Page 60 of Retrograde

“A complete psychopath, of course,” he adds, wiping his brow with a white napkin.

I start laughing, and I cannot stop. My chest is heaving, my face is hurting, the sound is echoing and the man keeps telling me to stop.

“Riley. The photographer bitch,” I snap at him, my voice harsh and firm. “Bring her to me. Let me see her.”

“And why would I do that?” he chuckles uneasily.

I scan him with my eyes, measuring him, until he’s squirming uncomfortably underneath my scrutiny. A bald patch. A round gut. Cunning little eyes. Ageing. A colonel, based on his uniform. Small-time, insignificant. Running out of time to ever be anything more.

“I’ll make you a general,” I reply to him simply.

“You really are delusional.” He shakes his head, scoffing.

“I’ll lead you to the proof of this century’s biggest conspiracy. Something they don’t want you to know. If you play your cards right, they’ll give you the rank for your silence.”

And if he plays his cards wrong, they’ll kill him. But no need to point that out.

He laughs, but from the way his eyes fix on my face, I can tell he’s detected the sincere note in my voice and is now intrigued.

“You’re full of shit, Krasnik,” he tells me, lacking true conviction. “Do you know how many men before you have made claims like this in here?”

“I can imagine. I’ve been on the other side of this,” I remind him coldly. “But how many have only wanted to see a cunt in exchange?” I let him consider the implications of this—he has a clever little face; he’ll soon figure out he has fuck all to lose.

When I see it in his eyes that the realisation has sunk in, I give him a hint, something that’s been on my mind a lot. “Isn’t it a strange coincidence that Rift Day happened right after Volker Junior assumed office? Didn’t you ever find it odd that the Rift runs so close to Synechord’s territories? Why would they nuke practically their own lands?”

His rodent eyes widen. He’s picking up what I’m putting down fast enough. A vein is now pulsing angrily at his temple.

“Just let me see her, chained as I am and fully supervised. No harm, no foul. Ten minutes is all I need. And then I’ll make you a consequential man.”

“I ...” I can almost see the smoke coming out of his ears. “I don’t have her. I don’t know where she is.”

What the fuck? Where is she? This is the only mustard base relatively close to our holdout. Where else would she fucking go after Atilla released her?

Possibly, he’s driven her somewhere blindfolded to make sure she couldn’t tell where our base is—win extra time before the location’s burnt anyway. But still ...

A nasty sensation slithers down my spine, settling like a stone in my gut. Because what if ... what if he didn’t do as I ordered him? What if he kept her?

He wouldn’t have, right?

Not if he thought you were coming back, a voice at the back of my head whispers. But what if he were sure you weren’t? What then?

I barely pay attention to the rodent anymore. I’ve said what I needed to say to him. He’ll now pretend not to believe me in front of the guards, only to come back solo later. Until he does, I’m not interested in anything he has to say, and he’s not interested either. Not until we can speak freely.

I’m just waiting for him to wrap this charade up and leave.

23

RILEY

I’m still in shock when I find myself marching around the faded limestone-facade building in Revnik a few hours later, greeted by the foreboding glare of its barred windows.

I’m doing my best to act like I have a very good, legitimate reason to be there. In my mustard yellow jacket, no one notices me in the crowd of busy servicemen. Over the years, I’ve mastered a way to walk among them without emphasising my curves, averting their gaze, keeping my head down but my eyes peeled. Soldiers don’t see me unless they want to hurt me.

I’ve become so good at being invisible that I sometimes doubt I really exist.

The only person who pays me any attention is the pot-bellied colonel whose cunning rat-like eyes have always made me uneasy. He nods in my direction as I walk past him, pausing mid-conversation to ask me, “Miss Riley, are you staying for a while?”

“Yes,” I lie, caught off guard; he’s never said as much as “hello” to me.