Revolution (Replica) (28 page)

“We’re not planning to go anywhere,” Nadia assured him. “When can we see Chairman Belinski?”

Mr. Parker shrugged. “When he feels like it. Now hold still.”

Mr. Parker’s hands were coolly professional enough that Nadia didn’t feel violated by his perfunctory pat-down, though she could tell by the high color in his face and the glitter in his eye that Nate was seething. For once, however, he managed to keep his mouth shut and endure in silence. Mr. Parker had already divested him of the gun when he’d first been shoved into the car, and he had no other weapons on him.

Mr. Parker looked at his hands when he was done and scowled. “What the hell do you have all over you?” he asked, rubbing his palms together in a futile attempt to remove the grime.

“Probably best you don’t know,” Nadia said. “Let’s just say you’ll want to wash your hands as soon as possible.” Her eyes darted sideways to the open door of the en-suite bathroom, thinking that a long hot shower had never sounded so good.

“No kidding?” Mr. Parker mumbled, then took out a blunt-tipped cutting tool and freed Nate’s and Nadia’s wrists.

The bonds hadn’t been inordinately tight, but they’d been on for a long time, and Nate and Nadia both had angry red marks on their skin. The look on Nate’s face grew even more forbidding, and Nadia was afraid he was about to lose his temper. He’d been doing a really good job of holding it all in, for the most part, but surely there was an explosion to come.

“You might want to get cleaned up while you wait,” Parker suggested. “There’s likely something in the dresser that’ll fit you, so you can dump what you’re wearing in the trash.” He turned to leave.

“Wait!” Nadia said, reaching out toward his arm, though she stopped short of touching him. “Any chance we can get some food if we’ve got a long wait ahead of us? We haven’t eaten a real meal since the bombing began.” Just the mention of food made her mouth flood with saliva, and her stomach rumbled loudly to emphasize her point.

The look on Mr. Parker’s face softened to something almost like sympathy, and he nodded. “I’ll see what I can do,” he promised, and then he was gone, and the door closed with a solid thunk and a high-pitched beep.

CHAPTER TWENTY

The
drawers of the dresser held sets of hospital-green scrubs, wrapped in plastic packaging with the size printed on white labels. Since they were unisex, Nadia picked out the smallest she could find while Nate picked large. The bottom drawer held underwear, also neatly packaged in plastic, though not unisex. Obviously it was not unusual for people who stayed in this room not to have any belongings with them.

“This must be some kind of a safe house,” Nate muttered as he looked at his package of scrubs in distaste. “I’m trying real hard not to be creeped out at the idea that Belinski has a safe house here in Paxco.”

Nadia agreed with him, wondering how long this house had been here. It certainly hadn’t sprung up in the scant time since Agnes’s disappearance—Nadia didn’t have much experience with the spy business, but she was pretty sure a good, secure safe house took a while to build, even if you were just modifying an existing structure.

Nate insisted Nadia get first dibs on the shower, and she felt too filthy to argue. The hot water felt as wonderful as she had imagined it would. She had to wash her hair three times before the rinse water finally ran clear, and there were patches of ground-in dirt on her hands, elbows, and knees that would require a loofah to get rid of completely. Even so, she felt immeasurably better when she stepped out of the shower and put on the clean clothes. She couldn’t say she felt quite like herself in the shapeless scrubs, with her hair still damp and tangled and no makeup on her face, but she no longer felt like a refugee.

Getting clean herself had the disadvantage that it cleared her nose, and the moment she opened the bathroom door and stepped back out into the room with Nate, the stench hit her, and she felt abruptly sorry for the men who had had to ride in the car with them for more than an hour.

“Don’t worry,” Nate said when he caught a look at her crinkled nose, “I didn’t sit down or touch anything.”

“Get in there,” she replied, jerking her thumb toward the bathroom.

He complied with a tired grin, though the stink of the tunnels remained in the room after he’d left and she wished she could open the windows. Hard to believe that less than an hour ago, she’d been so inured to the smell that she had barely even noticed it.

While Nate was in the shower, Mr. Parker brought a tray with turkey sandwiches, a bowl of fruit, and a carafe of coffee. Nadia was so hungry she was tempted to tackle the man to the floor to get at the food. He stepped warily into the room, as if worried he might be attacked, and Nadia saw that another member of the security detail was stationed out in the hallway. These guys weren’t taking any chances with their supposedly dangerous prisoners/guests.

Mr. Parker laid the tray on the foot of the bed—there wasn’t a convenient table to hold it—then nodded at her and headed back out the door. He paused for a moment in the doorway.

“There’s a doctor with Miss Belinski right now,” he said. “She’s getting IV fluids and antibiotics.”

“Is she going to be okay?”

“Doc can’t say for sure yet, but she thinks the prognosis is good. But she also says Miss Belinski would have died without treatment, so it looks like you kids saved her life. Assuming you weren’t the ones who hurt her in the first place.”

His voice held no hint of accusation, and though he was obviously proceeding with caution, Nadia felt sure he believed she and Nate were the good guys. She wished Mr. Parker would let them talk to Belinski immediately, but she understood that the Chairman’s fear for his daughter was likely chasing all other concerns from his mind.

“Tell Chairman Belinski that our friends in the Basement started calling Agnes ‘Lionheart’ because of her courage. We never would have made it out of the Basement without her.”

Mr. Parker raised his eyebrows, and Nadia suspected the Chairman would take the declaration with similar skepticism. They all knew the meek, shy, socially awkward Executive girl who had never quite fit in with others of her class. They had no idea what Agnes was really made of, and Nadia was going to do her best to make them see it.

“I’ll tell him,” Mr. Parker promised. “And if you really haven’t eaten in two days, try not to gorge yourselves or you’ll never keep it down.”

The door closed, and Nadia turned to stare at the tray sitting on the foot of the bed, calling to her.

The polite thing to do was to wait for Nate to get out of the shower before eating, but her willpower wasn’t up to it, so she grabbed a sandwich and shoved it into her mouth, taking a bite so big she could barely chew.

*   *   *

The
shower and the food had gone a long way toward making Nadia feel physically better. However, the hours she and Nate spent locked up in that comfortable bedroom with nothing to do but think and wait threatened to make her lose her mind.

Since the moment she’d first set foot in the subway tunnel two days ago, Nadia had been in constant motion, too busy trying to survive and tending to the victims of the bombing to think. When she’d fallen asleep, it had been because she was too exhausted to keep going, so there was no tossing and turning, no fear, no horror—only sweet oblivion.

After devouring his sandwich and several pieces of fruit, Nate had lain down on the bed and promptly retreated to that oblivion, asleep even before he closed his eyes. After everything the two of them had been through together, Nadia had no qualms about lying down beside him on the bed, but she knew sleep wouldn’t claim her so easily. She kept watching the sun traveling across the sky, precious hours ticking by as Belinski kept them waiting.

Had Dante made it back to the Basement safely? Were the subway tunnels still reasonably intact and usable as shelters? And was Dorothy going to drop more bombs tonight?

Nadia’s eyes burned with tears, and the idea that she was here in this comfortable little safe house in the middle of nowhere while Dante, Bishop, Shrimp, and the rest of the Red Death were hoping not to have bombs falling on their heads sent a wave of guilt washing over her. It was hard to feel like she was doing her part for their resistance here.

The other downside of being out of the Basement and back into somewhat more familiar territory was that it reminded Nadia that Dorothy had arrested her parents. Fighting for her life in the Basement—and being completely cut off from any news sources—Nadia had been able to keep her fear for them in the back of her mind, but it was out in the forefront now. There seemed to be no atrocity Thea wasn’t capable of, and Nadia shuddered to think how her parents had fared in custody. Rikers Island was the ultimate nightmare even for ordinary citizens, and Executives, particularly famous ones like Nadia’s parents, would attract the worst kind of attention from their fellow prisoners. She imagined her regal, strong-willed mother, dressed in a jumpsuit of prison orange, facing down a mob of hardened criminals who hated her just because she was born an Executive.

Nadia had sunk deep into her brooding, her arms wrapped around her knees as she stared into the middle distance, when the door to the bedroom made a soft beep and then opened. Beside her, Nate jerked awake at the sound, his eyes wide and startled, his breaths coming short, as if he’d just been awakened from a nightmare.

Chairman Belinski looked better than he had when they’d awakened him in the middle of the night. His stately gray hair was neatly combed, his face freshly shaved, his dark gray suit elegant and wrinkle-free. But there were still bags under his eyes, and the expression on his face was bewildered and haunted.

“How is Agnes?” Nadia asked, when the Chairman seemed at a momentary loss for words.

He blinked and swallowed, coming back to himself. “She’s going to be all right,” he said with obvious relief. “She’ll have a scar, but the doctor said aside from that she should make a full recovery.” He shook his head. “The doctor also assures me the concussion hasn’t made her delusional, but…” His voice trailed off.

“But what Agnes told you when she woke up sounds completely nuts,” Nate finished, rubbing at his eyes as if to force himself away from the brink of sleep.

“That’s one way of putting it,” Belinski said. He looked back and forth between Nate and Nadia, maybe hoping one of them would burst out with a confession that it was all some kind of dirty trick they’d played on his daughter. His gaze finally settled on Nate. “I’ve seen the video of you shooting your father. You certainly never made much of an attempt to hide your feelings for him in my presence. So why shouldn’t I believe what my own eyes tell me?”

“Because it’s not true,” Nate answered simply. “The entire video is a fabrication.”

Chairman Belinski didn’t look any less skeptical.

“Look, I’m a Replica, right?” Nate said, making a sweeping arm gesture from head to foot. “I’m flesh and blood, and Thea created me out of nothing. If she can do that, why is it hard to believe she could create a completely false video that’s really just a bunch of pixels?”

The Chairman lowered his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. Nadia didn’t blame him for his doubts and uncertainty. She wasn’t sure what
she
would believe in his position. After all, he hadn’t seen Thea in action—and neither had Agnes, who had relayed the situation to him. Agnes was merely taking things on faith, so maybe she wasn’t the most convincing spokesperson.

“Why don’t you come on out to the living room,” Belinski suggested, raising his head once more. “We’ll have some coffee and you two can tell me your version of just what’s going on.”

Nate and Nadia followed the Chairman into a cheerfully sunny living room, the kind of room that looked just right in a modest-sized country farmhouse. Except for the security cameras and the electronic keypads set into every door.

The Chairman invited Nate and Nadia to sit on the floral-upholstered couch, while he chose a chenille-covered armchair that looked completely incongruous next to his tailored designer suit. One of his staff brought out a tray of tea and coffee. When the Chairman leaned forward to pour himself a cup of coffee, Nate and Nadia followed suit, although Nadia went for the tea. It was the first tea she had tasted in weeks, and she let out a sigh of contentment.

“Start from the beginning,” Chairman Belinski said. “Tell me everything.”

And so they did, starting on the day the original Nate Hayes was murdered.

It was a long story, and there were a lot of stops and starts along the way. Belinski listened in silence, sipping his coffee and keeping his thoughts to himself. They told him about their first encounter with Thea, and about how they’d blackmailed Nate’s father into supposedly destroying her. They told him about Nate’s first meeting with Dorothy, on the day of his mother’s funeral, and how he had been convinced from the first moment that she was not really his sister.

Eventually, they told him about their last face-to-face confrontation with Dorothy and about what she was—just a flesh puppet, used by Thea to seize control of Paxco so that she no longer had to rely on any human being to look after her best interests. About how Dorothy had let them go so that they could not be turned into martyrs by rival factions who might want to seize the Chairmanship from someone so new and unknown. They talked about how Dorothy had sealed off the Basement and cut off the phone lines so that Nate and Nadia couldn’t tell anyone who mattered about what they knew. And they explained the sequence of events that had led up to Dorothy trying to bomb the Basement into oblivion—a series of events that Belinski confirmed had been relayed to the public in a very different order.

“We don’t know for sure what Thea’s endgame is,” Nadia finished, “but it can’t be anything good. She’s clearly demonstrated she has no concern for human life whatsoever. Right now, her aggression is all focused on the Basement, and I suppose there are certain segments of society who don’t care all that much about the fate of Basement-dwellers, but I highly doubt she’ll stop there.”