Greg Rucka - Critical Space

"Glad you like it," Natalie said. "It'll be included in the bill."

Moore dropped the sheet into his equipment bag. "I gave Her Ladyship and Ms. Chester the standard briefing on the plane. Both of them had heard it before, but it never hurts to emphasize the particular bits. I made certain they understood that when we were mobile they were to take direction from us without argument or hesitation."

"Chester was good coming off the plane," Corry said. "She done this before?"

"Not like this, actually. But she's a quick study."

"How long's she been on Lady Ainsley-Hunter's staff?" Dale asked.

Moore grinned. "She's safe. I vetted her myself. She's been Lady Antonia's PA for almost a year, now. If she's working for one of The Ten, she's been waiting a long time for her opportunity."

Dale brought his hands up with a shrug, and then we moved on to the other topics at hand, beginning with Her Ladyship's plans for the evening. Lady Ainsley-Hunter had a dinner at eight-thirty with some of the U.N. folk that would be held at one of the consular residences. After that, the plan was to return her to the hotel and button her up for the night. The next day would be the big one, with the formal announcement and ensuing press brouhaha.

Everyone had finished eating, and I pushed the cart back into the hall, returning to find that Moore had already retired to his room for a quick nap. Dale and Corry left to check the cars, which left Nat and me alone in the sitting room.

It grew very quiet, the way silence spreads in a space where more people are asleep than awake, and it was infectious, and neither of us spoke. Natalie read the complimentary copy of New York magazine that had been put out with the phone book and the hotel directory, and I dug out my copy of the flyer and spent some time memorizing Keith's face.

He looked utterly normal. Black hair and brown eyes, and perhaps his nose was a tad sharp, but not so sharp that it was a distinguishing feature. His expression in the photograph was mild, as if he'd been about to laugh, and the photographer had jumped the smile by a fraction of a second.

I set the paper back down and sighed heavily, despite myself, and Natalie looked at me over the top of the magazine.

"Relax," she said.

"Two members of The Ten and one lone nut, and you tell me to relax? You are bossy."

"We're just getting started."

I nodded slightly, thinking that it wasn't the start that had me tense.

It was wondering how it was all going to end.

We were rotating the live-in duties at the hotel, and the night after the U.N. appointment my turn came up and I slept at the Edmonton, on the sofa bed in the suite's main room. The previous day had been exhausting, and the sofa bed comfortable enough, and I slept deep and well, but woke early all the same to hear Fiona Chester cursing softly.

She was working at the desk in the main room, dividing her attention between the laptop open in front of her, the fax machine positioned at her left elbow, and the telephone to her right. My understanding was that she always started work early, but all the same I was surprised to see her up. The light seeping through the windows was just beginning to hint dawn, and from the look of Chester, she'd been up for a while. She'd switched the desk lamp on, and the illumination was enough to see that she was already dressed for the day, skirt and blouse and makeup all perfect. I got my glasses on while she continued with the phone, and I could tell she'd been trying to keep her voice low, but her frustration was getting the better of her.

"She had their word," Chester was saying. "No, that's unacceptable… Her Ladyship – I beg your pardon?"

I sat up and swung my legs out of the bed, and Chester noticed me moving. She shot me a quick and apologetic smile before turning her chair to avoid my near-nakedness. I'd slept in my undershorts, and while she continued her conversation I pulled on my pants from the previous night and got my shirt on and half buttoned. The conversation had turned, was growing heated, and now, with me awake, Chester no longer felt a need to maintain restraint.

"They bloody well did promise," she snapped into the phone. "Now… no, listen to me, please. I am not threatening you. But you would be well advised to tell Orin and his brother that I'm not the woman they have to worry about."

She slammed down the phone as if squashing a very large, very ugly bug.

"Who are Orin and his brother?" I asked.

"Musicians. Rock stars. Imbeciles."

"Is this something I should worry about?"

"I don't think so." Chester rose and smoothed her skirt, which was navy blue, then headed for Lady Ainsley-Hunter's room. As she passed me, she said, "Very sorry I disturbed you."

"I had to get up in another hour or two," I said.

She might've smirked, but I didn't see it, because by then she was tapping on Ainsley-Hunter's door. She waited a moment, then slipped inside, so I set about stowing the bed back into the sofa and replacing the cushions, then searched around for the room-service menu. I ordered up two pots of coffee, two of hot water for tea, and some orange juice. Then I took my overnight bag into the bathroom and got myself sorted for the day.

When I emerged again, Chester was back at the desk, working at the laptop, and Lady Ainsley-Hunter was standing beside her, speaking on the telephone. Unlike her personal assistant, Her Ladyship apparently hadn't been awake for very long; her hair was still mussed from her sleep, and she was wearing one of the terrycloth hotel robes. The emblem of the Edmonton was stitched in gold thread over her heart. She glanced over at me as I dropped my bag by the sofa, and her expression was different from any of the others I'd seen her wear.

She was pissed.

There was a knock at the door, and I answered it and wheeled in the room-service cart, then threw all the locks once more and fixed myself a cup of coffee. Lady Ainsley-Hunter got off the phone. Chester and I both looked at her, me for an explanation of what had them in a dither, Chester most likely awaiting orders.

Her Ladyship ignored both of us for most of a minute, staring at the edge of the desk, apparently deep in thought.

"What was scheduled for this evening?" she finally asked Chester. She sounded only mildly curious.

"You're lecturing at Sarah Lawrence," I said. Both of the women looked at me with mild surprise. "It's Natalie's alma mater, that's why I remember."

"Cancel," Lady Ainsley-Hunter told Chester. "Then find out where the party is and make damn sure we're invited."

Chester nodded and picked up the phone. Her Ladyship started back to her room.

"Wait a second," I said. "What's going on? Why the change in plans?"

She stopped and gave me a look that was as surprising as her earlier anger had been. For a moment I thought she was going to demand who I thought I was, asking her such questions. Then she seemed to remember that was what I'd been hired to do.

"You know Rorschach Test?" she asked. "The band, not the psychological exam."

"I've heard of them," I said. Erika had played me one of their albums, a synthesis of acoustic rock with electronic music, before moving out for school. She'd thought it was good. I'd thought it sounded confused and self-important.

"We're going to the launch party for their new album."

"You're canceling a lecture at a liberal arts college to attend a launch party?"

"They're one of Robert's favorite bands. He'll enjoy it."

I frowned and started to ask the logical next question, but she cut me off.

"You'll excuse me, I'm going to get dressed."

She returned to her room.

At the desk, Chester shot me a look that I couldn't begin to interpret.

The party was held at a club called Lot 61, in the meatpacking district, and not more than a stone's throw from the bondage club I'd bounced at a couple years back. Lot 61 is the kind of club I make a point of avoiding, and usually that's not a problem, because it's also the kind of club that never lets people like me inside. Whatever fame I and my colleagues have, it doesn't even begin to register on the management's radar.