CHAPTER 14
“It’s a good thing your maid is a lousy shot,” I hiss to Yellow as soon as I arrive back. She and Red are waiting for me. The Narc is nowhere to be seen, but still Yellow looks over her shoulder as I slip the Annum necklace over my head and hand it to Red.
“What are you talking about?” Yellow asks.
“She fired a gun at my head. At my head.”
Yellow’s hand flies to her mouth. “No.”
I nod.
“No freaking way. Inez has never touched a gun in her life. She wouldn’t know what to do with one.”
“Well, thank god for that.” I sigh and put my hand on the wall to steady myself. I’m still shaky from my near-assassination, and it doesn’t help that the projection turned my knees into blobs of gelatin. “Is Indigo back yet?”
“No,” Red says in a hushed tone. “He went back much farther than you did. He’s not due back until tomorrow morning at the earliest.” Then he reaches out and touches my shoulder. “Seriously, are you okay?”
Oh great, it’s the concerned voice. No, thank you.
I push off the wall. “I’m fine. And I found the memo.”
I tell Yellow and Red word-for-word what it said. Both are silent when I’m done.
“My dad knew about a secret arm of Annum Guard.” Yellow says it very matter-of-factly, but I know inside she’s trying to come to grips with the whole situation. “I don’t understand. That’s a really dangerous thing to be playing with. Why would he do that to us?”
Red shakes his head. “Not important right now. Let’s focus on the facts. We’ve gotten our first bread crumb, but we’re still a ways off from knowing the what. We also need to figure out the who—Cairo—and the why. Iris, what are you thinking?”
“Um . . .” I try to focus. Try to think of Red as my boss, because, let’s face it, that’s what he is now. I’ve trusted him with this, and now I have to let him lead. I concentrate on examining what I know. “I’m thinking that our three prime suspects are related to the people sitting upstairs going through boxes of our sensitive information.”
“Exactly,” Red says. He looks from me to Yellow. “We’re going back to Phase One. I want the two of you to find out everything you can about our interns. Their pasts, their families, their political connections. There has to be a lead we can follow.” He looks back to me. “If I can distract Bonner tonight, do you think Blue can hack into the personnel files and access the background checks we had to run on them?”
“Of course he can.”
Red nods. “The vice president, the secretary of defense, a senator. One of them has to be behind this. I don’t think I need to tell you both to tread very, very carefully. I still don’t know exactly what this blackout team entails, but I think you’re right, Iris. I think the team is alive and operational and highly uncomfortable with the fact we’re getting closer to XP. And I think it’s very suspicious that Bonner knows about XP and isn’t following any leads. I’m not saying she’s a mole—the mole, if there is one—but I am saying that for now, she’s not to be trusted.”
And then we hear it. The sound of boxy heels stomping down a concrete stairwell.
I exchange a look with Yellow, then all of us whip around to see the Narc rounding the corner. Did she hear us?
“You’re back,” Bonner says in a flat tone. If she overheard us, she’s not giving it away.
“As of about thirty seconds ago, yes,” I say. I hope my voice is cool and collected.
“And? The DOT meeting?”
“It was a wash. I wasn’t able to gain access to the meeting. It was held behind closed doors, and I couldn’t come up with a cover that would let me inside. I failed. I’m sorry.”
“That’s disappointing. I’ll see to it this is noted in your file.”
I don’t respond. Getting a bad grade on my report card is the least of my worries right now.
“Well, now that you’re back, we could use the extra pair of hands on the new boxes that arrived this morning. You, too, Yellow.”
“Of course,” Yellow and I say at the same time, although her voice is way more chipper than mine.
She and Red exchange a glance, and then we leave Red in the hallway and follow Bonner up the stairs.
“Was my dad there?” Yellow whispers. “In the past?”
“No.”
Both of us are quiet as Bonner holds open the door. I can see into the library. Abe sits at one of the desks and gives me a quick wave. More of a “hi” than a “welcome back.”
Yellow slows down next to me as Bonner enters the library. “And what about me? You didn’t see me, right?”
Those big black boots flash in my mind. The years of relentless teasing I could milk from this. But then I look at Yellow’s bloodshot eyes. I remember how she gave up months of her life to help me when I ran from Alpha. She’s the closest thing to a best friend I’ve ever had.
“Nope. You guys must have still been at camp.”
Bonner clears her throat from inside the library. She’s staring right at me.
“Sorry!” Yellow calls. “Coming!” She brushes past me. I haven’t seen her look so relieved in months.
That night, we’re all sitting around the dining room table—all of us except for Indigo and the interns—when Bonner’s cell phone chirps on the table. She’s the only one exempt from the no-phones-at-meals rule she set up when she arrived. Red is sitting next to her, and his eyes glance over at the screen, but Bonner grabs it out of view.
“Have to take this,” she says as she hurries out the door.
I’m still looking at Red. He puts a finger to his lips and stabs a green bean with his fork.
And then Bonner is back. “I’m sorry, I have to run out for an hour or so. Let’s try to make some more headway on those boxes before I get back, yes?” Technically it’s a question, but her tone leaves no doubt it’s a command.
In another second, she’s gone. Out of the room, out the front door, out into the night. Red doesn’t waste any time. He sets down his fork and stands. “You three”—he looks from me to Abe to Yellow—“go. I haven’t bought you much time.”
“What’s going on?” Green demands, his fork still dangling a few inches from his mouth.
“Yeah, what is this?” Violet asks.
“I’m designing new missions for you,” Red says. “For all of you. We have our top suspects, and I’m working on putting together missions that occurred when the three suspects were in Boston. I have a feeling that any blackout information is going to be found here, locally. Hopefully I’ll have the missions ready to go when Indigo gets back. We can’t delay on this.”
“I don’t understand what’s going on,” Green says, finally dropping his fork.
Red waves his hand in the air. “I’ll fill you in.” Then he looks at me. “What are you waiting for?”
I spring up. Abe and Yellow do the same. We rush into the living room, then stop. Abe’s shoulder brushes mine. He gives me the smallest, thin-lipped smile. I smile back. Trust your gut. That’s my motto. And right now, in this moment, my gut is telling me that Abe and I are meant to be.
We’ll fix us. We will.
Yellow jerks her chin toward the library. “The computers in there?”
Abe shakes his head. “Nope, let’s go straight to the source.”
Yellow and I follow him to Bonner’s office. Abe reaches into his pocket and takes out the rectangular metal box he’s been tinkering with for weeks. The scrambler. He holds it to Bonner’s keypad, and the lock clicks open. I guess he finally perfected it.
“Remind me that I need to loop over the security tape when we’re done,” he says as he swings the door open, looking up to the camera aimed right at the door. He holds the door for Yellow and me, and as I pass, his fingers graze my knuckles. It sends electricity jolting through my entire body, and I flash back to freshman year—to the spark I’d feel every time he touched me. That spark has since settled into a flame, but it’s still burning.<
br />
We’ll fix us.
Abe shuts the door.
“What’s our game plan?” I ask. “There are three of us, so we each take an intern and start digging?”
Yellow picks the lock on the file cabinet in under five seconds. Honestly, why do people bother with them, especially here?
“Sounds good,” Yellow says as she takes out three files and plops one on the desk. “I’ll take Paige.”
“Colton!” I claim. Mostly because my curiosity is getting the better of me. I would love to go digging for Colton’s dirty little secrets. Yellow hands me the file.
Abe flicks on Bonner’s computer and sits in her chair. “You sure you don’t want to take Baxter?” he throws at me.
“Excuse me?”
“Oh, come on. I’ve seen the way you look at each other.”
My hands clench into fists. I look over at Yellow. She looks down at the file.
“Look, I don’t know what you think is going on, but I assure you there is nothing between me and anyone.” I take a breath. “And for the record, petty jealousy isn’t a good color for you.” And then I stare at him, daring him to contradict me.
Abe reaches up and rubs his temple. “I’m sorry. I just . . . I’m sorry.” He looks down and flips open his folder while he’s waiting for the computer to start up, and his brow instantly furrows. I guess that’s the best apology I’m going to get.
So all this time—all this stupid fighting—was it because Abe was jealous? He’s so not the jealous type. He never has been.
I don’t know what’s gotten into him lately.
I open Colton’s file. It’s pretty slim. Looks like we’re going to have to go deep into our country’s classified files to find anything worth reading. But still, I read page one.
“Huh,” Abe says behind me. I glance over and see he’s on a search engine, not in a government directory. I turn back to the file.
Colton is two years older than me. His dad—Joe—was born in New England but his family moved to Texas when he was three. He met the future VP at the University of Texas. They married, then moved to Cambridge so she could get a master’s degree in political science from Harvard, blah blah blah, who cares? I flip the paper over and smile.
Colton’s freshman year GPA at Harvard was a whopping 1.8. Do they even let you stay at the school with a D-plus average, or did some money exchange hands? I bet it’s the latter. There was an arrest when Colton was sixteen for underage drinking and disorderly conduct but it was quickly hushed up—shocker. A few parking tickets, a bunch of speeding tickets, but nothing that links Colton to XP or the blackout team.
“You guys,” Abe whispers. “You can stop. I think it’s Baxter.”
I actually feel dizzy for a second and ground myself by putting both palms flat on the desk.
“What?” I finally say. “Are you just saying that because—”
“Of course not.” He takes a heavy breath, and I’m not sure if it’s out of frustration. “The first thing I saw”—he nods toward the file—“is that his middle name is Teremun.”
“Yeah, I knew that. It’s a family name. The maiden name of one of his moms.” And then I instantly feel foolish. I know something’s coming. Something big. Something that I should have caught, based on the way Abe’s staring at me.
“It struck me as interesting, so I looked it up. It’s Egyptian.”
“Egyptian?” Yellow says, then she gasps. “Like—”
“Cairo,” Abe finishes. He turns the computer screen toward us. “Mike’s mom Layla was born there. Her family immigrated to America when she was young, but I guess they still have ties there. And big ones, it looks like. That venture capital firm she started? Guess who its biggest investor is? An Egyptian engineering and construction firm whose CEO was educated here. At Yale. Where both of Mike’s mothers went. This is too big a coincidence to ignore.”
I shake my head. “It can’t be Baxter. He’s the most normal of all of them.” I think of T. rexes and it makes me smile—again.
But the smile disappears when I look at Abe. “It’s usually the ones you’d least expect,” Abe says.
I wait a second to react. I can’t worry about this right now. About Abe. About whether I’ll be invited to Rosh Hashanah dinner at his parents’ house in September. About the framed Night of the Living Dead film cell I found on eBay that I’d planned on buying him for our third anniversary. Maybe Abe is right. Maybe we do need a break.
“That’s such a cliché. You took the same profiling classes I did at Peel. It’s usually the ones you’d most expect. You know that.”
“Does any of that matter right now?” Yellow asks. She shuts Paige’s file. “Mike Baxter is the best lead we have.” She nods at the computer. “We need to determine how the secretary of defense figures into all of this.”
Abe’s gaze lingers on mine before he swivels back around. “I tried,” he says. He pulls up a search engine with the United States seal in the upper left corner; his fingers dance across the keyboard, and in a few seconds, the screen goes black.
ACCESS DENIED
“But just as I suspected, all info on the secretary is hidden behind another firewall. It’s going to take days to crack it.”
“That’s time we don’t have,” I say.
We’re all quiet for a few moments. Then I flip Colton’s file shut and toss it on top of Paige’s. “Okay. For now, we focus on Mike Baxter. Let’s find out everything from the information we can access. That’s the best we’re going to do for now.”
“Agreed,” Yellow says. She stuffs the folder back in the cabinet and locks it.
Abe erases our presence from the security footage in about thirty seconds, then rolls Bonner’s chair to where it was. He doesn’t look at me on the way out.
And I’m too annoyed to care.
CHAPTER 15
The next morning, Red pokes his head into the library. “I need Iris and Yellow for a minute.”
Yellow and I don’t move. Instead we look to Bonner, who sets down the stack of papers she’s thumbing through and glares at Red. “Why?”
“I want to start historical prep for Yellow on the Hartford mission—”
“I thought we decided that mission wasn’t to take place until next week at the earliest,” Bonner interrupts. “We’re already so behind on the boxes we do have. It’s not wise to add another layer of documentation just yet.”
“I know,” Red says, “but it’s a time period Yellow is unfamiliar with. I want to make sure we give her plenty of time to prep. We can’t afford another failure.” He jerks his head in my direction, and even though I know he’s saying it just for Bonner, it still kind of stings. “And I found a few discrepancies in Iris’s DOT report. I’d like to do another debriefing.”
Bonner looks around the room and sighs. “It’s going to be more work for everyone else, but fine.”
Really? She has Green, Violet, Abe, and our three interns. How much more help does she need?
Yellow and I scramble up. I don’t look at anyone on the way out, especially not Abe or Mike. Abe was quiet and distant all night. Stewing. He’s always been the pot slowly simmering on the stove, while I’m the pressure cooker ready to explode at a moment’s notice. Some things never change.
Yellow and I follow Red downstairs to one of the briefing rooms. We drop into seats, and I pick up a pencil.
“Don’t take notes,” Red says. I let the pencil fall to the table. “No paper trail on this, understand?”
I nod. Yellow does the same.
“The vice president has made a number of stops in Boston in the last few years. A dozen or so. But based on what you guys and Blue found out about Baxter, I think we need to shift the focus to the defense secretary for the immediate future. Agreed?”
“Yes,” Yellow says, sitting up straight and folding her hands on the table.
“Yeah, sure,” I mumble.
“Secretary Howe has made only two official visits to Boston in the last six years. As y
ou no doubt know, he’s been the secretary of defense only for the past three years. What you may not know is before that, he was CEO of National Defense.”
I do know that. We found it out last night with a simple Internet search. National Defense manufactures war goods. Exactly the kind of thing Eagle does. National Defense also has a mercenary soldier wing. Private soldiers the US can rent when it needs military help.
“In addition, Senator Wharton made a highly unusual trip to Boston six years ago, around the time the blackout memo was authored. The senator was not here on official government business, and his travel log seems to be deliberately vague. He came in on a morning flight, had a lunch meeting, and flew out again the same day. I know we should be focusing on Howe, but there’s something about the visit that seems off. I think we should investigate.”
Yellow and I nod in agreement.
Red crosses his arms over his chest. “That’s one mission. The other two involve Secretary Howe. His first visit was just recently. An anniversary celebration for the USS Constitution. The secretary was in town for that and, it appears, happened to take a detour to meet with a few of his old friends from National Defense. Definitely worth following up on.
“And the second is the jackpot. Six years ago, there was a fundraiser at the Back Bay brownstone of John Leighton.”
He pauses like we should know who that is.
“Of Leighton Capital.”
Another pause.
None of this is ringing a bell. I look over at Yellow, and even though she’s nodding along, she’s doing that wrinkled nose thing she does when she’s confused.
“It’s one of the largest real-estate investment firms in the country,” Red says in his mildly annoyed tone. “Leighton made headlines last year when he tried—and failed—to buy the Red Sox.”
“Oh, okay.” I remember reading about that.
“Anyway, Leighton held a private party at his home to benefit the reelection campaign of Congresswoman Barbara Trabandt.” He shakes his head. “That’s unimportant. What’s key is that Howe, Wharton, and Caroline Caldwell were all in attendance.”
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