The Gates of Winter - Mark Anthony [53]
Deirdre clenched her hands into fists. “What are you doing, Hadrian? By all the gods, what are you doing?”
The only answer was the ceaseless hum of the computer.
14.
Deirdre fumbled with her sunglasses as she climbed the stairs of the Blackfriars tube station and stepped onto the bustling sidewalk.
Never before had she believed it possible for the sun to be too bright in London. After all, she had lived most of her life in the cloudless American West; the sun in England was a sixty-watt bulb compared to the brilliant floodlight that hung above Colorado three hundred-plus days a year. However, after staring all night at the phosphorescent screen of the computer the Seekers had sent her, even the weak morning light (which, frankly, was as much haze as sun) seemed to jab at her eyes.
She started down the sidewalk and immediately stepped in gum. Leaning against a lamppost, she lifted her foot. Gooey strings stretched from the cement to the sole of her boot. She tried to pull off the wad of chewed gum, but it only stuck to her fingers.
“That doesn't look at all sanitary,” volunteered an elderly woman in a cheerful voice. She took a tissue from her purse and held it out.
Deirdre gave her a wan smile, took the tissue, and wiped her hand as the woman strolled away. The gum didn't come off, but bits of tissue adhered to it, reducing the stickiness.
Twenty minutes later she stepped from a mahogany-paneled elevator into the main office below the Charterhouse.
“You're late,” Sasha said. “Nakamura was expecting you ten minutes ago.”
Deirdre raised an eyebrow. Maybe Farr was on to something; Sasha did have a propensity for springing on people. Today she wore a clingy white sweater and black slacks. A saffron scarf was draped around her neck with a carefree air so perfect the thing could only have been pinned in place.
“I had a problem at the gate,” Deirdre said. “The card reader wouldn't take my new ID card.”
She had inserted the card into the reader a half dozen times. However, each time the light flashed red, and the last time a sickly buzzing noise had emanated from the reader. At that point a security guard had rushed out of a side gate, eager to clap her in irons, but a fingerprint scan had confirmed her identity, and he had grudgingly escorted her in.
Sasha raised a dark hand to her chin. “That's right. I forgot about your new card. Are you having any fun with it yet?”
Deirdre tried not to look shocked. Did Sasha know about her new clearance for Echelon 7? Deirdre would have imagined that was restricted knowledge.
“Why does the assistant director want to see me?” she said.
“Because you're a wicked girl and already plotting mischief, and Nakamura means to nip it in the bud. All right, that's just speculation. All the same, you'd better get moving.” Sasha prowled away like a runway model, then paused to glance over her shoulder. “By the way, where's Sir Mopesalot today?”
Deirdre did her best to keep her voice neutral. “I honestly have no idea where Farr is.”
Sasha nodded, as if Deirdre had confirmed something she already knew. The elevator doors opened and shut, and she was gone. Deirdre headed for the front desk, behind which a receptionist typed at Mach speed. She was middle-aged, with tortoiseshell-rimmed glasses and a sensible haircut. Deirdre didn't recognize her; the nameplate atop the counter read Madeleine.
“Excuse me,” Deirdre said when the receptionist did not look up from her work.
“You're a Seeker, Miss Falling Hawk. I'm absolutely certain you're capable of reading.” The receptionist didn't miss a key as she typed.
Deirdre stared, then noticed the small sign resting next to a clipboard. Please sign in before proceeding.
“I'm sorry.” Deirdre groped for the pen attached to the clipboard. “We didn't use to have to sign in.”
“I have every confidence you'll make the adjustment.”
Deirdre didn't know how