Page 91 of Falcon’s Forever

Hustler raises a hand as if he’s noticed it too.

I point at him. “Nobody asked you.”

“Nobody asks me anything,” Hustler complains.

“Heal quietly,” I tell him.

Knox picks up his bag and heads for the door. “Vulture called Church for eight thirty.”

I check the clock. Twenty minutes. "Condor got something off the guy Digger swung at," he adds. "Didn't say what."

That wipes everything else out of my head.

Vulture appears in the doorway a minute later. "Don't tell Vulture what?" he asks, catching the tail of it.

"Knox is plotting a coup," Rook says immediately.

"He'll probably improve efficiency." Vulture looks at Hustler. "You’re supposed to be resting."

Hustler mutters something under his breath.

"What was that?" Vulture asks.

"Nothing, Prez."

"Thought so." Vulture looks at me. "Church."

I don't move right away, because a week ago that word meant something automatic, and now it doesn't, and I don't know which version of myself is supposed to answer it.

"You're not back at the table," he says, reading me anyway. "You were at that warehouse. You know Kells's face better than anybody sitting in Church who wasn't there. I want you in the room for this one. That doesn't mean anything past today."

"Understood."

"Bring Digger." Vulture looks over at Digger.

Digger's eyebrows go up. "Me?"

"You were at the warehouse." The invitation doesn’t mean anything, it’s cut and dried.

He straightens. "Yes, Prez."

Church has a different energy than yesterday. Less like the aftermath, more like we've got somewhere to aim. Condor's already got his laptop hooked up to the wall monitor. Zip sits beside him with a folder open. Sterling's got sheets spread across his side of the table. Harrier and Ice Pick are arguing quietly about a photo until Vulture sits down and asks if they're finished.

I take a chair near Digger at the end instead of my old spot on Vulture's right, and nobody comments on it, which somehow makes it land harder than if they had.

"Probably," Harrier says.

Digger takes a chair near the end, looking like he knows he's not usually allowed in here.

"Relax," Vulture tells him. "You're a witness, you’re not getting patched today."

"Shame," Harrier says. "I was hoping for cake."

Vulture rubs his forehead. "Condor. Give me a reason why I called everyone in here."

Condor turns the screen. A photograph, a man in his forties, close-cut hair, heavy build.

“Robert Kells,” Condor says, putting a photograph on the screen.