Kate Donovan - Exit Strategy

His tone was firm yet had an inspirational ring to it befitting a true Brigadier. “We’ve come this far. I’m confident we’ll reach a compromise this weekend that will satisfy everyone. But Jonathan, my old friend, you’ll need to be reasonable. As will Gresley. I agree, one hundred thousand is too high. But ten thousand was unrealistic from the start.”

Kell nodded. “I understand. As long as you understand I have my limit. This isn’t just a power grab for me, and I hope not for you, either. It has a moral component. One that I’m proud of. One that I will insist we respect.”

Ortega arched an eyebrow in Miranda’s direction. “Obviously, our host and I need to talk. We don’t want to bore you with meaningless details, so why don’t you go up to bed. I’ll join you in an hour or so.”

“But-”

“Miranda? I don’t want to argue.”

“Do what he says,” Kell warned, adding with a wistful smile, “you need a full night’s sleep. It will lessen the hangover from the power pill.”

She sighed. “Promise me you two won’t argue? If it’s true-if you’re this close to succeeding-you shouldn’t let anything come between you now.”

“We won’t,” Kell promised. “But this discussion is long overdue. I agree with the Brigadier. It needs to take place in private.”

“Good night, then.” She leaned over and kissed Kell’s cheek.

Then she stood and stepped over to where Ortega was sitting, but he waved her away, then began talking to Kell again as though she had already left the room.

Nice touch, she drawled silently. As much as she resented being sent away, and as anxious as she was to hear more details, she knew Ortega’s behavior was reinforcing Kell’s belief that Ortega was the Brigadier-a strong, maybe even omnipotent, leader.

As long as he doesn’t overdo it, she decided, remembering how rough he had been on Kell when he first strode into the drawing room. It had been effective, but still difficult to watch. Would he browbeat the poor phobic again now? Or worse, get so impatient, he dropped the charade and interrogated him the way a former black ops specialist was trained to do?

Despite Kell’s willingness to sacrifice thousands of civilians, Miranda still felt affection for him, which she chalked up to maternal instinct. He was like a child-self-centered because he was so vulnerable, so weak-not because he was evil. If only he had been allowed to develop into a full-fledged adult, without the debilitating phobias, she was sure he wouldn’t have gone along with the idea of civilian casualties at all.

Still, there was no question that they had to get the information they needed at almost any cost, even Kell’s sanity, if necessary. If even one of the Brigade’s bombs went off, the world would be plunged into chaos. Miranda didn’t really believe the group had the global clout Kell thought they had, but if they thought they had it, and if their crazy faith in the Brigadier gave them the confidence to try anything-an assassination, interference with communication, or deployment of Kell’s creepy Liquid Fear-

Yes, Ortega would be right to use any tactic at his disposal. She just prayed for Kell’s sake that he wouldn’t go overboard. If he did, wasn’t it her place to intervene?

She lingered in the back hall and listened as Ortega began to speak, and almost immediately, she relaxed. Far from browbeating Kell, he was praising him for his vision. For his concern over civilian casualties. For his brilliance in the research laboratory. He assured Kell that he was an important-perhaps the most important-member of the Brigade, then suggested that they go through their plan, step-by-step, so that Kell could voice any misgivings, however slight. Ortega was determined, he said, to address them to Kell’s satisfaction.

He’s so inspiring. He can charm anything out of anyone, anytime he wants to, she told herself wistfully. He made you trust him. Practically made you fall in love with him that night. Now he’s going to get Kell to tell him every single detail of the Brigade’s agenda, just like that.

She didn’t need to worry about Kell anymore. And now that the power pill had worn off completely, she had to admit she needed to get to bed. She’d be asleep before her head hit the pillow, which would help avoid the awkward moments that would have arisen if she and Ortega had hit the sack at the same time.

Especially with the way he’s power-tripping, she thought with a rueful laugh. Then she sighed. Wasn’t that exactly what he had been trying to avoid? The very reason he had sequestered himself in the mountains?

But his country needed him for one last op. In fact, the whole world was relying on him to play this part well.

She wondered if he would wake her up and give her an update when he finally came to bed. That would make sense strategically. He would want to get this vital information about the Brigade to the authorities as soon as possible. Perhaps he’d even want to leave in the middle of the night. But at least he’d want Miranda fully briefed so she’d be ready to leave at first light.

And when he woke her up, he’d still be heady with power from playing the Brigadier so masterfully. The bronze lights in his eyes would be flashing out of control. And Miranda would be warm, and sleepy, and eager to learn from him.

She winced, admitting that the power drug hadn’t completely left her system after all. She was still fantasizing about Ortega, but it was harmless, and would pass without further incident.

But just to be on the safe side, she exchanged her silk pj’s for a warm-up suit before doing an abbreviated version of her breathing exercises, then collapsing gratefully into bed.

Miranda woke up to a throbbing pain that began at the top of her head and reverberated through every inch of her skull. And even though she suspected it was morning in the world outside her head, the thought of opening her eyes and allowing sunlight to invade them was more than she could bear, so she settled for stretching her hand out to the left, to see if Ortega was there.

When her fingers encountered a familiar wall of chest, she smiled through her misery. Apparently he was a gentleman, or at least enough of one to read the signal sent by her head-to-toe fleece clothing. Lucky for him, because if he had woken her in her present condition, she probably would have clobbered him, even if his only motive had been to brief her.

Briefing would hurt. She was almost sure of that. Her only hope was to keep her mind and stomach empty, and out of direct light, until these pesky waves of nausea subsided.

Sliding to the edge of the bed, she sat up, then buried her face in her hands, pressing on her eye sockets in hopes of numbing them.

“Hey,” Ortega murmured. “How bad is it?”

“Too soon to tell.”

“Jonathan predicted blinding spasms. He had some codeine stashed away. It’s there on your nightstand. Next to the bottle of water.”

“Thanks,” Miranda said. “But I’m never putting a pill in my mouth again. Go back to sleep. My plan is to puke and die. I’ll try not to make much noise.”

His chuckle rumbled reassuringly through the air. “Don’t be a hero. Take the codeine. Then come back to bed.”

She struggled to her feet. “My sinuses are imploding. I need a shower. And absolute silence. If I live, I’ll let you know.”

She stumbled to the bathroom, stripping off her jogging suit and underwear along the way without worrying about the effect on Ortega. If she looked half as bad as she felt, his penis was shrinking in horror. And if by some chance he found pain arousing, he could be her guest. Nothing that happened to her from the neck down mattered at this point. She just needed to make her head stop doing this crazy rumba.