Chapter 26: The Road to Samarra

My mind span as I tried to think of something to say. What could I say? 'But that's impossible!' was just silly; Clint didn't need me to tell him that, and 'is he sure?' was equally pointless. This didn't seem like the kind of thing that Fury'd get wrong, and although he was as much a mystery to me as everyone else, one thing I did know was that he was an absolute stickler for detail. If he was sure, then he was sure.

But where did this leave us? Obviously, there was a copycat on the loose, and it didn't exactly take the deductive mind of Hercule Poirot to work out who that might be. Sure, Ronin himself might be an underground nightmare, but the chances of some random imitator mounting an assault an hour from our house were basically zero. They clearly knew his identity, and I could count the number of people who knew that on the fingers of one hand. Of those, Tony and Nat were excused on the basis of being dead, and Colonel Rhodes was simply too straitlaced to even conceive of such a plan. Who did that leave? Just two, and as much as I hated to admit it they definitely had the speed, skill, and motivation to hack down a dozen mercs. But...why now?

On the other hand, maybe I was jumping to conclusions…

"Okay..." I pinched the bridge of my nose, "So what did Fury say, exactly?"

"Well…" Clint paused, "He just wanted to make sure that everyone was alright, y'know. You, an' the kids, an'-"

"-he was checking you were at home, right? Does he know?"

"I dunno," Clint shrugged, "I mean, he got Snapped same as you, but it's Fury's business to know things that people don't want him to know. That bein' said...well, you know I reckon there's somethin' off about him."

"Yeah," I nodded, "Shapeshifting alien, right?"

"Wouldn't surprise me," he said, with more than a hint of annoyance, "So he might be warnin' me that the police're on the case, or he might think that there's this 'Ronin' guy rampagin' through the area and he might be comin' for us as well. Doesn't matter, really; whatever he thinks, he ain't gonna say it over an insecure line."

"He thinks someone's listening in?"

"It's Fury, hon," he said, "He always thinks someone's listenin' in."

"How does he live being that paranoid?"

"He'd say 'continuously'. 'Sides, that ain't what's important right now," Clint said, and then his temper flared, "What's important is findin' out just what the hell Thera an' Vi are thinking! Have they gone completely mad?"

"Well-"

"It's bad enough that they're imitatin' Ronin, but doin' it here? In Missouri? It's like they're tryin' to lead everyone right to our door!"

"What do you mean?"

"It's like you said; if people wake up tomorrow an' discover that Keame's been riddled full of arrows, then they're naturally gonna point fingers in my direction! Well, who d'ya think the police're gonna wanna talk to when they open an investigation into this shitshow?"

"Why do you think they'd come looking for you?" I said, "Clint, everyone knows you as Hawkeye, the world's greatest marksman! If people around here can't even get your callsign right, what makes you think they're going to dig deep enough to find out you're also a swordsman?"

"They ain't gonna assign just anyone to this, y'know! Ronin in Missouri? The FBI'll be here in force!"

"Yeah, but the FBI doesn't know you're here, Clint," I said placatingly, "S.H.I.E.L.D. safehouse, remember?"

"What if they find out? What if they come knockin'?"

"Then I'll tell them you were with me all day! The kids'll do the same!"

"You really think they're gonna believe that?"

"Maybe not, but your phone'll show that you didn't go anywhere either! There's no evidence!"

"Even if that's right, they're not the only people who'll be taking an interest!" he went on, furiously, "If this sets a hare runnin' with some of the groups Ronin took on I'm not sure they'll waste time worryin' about little things like 'evidence' an' 'due process'! They ain't stupid, y'know, and if they connect the dots then..."

He sat down, his jaw working furiously. His shoulders were tensed almost to breaking point, and his breathing was that of someone who was teetering on the edge; fast, and shallow.

"Ronin can't be here," he said, and slumped back against the cushions, "He can't. It's too close to home. Too close to you an' the kids an-"

"It's okay, Clint," I said, and rubbed him soothingly on the arm, "C'mon, it'll all be okay."

"Oh yeah? Why?"

"Because…" I fumbled for the words, "Vi wouldn't hurt us. Not deliberately, and she definitely wouldn't risk putting the kids in harm's way."

"You really believe that, don't you."

"Sure I do," I frowned, "Why wouldn't I?"

Clint sighed, and gave me a hard look, "Look Laura, I hate to say it, but you gotta realise that Vi bein' friendly? It could've just been a ruse."

My frown deepened, "And why would she do that?"

"To make us complacent, of course! Get us to lower our guard right when it really matters!"

"That seems a bit unfair, don't you think?"

"At this point, I ain't interested in 'fair'," he said bluntly, "An' its also true. You wanna know how many times Nat played real coy with someone just to get close to 'em? 'Cause it was a lot."

"What? Really?" I frowned, "You're not saying-"

"That the spy with the callsign 'Black Widow' was good at manipulatin' powerful men into situations where we could get what we needed out of them?" he considered this for a moment, "Yeah, I think I might be sayin' that."

"Really?" I said, and then, "Wow."

"Oh, nothin' actually happened, hon. This is Nat we're talkin' about!" he said, "She was in control of every situation from start to finish. I'm just sayin' that if someone like 'Auntie Nat' is capable of bein' friendly with someone knowin' full well that she was gonna destroy them later, then so can Vi. We need to be careful."

"I can't believe you let Nat do that!" I said, "It was bad enough when Vi used me as bait!"

"Hey, I never 'let' Nat do anythin'!" he protested, "An' besides...it worked! Why fight your way through goons an' past elaborate security systems when you can jus' slip on a cocktail dress, pretend to have a couple of drinks an' knock the guy out in the comfort of his own room? I would've done it myself, but I couldn't find a dress that went with my bow."

"Now that's an image," I grimaced.

"I'll bet," he said, "But you get my point."

"I do...but I don't want to believe it," I said, "Not yet. I want proof."

"Okay, so how about all those carved up mannequins?" he countered harshly, "Ain't that proof enough for you?"

"I'm not saying it's not them, Clint!" I said, "I just...I want to know why."

"What, why go after Blacknest?" Clint frowned, "Revenge, obviously."

"No, it's not that," I said, "Or at least...I don't think so."

"You sound pretty sure," his eyes narrowed, "I mean, they attacked Thera. Vi seems like the kinda woman to take that personally."

"Oh, she did," I said, "But she also made it pretty clear that she didn't want to get pulled into a cycle of retribution because it'd get out of hand. Used Stark and Rogers as an example, actually."

"Yeah, Schkeuditz ain't exactly one of my fondest memories," Clint agreed, "But if it ain't revenge, then what is it? You don't go choppin' up a dozen people like that without a damn good reason, and-"

His phone suddenly buzzed in his hand, and with a yelp he threw it onto the couch as if it had suddenly turned red-hot.

"Sorry," he said, and bent to pick it up, "Kinda on edge."

"I know," I said gently, "What's it say?"

In response Clint looked at it, frowned, and then silently handed it over. On the screen was a text from an unknown number, which read:

'MR. BARTON. Your final couples counselling session is booked for 11:00am at the usual address. Please arrive 10 minutes early as before. It has been a pleasure working with you.'

As I stared at the text, the phone buzzed once more and another line popped up:

'P.S. Don't do anything stupid, sweetie.'

"It's Vi," I said, and handed it back, "I think she might be onto you, too."

"Yeah, she's a real comedian," he said shortly, "Reckon I should give it a ring?"

"Can't hurt," I said, "Although I guess if they wanted to talk to us they would've rang…."

"The only reason they'd want to ring is to rub our faces in what they jus' did," he said, and there was a brief pause as he held the phone up to his ear, "It's just ringin' on an' on. If they're there, they ain't answering."

"'Figures," I said, "What do you think they meant by 'final'?"

"Beats me. Seems kinda ominous, though."

"No kidding," I said, "But we're going, right? I mean...unless you've got a better idea."

"My 'better idea' is to go over there right now, pin 'em to the walls with a couple of arrows, an' then beat the truth out of 'em with one of those mannequin legs they've got lyin' around!"

"That sounds like it kind of falls under the umbrella of 'doing something stupid'."

"Yeah, I know," he said, and exhaled heavily, "'An' if it really was them who pulled that stunt on Blacknest then they're gonna be on a hair-trigger right now. I ain't in the mood to get incinerated just 'cause Vi's on a combat high-"

"Yeah," I said, and shuddered at the memory of her gently smoking victims, "Kinda want to avoid that."

"-and besides, we can't just up an' leave the kids."

"Oh, really? 'Cause you seemed okay with it earlier!" I said pointedly.

"I was leavin' 'em with you. It ain't the same thing at all."

"Nice save," I conceded, "So that's it, then? No other bright ideas?"

"Well, there was this other one," he rubbed his chin, "I hate to say it, but what I'm thinkin' is that we go to bed, have a good night's sleep, get up, have a relaxin' shower or bath, a nice breakfast, an' then turn up at theirs at, oh, ten to eleven an' hear what they've got to say. Toast okay with you, hon?""

"I could live with toast," I linked my arm with his and led him, gently but firmly, back towards the stairs, "And I could definitely live with going to bed. I don't know about you, but today's been far too long for my liking."

"Guess you'd better buckle up, then," Clint said, and added ominously, "'Cause I've got this feelin' that tomorrow's gonna be even longer."

With everything that was going on I'd kind of hoped a 'good night's sleep' was on the cards, but I was wrong. Despite my exhaustion, I found myself turning Clint's comments over and over in my mind. Could Vi have been messing with me? Well, yes; she practically lived for messing with people, but that was just for fun...or at least that's what I'd thought. Could she have been playing the long game all along? I couldn't see what she could possibly have to gain from doing that, but at the same time I didn't see what she had to gain by pretending to be Ronin, either.

Something just didn't add up. When I actually thought about it, yeah, I could see Nat being right at home at some glitzy party, but Vi? She was more like Clint; she was loyal, spoke her mind, wore her heart on her sleeve, and was stunningly direct with people she didn't like. You could stuff her in a glittery dress and paint a smile on her face, but the most likely outcome would probably involve her feeding some sleazy drug lord to his own pet shark. As much as I wanted to see Clint's side of things, the pieces just didn't seem to fit.

But...maybe that was my fault. Maybe I was being naive. What Coop had been right, and I was really was using Vi as a 'Nat substitute'? It was possible that I could've subconsciously turned a blind eye to some telltale signs that they were up to no good. Clint had decades of spycraft experience, while all I had were his heavily sanitised stories and a brief glimpse of the brutal reality. His instincts had to be good, or he'd be dead! That had to count for something...right?

I must have dropped off at some point, but unfortunately morning was hot on my heels. Barely had I closed my eyes then the sun came soaring up through the rose window, bathing the bedroom in brilliant, hateful light and dragging me out of a strange dream about singing samurai walruses. With a muffled curse, I hammered on the beeping alarm clock and then shambled out of bed, just as a groan from the other side announced Clint's arrival from the Land of Nod.

"Today's the day, right?" I said tiredly.

"Yup," Clint murmured, "Day of Reckoning."

There was nothing more to be said. Clint and I showered, dressed, and headed downstairs in silence. The atmosphere was tense, and from Clint's expression I could tell he was in no mood for funny business, but inside I felt a strange mixture of anxiety and excitement. Even with the spectre of Ronin hanging over us, this was going to be the day, right? The day that we finally got some actual answers!

"Sure," said my little inner voice, in a mocking tone, "And I'm sure they'll also have a wonderful bridge to sell us. A nice picturesque one, over the Missouri River, with ducks an' flowers and little toy boats for the kids-"

With an irritated sigh, I forced the voice back down deep inside and turned my attention to the mindless task of making and buttering toast. This was going to be the day we got some actual answers because I was going to make them give us some actual answers! No more playing around! No more half-truths and riddles! Today was the day that I was going to-

"Um, Mom?" Coop's voice forced its way into my thoughts, and I jumped despite myself.

"Christ, Coop!" I said sharply, "You almost gave me a heart attack!"

"Sorry, but...you looked like you were miles away. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, kiddo," I said, and gave him a rather false smile, "I was just daydreaming, that's all."

"That'd explain all this toast," he said, and picked up one of the stacks that I'd prepared in my reverie, "How much do you expect us to eat?"

"As much as you want," I said, and shrugged, "Some of that bread's going stale, so it's not like we'll be able to use it for anything else."

"If you say so, Mom," he gave me a carefully appraising look, and then turned away, "I'll go help Dad set the table."

Once the table was laid Clint hopped upstairs to grab Nate, and while he tried to convince our youngest to at least try some toast I found myself contending with an equally difficult challenge. It was clear that Coop knew something was up, and as we all sat down at the table I could feel his eyes boring into my skull. I did my best to put on an innocent air, and even gave him a brief smile as I picked up the jelly and spread it thinly across my toast. From the expression he gave me as I handed the jar over, it was clear he wasn't having any of it.

"Are you okay there, dear?" I asked. Better to just take the bull by the horns.

"Sure, Mom," he said, and jellied up his toast with a sharp flick of his knife, "Are you?"

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"Oh, c'mon!" he rolled his eyes, "Something's going on between you and Dad! What is it?"

"It's nothing, Coop," Clint said, from the other end of the table, "Nothing to worry about."

"When people tell me that there's 'nothing to worry about', that kinda makes me think that there is something to worry about. Especially the way you two're acting!"

Lila looked up curiously from her chocolate spread masterpiece, and said, "Is it Ronin?"

There was a 'thud' from Clint's end of the table as he dropped the jar he'd been holding, and Coop smiled triumphantly.

"Where'd you hear about that?" I said sharply. In response, Coop dug out his phone and flipped it around so I could see.

"Popped up on my screen this morning," he said, and added in a dramatic voice, "'Massacre in Marshfield!'. Says that twelve people were sliced-"

"Alright, that's enough," Clint said curtly, as he took a seat at the table, "Not in front of Nate, Coop!"

"But it's so cool!" Lila said excitedly, "I bet Ronin turned up there with his ninja sword and then he was all schwing, schwing and they were all 'Aaah!', and-"

Clint's hand hit the table, hard, shocking Lila into silence. When he finally spoke, it was in the carefully measured tones of someone who was trying their absolute hardest not to shout.

"Sweetheart? The one thing this isn't is 'cool'. This ain't one of your cartoons; those people ain't gonna get up afterwards, bow, an' step off the stage until the next fight. They're dead, an' that ain't something we should be cheerin' about."

"I know, Dad," Lila said quietly, "Sorry, Dad."

"It's okay, pumpkin," Clint ruffled her hair, "I'm sorry I overreacted."

"Ronin's got you pretty worried, hasn't he?" Coop said, and a note of anxiety crept into his voice, "Do you...do you know him?"

"Do I know him? Yeah." For a heartstopping moment Clint looked at me across the table, and then sighed, "Honestly, I kinda feel like I've been livin' in his shadow for the past couple years."

"What's he like?"

"He's a monster. Worse, he's the kind of monster who reckons he's doin' the right thing," Clint said, and I gave him a weak smile, "He doesn't give people a chance to surrender or stop doin' what they're doin'; he just appears, cuts em down, an' moves onto his next target. No warning, no mercy."

"But...we don't have anything to worry about, do we?"

"No, kiddo," Clint said reassuringly, "He ain't got any beef with us. He's only interested in hackin' apart criminals and other...bad people."

"But doesn't that make him a good guy?" Lila sounded a little puzzled, "If he's hurting the bad guys, I mean."

"It's not always that simple, dear," I said, "Sometimes there's people who we think are bad who other people think're good, and the other way around, too."

"Oooh, like Auntie Nat?" said Lila, "She was really nice to us, but I don't think the people she kicked in the face liked her very much."

"And the people she kicked in the face had families just like us," I said, "It's not always easy to know what's the right thing to do."

"There ain't anythin' right about Ronin, hon," Clint said, quite firmly.

"So...are you gonna bring him down?" Coop said, and Clint shrugged.

"I tried a couple of times, but he kept comin' back," he said, "But if I get the chance...yeah. He's goin' down for good."

"You could use your sword!" Lila said, "Maybe if you fought him on a runaway train, or in a garden filled with cherry blossoms, or-"

"Where is your sword, Dad? I haven't seen it since you came back," Coop said suddenly. It was obviously intended to divert Clint away from Lila's colourful fantasies, but for an innocent question it was devilishly awkward. Clint's gaze met mine once again.

"I destroyed it," he said eventually.

"What?" Lila exclaimed.

"Yeah, I destroyed it. I ain't got no need for it anymore, an' its dangerous. If Nate somehow got his hands on it and started swingin' it around..." he shuddered, "No. Can't let that happen."

"But what about the memories?" she pressed, "Aren't they important?"

"Not as important as you, sweetheart," he said, with a fond smile, "Look, it did its job, which was to keep me safe an' help bring everyone back. Believe me, there's no memory associated with that sword that's as good as the ones I have with you guys…" he trailed off, and I saw a faint glistening in his eyes, "Even if it's just something like havin' breakfast together."

There was a long silence, and then Lila reached out and gently patted him on the hand.

"Anyway!" he said, "Listen to me prattlin' on when there's all this to be eaten. I'll go get Nate ready, but you'd better dig in! Before that toast gets cold."

Under my watchful eye, my older children slowly worked their way through as much toast as any one person could reasonably be expected to eat. Once done, Coop and Lila helped me clear everything away while Clint cleaned up Nate and got him ready for the rest of the day. The tense atmosphere at the table followed us into the kitchen, and I could see my kids exchanging significant glances as they helped me wash and dry the tableware. They both obviously wanted to say something, but it was just as obvious that they had no idea how to go about broaching the subject.

"Alright, guys," I put down my dishcloth and turned to face them, "What's the matter?"

"It's, um, Dad," Lila said, a little anxiously, "He's scared, isn't he? About Ronin?"

"He thinks he's coming here, doesn't he?" Coop added, "I know what he said at the table, but-"

I looked between them, worry etched on both their faces, and felt an unpleasant-feeling knot take up residence in the pit of my stomach. While I couldn't tell them the whole truth, I had to tell them something...

"No," I said, and gently took both their hands, "No, he doesn't think Ronin's coming here. He only attacks 'bad' people, remember?"

"Then why is he so worried?"

"I think…" I sighed, "I think it's because he brings back some bad memories from the Snap."

"Oh, I know about that!" said Lila, "We've talked about that a couple of times in Blip Class!"

"You have?" I raised my eyebrows.

"Yeah!" Lila said, "My teacher was saying that our family and friends might act weird or do weird things! She was saying it's...well, it's like Dad's with us, but part of him's still living back in the Snap, and that part thinks that this is all just a dream. When that bit gets loud enough he gets scared he's gonna lose us again, and…"

"...Ronin turning up is bringing up those feelings," Coop finished.

"Maybe," I said, "I think your Dad thought Ronin would disappear after the Blip, but-"

"-he's back," Coop said, "Why?"

"I don't know., and I think not knowing is what's scaring your Dad."

"Is he going to have to fight him?" Lila said, and in contrast to her earlier excitement, there was now a distinct note of worry in her voice.

"I hope not," I said, and realised two seconds later that was the wrong thing to say.

"So he could have to fight him?" her face twisted, and tears appeared in her eyes, "What if he gets hurt? What if he gets killed?"

"No, no, pumpkin," I said, and released Coop's hand to give her a tight hug, "I'm sorry; I meant to say that he isn't going to fight Ronin. It's going to be okay, okay?"

"Do you promise?" Lila sniffed, and looked up at me with hope dancing in her eyes, "Really promise?"

"I really promise," I said, confidently, "This'll all pass, and Dad'll be okay. You'll see."

"So, uh," Coop paused, "Dad's not going to go do anything stupid, is he?"

For a moment I thought of the sack bag, still loitering treacherously in the hallway, and put on my best reassuring smile, "You're going to have to help me out with that one, kiddo. This is your Dad we're talking about!"

He cracked a smile at that, "Yeah, I guess. I know he's been through a lot, but...I just wish we could do more to help him, y'know?"

"Yeah," said Lila, "We don't want him to be scared anymore! We're not going anywhere!"

"I know, kiddos," I said, and reached out to enfold both of them in one big, maternal hug, "And I'm really proud of both of you. Just...keep on being you, and it'll all be okay."

"Aww, Mom," Coop squirmed self-consciously in my embrace for a moment, but then settled down, "I guess you're right."

"And speaking of helping people-" I said, as I disengaged, "-Dad and I need to step out in about, ooh, twenty minutes. We'll be gone for a couple of hours, so I'm going to need you two to look after Nate. Understood?"

"Aww, but-"

"This is important, Coop," I said firmly, "I wouldn't be asking if it wasn't."

"Where're you going?" Lila cut in, "And why can't we come along?"

"Because-" I caught Coop's eye, and decided that honesty was the best policy, "-we're going to see Thera. We've got one last appointment."

"What, on a Sunday? With no warning?" Coop said shrewdly, "What's going on, Mom?"

"This is about Ronin, isn't it!" Lila said, "You're gonna ask him to catch Ronin!"

"No, hon, we aren't!" I said, quite honestly, "Not everything in the world revolves around what's in the headlines! We're...just going to talk about what we've learned since the Blip. Y'know, pull it all together. Work out what the future holds."

"What does the future hold, Mom?"

"I...I don't know," I admitted, but ruffled her hair reassuringly, "But whatever happens, I'm sure we're going to be fine."

Shortly thereafter, Clint re-appeared hand-in-hand with Nate, who was now all cleaned up and fresh-faced following his brave battle with the Toast Monster. As we pulled on our boots I gave Coop and Lila some brief instructions about what they could have for lunch and what to do in an emergency. Even though it bore repeating I still felt a little silly; after all, how much trouble could they possibly get up to in a couple of hours? Quite a lot, from memory, and even though Coop was doing his best to look responsible I still felt a sense of deep unease as they walked us to the car and waved us off. As they disappeared out of sight in the rear-view mirror, I sat back with a disconsolate sigh and did my best to focus on the road.

"They're gonna be okay, hon," Clint said, "We're not gone long."

"I know," I said, "I'm just not used to leaving them at home alone."

"Ah, the worst thing that'll happen is that Lila or Nate'll get into the cookie jar," he said, "It's not like they'll end up in Narnia or anything."

"You sure about that?"

"Lila went hunting for Mr. Tumnus once," he said, "Don't you remember how disappointed she was when she checked her wardrobe? You stepped in her Tumnus Trap!"

"Was that that bowl of Turkish Delight?"

"That's the one," he grinned wryly, "You made her scrub all the icin' sugar out of the carpet, remember?"

"Maybe? Honestly, I've stepped in so many of Lila's crackpot ideas that I've kind've lost track. At least that time I didn't need a tetanus shot."

"And they won't be turned to stone by the White Witch," he said confidently, "They'll be fine. Besides, Coop's really good with Nate; sometimes I think he's better with him than I am."

"He is, isn't he?" I smiled, "We did good with that one."

"Yeah. He's got the mind of an interrogator, too."

"No kidding. 'Seems like only yesterday he was asking me if Santa exists, and now if I put so much as a foot wrong he's on me like white on rice! I'd be terrified if I wasn't so proud of him."

"Yeah, he's pretty sharp. 'Takes after you, 'cept with my good looks."

"And your sense of humour, unfortunately."

"Ain't nothing unfortunate about that. A winnin' smile and a good sense of humour'll take you far in life. Worked for me, didn't it?"

"I plead the fifth," I said flatly, "So anyway, have we worked out what we're going to say to Thera and Vi, yet? Aside from 'why'?"

"Oh, I'm sure they'll tell us why," he said, "Trouble is, I have no idea what we're gonna do about it."

We drove on down the country roads, past the ramshackle homes and burned out farmsteads that made up the post-Blip Missouri landscape. The first time we'd come this way, I'd been struck by an overawing sense of abandonment and desolation, so intense I'd wanted to hide away and scurry back home. Not much had changed; the scant signs of life were still scant, but for some reason the bleakness had been replaced with a faint feeling of hope. Sure, the Snap had driven people from their homes in despair, and maybe they'd never come back. That was okay, though; new people would come, and the ideas and little quirks and traditions that they brought with them would keep our corner of the planet vibrant and exciting. It was a strange thought, particularly for someone who'd spent two decades basically hiding away from the world, but I also found it somehow comforting.

That feeling of comfort carried me all the way to the interstate, but as the warehouse slowly came into view I felt a distinct chill begin to tickle at my spine. It had never been a particularly welcoming building, but today it seemed as if it was shrouded in a deep, ominous gloom, a dark spot in the shimmering heat of the early morning sun. I shivered.

"I still don't get why they chose this particular warehouse," Clint shifted uncomfortably in his seat, "It's like it was purpose built to put us on edge."

"They didn't want people poking around, I guess," I said, and looked at the parking lot with some surprise, "'Seems like it's worked, too; I mean, an 'exploding Chitauri satellite' ends up on the news and there's nobody who's curious enough to come and look?"

"I reckon those might have something to do with it," Clint nodded at a set of bright yellow signs near the entrance. They bore the biohazard trefoil and the words 'DANGER: UNKNOWN XENOHAZARD' in large black letters, "Must be Wong's doing."

"Seems to be effective."

"Yeah, well…" Clint shrugged, "Most people aren't curious enough to wander into an area that a bunch of 'specialists' say is gonna kill you or make you break out in tentacles. Sometimes a well-placed sign's better than a ten-foot fence."

"Not today, it's not," I said, and drove straight into the parking lot without so much as a backward glance, "We haven't got time to break out in tentacles."

Whatever Clint thought of that particular comment, he mercifully kept it to himself as I parked up as close as possible. As the engine died an oppressive silence settled over the car, and I felt sweat gather at my brow as I fought to get my mounting anxiety under control. It was going to be fine, right? After all, it wasn't like we were going to charge in there guns blazing. We were just going to...to talk to them and... ask them to stop rampaging across Missouri. Perfectly simple. Couldn't be easier.

"And if they say 'no'? What then?" said my little inner voice, "On the bright side, if they do decide you've outlived your usefulness, they'll probably kill you too quickly for you to realise it."

"Well, here we are," Clint said tensely.

"Yeah," I nodded, and did my best to quieten the mocking little voice deep within.

"'Moment of truth, like you said."

"Yeah."

"Maybe I should take my bow-"

"No!" I said forcefully, and he recoiled in surprise, "Um, sorry, but no. They won't hurt us."

"Why're you so certain about that?"

"Because if they wanted to hurt us, they would have by now!" I said, "Vi saved my life twice on Friday-"

"-from danger she exposed you to! She used you as bait!"

"Which proves my point! If she wanted to get me killed she would've left me to fend for myself at the Blip Centre or when that Chitauri Blaster exploded! Instead, she almost got herself killed trying to protect me!"

"That's true," he conceded, "But-"

"It's the same for you, too; Thera could've just shielded himself. Instead, he protected you, patched you up, brought you home, and looked after you while Lila forced him to watch that damn samurai show and wear one of her hats! I'm pretty sure a babysitter would charge extra for that kind of service!"

"That's...also true," he said, "So what's your point?"

"You once said that it's obvious they're not spies, but I'm pretty sure you're thinking of them like they're...yourself and Nat. You're waiting for the big reveal, where one of them starts golf clapping and then says something like," I thought for a moment, "'Dobroye utro, tovarisch. How unfortunate for you that you have fallen into my trap, da?'"

"You know, Nat would find that accent offensive."

"She's the one who taught me how to say it!" I said, "But you get what I mean. They're not spies, Clint; they're not even particularly good actors! Coop saw through them straight away, and the only reason we didn't was because we were too busy thinking they were playing fifth-dimensional chess while they were actually playing checkers!"

"And what if they are actin'?"
"Then they deserve an Oscar!" I said, "In fact, they deserve all the Oscars, including the ones that aren't even related to acting! Y'know, like 'Best Sound Mixing', and things like that!"

Clint stared at me for a long moment, and then a strange smile appeared on his face, "Alright, Laura, you win. I'll leave my bow."

"Thanks, Clint. I really think it's for the best," I said, and then added, "Why're you grinning like that?"

"I was jus' thinkin…" he paused, as if trying to work out how to phrase whatever he was going to say, "The first time we came here, you were this nervous, tremblin' wreck who spent the trip hunched up an' afraid of the world, and now? Well…" he reached out and gently took my hand, "I'm proud of you, hon. Whatever happens, there ain't many people who'd go after Ronin without a weapon."

"It could be a really stupid move, y'know."

"Well, if we do get carved up into little pieces, then the last thing you're gonna hear is me tellin' you 'I told you so'."

"Can't argue with that," I said, and gave his hand an encouraging squeeze, "It's time, Clint. Let's go."

As I opened the car door, I was suddenly struck by a blast of chilly air that scythed through the car and chilled me to the bone. We'd left the house bathed in summery warmth, but here the atmosphere felt cold, clammy, and electric, and even the intense Missouri sun seemed strangely sickly and wan. A lonely wind sighed disconsolately across the tarmac stirring up little eddies and dust devils, and once again I felt that uncomfortable prickling up and down my spine.

"Whoa," Clint remarked, as he smoothly swung out of the passenger side, "Talk about a cold snap. Kinda odd, don't you think?"

"Suspicious, definitely," I said, and rubbed my arms vigorously in an attempt to keep warm, "I guess they really wanted people to stay away."

"Or they ain't bothered about hidin' anymore," Clint said ominously, "Not sure which I prefer."

"You can think about it while we're not freezing," I said, and jerked my head towards the side of the warehouse, "C'mon; let's get moving."

We headed briskly around the side of the warehouse towards the little side door. With every step, my boots echoed noisily across the empty parking lot, and in that moment it struck me just how desolate it all felt. Barely two days ago the parking lot had been filled with menacing SUVs, weapons crates, and the still, glassy-eyed corpses of Smith and Piers. Now? They were gone, vanished without trace, and for a brief, melancholic moment I thought of that sobbing young woman on the news, pleading for Smith's safe return.

"Wong does good work," Clint remarked, apparently catching onto my train of thought, "You'd never have known there was a pitched battle 'round here."

"Guess not," I said, a little sadly.

"You reckon they sent everythin' to the same place Strange sent Caleb?" he went on, "'Seems like the perfect way of disposing of evidence, assumin' we don't get some eldritch horror turning up complainin' about the litter, that is."

"Well, knowing our luck…" I smiled crookedly, "Hey, do you, um, think they're watching us?"

"'Course they're watchin' us, hon!" he said, "They ain't stupid. Annoyin', sure, but not stupid."

"Good thing you didn't bring the bow then, eh?" I said, and gave him a playful nudge, "Smile and wave!"

Clint rolled his eyes, but remained quiet and alert until we reached the now-familiar door. With a brief gesture he motioned me aside, and then picked up a stick and gave the knob an exploratory prod before leaping backwards. Nothing happened.

What were you expecting?" I said curiously, "You really think they've set booby traps? After inviting us to talk to them?"
"I dunno," he shrugged, "But if there is anythin', then I'd rather I set it off than you."

"How chivalrous," I said archly, "So are you going open the door, Sir Clint, or should I?"

"I've got it," he said, and took a firm grasp of the doorknob, "An' you're right, I'm probably just bein' stupid, but-"

He opened the door with a gentle 'click', and threw it open and stepped inside. I followed closely behind, and almost ran into him when he stopped dead in the doorway.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me," he muttered, and stepped aside to let me see. Once again the warehouse had been rearranged, only this time it was very clearly for our benefit. Vi's training mats were now laid in a straight line between the entrance and the stairway up to Thera's office, almost like some kind of de facto red carpet. On either side, stationed at even intervals, stood the warehouse mannequins in varying states of disrepair. Some were missing limbs, others heads, while still others were the half-molten victims of Vi's attack on Friday. Despite their differences, though, they were all saluting in a vaguely rakish manner, and as we walked down between them I could feel their sightless eyes burning an unsettling hole in my back.

"Is this meant to be funny?" Clint demanded, and he nodded at a badly-molten mannequin, "I'm guessin' this was her handiwork?"

"Yeah," I said, "From when she roasted all those mercs."

"Bit sick displayin' it here, don't you think?"

"I dunno," I said, "She is an artist. Maybe she thinks there's a deeper meaning."

"Or it's just a damn joke," he turned away, and surveyed the rest of the mannequins with a disgusted look, "I'm surprised Wong didn't get rid of these things. They give me the creeps."

"I guess Thera asked him not to?" I said, and then a sudden thought occurred, "Hold on; you don't think Strange is in on-"

"Nah," Clint said, "An' even if he was, I don't think he'd care. He ain't gonna take an interest in Ronin unless Ronin starts punchin' holes in the space-time continuum, and that ain' gonna happen. Not if I've got any say in it."

"Well, you might…" I stopped as Clint held up a hand, "What? What is it?"

"Do you hear that?" he said quietly, and I strained to listen in the silence that followed. The sound was faint at first, very faint, but as it got louder I realised that it was the deep, sonorous tones of a woodwind instrument, playing a maddeningly familiar song that I couldn't quite put my finger on.

"Is that a sax?" I frowned, and Clint nodded, "What's that tune? I'm sure I've heard it before..."

"I'm sure you have; it's 'Send in the Clowns'!"

"Oh, yeah," I said, and tried hard to keep the smile off my face, "I recognise it now!"

"But don't you see? This is what I meant, Laura!" he said angrily, "Vi's been spendin' her time just pretendin' to be your friend, and now they doesn't need us anymore they're sayin' what they actually think of us! Isn't it obvious?"

"Calm down, Clint," I said, "Do you think they would've gone to all this trouble if they really thought we were a pair of clowns? This is just how Vi shows affection."

"By bein' a dick?"

"No...well, yes, maybe. A little," I conceded, "She's a gadfly, right? The kind of person who'd prod Bruce just to see if she could get him to hulk out?"

"So a stupid dick, then."

"Yeah, but she'd be the first to tell you that she doesn't always think things through. I've seen what she does to people she doesn't like, Clint," I jerked my head towards one of the half-molten mannequins, "It's not pretty."

"I suppose," Clint said, and I saw the anger subside a little, "That doesn't mean this ain't messed up, though!"

"Did you really expect anything else?"

"From Vi? No, I guess not," he admitted, and jerked his head towards the staircase, "C'mon. Let's go get this over with."

The stairs shook and shuddered in their usual disconcerting fashion as we headed up towards the office door, but at least there weren't any other surprises. At the top, Clint motioned me to silence and then pressed his ear carefully to the cheap wood, and as I watched his expression slowly became more and more perplexed.

"Nothin'," he said eventually, "It's completely silent in there."

"Try knocking," I suggested, and he tapped lightly on the door.

"Hello?" he called, "Anyone home? It's Clint an' Laura! We've got some questions for you guys!"

"We're just here to talk!" I added, in a conciliatory tone.

There was no response, and for a long moment the only sound was that of the saxophone echoing mournfully across the warehouse tannoy system. I checked my watch.

"Well, it is eleven 'o' clock," I said, "What if something's happened to them?"
"We ain't that lucky," Clint muttered, "'Reckon I should kick the door in?"

"Again? Isn't that a bit much?"

With a short laugh, he turned away and opened the door. It swung inwards on smooth hinges, and warm yellow light spilled from the office across the warehouse floor.

"Guess they must be around, then," I said, shielding my eyes against the glare. As they adjusted I could see that Thera's office had also been reconfigured; the high-backed chair was back in the middle of the carpet, and next to it was the comfy looking sofa that he'd installed after our first, rather abortive visit. There had been some changes, though; the small forest of pictures had been taken off the cabinet, leaving Thera's chess set sitting next to a rather lonesome looking card. Meanwhile, the walls-

"Oh, wow," in that moment, it sounded as if Clint wasn't sure whether to be angry or impressed, "Nat would love this."

-were still plastered with pieces of paper; sketches, newspaper articles, and the odd post-it note covered every available space, although the situation had deteriorated further from the last time I'd been here. Now, the coverage even extended onto the floor in places, and in one corner stood a trash can filled with screwed up pieces that presumably hadn't made the cut.

"Yeah, Vi likes her rooms of crazy too," I said, "She had the entire room covered with articles about Keame, but-"

"Yeah, it's very impressive. But where's Thera an' Vi?" Clint's voice rose as he strode into the room, "Come on out, you bastards!""

With a frustrated growl, he strode into the room and immediately went to check around the back of the sofa and chair. Obviously finding nothing, he quickly scanned the room to see if there were any other possible hiding spaces, and then turned to look at me with a mixture of surprise, stress, and anger etched across his face.

"They ain't here!" he said, and I shrugged emphatically in response.

"What the hell's goin' on?" he snapped, "Where are they?"

"I don't know!" I held up my hands in a display of innocence, "Maybe they just stepped out?"

"Stepped out where, hon?"

"How should I know? They're clearly not here, so-"

"-so what're they playing at, eh? They play at bein' Ronin, invite us over, subject us to that damn mannequin catwalk, an' now they're just not here?" his hand tightened around the chair arm until his knuckles went white, "They're right back to messin' with us, aren't they!"

"Or they really have stepped out and they're just...running late," I said, calmly, "How about we sit down and wait for them? They said to be here at eleven, didn't they, so-"

"-so we'd be here at eleven!" Clint said, and sat down heavily, "Oh, damnit, it's so obvious!"

"What?" I frowned, "What's so obvious?"

"Think about it!" he said, "They must've known that pullin' a Ronin on some mercs would have us bangin' at their door, and they probably wouldn't just want us turning up at some random time 'cause that'd be inconvenient for them! How do they avoid that?"

"By...oh," I said, "By inviting us here at-"

"-eleven, yeah! They set the time! They knew we'd want answers, but they also knew that we've gotta get the kids up, fed, an' sorted out - so they pick a time that looks like they've thought about us... an' then while we're here they're off doing whatever it is they've been plannin' all along! It's a classic feint!"

"I'm not sure about 'classic', but-"

"Jus' wait until I get my hands on 'em," Clint growled, "I'm startin' to think that beating 'em senseless with a mannequin leg might be too merciful."

"You might be waiting a while," I pointed out, "Unless we can work out where they've gone, of course."

"Hah; what do you think all this is?" he gestured at the paper-laden walls, "You reckon those two could pass up an opportunity to rub our faces in their genius? Somethin' here'll tell us where they've gone."

"True," I said, "A breadcrumb trail does sound like the kind of thing that Vi would do."

"Yup. You check the cabinet, I'll have a quick look at these papers. Shout if you find anything."

"Sure."

As Clint busied himself with the walls, I turned away and took a long, hard look at the cabinet. Sure, I hadn't expected this, but at the same time I felt strangely calm about it. Maybe it was just that I'd spent more time with Vi, or maybe it was because I hadn't been exposed to as much backstabbing espionage as Clint, but I still couldn't shake the feeling that they were on our side. For instance, why go to so much effort downstairs? Maybe they just wanted to get under Clint's skin, but it felt like more than just a mean-spirited practical joke. It felt...desperate, in a way, almost like they were almost trying too hard to spur us into action. If that was the case, though...why not just say? Why dance around the point?

Still, we'd never know if we didn't catch them, and that meant finding out where they went. Leaving the card and the chess-set to one side for a moment, I went through the drawers in turn. They were empty; Thera's collection of pictures, papers, and the 'P.H.O.E.N.I.X' book were all gone, and a quick tap around the inside revealed nothing beyond solid wood. I hadn't really expected a secret compartment, but you never knew.

"Anything yet?" Clint called, "'Cause I've got some pretty interestin' stuff here."

"Hold on-" I said, and tugged open the last drawer. A small, cardboard carton shot to the front, and I eagerly snatched it up. On the front it had a picture of a man with shimmering blond locks, and a small caption underneath that read 'Ice blonde: permanent lightener', "I've got some...men's hair dye? Didn't expect that."

"Really? Thera dyes his hair?" Clint snorted, "Why bother? He's spends all his time wearin' those stupid hats."

"Maybe he's going grey? He seems like the sort," I said, and then grinned, "Ah, now I get what Wong meant about being willing to 'die' for Thera's hair. Kinda makes you wonder what his real hair colour is, right?"

"If I weren't lookin' for a copycat serial killer, sure," Clint said, "Anything else?"

"Not in the drawers," I said, and clambered laboriously to my feet, "Let's see…"

So, what had they left out, and why had they done it? The chessboard, for instance; Thera'd had it out the second time we'd met, right? Was it significant? Maybe, maybe not; after all, they could have just been using it to pass the time.

"Short game if they did," the voice chimed in, "The shortest game possible, actually. That's a Fool's Mate."

"Very funny, Thera," I muttered to myself. Okay, so if the chessboard wasn't that helpful, then how about this card? It was about as generic as possible, with cut-price drawing of some flowers on the front, but the instant I flicked it open I caught the word '#273' and felt a sudden rush of adrenaline.

"Clint?" I called, as I quickly scanned the card, "C'mon over here; I think I've got something!"

"Oh yeah?" he said, and in a flash he was at my shoulder, "What?"

"Check this out!" I said, and showed him the short poem written in the card:

Roses are red,

All violets agree,

You'll come to St. Louis,

If you want #273!

"Oh, shit," Clint said, "They've got #273?"

"Do you think they're bluffing?"

"They could be, yeah," he scratched his chin, "But then again, we're pretty sure they took a crack at Helix International, and those other burglars were found out cold near the server room."

"Accidental release of halon gas, wasn't it?"

"An' you know what? I'm guessin' it wasn't as accidental as the police thought. It also kinda explains why those goons were found in the antechamber instead of dead inside the server room."

"But this is a good thing, isn't it?"

"Is it?"

"Yeah!"

"Why?"

"Because…" I foundered a bit, "...Vi didn't want anyone else to have it, and we don't want anyone else to have it, so-"

"-why're they draggin' us to St. Louis for it, then?"

"Well, um…"

"-and don't forget that yesterday mornin', Keame suddenly an' unexpectedly changed the location of his rally from his refinery to...wait for it!" Clint spread his hands, "St. Louis! Look, Laura, the reason Vi didn't want anyone else to have it is because then she wouldn't have the control! Control of us, control of Keame, control of anyone else in the criminal underworld who wants Ronin's hide!"

"Do you think...they sent him one of these cards?"

"I dunno, but I guess Keame would've learned yesterday mornin' that his goons hadn't gotten the goods, an' this can't be a coincidence," he said, "Still sure they're not settin' us up?"

"Less sure than I was, definitely," I said, "But...St. Louis is miles away, and even if we went there, how're we meant to find them?"

"Well, this card makes sense of some of the stuff on the wall," he said grimly, "C'mon, have a look."

Clint led me over towards the door, and gestured briefly at the pencil sketches and pages of notes that had been stuck in carefully ordered rows up and down the walls. Most of them seemed to be annotated drawings of clothing - a single set of clothing, I realised. Although they were only rendered in pencil, the general feeling I got was of dark, rugged fabrics with highlights picked out around the shoulders and across the waist. In places the images were annotated with brief notes, written in that almost-Greek alphabet with a careful, flowing hand.

"If we had any doubts about them imitatin' Ronin, I'm pretty sure we can put 'em to bed now," Clint said, "These're schematics of his costume; my costume, I guess - but there's more detail here than I ever put into 'em."

"Yeah," I said, and stared wonderingly at the drawings, "But that doesn't make sense; I mean, if they were just going to kill everyone and leave no witnesses, why bother with a costume?"

"Why did I bother with a costume?" Clint countered, "'Cause it scares people, an' it's pretty inevitable that you're gonna get caught on some kinda video camera. Best not to wear anythin' that can be traced back to yourself, right? But...there is somethin' odd about these."

"What?"

"Look at the whole costume," he said, and pointed to another piece of paper, "These're pretty clearly meant to be worn by a woman. If Vi gets caught on camera, who's gonna believe that she's Ronin?"

"Would you believe she actually said something about that once?" I said, "When she's fully kitted out, people mistake her for a man all the time."

"Really? Vi? C'mon."

"That's what she said. Anyway, you're looking at a drawing; anyone who sees her on camera is just going to catch a blurry image of someone in a costume cutting people to ribbons!" I said, "Do you really think they're going to be able to work out if it's a man or a woman under there?"

"That's true. But check out the rest of these…" he walked down the row of pictures, "Like...here's a bunch of drawings of my sword. I thought she'd put 'em together from CCTV footage of Ronin in action, but...look at this-" he pointed at one drawing, showing a closeup of the blade, "-she's even captured the nick it got at the Battle of Earth. That shouldn't be possible."

"Because…"

"Because she Blipped into a field in Missouri, an' straight after that fight my sword went into that Stark lockbox an' stayed there until you saw it, an' then I destroyed it. When did she see it, eh?"

"I…" I shrugged, and Clint gave me a grim look.

"When we get home, I'm checkin' the satellite footage over our house," he said, "'Cause if she really can get into Helix International without alertin' a soul, our house ain't exactly Fort Knox by comparison."

"You think she broke in? To our room? That's..."

"I can't really think of any alternatives at the moment, hon," he said, "So I guess we'll have to ask her."

"Yeah," I said, "So what else have you got?"

"Well-" he paused in front of a bunch of stick figure drawings, showing a single sword-wielding individual facing down groups of assailants in various configurations. Each one was covered in an array of arrows and more curly, pseudo-Greek script, "-I reckon she did take these from CCTV footage. Some of 'em I actually remember. If I had to guess, she's basically adaptin' whatever her trainin' was so she can imitate me more effectively."

"That's...a lot of attention to detail," I said, "I guess we now know what she was doing while Thera was comatose."

"Well, she wasn't sittin' around composing crappy poetry, for sure," Clint said, with a brief smile, "This is pro-level stuff."

"You almost sound impressed,"

"I am impressed, hon," he said, "But I also want to strangle her. Like, really badly."

"If she really did break into our house, I might just join you," I said, "Is that it?"

"One last thing, which is where your card comes in," he said, and nodded at a group of drawings at the end of the room. The largest drawing, set in the centre of the wall, showed the Gateway Arch and the surrounding national park. Laid out before the arch was a group of tall, metallic monoliths, set in gently sweeping arcs amongst flowering dogwoods and surrounded by an intricate water feature. It was a peaceful, elegant affair, but for some reason I felt a sudden chill pass over me as I stared closely at the picture.

"Is that-"

"The Missouri Memorial? Yeah," Clint said, and sighed, "I guess it's the closest thing you've got to a grave, hon."

"Thank you for putting it like that," I said, a little sharply, "You think they want to meet there?"

"I'm not sure why else they'd have so many pictures of it," he said, "There's only so much you can hint at somethin'."

"I'm not sure I'm ready for that, you know. I mean, sure, I can admit I died, but actually seeing my name carved into a memorial…? That's going to be really unsettling."

"Keame Blipped too," Clint said, "An' I guess it ain't gonna be much fun for him either. At least I'll be there for you."

"I know you will, hon," I said gratefully, "So...I guess this means we're going to St. Louis?"

"Of course we're goin'!" Clint said, "It's not like we've got much of a choice, not while they're danglin' #273 over everyone's heads. But I'd be goin' even if they weren't!"

"Why?"

"Why? 'Cause of all this crap!" he pointed out the door, "Those two have spent the whole damn time mockin' us an' messin' us around, an' I've had enough! If that means that I have to go to St. Louis to show 'em that I'm not gonna be pushed around anymore by a pair of upstart limey mystics, then as far as I'm concerned it's time well spent!"

"Glad to see you've got your priorities in order, hon," I said, sardonically, "But...I guess this means that you were right about Keame having his chain yanked. I just I just never imagined it'd be those two who'd be forcing him around!

"Yeah...they've played all of us like a damn fiddle!" Clint said, "Maybe they really do deserve all the Oscars. All I hope is that Fury never, ever gets to hear about this. I'll never hear the end of it."

We left the warehouse quickly and quietly, hurrying past the mocking stares of the twisted mannequin collection. Clint was silent, but I could tell from the knots in his neck and shoulders that the anger wasn't far beneath the surface, and if I was being honest with myself it was becoming increasingly difficult to disagree. Whatever Thera and Vi were up to, they'd better either have an excellent explanation or a really good running shoes. We had to go, and they knew it; the alternative was too horrific to contemplate.

"Three hours there, three hours back, at best," Clint said, glancing at the sat-nav, "We happy leaving the kids alone that long?"

"Um...not really," I admitted, "It's not fair on Coop, for one."

"So what're we gonna do?"

"I'm gonna call in a favour," I said, and quickly scrolled through my contacts to the 'M's, "And I'm probably going to make Coop's day in doing so."

"Oh yeah? Wait, you're thinkin' of-"

"Sssh!" I said, as the sound of a phone ringing echoed through the car. A moment later there was a click, and then Maisie's bright, chipper voice rang through the speakers, "Mornin', Mrs B! How're you?"

"I'm, um, fine thanks, Maisie," I said, "And congratulations on winning your tournament, by the way! How're you feeling?"

"A little beaten up, but I'll live," she said happily, "My Dad's proud as anything! 'Said he always knew that I had what it took to win!"

"Lila really wants to see that trophy, you know."

"Hah, yeah," she said, "So, uh, what can I do for you?"

"Well...I don't know if you're up for it, but you remember that favour you said you owed me? I…" I winced, "I need to call it in."

"Say no more, Mrs B," said Maisie, "I'm already on the way to your house!"

"You...you are?"

"Yeah!" she said, "See, uh, before Thera left with that woman, he told me that you'd probably be callin' me about eleven today asking me to help Coop take care of your kids. It's fine; I've already got the children's seat set up for Nate in the back, 'cause my parents never got rid of Alvin's, and-"

"Wait, wait wait wait wait-" I said, and caught Clint's astonished expression, "Thera asked you to look after them?"

"Yeah. He gave me a bunch of money for expenses and everything," she said, "But, um, he told me not to say anything unless you called, because he didn't want to cause a panic. So instead, I figured I'd just head over to show Lila the trophy and if you happened to call, then…"

"You should've told me, Maisie."

"I know, Mrs B, and I'm sorry. I really wanted to!" she said apologetically, "But, um, Thera seems like the kind of person you don't cross, and Vi-"

"No, you're right," I admitted, "I wouldn't want to mess him around either. So what did he say?"

"He said to get your kids and take 'em out for the day, do whatever they wanted to do, go wherever they wanted to go...but he said that I wasn't allowed to bring 'em back to your house under any circumstances. Even if it meant they had to spend the night at my house."

"Why?"

"I dunno, but he looked real serious," Maisie said, "Um, are you and Mr B tangled up in something bad, Mrs B? What's going on?"

"Thera and Vi have vanished, and we need to track them down," I admitted, "Look; I'll talk to Coop and let him know what's going on, but-"

In the rear view mirror there was a sudden, brilliant flash, and then a thunderous report blasted through the car, shaking it right down to the rivets.

"What the hell?" I said, as I twisted in my seat to look. Where the warehouse once stood, there was now an enormous fireball that roiled and rumbled as it rose slowly into the sky, spewing out flaming chunks of metal that trailed thick black smoke as they arced across the sky, before slamming into the ground with spectacular force, "Oh my god!"

"Mrs B?"

"Clint, the warehouse-"

"I see it!" Clint said, "How the hell- wait, hold on!"

Barely had the words left his mouth than the car slewed violently to the side, and I heard Clint curse loudly as he fought to keep us on the road under a swirling barrage of twigs and leaves.

"Mrs B! Mrs B!" somewhere over the cacophony, I heard Maisie screaming over the car radio, "Are you alright? What's going on?"

"Hold on, Maisie!" I shouted back, as I clutched desperately at the door for support. In the distance there a drawn-out, tortured shriek of metal, and as I watched the warehouse slowly collapsed in on itself, kicking up a final cloud of thick black dust as it did so. The silence that followed was deafening.

"My god," Clint paused, and then repeated himself, "My...god."

"Mrs B! Do you need me to call an ambulance?"

"We're okay, Maisie!" he said quickly, "It's fine. We're fine!"

"What's going on? It sounded like something exploded!"

"We're fine, Maisie!" I said, a little more curtly than I intended, "Please...just get to our house as soon as you can. I'll ring Coop and let him know what's going on."

"If...if you're sure."

"I am. And Maisie? Thank you. You don't know what this means to me."

"Hey, Mrs B, we've all gotta help each other, and if I can do my part then that's enough for me! I'll, uh, talk to you later."

There was a beep and her name vanished from the dashboard. I immediately turned to Clint.

"The warehouse blew up! The damn warehouse blew up! It just exploded!"

"I know, hon!"

"We were in that warehouse! Who'd blow it up?"

"Thera an' Vi, of course!"

"But how? Why?"

"How? Well, you did say that those mercs brought a bunch of plastique with 'em," he said, "I'm guessin' that Vi finally put it to its intended use."

"That's crazy!"

"No kidding!" he said, "If we'd been any closer, I'm pretty sure that explosion would've flipped the car!"

"'Guess we should be thankful for small mercies, right?" I said grimly, "Any idea why they'd blow up their own home?"

"Destroyin' the evidence?" he said, "Or...maybe because this time they're actually tryin' to make a point."

"Which is what?"

"That whatever happens, they ain't comin' back."