The computer consul gave a satisfied beep as the program refreshed itself with an account balance fifteen million dollars enlarged. The numbers certainly looked good, and Garrison Wiles smiled to himself. A new grandchild had arrived recently, needing a proper college fund. Yes, those were some fine looking numbers. He closed the program and redirected his smile to the woman. She did not smile back; of course, she didn't look the type to ever bother with an unnecessary smile, and there was no place in less need of unnecessary smiles than business. "The transaction is complete," he said.
"Good." She snapped the phone closed in a smooth motion of her green-gloved hand. "Don't spend it all in one place."
Don't spend it all in one place. That was a good one. Did she have any idea how the finances of the wealthy truly worked? Well, some of the money would be set aside for the grandkids' college funds, but it wasn't all that hard to use up money in a single place, if one was intelligent. Was that not the concept behind investing? "I won't," he promised, and gestured to the chair across the oak desk. "Please, you may take a seat, miss."
The glare he received in return would have been enough to shrivel anyone else. Evidently this woman had no intention of sitting in a chair. She stood near the door of the office, a striking contrast of color against the wood-and-burgundy theme he had selected. He took a moment to study her. A tall woman, about thirty years of age, give or take. And quite lovely. Not that he was lustfully looking– he had been married for over forty years to a still-attractive woman whom he deeply loved– but he could still appreciate human beauty for what it was worth. And she wasn't a girl, but a woman. He hated it when pretty woman tried to look like young girls. But this woman did not. Her green dress was age-appropriate and decently clung in all the right places. That, with the long black hair worn down, made her appear ready for a charity ball rather than a business venture. Oh, well.
He sighed and clasped his hands together. "I take it, then, that you would have me uphold my end of the bargain."
"Ya think?" she replied with a definite snip. "I've already turned twenty-five million to this deal, and I expect my fair trade."
"I just can't imagine anyone who is worth that much."
"I think of it as an investment. Just take me to her."
So sad when they forwent the pleasantries of a trade. These new generations just did not have the taste for class. But what could he do? Garrison rose to his feet and gestured to the door behind him. Oak, like the desk. Hand-carved by monks in Germany. "Right this way, then."
The woman hesitated a moment, then, with the scowl she had worn since arriving, followed him through the door.
He hadn't spent much time on the prison rooms, but he figured they looked well enough. It was harder than one might think to import so many materials to a deep ocean base. Yet there was an appeal. Classic, slightly minuscule. Like an old spy movie. At least there was carpet. The woman followed in a huff, not bothering to take in the decor– or lack thereof.
"I suppose I am curious as to your situation, miss," Garrison said. No matter what, no amount of money could erase all interest.
"Stay curious. Is she healthy?"
He nodded. "Healthy as could be expected. She's not the type to let herself rot. Not a whole lot of spirit left, I'm afraid. At least the exercise remained in habit. And she eats. Again out of habit, but at least it keeps the body up."
"That's not what you told me when I paid you that first ten million."
Garrison laughed. "You only asked if she were really alive. I take it you need her healthy?"
"Duh." She nodded. "It really isn't all that simple to scrape together that much money."
"Unimaginable." He again wondered what this was all about. Of course, that would mean asking himself why he had kept the girl imprisoned all this time. "Well, I do hope she proves her use to you."
"She had better."
Garrison wasn't sure those words were meant for his ears. Well, she had plunked down the money, so he might as well ignore all quirks.
"Out of curiosity," she continued softly. "How did you fake the death? There was a body. I was there. And so I was a little surprised to hear word you had her."
He gave another laugh. This would give him something to discuss over dinner tonight. "Oh, I didn't fake the death. Someone else did that. But I know all about it. Yes, there was a body. It's amazing what one can do with a cloning formula."
The woman actually joined him in laughing. "Now it's obvious. Someone can think. Now I assume this is the place?"
They had paused at the end of the corridor. In front of another door was lone desk, occupied by three guards playing a game of cards. Garrison didn't mind at all if they did that, but letting that information out was not worth the joy of watching them jump, ashen-faced, to attention.
"This dear lady has come to pick up the prisoner," Garrison said, gesturing to the woman. "You will all be getting bonuses, of course."
One of the guards nodded and pulled out an access card– one of the multiple keys of opening the cell. Voice recognition and a finger-prick blood sample were also required, among other things. But soon enough the door was open.
Garrison had always admired the cell. It was roomy and surprising comfortable. Of course, if one was locked in it for six years that opinion might be altered. "Is this the one you want, miss?"
He caught a glance of the woman's face as he spoke, and the expression surprised him.
The scowl was completely gone, wiped from a face that now seemed incapable of cruelty, the face of a veritable angel. Her eyes had even misted some. "Yes," she whispered. "That's her."
The object of interest was sitting in the glass corner, eyes shut, limp red hair spilling to the floor. She was no longer a child, but she still looked that way. Had this girl really been the teenage brat who had dared defy him?
"Have her handcuffed, please," the woman said. "I still don't trust her."
"She has an anklet that keeps her moves in check," he replied.
The guard approached the girl and gently shook her shoulder. Her eyes flew open. They looked like an animal's eyes, Garrison suddenly thought. The changes in prisoners would never cease to amaze him. She climbed slowly but steadily to her feet and let the guard lead her to cell door. According to all reports she had been eating well, but she still looked thin. Or perhaps weak was the better term. The faded jeans she wore barely hung on her hips. At least he had insisted they provide her with normal clothes– she would have drowned in any traditional jumpsuit.
He watched, smiling, as the guard and the girl rounded the cell and through the barrier to the surrounding area, and finally through the door. He did not speak until she was a few feet in front of him. He noticed that she did not bother to look up– rather amusing. "Well, Miss Possible, I hope you enjoyed your stay. Maybe you would like to return someday."
She did not reply. Even more amusing.
It was a freaking fifty-two minute journey from that damn office to the surface building, and she had still to speak a single word. Or give a sign of being something more than catatonic, at least. Shego's teeth were hurting; she hadn't realized she had kept them clenched the entire time. "Well, Kimmie, aren't you glad to be out in the fresh air?"
Not so much as a shrug. Garrison Wiles had been right, handcuffs were superfluous.
"Come on, say something." She had her hand on Kim Possible shoulder, steering her through the parking lot. The limo was waiting, the driver already standing attention. Probably would want a tip. Maybe he had been standing out here the whole time. Weirdo. The sea air was nice, but a chill wind was picking up and the sky had turned a mottled grey. Well, enjoy what you could. She took a deep breath and smoothed back the hair strands that whipped at her face. "You have no idea what you cost me, Kimmie. I would have broken in–in fact, I tried. But this Wiles person is smart. Hell, he kept you locked up for six years."
Kim stared at the ocean's horizon, and Shego followed her gaze. The horizon was much darker, nearly black, and suddenly cracked with a shard of lightening. Yes, a storm was moving in, and Shego wanted to be well away by the time it hit land. They had another long trip ahead of them, and if Kim would just start talking...
The driver opened the door, and Kim obediently climbed inside. Good girl. Shego followed and took the seat opposite.
Weird. Definitely very weird. One of those really weird situations into which no one ever imagined getting themselves. Paying twenty-five million for the life of her enemy. Hell. And the way Kim looked... Shego didn't like it. She remembered Kim Possible, and she did not remember this thing before her.
But she would have to do.
Though sometimes Shego had to wonder if she were just being an idiot. There was probably a simpler, cheaper way to do this.
Maybe it was a pride thing. A respect thing.
"Anything to drink?" she asked.
Kim shrugged.
Wow. That was something. A physical movement from the walking zombie.
Shego opened the cooler. Her sense of drama wanted something a little more than Coke, but apparently that was all this thing had. She pulled a bottle out and handed it to Kim, who took it and stared at it a good two minutes before opening it and taking a sip. Immediately she sneezed and rubbed her nose.
"No carbonation in six years, huh?"
No response. Kim just took another, apparently less painful, swallow.
If only the girl would make eye contact! Shego took a Coke for herself. "Six years," she said. Small talk. Small talk might help. "Six years. Wow. I can't believe it has been that long. Who would have thought? I mean, everyone thought you were dead. But apparently the body they found all shot up Godfather-style was a clone. Who would have thought?" She hated repeating herself. How did one make good small talk? "It was just after your high school graduation. Three weeks, I think it was. I'll let you know that it was a lovely funeral. Everyone came. The city even donated a monument."
Kim took another sip.
Shego gave another sigh. Patience, she told herself. She had never had a problem with patience. Patience was all it would take. "You're free now, Kim. For all intents and purposes, you are free. You can do whatever you like now. Start getting your life back. I think you might like the current fashions."
Kim lifted her head. Her face looked half-dead, her eyes ghastly humongous.
"It's all over. Wiles no longer has any plans for you."
Then Kim took a breath and mumbled something.
This was it. Speech. Shego leaned forward, heart pounding. "Didn't catch that."
Kim took another breath and spoke again. "Why did you get me out?"
The obvious question. The important question. "I happen to need your help. After that, you will never hear from me again."
It still wasn't the old Kim, but at least she was speaking. "You want my help?"
Shego smiled. "Exactly. Surprising, isn't it?"