The Gates of Winter - Mark Anthony [98]
“Deirdre, there you are,” Nakamura said, looking up.
She couldn't take her eyes off the crumpled puppet.
The assistant director sighed. “The man in the store made it look so easy. But I suppose controlling another person—even one made out of wood—isn't a simple affair.”
Deirdre sank into one of the chairs in front of the desk. “Is that supposed to be a lesson?”
“Everything's a lesson, Miss Falling Hawk, if we look hard enough. However, this is merely a plaything. I can put it away when I grow tired of it.” He opened a drawer, scooped up the tangled puppet, and dropped it in.
Deirdre sank deeper into the chair and mulled over these words. Were they meant to comfort or caution her? Maybe Nakamura was telling her not to worry, that the Seekers wouldn't try to control her as Farr feared they would. Or maybe Nakamura was just a curious and eccentric elderly gentleman who had bought a new toy. Either way, he was right. You could find a message in anything if you looked hard enough, even if there wasn't really one there.
Except there is a message. It's on Glinda's ring, and it's on that old keystone taken from a building that centuries later housed Surrender Dorothy.
Whoever the stranger was last night—the one who had stood outside her window and communicated through her computer—he knew what the message was. Or at least had an idea how to find out. But who was the other? And why did he—or she—want to interfere in the first place?
One thing was certain—this person was a Seeker, and high up in the order. How else would the other be able to send messages to her computer? What's more, the fact that contact had been made so soon after she was granted Echelon 7 clearance couldn't be a coincidence. Perhaps the shadowy Seeker was the same one who had deleted the file she had found. Except that didn't make sense. Why delete the file to avoid discovery, only to approach her the next day?
Deirdre considered telling Nakamura about it. The assistant director knew far more about the workings of the Seekers than she did. He might have an idea who would make contact with her in such a peculiar way. However, even as she opened her mouth, she found herself unable to speak the words.
“What was that, Deirdre? I didn't quite catch you.”
“I met Anders last night,” she said, blurting the first words that came to mind.
Nakamura smiled. “Yes, Agent Anders. I ran into him first thing this morning. That's why I asked Madeleine to send you my way when you came in.”
Deirdre clenched her jaw. Anders's visit last night had been brief—and unbearably upbeat. He had pumped her arm, crushing her fingers in his grip, had said repeatedly how much he was looking forward to working with her, and managed to use the word crikey on at least two occasions. After he left, it had taken an entire tumbler of scotch to stop her nerves from buzzing.
“He's no Hadrian Farr, of course,” Nakamura went on. “But I think he could learn a great deal from you. I do hope you'll give him a chance.”
“Of course,” she said, feeling suddenly guilty. Why was she so quick to damn someone she had just met? No doubt Anders was a good man who was just a bit overeager. Still, it was hard not to think of the words that had flashed on the computer screen just before the knock sounded on her door.
He's coming. . . .
Not, Someone's coming, or even, A man is coming. But rather, He's coming. It was as if the shadowy one had specifically meant Anders.
“Deirdre?”
She sat up straight in the chair. “I'm sorry. My head's a bit cloudy this morning, that's all.”
“Not to worry. We'll start you off slow. You can forget that assignment I gave you yesterday. Anders already started on it this morning. Take this instead, and let me know if you need anything. Good day, Miss Falling Hawk.”
She stared at the folder Nakamura placed in her hand, then with all the grace and self-determination of the assistant director's puppet, she rose and tottered out the door.
When she