Flagg stares at the ceiling. He remembers scaling the cliffside with Katniss. It was a beautiful night. So many stars. He was feeling good, because he’d pared his gear down to just twenty-five pounds, including the Remington. There were three clips for it Velcroed to his torso and five on his hip for the Glock. He knew from practice that he could reload both in less than ten seconds. Beside him Katniss looped the rope and pulled herself up, walking the wall like Batman. He’d known her for three years. She was running from something too, but she never said what. They’d both grown up on Marvel movies and Hollywood fables of self-empowerment, where rules and regulations never stopped you on your mission if your heart was pure. But what had they ever known in their lives except powerful people telling them they couldn’t do things? Can’t go there. Can’t fix that. Can’t punish your abuser. Can’t change the laws. Can’t better yourself.
A cool breeze rose from the east as they reached the plateau. This last bit was the tricky part. They’d have to free climb ten feet and pull themselves up and over. They unclipped silently. Katniss went first, dirt from the climb falling on Flagg, who had to duck his head to keep from swallowing it. When she was up, she flashed her Magnum over the edge. He reached up, grabbed a jut of shale. It broke cleanly, and for a second he thought he was dead, but then his other hand grabbed hold and he lunged into the cliff face, stopping himself from going down.
“Goddamn,” he said quietly, his heart pounding out of his chest. Then he was up and over. He knew from the walkie that the Prophet and the kid were inside the gate, moving toward the house. From his low position he couldn’t see any guards. He and Katniss were lying in the grass on the far side of the pool. Through his scope, Katniss scanned the dark windows of the house. There was a dim light on in the kitchen but no movement. Probably something they left on all night. It was getting on to be two thirty in the morning.
Flagg tapped Katniss’s shoulder. Together they rose and low walked toward the house, rifles up. The trick was to avoid the motion sensors. They had identified a rocky outcropping above the port side of the house that would give them high-ground superiority, and they climbed to it now, moving through a terraced garden past cacti and succulents.
Katniss took a knee, and Flagg settled in behind a rock. He saw Felix, Simon, and the Prophet sprint across the driveway and flatten themselves against the house. From his walkie he hears: “Here we go. We breach in three, two, one.”
Flagg and Katniss saw them enter the house, saw the lights flare. And then the night lit up, muzzle flashes popping from the roof, as bullets sprayed the rocks around them. Flagg felt fire in his left eye. He heard Katniss grunt and go down. He ducked, feeling shale rain down on him as what seemed like hundreds of shots raked the rocks above him.
He put a hand on Katniss to drag her to him, but the top of her head was missing and she was bleeding from the chest. Before he could retreat, a ricochet pinged off the wall behind him and punched him in the side, and he fell forward into a stone hammer that knocked him senseless. Only then did it hit him. It was an ambush, and they were fucked.
Margot
The day everything changes starts like any other day. You wake and check the temperature. You pee and scroll through your emails, maybe scan the news. You have coffee and eggs or tea and cereal or milk and toast. But, of course, it’s not just any other day. It is the seventh day of your Senate confirmation hearing for a seat on the Supreme Court.
At the witness table, Margot sits up straighter. She has been answering question after question with the precision of a laser-guided missile, always on the lookout for gaffes, terrified she will lose her patience and answer emotionally. Both the Drinkers and the Cooks are suspicious of her motives. Even though Margot did the tour, and Jay called ahead to preach her bona fides, the Drinkers find it confusing that a president from the Party of Lies would nominate a judge from the Party of Truth. The Cooks, meanwhile, may believe in bipartisan compromise in spirit, but in practice they’d rather have a liberal. They worry she’s a Trojan horse, sent to trick them. And yet neither side can find an actual objection to a jurist as qualified and dignified as Margot. And so they agitate, looking for flaws they can sink their teeth into, and what seemed like a slam dunk a month ago has settled into a quagmire of grievances.
Behind her, Remy keeps his eyes focused on the bench. He wears a crisp blue suit with a white pocket square and horn-rimmed glasses. Hadrian is at the hotel with the babysitter, though Hadrian hates it when they call her that, seeing as he is fourteen.