CHAPTER 11

PART I

My pain was everywhere.

My head throbbed with every beat of my heart. I could taste blood in my mouth and my tongue probed curiously at empty sockets, as though it's wondering what happened to the teeth that used to be there. Every breath that I took sent fire shooting through my chest, and I didn't even want to think about what it felt like when I coughed.

But the worst, by far, was my right arm and hand. I had no idea what they used to hit me with. All I knew was that my right arm has swelled to twice the size of my left, and my hand looked like one of those rubber gloves that Prim Everdeen would sometimes take from the hospital, blow up like a balloon, and use to try to amuse the patients.

It was a miracle that I am even still alive. I could only hope that the people in District Thirteen are still just as alive as I am.

I had no idea how much time had passed since I shouted my warning. The lights have remained on in my cell ever since I regained consciousness. Every so often an Avox orderly would come in, sponge off the feces and urine that I had been been laying in, and help me drink something. It's not just water that the Avox helped me to drink. It's thick and vaguely sweet. I had a feeling that something's been added to it, for nutrition perhaps. I sure as fuck couldn't eat anything in the shape that I'm in.

I tried to count the number of times that the Avox had come in to clean and feed me, but I lost track. It's not important, anyhow. At least I haven't been interrogated since being beaten nearly to death. Vaguely, I wondered why, and I'm not sure I liked the answer that I kept coming up with. They don't need me anymore, yet they didn't kill me outright and they are at least making some small attempt to keep me alive. Yet, they weren't going to any great lengths to treat my wounds, either. One answer kept popping up in my head.

President Snow was going to publicly execute me.

Katniss had to know that I'm alive…that is, if my warning was in time and she managed to get to safety. And Snow was all too aware of how much we mean to each other. My televised, brutal, bloody, public execution would all but destroy her mentally. My public death would effectively kill the Mockingjay as the living face and symbol of the Rebellion.

"I'm sorry, Katniss," I managed to whisper, the words sounding muffled and distorted coming out of my battered mouth. "I love you."

The physical pain I can bear. But the mental pain…I squeezed my eyes shut but the tears came anyway. Maybe there's a way that I can kill myself before Snow can turn me into a Katniss-destroying public spectacle. But even I know that would be impossible. I couldn't even feed myself. For that matter, I couldn't even use the toilet. I was totally helpless to do anything other than accept what Coriolanus Snow wants to do to me.

The Games go on. And I, apparently, have always been just another piece in their Games.

"Wake up."

The voice was strange, yet familiar, at the same time. I could feel a cool, damp cloth dabbing gently at my face. With effort, I forced my eyes open…well, one of them, anyway, as the other was still almost completely swollen shut…and focused on the face swimming above my own. I could see that it was a woman, dark-skinned, her black hair pulled back and away from her face. She had high cheekbones and, even in my current state, I could see that she was an attractive woman. Her dark eyes seemed to search my face as she examined me, her expression never changing. I felt that I knew her from someplace else, only the details escaped me.

"Good," she said, and, at that moment, I caught a glimpse of her teeth, filed into sharp points, and I finally made the connection.

Enobaria.

Involuntarily I shrank from her, although there was absolutely nowhere that I could go. Enobaria was a Career Victor from District Two, and a Capitol favorite. And District Two was the one district that the Capitol could count on for continued support. I remembered that Katniss would refer to District Two as the "Capitol's lapdogs," eager to please their masters, sucking up at every opportunity. It was no accident that the majority of the Peacekeepers originally came from District Two. And now one of their most feared Victors was an arm's reach away.

"Easy!" Enobaria barked. "Just relax," she added, her tone softening a bit. She dabbed lightly at my forehead with the damp cloth. "You'd be dead already if that's what I wanted."

"What," I managed to croak, "what are you doing here?" But, even as I asked the question, I already pretty much knew the answer. I remembered hearing, shortly after our arrival in District Thirteen, how some Career Victors had vanished from their districts, presumably in Capitol custody, for failing to immediately denounce the uprisings and, by extension, show their support for the Capitol.

"Being taught a lesson," she replied with a humorless chuckle. "You're the example, Mellark. 'This is what happens to Victors that turn traitor.' And Snow figures the best way to show us that is to run us through here to clean up your shit and piss."

"What do you mean, 'us?'" I asked.

Enobaria sighed as she lifted up my filthy hospital gown, and then got to work cleaning me up. "Me, Cashmere and Gloss from One, Cresta from Four, and Mason from Seven. All of us have been rotating through here." Another mirthless chuckle. "This is my third time. You were out the first two."

Enobaria finished her noisome task and lowered my gown. After first wiping her hands off, she then grabbed a plastic bottle, sealed except for a straw at one end, and, with surprising gentleness, lifted my head and guided the straw into my mouth. I drank greedily, until Enobaria pulled the straw from my mouth.

"That's enough for now," she murmured. "Otherwise, I'll be cleaning up your puke, too."

I looked up at her, noticing for the first time that she was wearing a simple orange prison jumpsuit. "Why wake me now?" I asked. "You said I was out the other times. Must have been out for the others as well."

Enobaria leaned forward, and for a moment I thought she was actually going to kiss me. "Thirteen is alive," she whispered, barely audible. "Looks like you playing hero paid off."

My elation at the news was tempered by the knowledge that my cell was surely bugged. "Is that why you woke me up, you bitch?" I snapped, as loudly as I could. "To torment me?"

Enobaria's eyes narrowed slightly at the insult, but then the corners of her mouth twitched up in a smile. "You outer district scum make me sick," she snarled. "You and that bitch Everdeen ruined everything!" She raised her hand as if to strike me, and my cell door instantly slid open. A pair of Peacekeepers charged in, grabbed Enobaria, and pulled her away from me roughly. She was still cursing at me as the Peacekeepers dragged her out of my cell and the door slammed shut behind her.

Once again, I was left with my thoughts. Only this time, I finally had confirmation that Thirteen was okay. That meant that Katniss was alive. And that knowledge filled me with a combination of elation and dread. Elation at knowing for sure that Katniss was alive, and dread at the thought that Snow was, in fact, planning a gruesome execution for me.

I could only hope that Katniss would be spared from the ordeal of having to watch me die.

PART II

"How reliable is this intel?" President Alma Coin asked Plutarch Heavensbee.

"One hundred percent," Heavensbee replied. "All of the Victors that Snow is holding are being confined here." He moved a pointer to a spot on the holographic map of the Capitol. "It's a detention complex known as the Citadel."

"We have to get him out," Katniss Everdeen said firmly. Heavensbee glanced over at the girl. She was sitting with her arms crossed over her chest, and a determined expression was on her face.

"I agree," Coin added. "His warning gave us the time we needed to evacuate the upper levels. Casualties were minimal, thanks to Peeta Mellark." She turned to Colonel Boggs. "Give us an update on planning for the rescue mission."

Boggs stood up slowly. "Darius Potter has been inside the Citadel. I'll let him brief that aspect of the operation."

Darius also rose to his feet. "I'll be brief. The Citadel is impenetrable," he stated firmly. "Any assault on the complex itself would be a disaster. All that would accomplish would be to get a lot of the attackers, as well as all of the Victor POW's, killed."

The conference room was deathly silent. "There is," Darius continued, "however, another way."

He glanced back at Boggs. "Colonel?"

"I've spoken at length about this with Heavensbee," Boggs said. "A straight-on assault is out of the question. Like Lieutenant Potter said, it would accomplish exactly nothing." At this, Katniss looked at Darius in surprise. This was the first time she had heard him referred to as "Lieutenant."

Coin leaned back in her chair and steepled her fingers under her chin. "I assume that you have an alternate plan?"

"Yes, Madam President," Heavensbee said. "An inside job."

Coin arched one eyebrow. "Please continue."

"I have an operative that can get Peeta and the others out, working from the inside," Heavensbee explained. "With luck, there won't be a single shot fired. All that will be required from District Thirteen is a stealth hovercraft and a small security detachment."

"We haven't worked out the fine details, President Coin," Boggs continued. "But a clandestine operation will have the greatest chance of success."

"Assuming, of course," Coin said dryly, "that Mr. Heavensbee's operative can actually deliver the prisoners."

"My operative is very highly placed in Snow's government, Madam President," Heavensbee replied stiffly. "And, I might add, that my operative must be extracted with the prisoners, or else face certain death."

"No need to be melodramatic, Mr. Heavensbee," Coin said. "Your operative will be included when we plan the extraction." She turned to face Katniss. "Of course, we will keep you updated with every facet of the operation."

"I want to go with the rescue team," Katniss declared emphatically.

Coin shook her head. "Out of the question. It's too great a risk."

"But – "

"Miss Everdeen," Coin said patiently. "You are too valuable to risk on such an endeavor. If we were to lose you – "

"Madam President," Heavensbee interjected, much to Coin's obvious annoyance, "perhaps it may not be such a bad idea to include Katniss. Think of the propaganda value. The Mockingjay rescues her lover, Peeta Mellark, from the confines of a notorious Capitol prison!"

"The risks would be minimal, Madam President," Boggs added. "The hovercraft is virtually invisible to Capitol radar, and it will land well outside the city itself. Once a security perimeter is established, the rescue team will have little to do other than wait for the prisoners to be delivered to them. Stealth is our greatest weapon here. If all goes well, the hovercraft will be halfway to Thirteen by the time anyone notices that the prisoners are missing."

Coin tapped her lip with her finger thoughtfully. "Once the final plan is presented to me, I will make my decision as to Miss Everdeen's inclusion." She turned to Katniss. "Only if I am one hundred percent sure of your safety will I okay your participation. My decision at that time will be final and not subject to debate. Agreed?"

Katniss nodded sullenly. "Agreed," she muttered.

Coin stood up. "We're adjourned, then, ladies and gentlemen. We have work to do."

Boggs hung back for a moment as everyone filed out. As Plutarch Heavensbee brushed by him, Boggs grasped his arm firmly. "I need a moment," he said.

Heavensbee glanced at Boggs, then back to his assistant, Fulvia Cardew. "I'll catch up, Fulvia." Fulvia simply nodded and hurried off. When they were the last two in the conference room, Boggs quickly moved to each door, shutting and locking them securely, before he turned back to Heavensbee.

"Take a seat," he said, motioning to the conference table. As Heavensbee sat, Boggs extracted a small box from an inner pocket and placed it carefully on the table between them before flicking a switch. A small red light appeared on the side of the box. Only then did Boggs turn to Heavensbee.

"A white noise generator?" Heavensbee asked, gesturing to the box. "I'm surprised, Boggs. I didn't think you went in for the cloak and dagger routine."

"I'm a soldier, Plutarch," Boggs replied. "I'm also Chief of Security for Thirteen. I do what is necessary. And I don't want anyone else to hear this conversation."

"Noted," Heavensbee said. "So what's on your mind?"

"We have a traitor in our midst." Boggs stated without preamble.

If Heavensbee was surprised, he gave no indication. "I assume you have proof?"

Boggs nodded. "The bombing attack targeted air defense missile batteries with surprising precision. These batteries are moved every three months for security reasons. Only Peeta Mellark's warning gave us enough time to withdraw our batteries to cover, so that our losses were minimal. Because we didn't return fire, the Capitol now thinks that they crippled our air defenses. But the Capitol bombers hit the battery locations with accuracy approaching ninety percent. And the only way they could have known that was from someone in Thirteen. Someone highly placed."

"Why tell me this?" Heavensbee asked. "Why not tell Coin?"

"I don't know where the leak is," Boggs admitted. "It may be someone privy to our planning meetings. But we have a definite mole working against us. And you need to know where I'm coming from so you can keep your Capitol operative in the loop."

"How do you know it's not me?" Heavensbee asked. "After all, I'm from the Capitol."

"It wouldn't be logical," Boggs explained patiently. "For the very reason that you are from the Capitol. You came here willingly. You gave up a prestigious position and a life of luxury to help us bring the Capitol down. No, Plutarch. If anything, you would be the last person I would suspect."

Heavensbee nodded thoughtfully. "Makes sense. Okay, then. What do you propose?"

"We don't set a date for the extraction. Keep everything as open and uncommitted as possible. If we announce a date and time, sure as shit they'll be waiting for our hovercraft, and your operative will be scooped up as soon as he – or she – makes a move towards the prisoners."

"I thought the hovercraft was a stealth model," Heavensbee said.

"It's invisible to radar," Boggs explained. "Infrared as well. But it's not invisible to the human eye. Eyes can still spot it quite easily if they know when to look for it."

"My operative can't just throw something together at the last minute," Heavensbee pointed out. "How much time can you give me?"

"Four hours," Boggs replied. "It's a four-hour flight to the Capitol at max velocity. Will that be enough time?"

"I'll check," Heavensbee said. He sighed. "I guess it'll probably have to be."

"Look, I don't like it either," Boggs said. "But I don't see where we have any other choice. And when we launch, I'll make sure that it looks like nothing more than a routine patrol flight. No one will be the wiser until they return from the mission. When will you be talking to your operative again?"

"Soon," Heavensbee replied with a smile. "Sorry, can't give you any more than that."

Boggs found himself returning the other man's smile. "Good enough. Let me know how it goes." He reached over and picked up the white noise generator and turned it off. "Thanks for your time, Plutarch."

"My pleasure, Colonel. Now, if you will excuse me, I have work to do."

"Of course." Boggs watched Heavensbee leave the conference room and stared thoughtfully at the white noise generator. We'll get the team back safely, he thought. But I still have a problem. There's a mole somewhere. And I need to find who it is.

PART III

"President Snow?"

Coriolanus Snow looked up from the computer screen that was softly glowing on one corner of his desk. District Six will just have to wait, he said to himself. "What is it, Casca?"

"Sir, I was wondering if you required anything else this evening," Casca replied.

Snow rubbed his bearded chin thoughtfully. Yes, Casca, he said to himself. I need you to turn back time to Launch Day of the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games, so I can order Seneca Crane to make sure that Katniss Everdeen does not survive the bloodbath. But what he actually said was, "No, thank you, Casca. I'm going to wrap it up for tonight. You may go."

"Yes, sir," Casca replied. "Thank you." Casca backed out of the room quickly and carefully shut the door behind him. He strode purposefully through the Presidential Palace, walking quickly to a set of ornate glass doors. A pair of uniformed Peacekeepers stood guard by these doors…alert, unmoving, their helmeted, visored heads continually scanning their surroundings. As Casca approached, one of the Peacekeepers reached out and opened the door.

"I'll be back shortly," Casca announced as he stepped through the door and into the crisp mid-autumn evening air. "Walking the grounds."

"Yes, sir," the Peacekeeper holding the door open replied stiffly.

Casca moved quickly with an ease born of long practice. The grounds of the Presidential Palace were, of course, under constant electronic surveillance, but he always felt more secure using his own experienced senses to give the well-manicured acres one final inspection before he himself turned in for the night.

Not to mention the privacy that certain areas afforded.

No one would think twice about seeing a highly-placed member of Snow's personal bodyguard enter the Greenhouse. He was, after all, simply being thorough in his security sweep. And the Greenhouse, where President Snow grew his beloved white roses, was the only building on the grounds that wasn't bugged. Snow often used the Greenhouse for conversations of an especially sensitive nature, and such conversations were better left unrecorded.

As such, it was the perfect place for Casca to conduct his own private conversations.

Even so, Casca could feel his heart pound in his chest as he pulled a small rectangular object from an inner pocket. He pressed a small stud on one side of the object and slowly rotated in a full circle, holding the object at eye level. He nodded slightly in satisfaction and slipped the device back into his pocket, and then pulled a slightly larger device from a different pocket. There was no doubt as to the function of this device. It was a compact receiver-transmitter…in other words, a communications device. In simple terms, a two-way radio.

Casca pushed an earbud into each ear, examined a string of numbers on a softly glowing screen, and finally brought the radio to his mouth and depressed a key on the side of the device. "Groosling, Groosling, this is Jabberjay. Over."

Casca listened intently for a few seconds before pressing the transmit key again. "Groosling, Groosling, this is Jabberjay…I say again, Jabberjay. Over!"

"Hello, Jabberjay," Plutarch Heavensbee's voice drawled softly through Casca's earbuds. "What do you have for me?"

"Peeta Mellark is scheduled for public execution one week from tonight," Casca replied bluntly.

Andromeda Snow sighed and looked up from her homework. History is so boring, she said to herself. Longingly, she eyed her phone, wishing she could call Speri. Homeschooled by a constant parade of tutors since the terrorist attack on her school, Andromeda rarely saw any of her friends anymore, and she missed Speri Blackstone most of all. And she was under strict orders from her grandfather…no Holo-TV or telephone during study time.

Andromeda rose from her chair, stretched, and ambled slowly to the window. Twenty more minutes of evening study. Then I can call Speri. The girls spoke just about every night, but hadn't actually seen each other since almost the time that Peeta Mellark had been first brought to the Capitol. Everyone acts like it's some big secret that Peeta is here, but no one talks about it…least of all Grandpa. Andromeda had toyed with the idea of casually mentioning to Grandpa that she knew about Peeta, but there was something that kept her from even bringing it up. And ever since that Holo-TV broadcast, when Peeta's strangled cry went out before the Capitol censors could cut it out –

It was then that Andromeda spotted a figure moving across the lawn towards Grandpa's Greenhouse, and she quickly realized that it was just Casca, making his evening rounds. Andromeda liked Casca. He was quiet, dedicated to his job, and, most importantly, he didn't treat Andromeda like a child. Plus, he did save my life that time at school, she thought.

Andromeda grinned. She had an idea. She would get Casca to drive her to Speri's tomorrow night! He would do it…she knew he would do it. But, she needed to go talk to Casca, and right now. Andromeda didn't hesitate a second longer. She quickly slipped her feet into a pair of sandals, grabbed a sweater against the evening chill, and headed straight downstairs, bound for the same exit that Casca himself had used just minutes before.

Andromeda paused at the door to the Greenhouse. She could barely make out Casca's imposing form, unmoving in the center of the profusion of roses that grew year-round, tended on a daily basis by her grandfather's loving hand. Right now, Andromeda was debating whether or not to enter, confused by Casca's actions…or the lack thereof.

How long does it take for him to check out the Greenhouse? Andromeda hadn't seen Casca move since she had first spotted him, and curiosity was getting the better of her. And now, she could barely discern him holding something in front of his mouth, and she could have sworn that she saw his lips moving. That could only mean one thing. He was talking to someone…and that wasn't a phone that he was holding.

A radio! Casca has a radio! Her original reason for seeking out Casca all but forgotten, Andromeda took a deep breath and pushed down on the latch holding the Greenhouse door closed.

The door swung open noiselessly. Andromeda thought that perhaps she should make some sort of small noise to alert Casca to her presence, but she realized that if Casca knew she was here, he would quickly put away the radio and she would probably never find out who he was talking to, let alone what he was talking about. That did it for Andromeda. She carefully tiptoed into the Greenhouse, sure that Casca could hear the thudding of her pounding heart.

Andromeda was barely breathing as she crept closer to Casca. Yes, it was definitely some sort of radio that he was holding. She could now make out earbuds inserted into both ears and she was finally close enough to catch snippets of his side of the conversation that he was having.

"– need to launch your rescue no more than five days from today," Casca was saying urgently. "Snow's set the execution for one week from tonight." Casca paused as if listening to someone. "No. You listen. Five days at the outside. The sooner the better. You wait too long and security will be so tight around Peeta Mellark that a fly wouldn't be able to enter his cell without setting off alarms!"

In spite of herself, Andromeda let out a gasp of dismay. Peeta? Peeta Mellark? My Peeta? It all made sense to her now. Why her grandfather wouldn't acknowledge Peeta's presence in the Capitol. He must have been planning this all along! Fortunately, Casca didn't seem to notice the small noise that she made, because he kept on talking.

"My people are ready," Casca continued. "You do whatever you have to do. I just need a few hours lead time." Casca listened intently, nodding every now and then. "One other thing. Mellark is a mess. Snow's goons really beat the shit out of him. You need to factor that into your plans. Moving him may be…difficult." Casca paused, and then said, "Copy, Groosling. Jabberjay out."

It was at that exact moment that Andromeda made the decision that would forever change her life. She took a deep breath and spoke a single word.

"Casca."

Casca's back was still to her, the stiffening of his shoulders his only reaction. Slowly, calmly, he turned and faced her. Deliberately, he slipped his communications device back into his inner jacket pocket, while dipping his other hand into a pocket in the front of his trousers, his fingers closing over the handle of a switchblade knife.

"Miss Andromeda," Casca said calmly. "It's dark, and it's late. You shouldn't be out here."

"You were talking to someone," Andromeda continued. "About Peeta Mellark."

"What makes you say that?" Casca asked. Miss Andromeda, he said to himself, I'm sorry. Truly I am. But getting Mellark out of Snow's hands is more important than you…or me.

"Casca, I heard you," Andromeda replied impatiently. She paused for a moment and bit her lip. "You said that Peeta Mellark was to be…was to be – "

"– executed," Casca finished her sentence with a resigned sigh. "Yes. Yes, I was talking to someone." He gripped the knife tightly. A quick thrust at the base of the skull into the brain will do it, he said to himself. Death will be almost instant, and there will be very little blood. I just need to get her to turn around…

"And you were talking to someone about rescuing him?" Andromeda continued, obviously upset by Casca's confirmation.

Keep calm, Casca, he thought. Keep calm, and she'll keep calm. "It's rude to eavesdrop, Miss Andromeda. Let's go back to the house and I'll forget we ever spoke of this."

"No." Andromeda's firm reply startled Casca. "No, we'll talk about it. Right here and now."

Casca palmed the knife and casually withdrew his hand from his pocket. "I don't think that's a very good idea, Miss Andromeda."

"The house is bugged," Andromeda explained, as if to a child. "There's not a room in the house that every word isn't recorded. We need to talk here. This is the only place on the grounds where private conversations stay private."

"You know about such things, Miss Andromeda?" Come on, turn around!

"Speri and I come in here all the time…well, we did, anyway, until…you know," Andromeda replied softly. "This was the only place that we really could talk…you know?"

"Miss Andromeda –"

"So is it true?" Andromeda asked suddenly. "About Peeta?"

"It's true," Casca admitted.

"In that case," Andromeda declared firmly, "I'm in."

"Miss Andromeda, I – wait, what did you just say?"

"I'm in," Andromeda repeated. "I want to help you. To rescue him."