“Nothing,” said Demi without pause.
Kaplan looked at Cora. “Same for you?”
The spike of fear sharpened, drilled deeper. She swallowed and replied, “No, nothing.”
Kaplan’s gaze was implacable, but it lingered on Cora. “That’s interesting.”
“You know how he is, Sol,” said Luciana, the only person in the room who didn’t seem remotely threatened by the man. Cora tried to latch onto this; if Luciana knew him and wasn’t threatened, there was probably no threat. “It’s just PR. He’s a showman, not a journalist. But he’ll drop that angle immediately if it doesn’t go anywhere.”
“If they don’t respond to it,” said Kaplan. He looked again at Cora with that blank canvas of an expression. “Do they plan on responding to it?”
“No,” Cora said reflexively. “No, I wouldn’t.”
Demi shook her head. “The Broken Seal’s been enough trouble to me and my family—I include extended family in that as well.” She nodded toward Luciana. “We can’t help you discredit him. We don’t want to turn the world against him. We don’t want anything to do with him.”
“I know we’ve had this discussion, but for the record, I feel the same way,” Luciana muttered.
“Good. Then if I were to suggest that you don’t respond for comment when the press comes knocking, you’d be amenable.”
“Of course,” said Demi.
He continued eyeing Luciana and Cora as though he had decided Demi was harmless but wasn’t so sure about the other two. Finally, he stood up and moved toward the door. Cora let out a breath.
“I do sympathize with all the pain he has caused your family,” he said, finally remembering Demi was in the room. “I don’t imagine it would surprise you to know that we do want to see The Broken Seal disbanded and Ortega extradited to stand trial for espionage.”
Demi moved toward the door. “I don’t think extraditing Nils will disband The Broken Seal.”
“Like you said, Nils Ortega is a showman,” said Kaplan. “The face of a revolution. There can’t be a revolution if it doesn’t have a face.”
“This isn’t the 1960s, Agent Kaplan,” said Demi. “Revolutions don’t need faces anymore.”
“Besides,” added Cora, “if the Fremda Memo really isn’t legit, that will discredit him anyway.”
Kaplan tilted his head toward Cora, amused. “Do you think it’s legitimate?”
Cora looked at Luciana, who was still planted on the couch, staring into the middle distance. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “After the Ampersand Event, I thought it was just Nils being an opportunist. Taking a meteorite landing and pretending it was about aliens the whole time, typical conspiracy crap. But now that there’s another one—”
“What do you think?” asked Kaplan, cutting her off and looking at Luciana.
“I think I’m under an NDA, and I’m not allowed to comment,” said Luciana.
Kaplan smiled, a strange, forced expression, and looked at Demi. “What do you think?”
Demi shrugged. “I don’t care.”
“You don’t care?” He coughed out a humorless laugh. “There’s never been a conspiracy theory that’s gotten this much media attention in the history of this country.”
“Would it change anything?”
He moved toward Demi, resting his arm on the doorframe. Feeling like her mother’s personal space was being invaded, Cora stood up, Thor whining as she rose.
“I appreciate your candor,” he said. “I dearly hope that you’re telling the truth about not having contact with him.”
A pulse of worry seemed to weaken Demi’s frame. She shook her head and smiled. “I know your agency has kept pretty heavy tabs on me and my family; you know he hasn’t tried to contact us.”
He leaned in toward her. “I don’t know anything about you. I just met you.”
Before Demi had a chance to respond, his phone buzzed. His expression changed, his eyes widening for a flash as he read the message on the phone before returning to neutral. He opened the door. “Duty calls,” he said. “We’ll be in touch.”
Neither Luciana, Cora, nor Demi said a word as they watched him walk down the footpath, get into his black Town Car, and drive away. Cora realized how tense she was and released the breath she’d been holding. Luciana seemed slightly reenergized. Demi was still rigid.
“Mom?”
With a grunt, Demi grabbed an empty vase on the table next to the door and dashed it on the driveway. Cora gasped. Demi turned to face her wide-eyed daughter and stupefied ex-sister-in-law, steeled herself.
“I’m fine.”
* * *
Demi didn’t mention the PMT issue or Cora’s firing again that night. She managed to put on a happy face for her younger two children after about an hour, and Luciana hung around and helped her drain the boxed wine they had in the fridge. By the time Demi decided to retire, she was so drunk that she stumbled off to bed without even saying good night.
“I’d better go,” said Luciana, digging through her purse airily as though she’d misplaced a memory. She hadn’t had anywhere near as much to drink as Demi had. “I might be out of town for a few days.”
“What’s the occasion?” asked Cora.
“I got invited to a friend’s cabin, and you know, it’s been a while since I went anywhere.” She was still digging through her purse, pausing when she found what she was looking for. “I, um … I have something for you.” She pulled an old flip cell phone out of her purse and handed it to Cora. “I got a couple of these, just in case.”
Cora examined it, a cheap flip phone that looked like it came from a vending machine. “I have a phone.”
“They’ve been tapping me for some time now.” Luciana gestured to the landline. “I mean, you know, obviously. So I got these burner phones. So if you want to talk or get in contact with me or anyone and you don’t want to use a line that might be tapped …” She threw a hand up and forced a thin smile. Ta-da.
Cora snorted. “Aw, my own Bat-phone. I’m a woman now.”
“Bat-phone?”
“You know.” She recalled the old ’60s Batman theme: “Da-na-na-na-na-na-na-na.”
Luciana chuckled, but the tension in her voice only made Cora more uneasy. “Ah.”
“Da-na-na-na-na-na-na-na.” Cora eyed the phone; she’d never even thought to look into burners.
“But only use it to call other burners. Don’t call your friends with it.”
“It’s a good thing I don’t have any friends.”
“And especially don’t use it to call landlines. I programmed a couple of my burner numbers in there.”
“You think I’ll need it?”
Luciana’s eyes darted to the window. “You never know.”
* * *
As Cora was heading for bed, she heard sniffling and loud, heavy breaths coming from her mother’s room. Demi is crying. Demi is drunk and crying. Say words of comfort, you inhuman monster. Say something.