and had bypassed airport security, which had something to do with being a registered super.
She looked about her comfortably furnished surroundings. The jet was plush; the rows of seats had been removed and replaced with three couches surrounding a circular coffee table. The pilot's cabin and the kitchen cabin were both shuttered off. The outside of the plane was a solid jet black, but the inside was beige. Something about the cabin reminded her of a living room. Perhaps it was the vase of flowers in the center of the table.
The boy she had met yesterday sat across from her, his hands clasped in his lap.
"What's your name, anyway?" she said, breaking the silence that had dominated the room since she had boarded the plane.
"Names are powerful," he replied, "and I'm usually not too forward with them. But seeing as I've asked you to trust me so far, I owe you something in return. My name is Enigma."
"Huh," she said thoughtfully as she turned to stare out the window for a few minutes. She saw Metroville sinking away below them.
"Would you care for anything to drink?" he said, pointing lazily to a remote on the arm of his sofa. "We have wine, vodka, mimosa..."
"Just water, thanks," she said timidly. She had let her hair hang in front of her eyes today. She wanted Syndrome to recognize her.
"Sure," he said. He never took his eyes off her as he pushed a button and two drinks rose up through the table in the middle. His was a glass of red wine. "I thought that we might get to know each other before continuing our business. After all, were I you, I wouldn't exactly go signing illegal contracts with people I barely know. But I am hardly you."
He smirked as he brought his glass to his lips. Violet gave him a half-smile, took a small sip from her glass and turned her gaze back out the window.
"You'll know all about me, I suppose," she mumbled quietly.
"Knowledge is powerful. I wouldn't dare approach someone without knowing everything I could about them," Enigma replied.
"Then why did you think I would?" Violet shot back suspiciously. She was already mapping the different exits from the plane in the back of her mind. She should be in bed, getting extra sleep right now. Why had she arrived at the airport at barely the last minute this morning? This had not been a good idea.
"Emotion is powerful too," he said. "And besides, you aren't me. So, shall we talk terms?"
He plied a paper out from his onyx briefcase and slid it across the table to her.
"You might want to read that," he said.
"What's the point?" she said flatly. "This is illegal anyway. I'm not doing it for the pay."
Her eye twitched as she remembered the day Dad had flung the TV, the day that Buddy Pine had been released from prison. She remembered the anger in his eyes and the sweat pouring from his neck and armpits. But most of all, she remembered his face. The look had been appalling- a cross between a grimace of rage and a smile of insanity. A man who had done that to her father- a man who had done the same to the families of nearly a hundred other supers- deserved the one thing that Violet never deemed herself worthy to visit upon others.
Death.
"Of course you aren't doing it for the pay," Enigma said calmly. "But my, ah, superiors, always prefer to have paperwork. They can justify assassinating those who don't complete their missions if they have the contracts. Oh, and don't worry, there is a clause on that stipulating that you shall be killed for failure to complete the objective."
"You never told me that was part of it," Violet said, leaning back on her sofa, putting on what she hoped was a mask of cool reserve.
"It wasn't necessary," he dismissed her. "I'm sure that you'll have no qualms about killing a man who hurt your family quite so dearly."
"I'd like to know who you're working for before signing that," she said immediately. This whole business was going too far out of her depth. He tapped the contract again.
"That's something that you're not allowed to know either. But I recommend that you look at the second half."
She scanned the bottom of the page. It was the rewards section.
Upon completion of the indicated task, the signer shall receive a sum no less than fifteen million dollars, after taxes. This amount shall be paid in monthly stipends, assuming that the signer is of an age equal to or greater than the age of suffrage within his or her country...
The legalese continued on some after that, but Violet didn't need to read it. The reward was absurd. But something didn't fit.
"Yesterday, when you said you were talking about money, you said you wouldn't make me rich."
Enigma nodded and leaned forward. "Fifteen million dollars is not a terribly large sum for an assassination contract. Unfortunately, the last super who would perform assassinations for us was recently terminated by the Russian government."
"And what are the guarantees that the US government isn't going to come after me?" she demanded deliberately and slowly.
"Buddy 'Syndrome' Pyne resides on a private island, in international waters. While your signing this contract is a violation of United States law, the actual assassination, taking place in international waters on an entirely unobserved and almost secret island, will not be in conflict with international law so long as you are not identified as affiliated with any country."
Violet sat back for a second, attempting to drink it all in, and failing miserably. "English, please," she said.
"No laws exist on Nomanisan Island, basically. As you already know."
Her eyes widened. "You didn't tell me that we were already headed to Nomanisan Island," she said hurriedly. "How do you suppose we're going to fly in without being fired upon?"
He sipped his wine calmly. "Easy," he said. "I already have Syndrome's trust. My organization has deemed him to be more dangerous than he is useful. We fly in, you eliminate Syndrome, my organization confiscates his equipment, you fly out a little bit richer, and everything carries on as usual."
"You make it sound easy," she said under her breath.
"It is," he said casually as the seatbelt lights flickered on. "Oh, and I'll need to give you this."
He slid a small silver handgun across the table to her.
"One shot. Pierces anything, accurate to a hundred feet, projectile travels at three thousand feet per second and sends about four thousand volts through whatever it hits. Pulling the trigger will alert me that your job is done."
Out of the window, the blueness of the Caribbean was being replaced with the lush green and purple hues of the tropical island. Violet took a few deep breaths.
"I'm in," she said as she signed the document.