“I prefer knitting, actually,” said Cicero, typing again. “Very soothing, when you’re a bit on the late side to our meetings. I volunteer at the local animal shelter, walking and playing with the dogs while they wait to be adopted. Do you really think I live my life purely to antagonize you? You are not that important to me.”
Anthony imagined Cicero walking a dog through a park. Somehow, the image wasn’t at all ridiculous.
“I have a life, you know. Interests. Hobbies.” Cicero shook his head and returned to his typing. “Of course, I hadn’t realized you took your role in this game seriously.”
“Game? You call all of this a game?” Anthony struggled against the ropes, but they hadn’t loosened a bit.
“Well, not anymore,” acknowledged Cicero. “Not when you’re actively trying to kill me now. Leave it to her to change the rules at the end.”
Anthony watched as Cicero went back to his typing, but Cicero’s fingers were quick and agile. He didn’t appear upset or angry—in fact, he acted perfectly calm and rational. None of the frenzied excitement that Anthony was used to seeing from him at this stage in his plans.
Of course... there was no one there to see, but Anthony.
“Twenty years,” said Cicero, which wasn’t much of an answer—but it sounded like the start of Cicero’s normal monologuing rants, so the answer was probably coming. “Twenty years I’ve been working for Mastermind. It wasn’t even my idea, you know.
“But then she gave me that offer. The position of a lifetime. The position for my lifetime.” Cicero paused, his fingers hovering over the keys. “You’d think a philosopher like me would pay attention to the semantics.
“So maybe I got a little too involved in the role she assigned me,” Cicero continued, a bit of sulk in his voice. “That’s not my fault. Too much power goes to your head, Anthony, that’s a universal truth. How can anyone blame me for falling prey to it—even me, philosopher that I am?”
Anthony frowned. “Just because you named yourself for a philosopher doesn’t—”
“Oh, fuck you,” said Cicero irritably. “I studied Cicero in school, I’m as much a philosopher as any arm-chair enthusiast. More so, I’d dare say. Do you have any idea how handy philosophy has been in our tête-à-têtes, Anthony?” He paused again, smiling slightly. “Oh, I’ve enjoyed them—rather more than I suspect you realized.”
“They were enjoyable,” agreed Anthony. “I always felt like it was the one area I surpassed Winston in.”
“Winston,” said Cicero, pausing. “Now, he was a good fellow. But yes, terrible with the bantering. He was terrible at it in school, too, though, so it’s hardly a surprise.”
“You did know each other, then.”
“He wasn’t at school with us long enough to really know, but yes. Having him as my adversary is what convinced me this was only ever a charade, you know. A good man, Winston, solid, dependable... but nowhere near clever enough to run something of this magnitude. No worries that he might suddenly go off script and actually try to kill me.”
End the charade, Anthony thought.
Cicero kept talking. “I think he’d be very upset in the change of rules, of course.”
Anthony felt the pit widen in his stomach. “You mean killing each other?”
Cicero shrugged. “You and I, we’re the circus. Anthony. You’re the hero, I’m the villain. Without me, you’re nothing. Without me, the DVM is nothing. I give you and your entire organization purpose. Killing me was never the goal. Until now, of course.”
Anthony closed his eyes. “Bread and circuses.”
“You can’t honestly believe anything else,” said Cicero, and then peered at him. “Or maybe you do. You’re a fool, if so. But no matter—I know your orders. I know too much about the game to live, not when she’s about to retire. I’m the wild card—and she’s too wily a player to let a wild card remain in the game for long. And so—she’s sent you to remove me. It’s all right,” Cicero assured Anthony. “Well, it’s not all right, of course, I’d very much like not to die. But I certainly understand her rationale. It’s only that I completely refuse to comply, and I’m afraid that leaves us in something of a bind, because I can see that you are loyal to her, despite your moral proclivities.”
You know who it is, Elliot had said in Anthony’s dream.
Anthony hadn’t wanted to believe it.
But there was no choice anymore. The rocket hummed at his back, and Anthony’s loaded gut was heavy against his chest.
Elliot isn’t safe anywhere, if it’s true. And there’s only one way for me to verify that it’s true...
“Mastermind is Bea,” he said.
Maybe Cicero would deny it.
Cicero stared him in the eyes. “Of course. Didn’t you know?”
End the charade.
Anthony closed his eyes.
She’d always known where to find Cicero.
She’d always ensured Anthony had the tools he needed to defeat him.
She’d always been confident that Anthony would capture Cicero next time.
She’d always put Cicero back in the same holding cell...
...And when he escaped, she’d always sent Anthony back after him.
End the charade.
For the first time, Anthony wondered.
What charade did you want me to end, Bea? Cicero’s charade at being a supervillain... or yours, for being the Mastermind behind it all?
“You did know, didn’t you?” asked Cicero, and he sounded genuinely concerned. “That Bea is Mastermind?”
“No,” said Anthony finally. “I didn’t.”
Chapter Twenty
The base was deserted.
Elliot scanned the base’s yard with the binoculars while Daria finished securing the plane. Honestly, he was surprised she’d been willing to land it at all—it wouldn’t have shocked him one bit if she’d shoved him out of the airlock with a parachute and kept flying, just to keep playing with the new toy she’d unexpectedly received.
“This isn’t good,” said O’Leary, crouched next to Elliot. “Where is everyone?”
“How many people work here?”
“At least a couple hundred. Look, even the parking lot’s empty.”
Elliot didn’t bother to switch his focus. “We need to get inside, find Anthony, stop whatever Cicero’s planning, and get back out again.”
“Which I can do once I’ve hacked into their computer systems,” said Daria, patting the pocket with Elliot’s tablet.
“Right.” Elliot turned to O’Leary. “Can you get us inside?”
“Syl’s always given me full access, but I admit I’ve never used it.”
“Time to test that out, then,” said Elliot grimly.
Ten minutes later, they walked up to the gates, which were just as deserted as the yard. The gates hung open, not even locked.
“Weird,” said Daria, pushing on the gate, which didn’t even squeak. “You’d think they’d at least lock up before they desert a super-secret base.”