BZRK (BZRK 1)

“Are you?” Plath asked.

Vincent nodded slightly. “Probably.”

“What if we say no?” Plath demanded.

Vincent turned from Nijinsky and met her gaze. “You won’t.”

“What makes you so sure?” Plath said. “Have you done something to me, is that it?”

“I told you I would never—”

“Then how the hell are you so sure we’re going along with this suicide mission?”

“Because they murdered your father and your brother. And they damned near killed you,” Vincent said. “And when I mention that to you, your eyes blaze and your teeth start to show, and you’re aren’t a person who lets her family be wiped out without fighting back.”

“This is how we repay her father?” Nijinsky demanded. “By getting her killed?”

Vincent slammed the side of his fist down on the table. Every dish jumped. No one breathed. “Do you think I like this, Shane?”

Almost as shocking as Vincent showing emotion was Vincent using the name “Shane” instead of Nijinsky.

“You don’t like anything, Vincent. That’s why Lear has you running this cell. A man without pleasure is a man without any idea what life is about.” Nijinsky pointed at Plath. “She’s sixteen, for Christ’s sake. She’s barely trained. And him, young Mr. Hormone there, he’s already in love with her. If she goes, he’ll go.”

Nijinsky was shaking with emotion. Vincent had already brought his under control.

“Yes. That’s what I figured,” Vincent said. He stood up carefully, pushed his chair back, said, “I’ve had enough. Enjoy your dinner,” and carried his plate to the kitchen.

TWENTY-THREE

“You think maybe the time has come to tell me how the hell we’re going to do this, Vincent?”

Vincent answered, “Lear made it very clear that the plan stays with me until there is no other choice.”

The two of them were walking down Third Avenue past the British Consulate, a building of no particular interest once you had noted the Union Jack flying alongside the Stars and Stripes.

“British Embassy?” Nijinsky asked, eyebrow raised.

“We’re heading over to Lex. Over to the W Hotel. We’re meeting someone.”

“I suppose I shouldn’t ask who?”

“You may recognize her. Tatiana Featherstonehaugh.”

Nijinsky looked at him tolerantly. “It’s pronounced ‘Fanshaw.’?”

Vincent frowned. “Really? All that to get Fanshaw?”

“The English,” Nijinksy said, and shrugged as though that explained it. “She’s a society type. What is she doing involved in this?”

“Ours not to reason why,” Vincent said. “She’ll be at a reception at the Hilton over by the UN shortly, right after we meet her. That’s where the POTUS is staying. It’s just a meet and greet with Morales and Bowen and various Anglophiles before they both head to the General Assembly for their speeches. A society thing. She’s helping us, courtesy of our London friends.”

“You’re sure the president’s going to be there?”

“That’s never guaranteed,” Vincent said. “Presidential security makes every other kind of security look lazy. If the Secret Service even smells anything … But if she is there, we’re in.”

“And meanwhile?” Nijinsky asked.

Vincent stopped, retreated beneath an overhang as a light rain began to fall. “There’s a very good chance none of us come out of this alive, Jin. That’s just the reality.”