Agent G: Saboteur by C. T. Phipps

Author:C. T. Phipps [Phipps, C. T.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Publisher: Amber Cove Publishing
Published: 2018-01-04T08:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

The interior of the restaurant was tacky in the same sort of way Westerners parodied Japanese culture—waiters wearing cowboy and cowgirl outfits, Patsy Cline playing in the background, and peanuts spread across the ground for no apparent reason. Close to a hundred Japanese families were present with several Yakuza patriarchs. None of them seemed unnerved or unsettled. This was a family restaurant for them.

Persephone was in the middle of the restaurant, far away from any windows, and surrounded by potential innocent bystanders. She was wearing a gray and white business suit dress. A meal for two had just been put down with two more spaces ready, presumably for Nechayev and his bodyguard. I noted with some amusement that E had ordered a hamburger and fries.

Staying out of sight by using waiters and customers to hide behind, I slipped into the chair in front of Persephone and picked up E’s burger before taking a bite of it. It was pretty good, and I had to give them credit for getting the texture of the beef just right.

Persephone, to her credit, didn’t react other than to blink a few times. “Hello, G.”

Persephone reached for her purse and I lifted my pistol under the table, poking her leg with it.

“I wouldn’t do that,” I said.

Persephone moved her hand away from the purse.

“I’ve blocked transmissions from her IRD implant,” Marissa said in my head. “She won’t be able to get any help.”

“Good,” I said aloud, keeping my gun trained on Persephone. “We’re going to have a chat, Mrs. Matthews.”

“You could have just called,” Persephone said, poking her steak with her fork. “I always have time for my favorite Letter, no matter how disobedient he’s been.”

“Your going underground made that a bit difficult,” I said.

“I am saddened you decided to give up your chance at recovering your memories to serve the United States—”

“I know I’m not Daniel Gordon, the Letter project is made of robot-brain slaves, and we’re all going to die after ten to twelve years.”

Persephone held her fork in midair, a piece of steak on the end. “I see. I confess, I never expected you to learn any of that.”

“I figured that, yeah.”

Persephone ate the piece of steak and sat there for a moment, chewing. “What do you want?”

“To kill you? To torture you? To tie you to a chair, douse you with gasoline, and watch you burn to death slowly? I haven’t decided yet.”

“You could have done all of that,” Persephone said. “Also, despite your many, many faults, you were never a sadist. Believe me, I’ve known enough psychopaths and serial killers over the years to know the difference between those who kill for money and those who kill for pleasure.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You’re right. I just want to put the scare in you. A way to pay you back for all of the years you lied to me.”

“Would the truth have been better? You’re an android brain in a clone body made for the purposes of killing people?”

“I’m okay not believing in Santa Claus.

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