by Kelly deVos
Copeland actually looks a bit relieved. I seriously doubt that there are many marketing people eager to volunteer to go with teenagers into a war zone.
“You think we’re letting you take Peter Navarro’s son into AIRSTA?” Amelia asks. “Or that idiot, Harold Partridge?”
I shrug, as fakely casual as I can. “Terminus is actually an expert in machine language coding. He worked with my father for years. Since you don’t know anything about how Dad wrote the missile system, including what languages he may have used, sending Terminus is smart. And I won’t go without Gus.”
I’m surprised when Copeland agrees. He’s being a little too accommodating.
“Okay,” he says slowly. “But I make no assurances about your friends’ safety. Our deal covers you and your brother only.”
Rosenthal casts a sideways glance at Copeland.
Suddenly, I’m very cold. They’re putting it all on me.
The responsibility for everything that’s about to happen.
I can’t think of what to say, so I blurt out, “And I’m keeping my hair.”
Amelia glares at me.
“This is going to be fun,” she says.
We said we wouldn’t split up. We said we’d stay together. But at some point we became Us and Them. For a while I secretly thought that Dr. Doomsday got it right all along, when he wrote, “Do what you have to do to survive.” But then I realized that’s not quite it. And then I realized...it should be:
Do what you have to do to be able to live with yourself.
—MacKENNA NOVAK,
Letters from the Second Civil War
MacKENNA
Jinx is gone for a long time, leaving me stuck in a tiny room with Navarro, who can’t sit still, and Terminus, who can’t stop complaining.
So my entire world is now:
Terminus: They put a lot of pepper on those potatoes.
And.
Navarro: Susan has been gone too long.
And.
Terminus: And like horseradish on the meat. It’s messing with my stomach.
And.
Navarro: I told you we couldn’t trust these people.
I don’t know Terminus well enough to be able to say whether he’s always this obsessed with his stomach. Like, the sub ride was tough on all of us, and naming every ingredient in our food probably won’t accomplish anything. But I do know Navarro, and this behavior is pretty typical for him.
I try to use the monitor again, but I guess it’s too much to hope that we’ll get movie channels down here at the bottom of the ocean. Cycling through the various inputs, I find only black screens.
Be patient, MacKenna.
Nothing to do but wait.
Except.
Thanks to Terminus, I’ve got an e-tablet again... I think. This seems like the perfect time to work on my reports.
I get the e-tablet back from where Jinx shoved it. Behind me, Terminus is muttering about how chives make him queasy, and the heavy steps of Navarro’s boots fill the small space.
Taking the e-tablet back to the room I claimed as mine, I flop down on my stomach on the twin bed. I’m about to create a new set of files when I notice that my old notes are already there. Terminus made a point of saving my tablet from Fort Marshall and bringing it back to me.
I can’t help but smile.
Jinx is wrong about him.
Harold Partridge is okay.
I also notice that Terminus and Jinx managed to download a folder from that computer they hacked. It’s called Operation Turquoise Eagle. Oh. Background research.
Yes.
I tap it, and it expands into a crap ton of files that all have labels that would make a journalist drool. Background, Cold Fusion Theory, Crowd Psychology, Marketing... The list goes on and on.
One folder catches my eye.
Personnel.
As I open it, I tell myself I’m not looking for information about Terminus. Which is good. Because there isn’t any in that file. Instead there’s a folder called Jesen Oscar Novak.
The first part are his service records. Mostly, I know all this stuff. His Silver Star. His promotions. There’s some pics of his assignments during Operation Cedar Hawk.
The next part makes my blood boil. It’s a bunch of documents that are marked with red and blue official-looking and scary names like NSA Upstream Collection and Homeland Security Data Intercept. Some are translated reports from various foreign governments. The Spark was spying on The Opposition.
And they’d collected reports written by Stephanie Marshall.
About Dad.
Why she targeted him.
Subject’s repressed grief over death of his wife five years ago and ongoing anxiety concerning the upbringing of his children has left him with a deep desire for a family unit that exists in an idealized proto-American, heteronormative state. As such, he’s highly vulnerable to women with conventional beauty and old-fashioned mores. He is unlikely to view his domestic partner as a strong, independent operator.
Great. I think Jinx’s mom was basically saying that Dad was a fool for pretty women. She, like, monitored him like a lab rat during their marriage:
Subject continues to display little or no interest in current events and rarely discusses past military service. I met with [name redacted] today for several hours—my absence attracted no notice.
Yep. That’s what she was doing when we all thought she was teaching homeroom or grading extra credit assignments. Meeting with people whose identities were a secret—even to other spies. And my dad was probably home grilling corn on the cob.
I wish Jinx were here, because there’s a weird document that’s like part of some kind of surveillance or something. Most of the names have been blacked out. In some sections, most of the words have even been blocked out.
WIRETAP NO: XJR52738 Approved by: Hon. Richard L. Anderson
Sunday, December 19, 2020
Gen. Copeland: There’s concern in high places that Max has gone rogue.
Agent S. Marshall: My current assignment doesn’t provide the time or adequate resources for me to effectively monitor him but—
Agent Tork: Has anyone ever been able to effectively monitor Colonel Marshall?
Agent Biesecker: You’re just pissed because last week Marshall had you tailing an ice cream truck halfway to Baja.
Gen. Copeland: If he can’t be controlled, he’ll have to be eliminated.
Agent S. Marshall: You know, Harlan. You never learn. My husband is the greatest weapon The Opposition has in its arsenal. There are better ways to handle him than with threats of violence.
Agent Tork: If you’d done a better job handling him, we wouldn’t be here.
Agent Biesecker: Yeah, well, you volunteering to take him out, Tork?
Agent S. Marshall: It would be like trying to kill a ghost.
I don’t know what to make of any of that. I close those files and open one called Operation Overview.
Then. My heart stops.
My eyes travel over a set of new commission papers.
Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.
Like Toby, Dad has joined the Provisional Army of the New United States.
He has a mission.
Operation Turquoise Eagle.
Survival Probability: >10%
I want to punch something or kick something or do something.
Dad lied right to my face when he said he’d wait for us at Fort Marshall and, honestly, I was a total fool for believing his crap. I should have known that he’d never ever sit around playing cards while we ran around with The Spark’s little army. He signed up to lead a small force into the cold fusion research lab at Los Alamos in New Mexico. They’re going to destroy one of those damn missiles.
At least, they’re going to try. According to the mission, the
y have to wait for another team to take out another missile in Oregon and then evade a massive military force to get to the Los Alamos facility.
Dad’s team is going in.
They aren’t expected to make it out.
I wonder if Dad discussed this with Toby. I don’t know which would hurt more. If my brother knew...or if he didn’t.
Plus, it gets worse.
In another folder, colored red and marked TOP SECRET, is a folder called Operation Objectives. The primary objective is listed as “Create fear, shock and outrage.” Not only did The Spark leak their plans to The Opposition spies, Copeland doesn’t expect the other team in Oregon to succeed. The real objective is to instigate battles that will scare the hell out of everybody. It’s clear from the way this stuff is written that Rosenthal doesn’t know.
One line stands out: Command not advised of sub-level operations.
Copeland wants a war.
He’s hoping The Opposition will find a way to detonate another one of those damn cold fusion bombs. And he isn’t going to wait around for one to happen on its own.
Dad is walking into a trap.
Seriously, MacKenna. You have to do something.
Maybe I can get to Rosenthal, but, like seriously. On what planet will he believe some kid over his top general?
No.
It’s up to me.
I have to warn Dad.
And I remember my brother’s words. You’re headed topside tonight anyway. Jo Pletcher is leaving on the submarine in an hour.
I have to be on it too.
LEAD: Student journalist must stow away on experimental submarine.
Um...okay...but how?
I fluff up my pillows and shove them under the covers, making a human outline. The way I used to do when we lived in Boulder and I used to sneak out to sleep in Janie MacDonald’s tree house. It’s getting late, and if I play my cards right, Jinx and Navarro might assume I’ve gone to bed. I feel like I should pack something. But we’ve got absolutely no gear.
I turn off the light to my room. A small night-light pops on next to the door. It looks calm. Kinda serene. I grab the e-tablet.
When I go back into the common room, Navarro has finally gotten tired of wearing a hole in the rug and decided to take a shower. I can hear the water running in the small bathroom that’s next to his bedroom.
Terminus leans over in the armchair, moaning and talking to himself. “How come no one else was bothered with how greasy that gravy was? I mean—”
I toss the e-tablet into his lap. “Shh!” I say. And then I add in a whisper, “I need you to do that thing with the door again.”
He sits up. “Thing with the door?”
“Open. The. Door,” I say, with a fierceness I hardly feel.
I go to his room, position his pillows in the center of his bed, grab his bag and turn off the room lights. In the common room, Terminus has opened the door like I’ve asked, but he’s got an expression on his face that’s equal parts terror, horror and shock.
I poke my head into the hallway. It’s quiet and empty, and still cheerfully and brightly lit. The same as before. It’s weird being down here, where there’s no day and no night.
“Come on,” I whisper, motioning for him to follow me. There’s no way in hell I’m letting my father go into that research lab.
Not without me anyway.
I put the tablet in Terminus’s duffel bag. “The Perun is headed to the surface,” I tell him. “I’m going with them...
“...and you’re gonna help me.”
Geniuses like Maxwell Marshall might create civilization. But fanatics like Ammon Carver create history.
—AMELIA AOKI
Report: The Image of the Second Civil War
Stamped: Top Secret
JINX
By the time Toby and two other soldiers escort me back to the dorm, it’s past nine. We exchange a series of tense glances as our boots click on the clean white tile floor. The old Toby might have come into our room to talk. To reassure us. The new Toby is off with Copeland’s team to his own quarters near the Moon Room.
Sooner or later MacKenna will have to confront the new Toby.
We all will.
I step into the dorm, and Toby closes the door without saying goodbye.
I’ve got a package of paperwork now, and it’s full of reading and instructions from Amelia. Mostly scripts to memorize. Ridiculous things they want me to say and the way they want me to sit or stand when I say them. There’s a tab called BRAND GUIDELINES. Which is a lot of garbage about keeping my uniform neat, not ever being too sweaty and staying in my “reluctant hero character.”
Oh blargh.
I’m dying to get back to all the real intel. That briefing was total crap. There was something that Copeland wasn’t telling me. Probably a lot of somethings, actually. The files we stole off the research computer contained tons of stuff I didn’t have time to check out. They probably explained the real nature of our mission.
I’d be willing to bet that MacKenna has been reading while I was gone. Which is good. She’s way better at research than me, has read more than me and knows a lot more about Rosenthal than me. She’ll know what’s going on.
In the common room, Navarro is alone. All the lights are off except a single lamp on a squat end table next to his chair. He’s taken a shower and is sitting in the chair where Terminus was sitting earlier.
“Um...hi,” he says, his face turning pink.
“Hi,” I say. It’s supposed to sound casual. Instead, it’s...guilty.
Even from my position behind the sofa, I can smell the sharp mint of the shampoo that must be in the SEALAB bathroom. Somehow Navarro manages not to look dorky in these stupid blue jumpsuits we’re all wearing. His top button has escaped from a frayed loop, and I can see a hint of toned chest.
Focus.
I force myself to go to the kitchenette, flip on the small light and look for the e-tablet. “You’ll never guess what Copeland and Rosenthal want to do.” I try to talk the way we always talk. The way we focus on what’s happening.
Never on what’s happening between us.
“You mean that they want to make you some kind of war hero?” he says.
Well, apparently, he can guess.
I rummage around under the coffee maker and in the basket of coffee filters and tea bags sitting next to it. No e-tablet. I go toward the bedrooms. The door to Mac’s room is shut, and I’m about to open it when Navarro says, “I think she’s asleep. It’s been...things have been...um...you know.”
Do I know that it’s 9 p.m. and we nearly died in a bomb blast, a sinking ship and the submarine ride from hell? Yeah, I do know. The exhaustion sinks in as I remember the day’s events. I can see why Mac might have wanted to get some sleep. I’m cold and heavy with the weight of everything that’s happened. All the loss. All the destruction. Today, we saw mankind at our worst and, even though we saw a lot of the destruction from afar, everything came at a huge personal cost for countless people.
Tonight, how many sisters are missing their brothers the way I miss Charles? How many people have no hope of ever seeing the face of someone they love again?
I hesitate with my hand on MacKenna’s door and then slide it open a crack to reveal her dark room and the silhouette curled up on her bunk.
“Can we...talk for a minute?” Navarro asks.
My pulse flutters. What would we talk about? How we’re united in the fact that our parents did terrible things for which we might never be able to atone?
I decide that the e-tablet can wait and close MacKenna’s door, then go back to Navarro in the common room. I take a seat in the center of the sofa, leaving me a few feet away from the cascading shadows created by the flickering lamp. Placing the binder from Amelia on the coffee table in between us, I’m about to brief him
on everything that Copeland said.
Instead.
“Susan,” he begins in a quiet voice. “My father—”
My father’s choices are probably the reason that Peter Navarro is dead.
“He’s a hero.” I scoot to the end of the sofa, closing the distance between us.
There’s a long pause.
“I know,” he says with a small sniffle. “But I’m probably the only one who ever will.”
“Well, I know too.” I reach for his hand. I wonder how much of Gus’s opinions about The Opposition and The Spark were forged out of the ashes of what happened to his father.
In the end, maybe everything is far more personal than we want to admit.
His warm fingers wrap around mine. “I never wanted to lie to you. Or keep things from you. I thought it would be safer if you didn’t...” He stares off into the darkness of the corner of the room.
I don’t want to lie to him either. Or keep secrets. Or hide behind cryptic phrasings. He needs to know, and I need to tell him. “I think...” I trail off.
I think my dad sold your dad out to buy time to defect to The Spark.
What are the right words for that?
“I think my dad—”
“He told me,” Navarro interrupts. He avoids my eyes.
Almost dizzy with shock, I bite my lower lip. “He told you? He told you what?”
Navarro sighs. “That he and Pops worked on Project Cold Front together. It wasn’t exactly optional, you know. When it became clear that the tech was going to work, it scared the absolute shit out of them. They decided to make contact with The Spark in hopes of stopping the program. Dr. Marshall got to Rosenthal at some point, but it was too late. The Spark already knew about the operation and had a plan in place to...” He sniffs again. “To kill Pops. Your dad had to decide between...”
Between sabotaging the missile computers or helping Dr. Navarro.
And I guess we know what he chose.
Do what you have to do in order to survive.
My pulse flutters. “You knew? All this time, you knew that? And you still helped me anyway? Why?”
