"How do we stop them?" Max had asked at an earlier meeting. It was just the leaders of TC: Max, Alec, Joshua, Sandeman, Mole, Luke and Dix. They all contributed something unique: wisdom, kindness, clarity, knowledge, ruthlessness. What Max couldn't see and wouldn't have believed even if they told her was that somehow she possessed all these qualities. She could have been her own council and come to the same conclusions.
"Another pulse?" Alec suggested. "It worked the last time..."
"We don't have the resources." Sandeman shook his head. "Besides, America would never recover from a second blast. It's barely recovered from the first one!"
"Why not just take out the leaders?" Mole had asked from around his cigar. "It worked in the Middle East. It's what we're trained to do."
"We don't assassinate people," Max had said heatedly.
"Yeah, well maybe we should, Max," Alec said quietly. Joshua looked at the X-5, then lowered his eyes in agreement. Max looked around the table and saw what was in the others' eyes: sympathy for her ideals...and agreement. And she realized that they were right. It had come to this.
"Boss, why don't you let me handle this one?" Mole had asked. "You're too...human to do this."
Max began walking toward Sandeman's room in slow, shuffling steps. Something about Mole reminded her of Zack. Oh, Zack! He would have taken Mole and Alec and Max that very night, and they would have put an end to this. But Zack was on a farm somewhere far away from all these problems, leaving Max to shoulder the responsibility. Sandeman had agreed with her on that point: This was her burden to bear.
"Angel, what are you doing out of bed?" He steered her toward a chair. "You're not strong enough yet."
"Logan."
"You love him, don't you?" Max nodded, unable to put any words behind her sentiment. Sandeman sighed. "Joshua told me about the virus."
"Is there anything you can do?"
"Tell you what, Angel. You come out of this alive and in one piece, and I'll try to fix it. Okay?" Max nodded again.
"Thanks." Sandeman sent her back to bed.
Max didn't feel like sleeping. She felt like going for a walk. She made it down the street before Ames White made his move, overpowering her easily, and stuffing her into his car.
"452."
"White." Max didn't have to open her eyes to know that voice, or the fear that came with it. She had lived in fear of Manticore most her life, but it was fear of losing her freedom, her choice. With White, she could lose far more than that. "Your dad says hi."
She was expecting the blow that followed; it didn't hurt.
"So he is with you," White said. "I guess that makes you my new best friend."
His face was so inside her personal bubble. "Lydecker was right. Years of breeding and you are the ugliest humans alive!"
White grabbed her throat just tightly enough that she could not talk. It was standard procedure to banter back and forth, all the while hoping to make the other person angry enough to slip information. They were both professionals, though. They could go for hours without actually making each other mad. There would be no slips with them. He let go of her.
"Damn thoughtful gift, that Lydecker," she said stubbornly.
"Much like you delivering yourself to me, 452. One good turn deserves another. Where's Sandeman?"
"You think I'm going to give up my father?" she asked, deliberate in her wording. "I'm not the savior, it turns out. It's him. Good thing me and mine found him first so that he could save the world."
"That old man," White growled, back to invading her personal space, "won't be saving anyone, 452. I'm calling your bluff. Don't presume you know my own flesh and blood better than I do. He raised me."
"He made me."
That was enough to make White mad. One punch, a wildly aimed backhand, and Max was launched into unconsciousness.
"We still need Sandeman, Ames," a woman's voice was saying. "We can't take the chance that she was telling the truth."
"Her kind spews nothing but lies," Ames said, his normal composure gone. Max inwardly congratulated herself on causing his vexation. "The Hour is here. We have won."
"We will let our people probe her," a male replied calmly. "They will get to the bottom of this. It is what they are trained to do."
"In the meantime, make sure Sandeman is not a problem." It was the woman speaking again. This sounded final. Max was careful to keep her breathing shallow and regular, her eyes unmoving under their lids. At least until White was gone. She was lucky she had been designed to withstand such violence, or else White would have shattered the left side of her face. And not to be vain or anything, but it was a nice face! She felt someone lift her, and gave into the pull of gravity on her head and arms. Careful with that hand, buster! she yelled silently at whoever was handling her. Did he have sweaty palms or something?
She was lowered again, and she felt a rush of air in her face before she heard a thump. The air was stale, now, and smelled like polyester. She was in the trunk of someone's car, headed toward a destination where some people would try to probe her for information. This was too easy.
Her hands were bound in front of her, so there was not enough room to maneuver them to feel the back of her neck, where a tracking chip had been implanted. Mole, Joshua, Sandeman, and Alec were following her progress, waiting for her to be delivered to "the hive," as they referred to the head quarters of the Conclave. Take out the elders—cut off the head of the snake—and the rest would fall.
It only seemed appropriate to use a snake metaphor, since the Conclave loved them so, and a woman to bring them to their knees.