“This way, sir,” someone said, and the entire group quickly strode down the hall.
“Yes, sir,” Allen said sarcastically, still on the floor. “Right away, sir. I don’t remember you signing my paycheck—ass hat.” He looked at the two wounded men beside him, giving them a weak wave as the incoming medical people smothered them. “Hey, no hard feelings, okay?” Wincing, he held a hand up to Silas. “Get me out of here, will you?”
Weight on his back foot, Silas extended a hand and hauled him up. “Where’s Peri?”
“Yes, I did get shot and beat up by both Bill and a Detroit gang,” Allen said loudly. “Thanks for asking.”
Silas jerked him off balance. “Where is Peri?” he intoned.
Pulling out of his grip, Allen rubbed his wrist. “The Detroit Astoria?” he said, knowing as did Silas that any conversation in the hall would likely be monitored. “I don’t know. Steiner figured out she’s hooked on Evocane and she freaked out. I don’t think she meant to leave with Jack, but you know her.”
“She doesn’t like to work alone.” Silas felt a new worry slip in behind the old. Jack . . .
Allen started down the hallway, slow and awkward. “Do you think she’ll return to Opti?”
“No.” Silas looked at his watch, estimating her next dose to be around midnight. She’d likely try to tough it out, and when that failed . . . He didn’t want it to be Bill she looked to, but Steiner was worse. He had to get out of here. Take her what Evocane he could find. Give her the time she needed to gather her thoughts, weigh her options. But that would take planning, and he was sure his office was bugged. Steiner was oblivious, not a fool.
“You don’t think the CIA got rid of the twenty-four-hour kitchen when they took over, do you?” Silas said, affecting a false lightness. “I’m starving.” The table under the air conditioner would be open at this time of night. If it was running, any listening devices would be useless.
Allen’s eyes were bright among the bruises. “Maybe they still have that guy who cooks eggs to order.” He reached for a wall for balance and left a dirty handprint. “I liked him. He always got my yolks runny.”
“Let’s find out,” Silas said, his thoughts on the Opti-initiated technological fence he was going to have to get through, because he was not going to let Peri run back to Bill. He glanced at their escort. His weapon would be handy. His security card would be helpful, too. “Are you going to be with me twenty-four/seven?” he asked, beginning to think about gathering resources.
“Yes, sir.”
Silas’s eyebrows rose. “If you try to sit at the cool kids’ table, I’m going to tip your tray.”
“Yes, sir.”
He couldn’t help his sarcastic smile as he looked up at the ceiling camera before taking Allen in a more secure hold and helping him down the hallway. The lights were dimmed because of the late hour, and it felt like old times at Opti, beaten and bruised as they limped down the hall at the speed of “ow.”
“I haven’t slept in like two days. I just want to eat and go to bed. Steiner can make it with a goat if he thinks I’m going to show up in his office in an hour.” Then he leaned toward Silas. “You still have the code for the climate control, right?” he asked softly.
“Why would they change that?” The lunchroom was predictably empty, and Silas stifled a sigh as he took in the low-ceilinged, whitewashed blandness of tables in rows and cafeteria-style food. He hated cafeterias. It was one thing he and Peri shared.
Resigned, he put a damp tray on the bars, disliking the sound of plastic on metal. Behind him, Allen hit the disinfectant stand with a tired vengeance. His hands still glistening, he slapped a tray onto the bars, clearly not happy that their babysitter was following.
Leaning in, Silas put three milky-plastic cups on his tray. “What was Jack doing there?”
Allen looked at their guard picking through the silverware. “Complicating things.” Expression brightening, he smiled at the night chef, who had come forward to flick on the griddle. “Four?” he asked. “Scrambled?” he added as Silas took his tray to the oatmeal station. May as well make it breakfast.
Allen loaded his tray with something full of fat and grease, then limped after him. Silas looked at the cameras in the corners, recording everything. Shifting to put his back to their guard, Silas filled a bowl with oatmeal. “Why did Bill send Jack instead of Michael?”
“Bill says you can’t reverse-engineer the Evocane in time.” Allen’s eyes roved over the empty tables. “He sent Jack more as a goodwill gesture, trying to convince her to return rather than force her. He’s that certain that she’ll come back once she sees what he’s giving her.”
“A lifetime of addiction?” Silas said bitterly, and Allen’s expression became grim.
“The freedom to remember her drafts, the assurance that no one could use her again.”
But it came with a steep price. Silas ached that she might be willing to pay it because the more Steiner pushed her, the more she would be pulled to Bill.
“Damn, I’m tired. Where do you want to sit?” Allen asked, seeing that the table under the air conditioner was missing.
Agitated, Silas filled his three cups with chocolate milk. Tray in one hand, he indicated one of the tables near the air vent.
“My eggs aren’t done yet,” Allen said. “I’ll be right there.”