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“Was?” Fuck. “Meaningyouare now?”
“That hasn’t been decided by my higher-ups yet.”
I grabbed my water bottle and nearly ripped off the cap in my haste to drink some. Mind racing as I gulped it down, I emptied it before I realized it. “Why are you telling me this?”
“I’ve been told that I can answer any questions you ask of me.”
“By whom?”
“People with far more authority than the director of the CIA.”
“Who?”
“Leaders of the Union.”
As annoying as she was, this was good.
I could get answers and that would help Star.
“What is the Union?”
“A group older than the Freemasons who serve the people.”
I wanted to scoff, but I didn’t. Her eyes lit up like a Christmas tree with how ardently she believed that BS.
“How do they serve the people?”
“They bring neutrality and non-bias where politics does the opposite.”
“People vote for politicians,” I pointed out, to which she snickered.
“It’s cute that you believe that. Politicians get into power through super PACs which are funded by companies that don’t give a damn about anything other than the policies that will keep their businesses intact and running on low taxes.
“You think our current method works when the so-called popular vote means nothing if the electoral colleges don’t sync up? The population and its wants are irrelevant. Elections are fodder for the masses.
“The Union makes sure that peopleareprotected.”
“It functions only in the US?”
“No. It’s a global endeavor, one that I’m proud to be a member of.”
I could smell her pride from over here. She was practically creaming in her panties over each goddamn word.
“Star was CIA. Why wasn’t she invited to be a Brother?”
“Star bent the rules. The Union doesn’t allow such people to be a member.”
“And you don’t bend the rules? Aren’t you as dirty as she is?”
In less than a second, she’d knocked the stand of the champagne flute in her hand against the armrest. The sparkling wine arced in a neat spray over the aisle before the jagged tip of the stem was pressed into my carotid.
“I amnotdirty. I serve the people. I act for the people. Iprotectthe people,” she spat. “Do you understand?”
“I’m one of the people,” I retorted calmly. “You’re trying to stick a piece of glass in my throat.” I reacted as she placed more pressure on the stem, and with one hand on her wrist, the other on the flute, I jerked it from her grasp and pressed the broken stem into her palm and sliced downward. “You’re not the only one who can fight dirty.”
Her mouth tightened. “You’re a mobster.”
“So that means I deserve to bleed out in first class?” I mocked, digging deeper into her palm.
