Greg Rucka - Critical Space

She led the way in without stopping, saying only, "My hard room."

To the right of the door ran a long metal counter that turned at the corner and continued down for several more feet. There was only one chair, positioned in front of a battery of video monitors, all on, that fed their images into a stack of VCRs to one side. The monitors covered both interior and exterior access to the house, and stretched along a fair portion of the beach. A laptop computer handled the alarm system, with a map of the house on the screen, showing all the open doors and windows.

At the end of the counter was the handset for a satellite phone, and she switched the power on, waiting for the red light on its face to stop blinking and verify a signal lock. The dish for the phone had to be outside somewhere, but with all the foliage, she could have left it unconcealed and nobody would ever find it.

"Who are you calling?" she asked.

"My home."

She knew the number, activating the speaker and then dialing. She leaned back against the console, giving me room to access the phone, but keeping one finger on the power switch. From the grill, I heard the beep and whistle of the satellite. The phone rang three times before it was answered by Erika Wyatt.

"Hello?" The connection was clear, as if I was calling from Midge's apartment below, and Erika's voice was full of fatigue.

"It's Atticus."

She shrieked so loudly, the noise echoed off the concrete all around us, clearly delighted that I was alive. I tried not to let Alena see me grin.

"Oh my God!" Erika said. "Where have you been? Where are you?"

Alena was moving her finger lightly back and forth over the switch. Her expression said to hurry up.

"Where have you been, Atticus? Are you all right? Jesus, everyone's been so worried about you…"

"I'm fine," I said. "Is Bridgett there? Natalie?"

"No, no, I mean, Natalie's at the office and Bridgett went with Agent Dude to look for you, they sent divers into the Hudson looking for you, you know that? Oh my God, it's so good to hear your voice…"

"Erika, listen. I need you to tell me what happened."

"What happened? You disappeared, that's what happened, you should be telling me what happened…"

Alena was making a whirling motion with the index finger of her free hand, telling me to wrap it up. I said, "Erika, I'm all right. But I need to know if everyone there is okay."

"They've been really worried about you, it's even been in the papers…"

"Dale and Corry and everyone?"

"They're all fine. What's going on? Where are you?"

"It may be a while before I get back."

"But why? Where are you…"

"I'll be in touch as soon as I can," I said, but Erika never heard it, because Drama had already killed the connection.

"You didn't have to do that," I said. "I was wrapping it up."

"You were wasting time."

"I wanted her to know I was all right. You made a choice to remove yourself from humanity, to live on an island. But I have people, and I owe them consideration for their feelings."

She shut off the power to the phone and folded her arms over her chest. It was cooler in the basement, and goose bumps had risen on her arms and legs.

"He'll kill us both," I said.

"I don't think he will. I think we can stop him."

"And then what happens? Whichever way this goes, it'll end in death."

"Yes. It will be him or me."

"And if it's him…"

"I will not kill you," she said.

"I am a fool, I admit that without provision," I said. "But I'm not an idiot. If Oxford dies, and you live, and I'm alive, you've got to kill me, or else your little Paradise Island is revealed for all to see."

"You don't understand. I am done, I have quit. Oxford will be the last life I take. After that, I am an assassin no more. I would not harm you."

"How can I believe you?"

She gestured to the phone, and when I shook my head, she got angry. "I do not know what else to do! I have shown you my life, Atticus, I have asked you for your help, and I have kept my word to you each and every time it was given! What more can I do to earn your trust?"

"Let me walk out of here. Now."

She pushed off the counter and practically ran to the door, yanking it open and gesturing for me to go through.

"Go. Go ahead! Go!"

I went out the door and up the stairs, hearing her swearing in Russian behind me. On the ground floor I crossed the living room and went out onto the patio, then down the steps. The abrupt change in temperature brought sweat onto my skin. Across the driveway I met up with the little road, following it under the shade of a grove of mahogany trees. Birds were singing.

Something rustled in the foliage, and I turned around, ready to shout at her that I'd known she was a liar, and that at least she could be bothered not to shoot me in the back.

Miata was standing on the road, looking at me, and I scowled. He blinked, curious perhaps as to why I was suddenly so angry at him. Then he snuffed the air and turned back toward the house.

I followed the dog.

It is always about you and your body.

It's how you see yourself, and as a result, how you see the rest of the world.

The body dictates everything. It's where it all starts.

What you can make it do. What you can make it endure. How quick you can be. How precise. How quiet, and strong, and flexible, and still. It is the one tool you always have at your disposal, no matter where you travel, the one weapon that can never be discovered going through customs, never be spotted by a watchful guard or an attentive police officer. It is at the heart of everything you do, and you must be able to trust it absolutely.

The body.

This is what it takes.

You're up at sunrise, with at least eight and sometimes nine hours of sleep already at your back. The rest is as important as the exercise, and you should avail yourself of the luxury while you can; there will be times when you must go without sleep, when you are running or hunting, and when those times come you must be strong.

Take the rest when you can.

When the sunlight or – if it's raining – your internal clock wakes you, you shut off the alarms and check the perimeter to make certain nothing happened during the night, though you already know nothing did. This is vigilance, not paranoia; this is a constant awareness of your environment, and you must rely on it wherever you go. Getting lazy gets you killed. Secure though you may be now, there is always someone hunting the hunter.

Certain that nothing requires your immediate attention, you move out to the veranda, or for variety, the patio, and begin your day. You start with yoga.

Initially, you used the Hatha style, though over the years you have adapted it to something more suitable to your needs. The metaphysical and spiritual aspects of the tradition hold no interest for you; you are strictly interested in the practical. Yoga promotes flexibility, keeps your joints loose and strong, builds endurance and strength, teaches a control of your breathing. It requires self-awareness, and allows you to monitor your body for changes or injuries, for anything that could later develop into a problem.

You are so practiced at this that you can easily support your entire body weight on a single appendage, on your foot or your hand or your head.

Yoga can take up to an hour, and now it's time for breakfast, since you cannot train without nutrition. You throw fresh fruit into a blender, perhaps with some plain yogurt, though an egg once a week is not out of the question, and sometimes you have a muffin or some toast. Whatever you decide, once there is something in your stomach, you take the supplements. Silica, magnesium, B-vitamins, micronutrients, Siberian ginseng, lutein, taurine, carnetine, glutamine, creatine, chromium, all natural, all taken to keep you at your peak. Some of these you mix into your juice or the smoothie you make. Some of these come from pills.