“So?” Director Lister looks me up and down. “What have you got? Unless it’s critical, I’m busy.”
I gulp. Critical? A half hour ago, I thought my news was paramount. But under scrutiny, I wonder whether I’ve once again fallen victim to my overinflated sense of importance as a Vestal. Maybe this was a bad idea.
“Tell them, Blanca.” Seth’s voice is clear.
The directions help. As if on autopilot, I follow orders and spill. “I believe that Keung and the Guardians did this.”
“Keung?” Director Lister raises her eyebrows. Her hair pulls back into a slick ponytail.
“You know him as Timothy Wu,” I continue. “A Chinese diplomat and representative to the Silicon Valley Tech Council.”
Director Lister scowls at Agent Plunkett. “You tracked Wu for months and never discovered his true name?”
Agent Plunkett grits her teeth.
For some reason I defend Agent Plunkett. “She tried,” I say. “But when Agents Plunkett and Marlow questioned me about the Guardians, I didn’t feel comfortable sharing.”
“And now you do?” Director Lister holds out her bandaged arms. “What else?” she snaps.
“A couple of weeks ago, Keung warned me that Seth should get his finger-chips removed.” Seth looks at me with surprise. “But I thought Keung gave this advice for philosophical reasons. Then five days ago, he showed me his invisi-chips. He said that very soon, everyone would want them.”
“That could mean anything.” Director Lister looks back through the windows to the command room. “Look, we consider all possible scenarios, but at present, we have no reason to believe that Guardians are behind this. At most they’re an organized crime group, but they’re not international terrorists.”
“But Wu Park,” I stammer, “the founder of the Guardians, she might be behind this too.”
“And how do you know that?” Dr. Lister’s glare could cut glass.
“I don’t know. It’s only a hunch.” I feel my confidence shatter. “I’m sorry I wasted your time.”
“Wait,” says Director Lister, inspecting Seth, not me. “Veritas Rex, is it? We need more hackers. Can you help?”
Seth nods, and then looks at me, as if asking permission.
But I’m not the boss of him. “I’ll be downstairs,” I say.
“I’ll escort Blanca out.” Agent Plunkett barely looks at me. She leads me halfway down the hall with stomping footsteps. But before we reach the stairs, somebody stops us.
“Wait!” An agent in lead-lined gloves runs after us. “Come back! They need you both in the command center.”
Agent Plunkett and I hustle back at top speed. Director Lister and dozens of agents wait in a room crowded with tech screens. Every display shows the same message in ten different languages.
Giant speakers fill the room with sound.
“The world watches the light that shines in the darkness,” the voice says in English. “The Vestal Harvest will begin in three hours. Now you understand our true worth. Only after winter comes do we know that the pine and the cypress are the last to fade.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Director Lister’s tone is as cold as ice.
“Lux in tenbris lucet.” I repeat. “The light that shines in the darkness.” I look at Agent Plunkett who nods with understanding. “It’s the Tabula Rasa motto.” I think about Fatima and Beau, who left the airport and drove straight to Tabula Rasa where they thought they would be safe. My voice wavers. “My friends are there.”
“You!” Director Lister points her maimed fingers straight at me. “Tell me everything you know about Tabula Rasa. Now.”
I swallow hard. All eyes in the room are on me.
“It’s worse than we expected.” Agent Marlow passes handwritten notes to Director Lister. “Every terrorist organization in the world wants a piece of this Harvest. They’re phoning the bids in right now.” He barely gets the words out before he sways a bit.
“Sit down, Marlow,” says Agent Plunkett.
“No. I’m okay,” Agent Marlow claims. But he’s not. His knuckles are busted open, patched haphazardly with bandages. Burn marks pock his shoulders like spots. The trashed skin makes me think about Seth and his ruined tattoos. Seth, who took off to help the cyber squad ten minutes ago.
“Tell me again,” Director Lister instructs me. “Where are the entrances?”
I look down at my hand-drawn map and point them out.
“But that’s not what our sources say,” says Agent Marlow. “We were told there were only five exits.”
I shake my head. “Your sources are wrong. There’re six.” I point to a small mark beside the underground parking garage. “This is the tunnel Seth used last year when he snuck in and took my picture. But entering isn’t the biggest problem,” I caution. “Can you get the graduates out without turning this into a hostage situation?”
“It’s not just the graduates,” Agent Plunkett snarls. “We need to release everyone.”
I take a sharp breath. “The younger students too?”
“Absolutely.” Director Lister taps her finger on the map. “Right there. That’s an elevator?”
I nod my head. “For staff. I rode in it twice. You need a key to operate—” I stop myself midsentence. Then I pat my pockets for my mother’s ivory bag. “I think I might have it.” Did I bring it with me or is it still in my suitcase? I reach into the back pocket of my jeans and touch velvet. “Here! This might be it.” I pull out the small bag and dump the key on the table.
Agent Plunkett picks it up and looks at it closely. “Could be. But the stairs would be quieter.”
“Definitely.” Director Lister nods her head. “But the key might work for other doors too. Bring it with you, Plunkett.”
“No,” I declare.
“What?” Director Lister’s voice has the tone of somebody who isn’t used to disobedience. I shudder because it reminds me of Headmaster Russell.
“I’ll take the key. I’m coming too,” I say with grit.
“Like hell you are,” answers Agent Plunkett.
I seize back my key. “Even if you get inside unannounced, you won’t find your way without getting caught. There are twenty stories not including the garage! You need me as your navigator.”
“You can help via the wireless,” suggests Agent Marlow.
“It won’t work! Tabula Rasa is cloistered,” I say. “We’re talking about my friends’ lives. I must come with you.”
Agent Plunkett shakes her head.
“These are my people! Tabula Rasa is my former home. My lawyer thinks I might own the building.”
“You do own the building,” Agent Marlow interjects.
I glare at Agent Plunkett. “When were you going to tell me?”
She grunts. “When the investigation was complete.”
“Don’t you see?” I say. “This is perfect. If I own the building, if I have a key—” I hold up the silver “—then I can slip in unnoticed and leave the door open for you. I can talk to Ms. Corina and make her listen to reason.”
“Officers could trail her in, dressed in white so they blend in,” Agent Marlow suggests.
“No. Black would be better,” Agent Plunkett says. “They would need to be black. That’s what novices wear.”
I can tell she’s coming around.
“Pick your smallest people,” I say to Director Lister. “So they look like children.”
Director Lister paces the room, her tall heels clicking on the tile. Then she turns and rests both hands on the conference table. “If you volunteer for this, Blanca, I won’t stop you. But you may not come out alive.”
I stand up straight and smooth my face to neutral like Ms. Corina taught me. “So be it,” I answer.
Somewhere, deep inside my soul, my mother’s voice whispers, offering comfort. There are many paths a Vestal can take, and they all have honor.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
I’m back where it all started: the underground parking garage of Tabula Rasa. I even wear black spandex like I used to when I was student. That day, a year ago, when Seth snuck in and took my picture, was the first time I remember seeing my mother. Now, I hold her key in my hand and creep through the secret tunnel like a rat. What’s worse, I bring a host of invaders with me.
Ahead of us is a circular metal door that I know leads into the parking garage. As I approach the lock, my insides squish like gelatin. If this key doesn’t work, blasting the door away will be a noisy disaster.
Agent Plunkett aims her flashlight at the dead bolt so I can see better. Slowly, and with great trepidation, I slip the key into the lock. It turns effortlessly, and the door swings open.
FBI agents swarm past me into the underground garage, stunning the security guards into submission. Agent Plunkett signals for the rest of her men and women to follow.
I lead them straight to the stairwell next to the elevator. We’re about to open the door when a sickly sweet voice stops us.
“Thank you for attending the fifty-first graduation of Tabula Rasa students. The privacy Harvest is about to begin. Bidders, please gather in the auditorium for the auction.”
“That’s Ms. Corina,” I say. “She’s cagier than I thought.” But something doesn’t add up. “I thought Agent Marlow said most bidders were phoning in their prices?”
Agent Plunkett furrows her eyebrows. “Let’s go find out.”
“The auditorium is one floor up.” I look over and see an officer try to scan the building with tech. “That won’t work in here. Lead-lined walls.”
Agent Plunkett nods. “We do this the old-fashioned way.”
The officer abandons his equipment, and we race upstairs.
The hallways are dead silent. Tabula Rasa feels eerie without the shuffle of feet walking to class. But of course on the Harvest, everyone’s in the auditorium, watching the action. It’s the one day of the year when younger students get to see people from the outside world. Bidders are permitted to size up next year’s crop. That’s how I became known as the girl who could sell soap long before my senior year.
I tiptoe to the double doors that lead into the auditorium, Agent Plunkett beside me.
“Thank you for attending the fifty-first graduation of Tabula Rasa students. The privacy Harvest is about to begin. Bidders, please gather in the auditorium for the auction.” Ms. Corina’s voice sounds again.
I open the doors a crack and peer inside. The back rows of the audience are packed with black. I see hundreds of Tabula Rasa students sitting ramrod straight, their eyes fixed straight ahead.
But I don’t see any bidders. The front rows are empty.
I whip around to face Agent Plunkett, my face drained of all color. “You need to let me handle this. On my own. Otherwise there’ll be chaos.”
Agent Plunkett pushes me aside and stares through the crack parting the double doors. Then she turns. “You’ve got two minutes. Then we’re coming in.”
My boots fall silently on the short pile carpet. I march down the aisle and feel eyes on my back. I don’t pause to turn around until I reach the steps to the stage. When the leather soles of my shoes hit the linoleum stairs, the sound carries all the way to the rafters. I hear a child sneeze and a teacher hush him.
The quiet is nerve-racking, but I don’t allow fear to take hold. I push my shoulders back like the whole room belongs to me.
In fact, it does belong to me. According to Agent Marlow, Tabula Rasa is mine.
But right when I open my mouth to speak, my words are interrupted.
“Thank you for attending the fifty-first graduation of Tabula Rasa students. The privacy Harvest is about to begin. Bidders, please gather in the auditorium for the auction.”
As soon as Ms. Corina’s voice fades away, I launch in with the truth. “My name is Blanca Nemo, and I am here to help you. I am the sole heir of Barbelo Nemo and the new leader of Tabula Rasa.”
Murmurs ripple across the audience like waves. I search the sea of faces for students I know. A little third grade girl I used to tutor waves to me until Ms. Lara gives her a scathing look. The girl sinks back into her seat and shudders.
“There has been a change of plans,” I declare. “The privacy Harvest is canceled.”
The noise in the audience grows louder. A teacher in flowing white robes jumps to her feet. It’s Ms. Alma, my language instructor. She opens her mouth to speak but then snaps it shut. She twists the hem of her sleeve into knots.
“Ms. Alma?” I ask. “Do you have a question?”
“Yes, Blanca. I mean, no, Ms. Blanca. I mean …” Ms. Alma looks back to other teachers for support, but they don’t move. Then she turns forward again and drops her voice so quiet she almost whispers. “Where is Headmaster Corina?”
“My friends are searching for her as we speak.” I look up to the doors where the FBI waits. Then I scan the audience for teens I know. “Where are grades ten and eleven? Where are the graduates?” And more importantly, where are Fatima and Beau?
Ms. Alma twists her sleeve so hard I’m afraid she’ll tear a hole in the fabric. “We’re still waiting for the older grades. Bidders will be here any minute. The privacy Harvest is about to begin.”
I shake my head slowly. “No, Ms. Alma. There’s been a change of plans, remember? The privacy Harvest is canceled for today.”
My two minutes are up. At the top of the auditorium, the doors swing open. FBI agents clad in black stream down the aisles like invading ants.
“Remain calm!” I say at the top of my voice. “My friends are here to take care of you.”
Bodies squirm all around me. Frantic shouts call out with terror. I realize my words aren’t having any effect at all.
So for the sake of the children, I use my father’s words instead. “Tabula Rasa students!” I shout. “You have a hard road. In so many ways it’s difficult being you.” At the sound of the Vestal blessing, all eyes turn to me. I hold up my wrist where the platinum cuff used to be. “But I know that you can do this. You have everything you need to achieve happiness.” I pull my hand to my heart and watch hundreds of people do the same. “My friends will take care of you. I promise.”
Agent Plunkett looks up at me from the aisle and nods. Then she motions me to follow her.
The remaining officers explore the building floor by floor but find no one. At every turn, I pray we’ll see Pilar hugging Fatima or Sarah rolling her eyes at me. They should be here by now.
“Where is everyone else?” I can barely force the question out. “Where are the graduates? Where are the sophomores and juniors?” My heart is ready to explode. But then we pass Ms. Corina’s office, and I remember my lessons from long ago. Cry on cue. Stop crying. Tears are a tool. In this case, I can’t let tears be a tool for my own destruction. I need to stay strong to save my friends.
On the twentieth floor, we come to the room with a wall of windows. I remember standing here with my mother and Headmaster Russell. “There’s a phone in here,” I say to Agent Plunkett. “Could that be important?” I point to the wall where the old-fashioned contraption hangs.
“Maybe,” Agent Plunkett says. Then she holds her finger up to her lips and cups her ears. From the corner of the room comes whimpering.
Agent Plunkett motions with her fingers and officers flood the room. “Over here!” one of them calls.
There, underneath the table, we find Ms. Corina. Her white Vestal robes are tangled around her, and someone has bound her with tight rope. A bandanna fills her mouth, making it impossible for her to speak.
“Ms. Corina!” I fall to my knees and undo the gag. “What happened?”
“Blanca, oh, Blanca,” she cries, snot running down her nose. “This is your fault.”
“My fault. How?”
She grimaces. “You wouldn’t help me with the Harvest even after I asked so nicely. So I had to ask him for help instead.”
“Keung?”
Ms. Corina shakes her head. “Who’s that? No, I asked Jeremy.” For half a moment she gets a soft look in her eye. “I knew he would help. He was always my favorite student.”
“Who’s Jeremy?” Agent Plunkett asks. “A Guardian?”
I shake my head. “No, not a Guardian. Ms. Corina, what happened?” I release the binds on her wrists so she can push herself up.
“They came this morning for the graduates. It was only supposed to be the graduates! Jeremy said the Harvest would be more successful if it wasn’t held here.” She looks at me. “I believed him.”
“It’s okay,” I lie. “What happened next?”
“It was just supposed to be the graduates. Blanca, you’ve got to believe me!”
“I do, Ms. Corina, I do.”
She grips my arm tightly and then stares off into space. “But then they came back for the eleventh graders. And then the tenth! I tried to stop them.” Ms. Corina dissolves into tears.
“Where did they go?” Agent Plunkett asks.
“I don’t know.” Ms. Corina rocks back and forth on the ground. She pulls her hair in front of her and stares at the split ends. “He was supposed to help me. Jeremy said he would make it all better. I was his favorite teacher.”
“Who’s Jeremy?” Agent Plunkett asks again. “Blanca, what is she talking about?”
I throw the gag back down on Ms. Corina, not bothering to undo her other ties. “A Vestal-reject.”
“What?”
“A Defecto,” I snarl.
Agent Plunkett stares at Ms. Corina and growls. “Where are they?”
Ms. Corina’s head shakes like a rag doll. “Jeremy said you would ask. But I won’t tell you and you can’t make me.” A simpering smile rests on her face.
Agent Plunkett coils back her hand as if getting ready to strike but then lets her hand drop. “Blanca? Any ideas?”
Damaged Goods Page 19