Siege of Shadows (Effigies #2)(130)

I expected the guns pointed at us, though not all the agents at their terminals and computer screens had their weapons in hand and aimed. What I didn’t expect was to see Saul on the main video screen at the front of the room. He stood in front of a magnificent white building surrounded by his gang of criminals with Sect-grade weapons. NOBELS FREDSSENTER, it read on a strip above the high, arched windows. And next to those words, the English translation: NOBEL PEACE CENTER.

Saul certainly had a sense of irony. Probably Alice’s. Yet I couldn’t discount that Nick could be so twisted, for as he told me in Morocco, the differences between them didn’t matter much these days. They were both dangerous.

I could see phantoms flying off in the distance, slithering in the air, weaving through funnels of smoke and patches of fire tearing through the city. Several dead men and women in Sect uniforms were strewn about the cobbled pavement. Only three were left alive. All had been forced onto their knees, their backs to us, their heads lifted as they stared down the barrel of rifles.

Saul told someone to adjust the camera, and the image shook.

“He’s livestreaming this,” Lake whispered. That much was clear from the progress bar at the bottom of the screen. Maybe he was just streaming this to us.

Or maybe to the whole world.

“What is this?” In front of the computer terminals, Director Prince’s eyes bulged as he ripped his stern gaze from the screen and saw us standing there. “What are you doing here?”

“Yeah, we’re not gonna let your dumb ass nuke a city, asshole,” Chae Rin eloquently explained. “Look at that screen! You’ve still got people alive in there!”

But Director Prince wasn’t listening. “What are you all doing? Capture them and take them back to the Hole!”

“No!” Brendan strode out from behind him, his hands raised. “Hold your fire!”

Prince was furious. “Brendan—”

“No, Dad! This has to stop! They’re right. People are going to die!”

“They’re evacuating the city. It’ll be minimal loss of life. We have to stop Saul now.”

“Even if it means killing your own son?”

Slowly, I looked back at the screen, at the three agents kneeling on the ground. Two were women. The other was a young man, his dark hair noticeable even under the veil of night. And when Vasily stepped into the frame, his frightening grin wide as he grabbed the young man’s hair and yanked his head up, I didn’t have to see his face to know who he was. Vasily’s malicious glee told me everything.

“You can’t . . .” I took several shaky steps forward, barely flinching even when many of the agents by the terminal cocked their guns. “You can’t do this. He’s your son. Please . . . please don’t kill him. . . .”

It wasn’t that Prince had no feelings toward his son. It was obvious he was fighting with himself from the way he screwed up his face and leaned over slightly, as if trying and failing to hide the physical pain the decision caused him.

Finally: “Open negotiations,” he told someone sitting in the front row of terminals.

After a few swift clicks of a keyboard from the Communication techs, Prince stood up straight, visually assuming the mantle of the head of the Sect even if he couldn’t be seen by his enemy.

“Saul,” he said. “We’re sending reinforcements to the city. Surrender now before this goes any further.”

“Oh, Arthur, Arthur, Arthur.” Saul wagged a finger from his metal hand at the screen, like a child playing a wicked game. So Alice was in charge this time. That much I knew. “How many times do I have to say that we’re on the same side? I’m doing this for you—for the Sect.”

“Stop trying to confuse the people! The Sect has nothing to do with you,” Prince spat. His anger was convincing. Too convincing. In fact, he very well may have believed it. “Let your prisoners go!”

“My prisoners?” Saul grabbed a rifle from one of his thugs and shot a female agent in the head without missing a beat. She was on the ground dead in seconds. “Two to go.”

Terror swept through me as he swung his gun toward Rhys. I could hear Jessie laughing behind the camera, not surprisingly finding a kindred spirit in Alice, another young girl as twisted as she. Saul took his time cocking the gun, lifting it, pointing it at Rhys’s head. . . .

“Stop!” Brendan cried.

“Stop,” Prince said at the same time—it was defeat that carried the sound from his lips. “Don’t . . . kill my son.”

“Oh, right, this is your son. I almost forgot.”

He nodded to Vasily, who kicked Rhys in the face so hard, his body twisted around and hit the ground on his side. But Vasily only let Rhys writhe in pain for so long before grabbing his hair again and twisting his head forward so we could all see his bruised, bloody features. Rhys . . .

“But then,” Saul continued, “I wonder. Maybe he does deserve to die. Maybe you shouldn’t save him. After all, he isn’t innocent.” Saul walked across the cobbled pavement and knelt next to Rhys. “He’s a murderer. Killed when he was a child. Killed as an agent. Who was the last person, Vasily?”

My lips parted in a silent cry, my hand rising as if there were something I could do from inside this room to stop the next words out of Vasily’s mouth.