There was a longer pause this time. Elliot couldn’t quite read the cloud that passed over Anthony’s face.
Maybe it really was a cloud. Or a passing shadow from a Zayna. But for a moment, Anthony almost looked disappointed.
“Yes,” he said finally. “It’s still true, even with the mission being over. And if all you want to do when we return to land is to have a shower and a nap and nothing more—then that’s what you’ll have. I trust you know what you’re doing.”
“You trust me?” asked Elliot, still staring at Anthony under him on the raft. “You said I wasn’t field-trained! You called me just an analyst.”
“You aren’t field-trained. And you are an analyst.”
“Exactly!” shouted Elliot. “So why do you trust me?”
“Because,” said Anthony. “You’re also right. And I lo—”
“No,” said Elliot firmly. “Oh, no. No no no no no. You do not get to say that to me. Not while floating on a yellow raft in the middle of the Mediterranean. That is way too cliché and I won’t let you do it.”
“I already said it,” Anthony pointed out. “On the rocket as we were crashing into the ocean.”
“I have a one cliché limit per mission,” said Elliot firmly.
“You’re drinking champagne and strawberries on a life raft in the Mediterranean Sea, and you just saved Washington DC from being destroyed. Which one is the cliché, exactly?”
“Oh, shut up,” Elliot grumbled. “I love you too, you asshole.”
Anthony’s lips still tasted like seawater, and kissing him didn’t feel the slightest bit like drowning. Not even with the whoops and hollers from the flying Zaynas watching.
He’d have to stop kissing Anthony when rescue finally arrived.
But for now... he was going to enjoy it while it lasted.
Epilogue
Elliot’s cell phone buzzed in his coat pocket just as he exited the bathroom and started the walk down the ornate hallway in the Capital Building. He was tempted to ignore it—Anthony wanted him there, after all—but he looked at the screen anyway, just in case.
Just as well he did; Anthony would have to continue without him for a few more minutes.
“Sorry,” he whispered to the guard, who’d already begun opening the heavy wooden door to the Senate Hearing Room. Elliot heard Anthony inside, his measured voice amplified via the microphone, as he answered the Senate Committee’s never-ending and increasingly complex and confused questions.
Then again—the entire mess was complex and confusing, so no one had a clue what to ask in a way that made sense.
Elliot closed himself in a corner by one of the windows overlooking the National Mall. It was a beautiful sight; the stately museums of the Smithsonian on guard like a knighted guard of the nation’s history; the Washington Monument rising up from the long expanse of grass; the silvery reflecting pool in front of Lincoln, presiding over all.
Elliot would have liked the sight a lot better if Anthony wasn’t currently on the hot seat. Knowing that some forty miles away, Bea sat in a lonely jail cell, staring at the same blue sky, didn’t much help, either.
Then again, she was probably too busy in her art class to bother with the sky. Elliot knew her schedule, because he’d been curious enough to check, but sometimes wished he hadn’t. Bea’s prison had the tightest security, the most remote and secretive of locations, and the highest caliber of guards keeping prisoners of the greatest threat under lock and key.
It was just a little closer to a resort than Elliot would have preferred.
“Hello?” said Elliot.
“I’m supposed to pass a message to you.” Daria’s voice was crystal clear; she could have been standing next to him. Elliot looked over his shoulder, just in case she was.
It wouldn’t have surprised him. The last he’d heard, Zayna was this close to the successful development of her transportation technology.
But no—the hallway was thankfully empty except for the Senate guards. They didn’t even know the importance of the top secret inquest in Room 425. No one did; that was the entire point.
The secrecy was partially why Daria wasn’t there. Inviting the newly appointed CEO of O’Leary Enterprises would draw too much curiosity. No, Daria was safely back in London, running the company she had taken over during Archibald O’Leary’s incarceration. His jail was apparently just as posh as Bea’s, with the added inclusion of afternoon tea and a cricket team. O’Leary had been writing angry letters about being in a British prison as opposed to an Irish one—but Daria assured Elliot that he was otherwise perfectly content, particularly since his cricket team had already won three games in a row.
Besides, the hearings conflicted with her weekly meeting with Cicero in his jail, where he was all too glad to instruct her on whatever thing he’d invented in between Philosophy Club and helping fellow inmates with their legal paperwork.
“Let me guess. Cicero has another chess move for Bea.”
“Right in one. I still say we give her different chess moves, mess with their heads a little bit.”
“You’re awful,” Elliot told her. “And until we crack whatever code they’re trying to send to each other, we can’t do that without risking China sinking into the ocean. Or bringing back the dinosaurs. Or something equally awful.”
“Not dinosaurs,” said Daria. “Zayna says—”
“They aren’t viable!” Zayna’s voice came with an echo, as if she was shouting across a very large warehouse.
“They aren’t viable,” repeated Daria.
“You get my point, though.”
“I just think it would be funny, that’s all.”
“No.”
“Fine. How’s Anthony holding up?”
Elliot sighed and glanced at the hearing room doors. “He’s holding. Every time I think they’re done, the Senator pulls out another file and it all starts up again. It’s exhausting.”
“I’ll bet.” Daria sounded almost sympathetic. At least O’Leary’s trial had been swift—especially since O’Leary hadn’t contested anything. But he also hadn’t been a sworn employee of his government. He’d just supplied money to an international super villain, which had far less traitorous consequences.
“How much longer, do you think?”
Elliot sighed. “I don’t know. I wish I did.”
“Not to keep pressing, but some of the things Zayna’s creating—”
“I know,” said Elliot quickly, hoping she believed him. Which would have been a trick; Elliot doubted he had the full scope of what Zayna was working on.
Which was, mostly, the same thing she’d been working on before she escaped from Cicero’s labs. Daria had hired most of Cicero’s people under the O’Leary umbrella. Elliot trusted Daria to keep all of them on the straight and narrow and most importantly, not dangerous path. Most of Cicero’s employees were perfectly happy with that change.
Then there were the employees Daria hadn’t been able to hire, let alone find...
“I just need to know if I should prepare offices or an extraction plan for you two,” said Daria, far too cheerful at the prospect.