9781629270050-Text-for-ePub-rev by Unknown Read Free Book Online

when she was a teenager, held safely beneath the glass ever since. Peter had
     often felt the urge to remove the glass and stroke the lock of hair, but had resisted,
     afraid that it might disintegrate to dust under his caress.
    “Sleep well, Megan,” Peter whispered, then clicked the locket shut. He concealed it
     once more beneath his shirt in the thick mat of curly black hair that lay within.
    He turned his thoughts back to the present; to what he should do next. They would
     know that he had not fulfilled his part in the operation. At some point, he would
     have to face consequences. He did not think those consequences would be severe; at
     least, not fatal. All he was guilty of so far was a failure to act as he should. An
     omission. He did not think they would even bother coming after him. Not yet, anyway.
     They would be far too busy over the coming weeks and months to worry about one rotten
     apple. Maybe he could use that to his advantage. . . .
    Looking deeper within himself, he began to wonder: how far was he prepared to go?
     He recognised that he was completely powerless to affect what was going on. The non-use
     of that one shiny canister nestling in the suitcase under his bed would make not a
     scrap of difference in the overall scheme. But later, when it was over, there might
     be things he could do that would influence the eventual outcome. Yes, certainly things
     he could do. The question was, what did he want the final outcome to be?
    Despite being possessed of those alien emotions of empathy, of compassion, this was
     a question that Peter was not yet capable of answering.
    * * * * *
    The buzzer next to the front door sounded, announcing visitors. Milandra stood by
     it, already aware of the approach of the Deputies. She pressed the button that would
     release the magnetic catch on the front door to the brownstone apartment building.
    She waited for them to cross the lobby, call the elevator and ride up to the sixth
     floor. As she sensed them approach, she unlocked the door and threw it wide.
    Jason Grant strode in, grinned briefly in greeting and made for the kitchen. In his
     brawny arms he clutched four brown, bulging bags, bearing them effortlessly as though
     they contained popcorn.
    Close behind Grant came the other Deputies: George Wallace, slighter than Grant, carrying
     a grocery bag under each arm and a flight bag over his shoulder; Lavinia Cram, the
     beauty of the group with her olive complexion, raven hair and smouldering eyes, also
     carrying a grocery bag and flight bag; Simone Furlong—the Chosen—burdened with two
     brown bags.
    All three nodded at Milandra and headed wordlessly for the kitchen. Milandra closed
     and locked the door, and followed them.
    Nobody spoke as they unpacked the brown bags and loaded the refrigerators with fresh
     produce: vegetables, fruit, dairy.
    Grant broke the silence: “Wallace and I will head down to the markets at dawn and
     load up with meat and fish.”
    Milandra nodded. “Get what you can carry, but don’t sweat it. We’ve plenty of canned
     stuff. Enough to last us months. We should only need it for weeks.”
    Simone uttered a short, high-pitched titter. “Then there’ll be plenty of stuff just
     . . . lying about the place.”
    Milandra glanced at the Chosen. “Indeed.” Milandra pushed aside the slight unease
     that Simone’s brief hilarity had stirred within her. “Anyway, to business. We must
     Commune. Then we’ll eat.”
    “One moment,” said Wallace.
    He reached for the flight bag he’d brought, hefted it onto a granite work surface
     and unzipped it. Lavinia did the same with the one she had carried in. An acrid smell
     of oil filled the air.
    Wallace reached into the bag and withdrew an object, wrapped in a greasy cloth. He
     unwrapped the cloth to reveal a black, stubby weapon. He reached back into the bag
     and withdrew a magazine that he clipped smoothly into the barrel of the weapon.
    “Uzi,” he said. “There’s