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Circling the room, I let my thoughts circle, too. If I were looking for a go-between for myself and Walid, a person who could create distance between me and responsibility and also serve as a fall guy, Cooper wouldn’t be a bad choice. And if Walid, as Dada told Justice, had gone on a sudden and extensive search to uncover information, he could’ve followed that connection, found Cooper, and ended up here. That explains the torture, but not the drone box.
Cooper wasn’t exactly swimming in enough luxury to be buying drones for the fun of it. Other than the easel, the chair with him in it, a small, round kitchen table, and an abused, brown suede couch, there isn’t any other furniture in this room.
There are a lot of decorations, though. Well, paintings. I’ve never seen a picture of Justice as a child, but the portraits that take up nearly every wall are of her, and the girl beside her, the one Justice has her arm slung across, is most likely her sister, Hope. There’s a woman in the portraits, too. She resembles the blonde girl Justice has her arm around, so she’s clearly their mother.
The portraits repeat again and again all over the walls, like the man had played one moment—one loop of thought—in his head for the last twenty-five years. Justice and Hope and their mother, over and over again, the same picture, but each version highlights something different, dissecting down to the smallest, clearest detail: a freckle, blue eyes, dark eyes, a smile, a wisp of hair, rosy cheeks.
Here and there, scrawled across Justice’s arm or on her shirt, or as a tear coming down from her eye are words.Anger is her drug of choice. Help her. There’s still time.
“This is sad as hell, Cooper,” I tell the dead man, and the dog barks as if in agreement.
There’s a dark shadow in every painting, too, just at the edge. As if the artist foreshadowed the dark days to come or asked himself over and over when it had all gone wrong.
43
JUSTICE
When I enter the house, I’m not surprised to find it bustling with family members who usually work or train belowground. Not a lot of places for them to go right now.
I maneuver around a few congregating in the hall and head to the library. Where’s Sandesh gotten to?
I haven’t seen or heard from him since yesterday. After his late-night interview with the FBI, Martha had found him a room somewhere. I’d been too tired to ask, and when I woke up at butt-crack-a.m. this morning, I didn’t want to bother him. Of course, I was too busy today to text him, but he didn’t text me either.
I turn into the library, looking for someone who might know where the big guy has been stashed—ifhe’s still here and didn’t head back home.
That thought sends a fit of disappointment flaring in my stomach. I shush that fit. I’m a grown woman, not a giggly, googly-eyed girl. Though, let’s face it, if anyone deserves googly eyes, it’s that fine man.
Three of my oldest sisters, Yamilia, Dalia, and Anna—who started and honed operations before therewereoperations—are at a reading table, sipping coffee. Wow, The Guild reallyhascircled the wagons. We aren’t usually graced with the appearance of so many of the Fantastic Five. Growing up, I trained with a few of them. Mostly Malia, who isn’t here. I nod in their general direction and get some speculative looks in return.
Sheesh. Intimidating bunch.
Looking for my own comfort zone, I head for the table with Tony and Dada. They’re huddled together at a small corner table near a black suit of armor.
Huh. They look so chummy. Co-conspirators? No.Don’t be paranoid. Those two couldn’t plan a lunch together.
I slip into the only available seat and Tony starts talking before I can ask about Sandesh.
“Justice, what do you think? It’s time for us to consider my plan, right?” Tony gestures with his hands like a conductor uses a baton to convey the tone of his emotions, but, still, I can’t figure out what he’s saying.
“Huh?”
Dada shakes her head. “He wants us to fly to Mexico tonight. Ridiculous. We need to put up a united front right now, not disappear. Do you want to draw even more attention here?”
“Attention? Didn’t you hear about the attack that has parents lined up outside, waiting to drag their kids outta here?” He walks his fingers across the table to demonstrating parents fleeing.
Dadatsks. “Your fear has made you reactionary.”
“Not reactionary because I’ve seen the footage.”
“You’ve seen the security footage?” This gets my attention. Right now, access to those videos is limited to those underground. And Leland completely sealed off the lower floors as a precaution while the Feds are here. “How?”
“I was in the control room when everything went down. After, I stayed and ran the tapes.”
That’s weird. He left Sunday dinner and went to the control room? “What’s the footage show?”
Dada shifts, puts a hand on her side as if in pain. “According to him, the footage shows nothing.”
“Exactly.” Tony jumps forward. His weight slaps the table, sending it into Dada.
