Page 73 of Winterveil

All Dr. Iver would say was that it was necessary. Necessary to demonstrate the advanced nature of Professor Blanchard’s technology. Necessary to impress the rep from the Farm. Necessary to win the war. But she hadn’t even fired the gun. Whatever Dr. Iver wanted to show off to Deckard, it wasn’t the Luster weapons.

Now she was here, miles away, thrust into this bizarre, half-real world, unspoken questions still burning on her tongue. Before leaving, she had taken her father’s cross and slipped it into her hip pocket. Its presence both comforted and disquieted her. She felt that she could remember her father with a little more clarity now—the living version of him, the sparkle in his dark eyes. His voice, speaking in that Arabic-English hybrid that the replica spoke, too.

It seemed that the CIA had already implemented Professor Blanchard’s new technology. The holograms looked as real and solid as the replica had. No glitches. No flaws.

Dr. Iver had also refused to divulge the true purpose of their mission, or to explain why they had been chosen, so Nadiya was forced to guess. She glanced around the table, letting her gaze rest briefly on each of the other students in turn. Her compatriots, she supposed.

Klaudia’s inclusion was the most self-evident—she was Valeran’s top-ranked student and a fluent Russian speaker. As far as Nadiya was concerned, that was justification enough.

Her eyes shifted to Julian. Trying to be nonchalant, Nadiya reached for the folder that contained their personal files. She slid Julian’s out and read it with increasing irritation. After some basic biographical facts, it detailed how he had run for mayor of Boston at eighteen and won, only to be arrested for embezzlement and taking bribes a few months later. It had been a national scandal.

Nadiya wondered why someone like Julian would need to take bribes. The file included a supplemental form about notable members of his family: senators, prominent hedge fund managers, charity directors, and even a secretary of state. But still Julian had accepted private jet rides to various far-flung luxury vacation destinations, accompanied by a different girl every time. He had also skimmed tax revenue to fund a three-night stay in Turks and Caicos.

The last paragraph of the file noted that Julian had a sister, age nine, and a brother, age fifteen, who had passed away less than a year ago. Nadiya found her sympathy was limited.

At last, her gaze flickered to Giselle. Giselle. Both Dr. Iver and Professor Blanchard had emphasized the fact that her talent was singular and irreplaceable. Nadiya tried to consider how it might be used in the context of the mission, but watching her, Nadiya lost the ability to think rationally. She only felt her heart skip around in her chest and her stomach hollow out with longing.

Stop it. Stop it. Maybe she should just tell herself it was over, that, with her cold rebuff, she had lost Giselle forever. Maybe it was best for them both to walk away from whatever this was between them—before it could become something out of their control.

Shaking her head, Nadiya said, “We should decide on our cover story.” She remembered how those holograms—or whatever they were—had looked at them, the suspicion obvious in their gazes.

“Yes,” Klaudia agreed, setting down the file she had been reading. “Any ideas?”

Silence filled the room.

“Spring break,” Julian said suddenly. “Dr. Iver had a good idea, incidentally. We’re all college students on spring break.”

“That would explain the large group, and our closeness in age,” said Klaudia. “You and Giselle can play siblings. It gives the cover story a bit more legitimacy.”

Julian and Giselle didn’t look especially alike, aside from the indefinable but unerringly American quality they both possessed, but after a moment of consideration, they both nodded in assent.

“And you and Crispin,” Klaudia said, indicating toward Nadiya. “It’s easier to justify relatives traveling together than a loose association of friends.”

Nadiya grimaced. She and Crispin also did not look particularly alike, aside from their wide, dark eyes and olive skin. Crispin’s hair and odd, unworldly demeanor was more likely to attract bemused attention than anything else. But Nadiya supposed they were stuck with him, so she, too, nodded in agreement.

“What about you?” Giselle asked Klaudia.

Klaudia frowned in consideration. “I’ll be—”

“His girlfriend,” Crispin put in. He was pointing to Julian.

Immediately, Klaudia recoiled. Nadiya almost choked.

“No,” said Klaudia, when she managed to speak. “Definitely not.”

“It would make sense,” Giselle ventured hesitantly. “Like you said, it’s more difficult to explain a loose association of friends. . . .”

“It’s Occam’s razor,” added Crispin.

“It absolutely isn’t,” Klaudia said.

Julian opened his mouth to speak, but Nadiya, feeling Klaudia was in need of rescue, said, “Let’s put a pin in it for now. Ideally the cover story won’t require this level of detail anyway.”

Klaudia looked relieved. She turned to Crispin and said, “Will you get Deckard? Tell him we’re finished with our prep and awaiting his final instructions.”

Crispin nodded and darted off. His gait was strange and mincing, as if he were uncertain of his own steps.

Once he was gone, Klaudia beckoned them closer. A shadow had fallen over her face.