He sweeps past her into his wife’s room, where Mrs. Claymore is sitting next to the fireplace, once again staring into oblivion.
“Darling!” Claymore calls out, his tone rich with what sounds like genuine tenderness. “Are you having a nice evening?”
She turns her head and smiles blankly.
Claymore leans down to give her a kiss on the cheek. “We have some young guests.”
“That’s nice,” she says as her unfocused eyes drift toward us. “Have they seen Amanda?”
“No, I’m afraid not,” Claymore answers. “But I’ve got our best people searching for her right now.”
She looks back to the fire. “You’re so good to me. Thank you.”
She seems only dimly aware that we’re here. Did they drug her or is this all an act? I can’t tell. If she’s faking it, she’s doing a very good job. I also have to admit that there’s a possibility her dementia act isn’t an act at all, even if she did seem totally lucid only minutes ago.
Claymore sits in a wingback chair opposite to the one Mrs. Claymore is sitting in. He reaches over and pats his wife’s knee. Turning to us, he points to the sofa. “Both of you, sit. Make yourselves comfortable.”
When I don’t immediately comply, I’m coaxed onto the sofa with the help of Mikey’s pistol pressed against the base of my skull. Thomas gets the same VIP treatment. Right now I desperately wish there were some obvious switch I could flip to use that superstrength I had earlier, but I’ve never been able to access my Velocius abilities at will. I just have to wait for instinct to kick in.
I try to reach over and take Thomas’s hand but Claymore doesn’t like this. He gestures to his goons, who move us to opposite ends of the sofa.
Claymore clasps his hands and smiles, like this is all just a big misunderstanding between us, like all this mayhem and pain will get wrapped up with a heart-to-heart just like some half-hour sitcom. “Let’s just open up the lines of communication between us, Angel. It was very frustrating for me not to be able to find out more about you since your triumphant return to New York. It’s not easy to hide things from me, and yet . . . you’ve been hidden very well. The FBI has done an exemplary job at shielding you from me.”
“Then why did they turn on me?” I demand.
“They didn’t turn on you so much as turn a blind eye,” Claymore says. “With a lot of persuasion from me.”
“So they just walked away and let your people have a crack at me.” I shoot a glare at the limo driver. He gives me a two-finger salute across his brow, and I really, really want to return it with a one-finger salute of my own.
“Essentially, yes.”
Maybe if I can keep Claymore talking, something will trigger my Velocius abilities and I’ll be able to get us out of here. At the very least, if I stall long enough, Tai will realize we’re in trouble. “I have to admit, I am curious about how you got my federal shadows to ditch me. Even you can’t be rich enough to bribe a federal agency.”
He shrugs. “I convinced them that I could dispose of a looming threat to our society. To every society.”
“If I’m such a huge threat, why didn’t they just kill me themselves? That’s easier than outsourcing the job, isn’t it?”
Another shrug. “For various pesky legal reasons and the ever-present threat of scandal, governments like ours don’t directly participate in that kind of cleanup operation. But fortunately, the world is full of people who do the hands-on dirty work that allows others to carry on blithely, even guiltlessly. Thomas knows. He used to work with one of the best. He might well have become one of the best if things had turned out differently. If you hadn’t happened.”
I know he’s trying to get a rise out of me, so I just smile. “You’re giving me a lot of credit. I’ve singlehandedly ruined Thomas’s life and I’m a looming threat to society?”
“Don’t be so modest. The Feds have known all along that you’re a force to be reckoned with. And you’d be capable of causing much more trouble if you fell under the influence of certain people. People who would love to expose some of the government’s best-kept secrets to the whole world.”
“The Radical Pacifists,” I say.
Thomas manages a feeble scoff. “I can’t believe the Feds thought those jokers were something to be afraid of.”
“Oh, as a matter of fact, it didn’t take much to convince their threat assessment experts. The Radical Pacifists are a very scary bunch. It’s almost as if they were tailor-made to strike fear in the hearts of secretive government entities.”
Even without a Velocius brain boost, I realize what his smirk means. “Wait. Are you saying—you manufactured them?” I say.
“Not wholly. Let’s say I ‘discovered’ them and gave them an infusion of professional help. That was enough to put them on the government’s radar.” I remember Thomas’s message board intel: flush with cash.
“I suppose these guys are their perfect nightmare,” Thomas says.
“Absolutely. The Radical Pacifists have made it their mission to expose the military and tradecraft secrets of every country on earth. Not just who’s spying on whom, but all the cutting-edge research and development that countries hope will protect them in the future. They want to dump everything onto the Internet for anyone to see. They believe that if this information is made available to everyone, it will mean everyone is on a level playing field, and there will be peace through equality. No one will have the weaponry advantage.”
Claymore shakes his head pityingly, as if this group is merely a misguided child needing a firm hand.
“So you used them to scare the Feds,” I say. “You made it look like I might be the Radical Pacifists’ next big story.”
“Exactly. From my perspective, it was an incredible bargain. Very little invested to yield maximum results. The funny thing is, the Feds are the ones who gave me the idea in the first place. After that—unfortunate—situation at your hospital, Angel, the Feds found something on the body of one of our key researchers. You might remember him—his name was Dr. Larry Ladner.”
I fight to keep my face neutral.
“When the Feds retrieved his body from the rubble, they found a piece of paper in his pocket—some sort of list of a dozen or so words. What were they? The Feds didn’t know, but they were worried. They’d been briefed on how Ladner had manipulated your treatment under our collective nose, how the whole Velocius project had veered into murky moral waters, how Ladner had had second thoughts about it. That’s why he’d tried to help you escape, after all.”
I try to keep my composure. I try to quiet my racing, raging thoughts. But it’s so hard. Larry, how could you be stupid enough to write down a bunch of secret passwords and carry them around with you? And what were those passwords for?
“But here was the big question: What if Dr. Ladner didn’t just want to help you, Angel? What if he wanted the whole world to know what had been going on in that hospital?”
Claymore puts his hand to his chin as if perplexed.
“What if you were his weapon?”
“I am not a weapon.”
“All right then. Let’s say ‘emissary’ instead. What if you were meant to go out into the world and expose the truth to everyone? All this is hypothetical, of course, but the funny thing is, even the hypothetical can be threatening. You haven’t exactly been cooperative with the Feds, have you? It’s not too hard for them to imagine that you’d want their secrets known. Maybe because of your own anger about being experimented upon or because of some foolish idea that the public had the right to know what had happened or maybe . . . maybe because of some unconscious urge Dr. Ladner has placed inside your mind? For any of those reasons, you might try to expose Velocius to the whole world.”
“The Feds have been watching me like hawks,” I say, rolling my eyes. “They know I haven’t done anything.”
“Yes, but as much as they watched you and listened to you, they couldn’t know what was in your mind or what your intentions were. Sometimes
mere suspicion, paired with the means to do something, is all the evidence they need to act. They became convinced that you must be silenced simply because of the chance you might betray Velocius. And in their defense, you do have a history of setting up elaborate revenge scenarios, do you not?”
I make a noise that doesn’t even begin to express my disgust. Those green eyes keep boring into mine.
“That’s the fear that I exploited in them. That’s when I reached out to our Radical Pacifist friends and made them my allies, paying them to find what David Perry—better known by his nickname, 8-Bit—had uploaded the day of his death.”
“But he didn’t upload anything,” I say coldly. “There is no data.”
Claymore seems to find this mildly interesting, but not surprising or upsetting. “I see. Well, that’s good to know. I wasn’t sure, which is why I’ve let you run around the city for the last twenty-four hours instead of simply snatching you immediately. I certainly would’ve been happy to have that data, if it did turn out to exist. But I’m sure I can persuade the Radical Pacifists to get over their disappointment. And I, of course, have other resources at my disposal.”
I clench my fists and try to keep my voice level. I can’t afford to lose my temper. Not yet. “So you think Larry had some stash of research data? And you think he told me how to find it? And the government is so grateful that you’re willing to take care of this ‘potential’ security threat that they’ll just let you do whatever you want to me.”
“Grateful? No, they’re not grateful. They’re smart. Did you honestly think they’re more interested in your well-being than the world’s? Surely you’re not still that idealistic.”
I suck my teeth and refuse to look Claymore in the eye. Which he doesn’t like. He steps to the side and then bends over slightly until I’m forced to look directly at him.
“Angel, I know people imagine you to be some sort of redemptive figure, but I’ll bet once they discover that you disappeared because I paid you off—yes, that will be the story that the press will hear from ‘anonymous source close to me’—they’ll feel much less inclined to mythologize you.” He stands up and walks around to the back of the chair, putting his hands on the top. He reaches down and fluffs up the throw pillow, putting it back in the center of the cushion. Maybe I inherit some of my restlessness from him. The idea of even the smallest similarity between us nauseates me.
“Angel, as a point of respect—yes, I do respect your abilities—this is now a negotiation. I’m going to deal with you as I would anyone else I was making a business deal with. So for starters, I need to know the points on which you’re willing to negotiate.”
Claymore walks over to the end of the sofa and puts his hand on Thomas’s shoulder. Thomas tries to move but he gets a pistol pushed into his jaw for his trouble.
“I know you want to get away,” he says. “To achieve that, would you be willing to sacrifice Thomas here, for example?”
Thomas tries to turn toward me but his guard raps him on the cheek with his gun.
“Of course not,” I say.
“I’m not surprised to hear that. I know you two are very close, but the plain fact of the matter is, you are not good for him. You must see that.”
“Ignore him,” Thomas says. “He’s just trying to get under your skin.”
Thomas’s guard, the limo driver, grabs him by the hair and jerks his head back so far, it looks like he plans to slit Thomas’s throat.
Claymore steeples his fingers. “So, if Thomas’s safety is, for you, not negotiable, here’s something to consider. What if giving him up is the only way to save him? What if I offered to treat him in the most merciful way possible, in exchange for your cooperation?”
“Whatever he asks for, don’t do it, Angel,” Thomas says.
“What do you mean by ‘in the most merciful way possible’?” I ask.
“Let me put it another way. I can give you a demonstration of what won’t happen to him if you cooperate.” He nods at the limo driver.
The guy strikes Thomas across the face with the gun, sending him toward the center of the sofa, toward me. I try to reach over and touch his hair but my own guard pulls me back. The pistol against my skull presses down harder.
Thomas’s attacker raises his gun again.
“Stop!”
My shriek does nothing to stop the second blow.
I look down helplessly. Thomas’s nose and mouth are bleeding freely onto the cushion. His groans are sad, almost like weeping.
“What do you want!?” I scream at Claymore.
Claymore looks at me, incredulous. “What did you want when you climbed up all those cranes and hung your banners and got people sent to jail? You wanted to make a point. That’s what I’m doing right now.”
“You’ve made your point! I’ll do what you want!”
“That was never in doubt, Angel. It’s more the speed and the completeness of your surrender that are at issue.”
Now our green eyes are trained on each other. There it is again. That curiosity. He looks at me like he’s going to reach into the tunnel of my pupils, pull whatever he finds interesting, and toss the rest. Like I’m garbage.
“I’m glad we’ve reached an understanding now.” His eyes flick toward Thomas. “Young man, don’t worry. You’re going to get medical attention of the highest quality. When the time is right.”
“You mean when enough time has passed for Snowball to erase my memories,” Thomas chokes out, wiping the blood from his mouth with his cuffed hands.
“Very clever. I probably shouldn’t be surprised you figured that out. Your mother did tell me how smart you are.”
“Evangeline Hodges is not my mother.”
“Don’t say that. You should take pride in the connection. I’d even go so far as to say you get the lion’s share of your intelligence from her.”
“Stop baiting him!” I snap. “If you want his brilliant mind to stay intact, he needs that second Snowball injection now!”
“As I said,” Claymore says evenly, “we’ll give it to him when the time is right. As soon as enough time has passed for the last year to be erased from his memory, the antidote will be administered. Thomas won’t remember a thing about being on house arrest or running off with his father. More to the point, he won’t remember you. You are the chief danger in his life right now. Without you, without knowing and caring about you, he would be perfectly safe.”
I can’t bear to look at Thomas anymore. Claymore’s no fool. He might be cruel, but he’s logical as math. As long as Thomas is with me, he’s in the line of fire. People like Claymore, people like the Feds, can use him to hurt me. If I subtracted myself from Thomas’s life . . . the equation would work in his favor. He would be safe. I hate it but it’s true.
Claymore walks over to Mikey, who is short by comparison, and claps a hand on Mikey’s shoulder like he’s a proud dad. Again he gives that high-wattage, unbearably smug smile.
“We’ve used Snowball on Mikey perhaps seven or eight times. Most people are only good for two, maybe three times. Then they start to break down. Some people are only good for one time. The injection just disagrees with them, like with Thomas here. I don’t have any research findings to back this up, of course, it’s more anecdotal, but I think that Mikey has been so successful because he’s a far simpler mechanism. Of course, that’s part of his charm.”
He flicks his hand dismissively just as the doors open and Claymore’s other goon wheels the gurney in.
Claymore beams. “Excellent timing!”
He turns to the limo driver. “Take the young man downstairs to the car,” he says, motioning toward Thomas.
The limo driver and the other henchman roll Thomas off the couch and lift him onto the gurney.
“Where are you taking him?” I shout.
“A secure location,” Claymore says smoothly.
What the hell is Velocius waiting for? I couldn’t be more in need of my lightning-fast reflexes right now and there�
�s so much adrenaline coursing through me, I could surf on it. Yet I still can’t find that elusive on switch.
They push Thomas toward the door. I’m running out of time. Need to stall them . . .
“That’s why his name wasn’t in the probation registry!” I blurt.
Claymore’s head jerks back slightly. The corners of his mouth turn down. He’s impressed.
“So you figured that out too. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Only someone bright could’ve been such a persistent thorn in my side. Yes, as soon as we began our operation to bring you in last night, we got a start on changing Thomas’s identity. In several weeks, after an exhaustive search, his parents will be notified that his body was found in Paris. No doubt they will be saddened but not surprised, given his history of running off with his birth father.”
“You said you weren’t going to hurt him!”
“This is the story his parents will be told. In reality, he’ll be in a sort of witness protection program. My version of it, anyway. Don’t worry, he’ll be well taken care of. Part of my deal with the Feds involves leniency for Thomas’s mother.”
Hodges. The woman who killed my mother and went to incredible lengths to have me killed too. The woman Thomas has vowed he wants nothing to do with. Thomas tries to raise his hand but can only wiggle his fingers.
“Yes,” Claymore says. “Once the Feds are convinced you’re dead, Evangeline Hodges will be released from federal prison. Just in time to get her son back with no memory of you, or her.”
It makes a sort of perverse sense. Claymore is strangely trying to do right by the person who served him so loyally. Hodges’s reward for taking the fall for the whole Velocius thing is this: getting out of jail and getting her claws into Thomas in the only way it could ever be possible. The stories they’ll tell him—they all come to me in one sickening flash of images. Hodges explaining herself, her motives. A tearful reunion in which she tells him that she never gave up hoping she’d see him again.
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