Carrie Vaughn - After the Golden Age

She was trapped, and they were coming for her.

The intercom crackled on. She flinched.

“Hi, is anyone in there?” A young man spoke. He sounded almost friendly. “If anyone’s there, could you pick up the phone behind the panel?”

Under the floor buttons, a panel had a sticker with an image of a phone on it. Celia opened the door and found the receiver.

“Yes? I’m in here.” She spoke ever so calmly. Her whole body was clenched tight with nerves, but she made her voice calm.

“Okay, ma’am. I’m Jeff, in maintenance. We were running some routine checks on this part of the building when the power accidentally cut off. We’re working on getting the elevators restarted. We should have you out of there real soon, just a few minutes. You okay?”

She almost laughed, but for Jeff’s sake, swallowed back the insane cackles. “Yes, I think so. Thanks for telling me.”

“I didn’t think anyone was working today. You’re pretty on the ball, eh?”

She wondered if she should tell him she was Warren West’s daughter.

“I just had to pick something up,” she said.

“Well, ma’am, you hang tight and we’ll get you going any minute now.”

She still believed the kidnappers were waiting for her, even after the lights came back on and the elevator resumed its climb. When the car stopped at the penthouse, her heart started racing again. She expected the doors to open and reveal masked gunmen. Even here, even at the Olympiad’s secure headquarters.

The doors opened, and Arthur stood before her.

“I could feel your anxiety twenty floors away. I was coming to check on you.”

This time she did laugh, slumping against the elevator wall. “I’m just paranoid,” she said. “Stupidly, blindly paranoid. The elevator stalled, and I thought … I just assumed somebody was about to kidnap me. Here, of all places.”

Mentis said, “Come out of there. Have a seat and catch your breath, all right?”

The sun was sinking behind skyscrapers outside the wall of windows. She hadn’t realized how late it was. He walked with her to the living room, sat her on the sofa, then went to the wet bar in the corner, more of a decorative piece than having any real function, or so Celia thought. She was shocked and pleased when Mentis found a bottle of bourbon and poured a shot into a tumbler.

He brought it to her, and she smiled. “That’s exactly what I wanted right now.”

“I know.”

Simple as that. No questions, no snap judgments.

“Robbie would have tried to feed me hot cocoa, like I’m still twelve.”

“I think Robbie misses being the fun uncle. He hasn’t quite figured out how to relate to you as an adult.”

“You always just treated me like a human being. I preferred that, I think.”

He offered a fleeting smile, then indicated the file folder still clutched in her arms. “What have you got there?”

She regarded the folder, which now seemed insignificant, a piece of historical flotsam. “The next trail marker, I hope. I’ve been tracing some of Sito’s assets for the DA. He worked for a laboratory that was housed in a building that West Corp owned fifty years ago. Lucky for me, West Corp doesn’t destroy records.”

“Still working, even after being laid off?”

“This is plan B,” she said.

An alarm sounded—the usual alarm, which meant the usual trouble. Mentis touched a hidden panel in the wall; the piece of wood slid back to reveal a small computer terminal and a comm headset. He typed a few keys, and the alarm shut off, but the computer monitor still flashed red, and Mentis put the earpiece to his head.

Ah, just like old times. Celia waited for the verdict, quietly sipping her bourbon and letting it melt the fear from her nerves.

After a few minutes, Mentis shut down the computer and closed the terminal. When he turned back to her, even he looked somber. She couldn’t taste the bourbon anymore.

“That was your mother,” he said. “The History Museum’s been attacked. They didn’t take anything; we were ready for them. They’re in custody. But she said Chief Appleton is on his way over here to bring you in for questioning.”

She almost asked why, out of reflex. But she knew. She’d guessed right. She’d known what the bad guys were going to do next, and that made her a suspect. If she’d been one of the Olympiad, they’d have been patting her on the back for her insight.

But a former member of Sito’s operation? She was a suspect.

“Well. I guess I’ll go down to the lobby to meet them,” she said, and drained the rest of the bourbon.

CELIA was leaning against the lobby’s security desk when Appleton and an entire squad of uniformed cops entered the building. She crossed her arms and worked hard to stay perfectly relaxed and nonchalant. Appleton wouldn’t get the satisfaction of thinking he’d upset her. She was glad for the alcohol seeping warmly through her bloodstream.

Arthur had insisted on coming with her. He stood nearby, hands in his pockets, his face a blank. Damon Parks manned the desk. “I don’t have to let them in,” he’d actually proposed. “This is private property. I can ask for a warrant, hold them off.” He had this look in his eye like he’d do it, too. Stand there all by himself, preparing to do battle. He held himself like he thought he could succeed. That kept Celia from laughing off his suggestion entirely.

“Delay the inevitable?” Celia said. “No. I don’t want to piss them off.” Frowning, Parks nodded.

Appleton actually had a set of handcuffs out as he approached her. She raised a brow.

“Are you arresting me?”

“That depends. Are you going to argue?”

“I’ll cooperate like a good citizen.”

He almost seemed disappointed when he handed the cuffs to one of the officers.

When Arthur followed them out to the cars, Appleton turned on him as if to say something. The angry pucker in his expression faded, though, and he only shook his head and stalked off.

At the station, Appleton put her in a holding room and let her have a Styrofoam cup of lukewarm coffee. Arthur went to help interrogate the suspects from the History Museum heist, to skim from their minds what he could. She waited.

Listening to snatches of conversation from the time Appleton picked her up to the time he locked her in the room, she had a vague idea of what had happened. Appleton had ignored Celia’s call completely. The Olympiad, on the other hand, set a trap. They didn’t tell the museum or police what they were doing. Two of the gang members were disguised as janitors; two more hid in their equipment carts. Just before the exhibit opened, they entered the room containing the display cases. Armed with glass cutters, they prepared to slice into the cases. The Bullet closed and locked all three doors into the hall before the robbers touched the first case. Olympus and Spark knocked them on their asses. It was a classic Olympiad operation, top to bottom. The team still had it.

Later, Breezeway reported a suspicious car parked in front of Celia’s apartment. It drove away in a hurry when news of the busted museum heist hit the police radio.

Finally, the door to the holding room opened and Appleton entered, pulling a spare chair from the wall to sit across the table from her. Even more maddening, Mark Paulson followed him and took up a place standing in the corner, his arms crossed sullenly.

“Should I have my lawyer here?” She sounded more bitter than she meant.

“If you’d like.” Appleton looked smug.

“What if we ask Dr. Mentis to sit in instead? So that somebody here knows I’m telling the truth.”

Appleton nodded at Mark, who went to the door, but it opened before he could touch it, and there stood Arthur. As if she’d called him. Maybe she had.