The Savage Girl - Alex Shakar [127]
“Sister’s here,” the trenchcoated man announces, and a ravenously thin man with sallow skin and salt-and-pepper pompadour steps up and puts out his hand.
“Miss Van Urden, I’m Agent Dellaqua. I’m coordinating the situation here.”
The man has a tense way of speaking and dark circles under his watery blue eyes, one of which is slightly lazy and floats off somewhere to the left of her. He starts walking her and Couch toward a long mahogany dining table covered with radio equipment, clipboards, Styrofoam coffee cups, and two notebook computers with Ivy on their screens, talking directly into the webcam. Sitting at the computers are two men in dark blue jackets, the arms of which bear the yellow block letters FBI, and below those, the smaller letters VTU, printed in shimmering bondi blue.
“Your sister has four homemade bombs,” Dellaqua goes on. “They’re small and crude, but more than enough for her to blow herself up.”
Ursula looks around the loft, a knot of helplessness rising in her throat. She remembers his sinuous smile, the seduction in his voice: The point is, you don’t know what I’m capable of.
“Four?” she asks, her voice breaking. “Chas put four bombs in my sister’s room?”
Dellaqua blinks, looking from her to Couch and back.
“Not Chas,” Couch tells her. “Sonja.”
Couch motions with his head toward the kitchen area, where still more men lean against counters and appliances, looking grimly down at Sonja Niellsen, who sits in a wooden chair with her hands cuffed behind her. She wears an army jacket with three black and white feathers pinned to each shoulder, a long black dress, and combat boots. Her head is angled downward, her face obscured by a curtain of straight black hair.
“James,” she whispers, “how can they think Sonja did this? It was obviously Chas. Look at the poor girl. They’ve got her handcuffed.”
“Any information you have on Chas Lacouture’s involvement in all of this will be appreciated,” Dellaqua says. “But we’re certain Miss Niellsen was the one who bought the materials and assembled the bombs. We’ve got eyewitnesses, receipts, and her own confession.”
“That’s crazy. How could Sonja make explosives?”
Dellaqua bridles at the word “crazy,” retracting his chin into his neck and staring at Ursula coldly. “Those bombs have two ingredients. One is sugar, and the other is something you can pick up at Home Depot. The recipe is available on several thousand websites.”
“But why?” Ursula says. “Why would she do it?” She peers into the kitchen area, trying to get a glimpse of Sonja’s face.
“Because Ivy asked her to,” Dellaqua snaps. “And because she wanted their names to be linked for all time. That’s what Miss Niellsen says anyway. It was a suicide pact. She was planning to be there when Ivy set them off, but we picked her up when she left the building to buy breakfast.”
Couch sighs. “I told you Sonja was ga-ga for Ivy.” He chuckles nervously.
“It’s possible Ivy brainwashed her,” Dellaqua goes on. “She shows some of the classic symptoms, but our experts need some time with her to be sure.”
“You think Ivy brainwashed her?” Ursula erupts.
Sonja looks up and sees Ursula, causing the other heads in the kitchen to turn toward her as well. Her little mouth is set in a firm line. Her eyes are steady and clear and unyielding. She actually looks less brainwashed to Ursula than she ever has before. The “kidnapped” look is entirely gone; and in its place Ursula finds what can be described only as the look of a full-fledged savage girl.
Sonja looks back down at the floor. Agent Dellaqua starts talking again, scratching his head and looking around anxiously.
“Ivy’s objectives, on the other hand, aren’t so innocent. Definitely political.”