Page 35 of Craved

“An excellent thought. And one I have built an entire campaign off of.”

Maxim swallowed. “I see. So when do you plan—”

“Tonight, of course. The fundraiser. The children will be there. The press will be there in spades. A refuge for abused and abandoned children? What newsman would turn his back on that? And what better time to demonstrate our power? Anonymously, of course. A minor, but necessary, downside, but those children will be remembered.”

“Can I assume that means you won’t be pulling the trigger yourself?”

Killion shook his head. “Sadly, you assume correctly. With over two dozen infected children dying on site in front of the inevitable news cameras, that would be inadvisable. We’ll use the Jeep.”

“With a long-range activation transmitter,” Maxim said, recalling that with a long-range transmitter mounted on a vehicle, the frequency burst to trigger the deadly bacteriophage could take place up to a full kilometer from the infected victim.

He fought a shudder. “So, the children who ate the cupcakes or drank the juice…”

“They’ll bleed,” Killion said. “First from their noses, then their eyes, then from under their fingernails. It will be quite a show, and a much better advertisement for our future services than one dull-witted senator.”

“You really are a genius, sir,” Maxim said, with what he hoped sounded like respect and not disgust.

“You flatter me. The event starts at seven. Be on time, Maxim. I may need you.”

* * * *

“Killion cloned your card key.”

The voice pulls me from sleep, and it takes me a minute to realize that not only is it coming from the door of my cell, but that the speaker is Maxim.

“You,” I say, then roll over to face the wall and the single beam of light sneaking in from outside. “Go away.”

“I’m sorry. Cami, I’m so, so sorry.”

I stay as I am, my knees tucked up near my chest, my eyes watching the dust dancing in that thin beam. And I force myself to say nothing.

“Did I ever tell you why my father went away? It was because they found out he was a double agent. He’d betrayed his country. That meant he’d betrayed me, too. All the stuff about honor and patriotism he’d ever spoken of had turned out to be a lie.”

I hear the rustle of his clothes as he moves closer.

“I didn’t know that when he left home,” he continues. “I found out the night I had to leave you. They came to take me away. I wasn’t given a choice. My father had tried to find me during those years we were on our own. He never did, but MI6 thought he had. So they took me in. They interrogated me. They trained me. But it was years before they trusted me. Before I even had the chance to reach out to you.”

His words wash over me. I tell myself they mean nothing. That they are just water sluicing over my skin.

I roll over, intending to tell him so.

That’s when I see the pain on his face.

I steel my resolve and speak. “You should have tried harder.”

He nods. “I should have, yes. And I should have figured out a way to get a message to you when they took me. And the moment I got back, I should have started a campaign of roses and flowers and heartfelt grovels. I didn’t. I fucked up.”

“Yeah,” I say. “You did.”

“I’m sorry.”

I frown, remembering where we are, and I turn my head just a bit so that I can flick my eyes up toward the camera.

“I disabled them. Anyone looking will think they need regular maintenance.”

I sit up. “Is he really my father?”

Maxim nods. “I’m sorry.”