"What do you think . . ." "If you have a moment . . ." "I have one question . . ."
They pressed around him like hornets; he walked through them, not making eye contact and not caring who he pushed aside. Security guards in blue berets started toward the commotion, saw who was at the center of it, and stopped. One of them whispered into a lapel mike.
He pushed through the hall doors, closing off the shouting of the reporters left outside. There was no shortage of reporters inside, either; the room was packed, every seat taken and the walls lined with people with video and still cameras.
"I wish to thank everyone for coming." Secretary-General Jayewardene was already on the dais, smiling to the reporters arrayed before him, his soft, Indian-accented voice booming from the speakers. Barbara Baden was there with him, and John Fortune with Kate standing next to him, while Lohengrin, Rusty, and Tinker stood to one side. Lohengrin was armored up and glowing white for the cameras; Rusty seemed shabby and dull alongside the German's glory. Kate appeared to be uncomfortable as she watched, not standing as close to Fortune as she usually did, not touching him at all. Once, that would have been all Michael noticed. She saw Michael and her mouth opened slightly, as if she was about to say something.
To the other side of the secretary-general, Prince Siraj stood smiling, portly under his formal Arabian dress. There were men around him - bodyguards, Michael decided.
At the dais, Jayewardene nodded his balding head. "It's my pleasure to say that we have good news for everyone. We're all very proud of what John Fortune and his team have accomplished and the restraint they displayed, and the restraint shown by the Caliphate. I am prouder still of what we have come here to announce. This is a momentous day."
There was a stir at the head of the dais as the heavy curtains were pulled open. On the wall, a huge canvas sign had been hung. A COMMITMENT TO PEACE, the letters read, with the logo of the United Nations to one side and the banner of the Caliphate on the other.
Seeing it, a fury rose inside him. Michael flailed at his chest with his upper four hands, the raging of wild drums causing those nearest him to clap hands over ears and cower, which brought everyone's gaze around to him. His throat openings flared, open-mouthed, as cameras swung their glassy cyclops eyes toward him; flashes popped and flared. "Hey, I've got the fucking real news!" he shouted, his voice louder than the PA system as Jayewardene tried to bring attention back to the podium. Now the entire room was looking his way; now the microphones were pointed in his direction with eager faces behind them. Jayewardene was standing mute in his expensive suit behind the podium, Barbara Baden whispering to him. Prince Siraj glanced worriedly from Jayewardene to his own guards, who scowled angrily in Michael's direction. Fortune pointed toward Michael, shouting orders to the security people.
"You people want the truth?" Michael roared at the crowd. "Do you want to know what actually happened, and why they don't want me standing up there with them? They sent me out there, and I . . ." He took a deep, gasping, half-sobbing breath. "I ended up killing kids for your goddamn oil. I killed children. They won't show you the pictures, they won't talk about it. They've paid off people in black, liquid money to keep them quiet. They'll tell you there's no proof and no one will admit it ever happened, but I was there and . . ."
Michael stopped. His hands dropped to his side. Somewhere in the midst of his tirade, the faces that turned to him went quizzical. They'd stopped listening. They gaped at him, whispering to each other. Michael saw a face he recognized, a reporter and blogger for Salon who had interviewed Michael a half-dozen times in the past. "Carl," he said, "you know I'm not making this up. This is import - "
He stopped again. Carl's gray eyes were wide and astonished. The man shook his head. "Adesque ad muilen freinet krium," he said.
"What the fuck . . ." Michael listened to the chaos around him - no one around him seemed to be speaking English. He could hear nothing but the babbling of nonsense syllables - no recognizable language at all. Up at the podium, Barbara Baden was smiling