Perfect Gravity (Wanted and Wired #2)(96)
Back up the stairs, back to Kellen, and then through the wide, three-story doors. There was a reception line, but Angela gave zero fucks. There was a podium, too, and that’s where she headed, followed by her people. Her team. Crew. Family. The language really needed a better word for what she had, what surrounded her and made her feel mighty. A support structure human halo of awesomeness? Yeah. Something like that.
At the far end of a massive ballroom packed to the rafters, Mari, Garrett, and Chloe fanned out, settling into the suffocating press of expensively garbed human flesh. Free-fae lights gleamed like tiny blue-white stars, illuminating a similarly glittering guest list. Angela spotted several faces she knew, several she loathed.
Zeke wasn’t out of his prep chamber yet, but Angela pushed through the curtains, stared down the security guards behind the stage. When they scanned her, all of her data was in order. She lived. They might have heard the rumor of her demise, but they couldn’t very well argue with the fact that she was standing right in front of them. And her security clearance was active and up-to-date. They passed her through, and Kellen, too, though she had no idea what his cover identity was. She didn’t even know whether this particular magic, the security clearances, were the work of Heron or Fez. Regardless, they were slick.
The backstage room was small, and Angela slipped soundlessly inside. Yoink followed, then Kellen.
Zeke had been meditating or something opposite the door. He liked to center himself before a major in-person. He was seated in a backless tufted chair in front of a floor-to-ceiling mirror that was also probably smartsurface wired. He hadn’t put his public “face” on, and his skin was splotchy, his eyes murky and narrow. Nice suit, though. Red and white, the only two colors all the original member states’ flags shared. Savvy Zeke, being savvy.
“All pieces are in place. Would you like to play a game?” said a voice from her com. Yoink, but Zeke wouldn’t necessarily know that.
He looked up, clearly surprised to see anyone else in his prep chamber, least of all her. Probably. Good.
“Do we have confirmation of the entire cabinet’s attendance?” Kellen asked.
“Yes.”
“Key members of both congressional houses?”
“Yes.”
“Other guests of note?”
“Official delegations from seven nations, two multinational zones, ZaneCorp, the Holy See, the Jam’iya al-Ikhwan. Headmaster from Mustaqbal. Ofelia Ortega y Mars de la Madrid. Frederic Limontour. There are others.”
Angela could feel Kellen more than see him. He loomed at her back, taut, a crossbow wound and waiting. Across the room, she met Zeke’s gaze. “Good. Lock us in.”
“Now you just wait a second, kiddo, you can’t—” Zeke started, but the noise cut him off.
A one-note clang sounded through the building as every exit closed. Locked. Sealed. A building like this, possibly the most secure structure on the face of the planet, had a shitload of locks.
Zeke stood up, but Angela cricked a smartglove finger. The wall mirrors turned to monitors, blurred to life, and he sat back down. One screen showed the senate chamber, empty of power players. As they watched, the lights in the chamber went off, and it filled with haunts and shadows. Another showed blocky buildings, stalwart things with that fuzzy glow of multiple shells of shielding. Which, with another crick, disappeared, replaced on the live feed by stark piles of rubble.
“I have disbanded the senate,” Angela informed him coolly, “and either destroyed or assumed control of all UNAN data centers. I have changed the command codes for all remote-operated vehicles in the military databases. No more bombs. No more death. If you disbelieve, you have only to attempt login. Your profiles no longer work.”
Chloe had been busy, and so had Heron. Angela flushed with confidence in her team. She hoped they were getting this vid feed back on the plane.
She approached Zeke, one foot in front of the other. Some sliver inside her was still a little girl, waiting for his approval, trying to meet his expectations. Wishing she could shine just a little brighter because that would make her good. Best. And she was not allowed to be less than that.
But the bigger part of her, the grown-up part, realized that was all bullshit. His version of winning sucked, and he could no longer hurt her. She knew her own power. She inhabited her own self now. Owned it, past included.
“You will go out to the podium. Your speech will be broadcast live and worldwide. You will confess that you conspired to start a war against Texas. You will admit that you ordered the drone strikes of the last few days. You will apologize and resign effective immediately. Not to worry—a special congressional session will convene tomorrow to appoint your replacement, all according to Article 84 of the Continental Unification Charter.”
She was less than a foot from him, could smell his cardamom cologne and hair pomade. He still sat, and she towered above him. Looked down on him. Wondered what it would feel like to squash the fuck out of him. “And if you do all these things, exactly as I have told you, I will protect you from the consortium’s wrath. Just as you protected me, mentor.”
He stood, straightened his paisley waistcoat, tucked one hand into his pocket like goddamned Napoleon, and adjusted their relative height. One side of his top lip quivered in an almost sneer. “Little girl, I have resources you know nothing about. Go home, play house with your broken mech and the dumb-hick academy dropout by the door. You say nothing more of this, and I might even let you live.”