"It belongs to Hector," said Achilles. "But ... how can I bear to tell you this? Suriyawong was not alone in his office when the building was blown to bits. Another person contributed scraps of flesh and bone and a fine aerosol of blood to the general gore. Unfortunately, this means I can't drag his body around the walls of Troy."
Petra was sick inside. Had he heard her tell Virlomi, "I am Briseis"? And whom was he talking about, saying those things about Hector?
"Just tell me what you're talking about or don't," said Petra.
"Oh, don't tell me you haven't seen those little messages all over the forums," said Achilles. "About Briseis, and Guinevere, and every other tragic romantic heroine who got trapped with some overbearing bunduck."
"What about them?"
"You know who wrote them," said Achilles.
"Do IT'
"I forgot. You refuse to play guessing games. All right, it was Bean, and you knew that."
Petra felt unwanted emotions welling up-she suppressed them. If those messages were posted by Bean, then he had lived through the previous assassination attempt. But that would mean Bean was "HectorVictorious," and Achilles' little allegory meant that Bean was indeed in Bangkok, and Achilles had spotted him and tried again to kill him. He had died along with Suriyawong.
"I'm glad to have you to tell me what I know. It saves my having to actually use my own memory."
"I know it's tearing you up, my poor Pet. The funny thing is, dear Briseis, Bean was just a bonus. It was Suriyawong that we targeted from the start."
"Fine. Congratulations. You're a genius. Whatever it is you want me to say so you'll shut up and let me get some dinner."
Talking rudely to Achilles was the only illusion of freedom Petra was able to retain. She figured it amused him. And she wasn't dumb enough to talk to him that way in front of anyone else.
"You had your heart set on Bean saving you, didn't you?" said Achilles. "That's why when old Graff sent that stupid request for information, you tipped that Virlomi kid to try responding to Bean."
Petra tasted despair. Achilles really did monitor everything.
"Come on, the water fountain's the most obvious place to bug," said Achilles.
"I thought you had important things to do."
"Nothing's more important in my life than you, Pet," said Achilles. "If I could just get you to come into my tent."
"You've kidnapped me twice. You watch me wherever I go. I don't know how I could be farther in your tent than I am."
"In ... my ... tent," said Achilles. "You're still my enemy."
"Oh, I forgot, I'm supposed to be so eager to please my captor that I surrender my volition to you."
"If I wanted that, I'd have you tortured, Pet," said Achilles. "But I don't want you that way."
"How kind of you."
"No, if I can't have you freely with me, as my friend and ally, then I'll just kill you. I'm not into torture."
"After you've used my work."
"But I'm not using your work," said Achilles.
"Oh, that's right. Because Suriyawong is dead, so you don't need to worry now about having any real opposition."
Achilles laughed. "Sure. That's it."
Which meant, of course, that she hadn't understood at all.
"It's easy to fool a person you keep living in a box. I only know what you tell me."
"But I tell you everything," said Achilles, "if only you were bright enough to get it."
Petra closed her eyes. She kept thinking of poor Suriyawong. So serious all the time. He had done his best for his country, and then it was his own commander-in-chief who killed him. Did he know? I hope not.
If she kept thinking of poor Suriyawong, she wouldn't have to think of Bean at all.
"You're not listening," said Achilles.
"Oh, thanks for telling me that," said Petra. "I thought I was."
Achilles was about to say something else, but then he cocked his head. The hearing aid he wore was a radio receiver tied to his desk. Somebody had just started talking to him.
Achilles turned from her to his desk. He typed a few things, read a few things. His face showed no emotion-but that was a real change, since he had been smiling and pleasant until the voice came. Something had gone wrong. Indeed, Petra knew him well enough now that she thought she recognized the signs of anger. Or maybe-she wondered, she hoped-fear.
"They aren't dead," Petra said.
"I'm busy," he said.
She laughed. "That's the message, isn't it? Once again, your assassins have piffed it. If you