Agency

93 Winch

What’s going on?” asked Manuela, eyeing the container’s door in a way that looked to Verity as though she was wondering whether or not to open it and run.

“Probably locked,” Verity said, causing Manuela to look up, “but that’s to keep people out, not us in.”

“Is this a cult?” Manuela asked. “Kidnapping people and telling them somebody’s after them?”

“Let me think about it,” Verity said.

“You’re kidnapped too? Let’s fucking escape.”

“Those men outside we’ve been talking about, they’d kidnap us. Conner, on the roof, watching out for us, thinks they would. So do I.”

“They’ll see him up there,” Manuela said. “This box isn’t that big.”

“Neither is he. About this high.” Verity held out her hand, palm down.

Manuela’s eyes narrowed.

“He’s up there telepresently,” Verity said.

“So what you’re doing is some new way to give TED talks? Like theater, with really random props and locations?”

“Those things like an iPad on a Segway, roll around at conferences with somebody’s face on the screen?”

Manuela eyed her narrowly. “They still do that?”

“And those big headless robot dogs, with backpacks, on YouTube? Marching single file through the woods?”

“Yeah?”

“Conner’s using something like the iPads on wheels, but more like one of those dogs, except it’s got arms and two legs.”

“So where is he, physically?”

“D.C. Washington.”

Manuela winced. “Please.”

“Don’t believe me?” Verity asked. “I know how you feel.”

“Conner,” Wilf said, “says they’re returning.”

“What’s he expect us to do,” Verity asked, “crouch on the floor behind the couch?”

“What are you talking about?” Manuela demanded.

“If they’re coming back,” Verity said, “it’s for us.”

“Conner’s lowering us down, on a winch,” Wilf said. “The cable comes out of a hatch on the drone.”

“Hatch on its shoulder,” Verity asked, “or back of where its head should be?”

“Chest,” Wilf said.

“Where what’s head should be?” asked Manuela.

“Talking to Wilf. They’re in the alley now. Right outside. What’s happening, Wilf?”

“Conner’s releasing drones,” he said. “Little ones. Aerial. Three. Out of another hatch. He already had one up, so four in all.”

“Like the one he zapped the guy in front of the Clift with?”

“Smaller,” he said.

Verity thought of the drones Dixon had delivered. Where were they now? In their camo’d hutch on top of the place next to Joe-Eddy’s?

Manuela was digging through the protein bars in the bag on the table. Choosing one, she straightened, tore the wrapper off, and took a bite. Chewing, she fixed Verity with an expression of unresigned impatience that made her look fourteen.

“Conner,” Verity said, “what are you doing now?”

“Lying down on the pavement,” Conner said, “legs up, arms folded, hatches closed. So what’ll it look like?”

“Heater my mom had. Electric. Oil-filled.”

“So they’ll see it, but won’t know what it is. Somebody dropped off your mom’s heater. Or they can worry it’s a claymore, whatever. They’ll know it wasn’t here before, but they’ve also got a job to do.”

“You’re just going to lie there?”

“Till I don’t,” Conner said.

“What about us?” she asked.

“Get your shoes on,” Conner said, “jackets, whatever. Ready to go.”

“Where?”

“That’s fluid,” he said.

Verity looked at Manuela, who hadn’t removed her shoes or parka. “Put some food in your pockets,” she said. “We’re going, so we might need it.” She got her own shoes from the tray, sat on the armor-plate couch, and put them on.