Fox Forever (Jenna Fox Chronicles 3) - Page 41

“Of course you don’t. At least not in front of me, right?” I smile at his thin joke as I’m obliged to. He pours himself a small glass of something from a crystal decanter on a narrow table just inside the door. I take in the room. If nothing else, this unexpected meeting gives me a chance to gather more information that might be useful. I’m able to see things I couldn’t see through the small crack in the door the last time I was here. There are four windows. The plans only showed two for the room on this side of the building. The office must have been expanded and reconfigured, which explains the new hallway leading to it. It’s now long enough to encompass the recessed window that’s on the west side of the building.

“An interesting day you had last Friday with Raine and the others down at the wharf,” he says. He hol

ds his glass up to the light like he’s judging the quality of its color. “Time is short so I’ll get right to the point. I think it’s quite understandable that you would be attracted to Raine.”

I open my mouth to object but he holds his hand up to stop me. He smiles. “Let me finish.”

I lean back in my chair and wait.

“Raine is beautiful. Even as a father I can see that. And quite accomplished.”

“I’m aware of that.”

His smile fades. “Are you?”

He doesn’t want an answer so I don’t give him one. I know this is all as orchestrated as his greeting at the elevator. I let it play out. He walks over to a silver sword with an elaborate filigreed handle that’s displayed on the wall behind his desk. He runs his finger along the length of the blade.

“A beautiful sword,” I say.

“A smallsword to be exact, circa eighteenth-century France. Less than a pound, swift and precise. The perfect thrusting weapon, especially for wealthy noblemen of the day.”

He turns to look at me. “Are you familiar with fencing, Locke?”

“No, sir.”

“I didn’t think so. It’s a beautiful sport with a long and elegant history. More of an art really, much like watching a ballet, and it takes just as many years to master. It’s the most refined form of deadly combat.” He takes a sip of his drink and then pauses, taking a good long look at me. “Raine’s been fencing since she was five. She’s breathtaking to watch. Did you know she’s taken first place in the Foil event at the National Fencing Championships two years in a row now?”

“No, sir.”

He raises his brows in mock surprise. “I’m sure there’s a lot you don’t know about Raine.” He walks over to my side of the desk so he’s towering over me, and casually leans against it. “Just as there is so much I don’t know about you.”

“My life’s an open book,” I tell him. “Anything you want to know, it’s out there.”

“And yet, the Virtual Collective’s records on you are so incomplete. Curious, isn’t it?”

Curious my ass. He’s been digging. “That’s a surprise,” I answer. “I thought they had everything. But most of my records are from foreign countries—that’s where I grew up. Maybe some are delayed or lost.”

“Yes, I suppose that’s a possibility. I’m sure it will be corrected soon enough though. As Secretary of Security I can speed these things along.”

“That’s good to know.”

“But in the meantime, I do know about Shane, and I think he’s a wiser choice for Raine. Your wake-up call to him at the wharf last week is appreciated—he needed it—but no more will be necessary, not if you want to remain in the A Group. Do I make myself clear, Locke?”

I know all the things I want to say, as opposed to all the things I should say.

“Locke?”

Shane didn’t tell him where the wake-up call actually took place—probably to keep his own image untarnished. I stand so now I’m the one towering over the Secretary. I look at him, forcing the anger out of my eyes, forcing the hatred from my face, forcing the disgust from my voice, especially forcing away how much I want to wipe the smugness from his face. I focus on the goal and not my immediate satisfaction. I mold every blink, pause, pore, and facet of my expression to be that of a seventeen-year-old boy who is appropriately intimidated and eager to please. “Yes, sir. Very clear.”

He nods his approval and dismisses me to go upstairs because surely the others have arrived by now and I must be eager to begin our meeting. When I reach his office door, he calls out to me one more time. “Merci de prendre le temps de venir me voir, Locke. Je sais combien le temps est précieux.”

I turn and look at him, waiting an extra beat or two, just long enough to make him sit forward in anticipation, before I answer. “Personne ne sait mieux que moi combien le temps est précieux, monsieur.” And then I add in German for good measure, “Sie ist etwas, was nie verschwendet werden sollte.”

He smiles but I can see the defeat on his face. “A good lesson learned in any language,” he replies. “I’m glad to see you used your time abroad wisely.”

I just bought myself a little more credibility—and time.

But not much.

Tags: Mary E. Pearson Jenna Fox Chronicles Science Fiction
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