“Seriously?” McCoy whispered back, continuing to study the adolescent.
“When you are ready, we have nine others who are ready to go with you. They are all thirteen, too.” Sister Clarence added.
“Alright. Let me talk to this one first.” McCoy replied, standing up straighter so the girl wouldn’t know they were watching her hack. Sister Clarence knocked on the door, and the girl startled, turning the computer off with just a few clicks. She pushed the computer aside and stood up quickly, brushing her hair away from her face. “Come in.” her small voice said.
“Hello, Delilah. Someone is here to see you.” Sister Clarence said sweetly, taking a few steps into the room and clasping her hands in front of her. “This is Ms. Erin McCoy. She is the director of an FBI program in...” McCoy didn’t bother listening to the nun as she was motioned into the bedroom. Sister Clarence didn’t know what McCoy really did with the orphans—no one did, if you weren’t a part of the project.
The girl turned slowly to face them, and McCoy was suddenly speechless.
Those big, cerulean-blue eyes. Her hair that was so black McCoy couldn’t believe that was her natural hair color. Her pale, majorly freckled face…
McCoy swore she’d seen this face before, except just an adult version—she swore she did. But the question was, where? When?
McCoy cleared her throat and forced herself to focus. She couldn’t stay at the orphanage for long, she needed to gather her newest group of trainees and drive them back to headquarters. “Hello, Delilah. I am Erin McCoy, director of the Elite Training Program. Congratulations. You and nine others are the first group to be chosen to train in the new and improved version of my program.” McCoy awkwardly stuck out her hand for Delilah to shake, but she shied away from her.
McCoy’s assistant checked the time on his expensive watch. “Twenty minutes.” he reminded McCoy over her shoulder, and she nodded.
“My assistant will lead you to my car.” McCoy urged the orphan to follow her assistant, who reluctantly did. Delilah looked back at Sister Clarence until she was was led down the hall and out of sight. As soon as they were gone, McCoy turned to Sister Clarence, suddenly feeling anxious. “Does she have any papers? Records? Belongings? I want to see everything, now.” she said quickly.
“She only arrived with this…” Sister Clarence picked up a yellowed photograph from the nightstand and handed it to McCoy, who gasped when she saw it. “She was brought here when she was ten years old. That’s an odd age to be orphaned, if you ask me. The woman said to call her Delilah, and she sped away in a black car without a license plate before I could ask her anything else.”
The photo was of a younger, smiling Delilah and a woman who was no doubt her mother—and the face McCoy oddly recognized. They were sitting on a park bench, holding on to each other and smiling wide. Then McCoy knew.
McCoy knew exactly why the young orphan’s face was so familiar: she was the daughter of Niamh MacGhabban, her ex-coworker and one of the FBI’s best spies and assassins. But, why was her daughter here, of all places? Did she even know her mother worked for the FBI? It didn’t seem like it; she no doubt would have recognized McCoy’s FBI badge.
McCoy concluded that she wouldn’t tell this realization to anyone, not even Delilah herself. Not until she knew why Niamh abandoned her.
“You know the drill: don’t tell anyone outside this orphanage about us doing business. Also, I need to keep this picture.” McCoy said, suddenly shaky. Sister Clarence nodded stiffly. McCoy gently slid the photograph inside her suit pocket and left to get the rest of the orphans.
Fifteen minutes later, McCoy, her assistant, and ten orphans were piled into the black van. The van roared to life, and McCoy began the long drive back to headquarters.
“Alright.” the assistant said, swiveling his seat to face the orphans. “Do any of you know what’s happening?” They all shook their heads. Most of them were silent with fear. “The ten of you are the newest editions to Project Genesis’s Elite Training Program. This is your new life now.”
“So, this is, like, the FBI or something?” a red-haired orphan asked.
“Project Genesis is a top-secret FBI project, yes.” the assistant replied sternly. “From here on out, you will train to become an undercover cop, special agent, spy, or assassin. On your eighteenth birthdays, you will receive your earned titles and begin working for us, with a new public name and code names. You are not permitted to leave headquarters for any reason until you have received your titles. If you try to escape, or if you purposefully break one of the rules or threaten Genesis or the FBI in any way…the new protocol is to either kill you or banish you. This is a very secret operation—not even our president knows that this exists...No one can find out about the ETP’s new way of running things. No one.”
A few orphans fidgeted in their seats. “And why not, Mr. FBI?” the redhead said.
The man glared. “Because the new version of the program hasn’t been legalized.”
PRESENT DAY.
SKYE
Instead of going to lunch at the dining hall, I go to my room, which is located in the Elite Training Program residence wing of headquarters.
There are twenty dorm rooms here for trainees, and I get dorm number 20 all to myself. It’s all the way at the back of the hallway, tucked in the corner of the building. Even though I only get a full size bed, closet, and a desk, there’s a large window that overlooks the ever-bustling city.
I don’t think anyone notices that I’m not in the dining hall with the other orphan trainees; I usually go to lunch after everyone else because Mr. Cane makes me stay and train longer, so this is the perfect time to go over my escape plan.
There are no locks on my door, so I have to be careful. I open the closet door and sit on my knees, carefully and quietly lifting the floorboard I had turned into a makeshift hiding spot.
There is a blueprint of Genesis headquarters, right where I’d left it.
3.
Harper
I wake up to my cell phone still in my hand, and my sister snoring loudly beside me.
Usually I would start an argument about Joanna being in my bed, let alone my room, but I don’t want her to be moodier than she already is; that is one of her many side effects from her multiple sclerosis. I don’t know what mood swings have to do with your immune system eating away at your nerves, but a lot of the other side affects I looked up on Google are random like that too.
The reporters didn’t say much about the missing woman that is my mom. They just said that her name is Victoria Cambridge (they didn’t provide any pictures), she hasn’t done her usual rounds around the city earlier this week, and when the police station took note of this, the FBI immediately released a missing case for her. To me, it was pretty strange that the FBI already had a missing persons case for my mother already made. Watching the video stream, it looked to me like the FBI already knew my mother were missing, before anyone else did…
I plug in my phone to charge on my nightstand before heading downstairs and into the large kitchen. I scavenge for something—anything—to eat, but there’s basically nothing here.
I think about what Mom said to do if she didn’t come home: go to the basement and to the silver door, and type in the code to access the panic room. Joanna and I know the code by heart, but there was never a reason to go into the panic room until now. I can check it out while Jo is resting. There’s probably food in there, and better yet, clues to help me find out more about my mother and why she’s gone.
But I only make it to the living room before my phone buzzes in my hoodie pocket. It’s a text from the unknown number again:
I can’t tell you much right now, but you deserve to know the truth.
I sit down on the brown leather couch and think about how to respond. Should I even respond at all? What will I be getting myself into? Will this put my sister and I in danger along with our already absent mother? Maybe, but...what does this person mean, that I deserve to know
the truth? The truth about why I don’t know my own family? Why Mom won’t tell me what she does for a living?
I cautiously reply: What are you talking about?
Another text comes moments later: Do you promise not to tell anyone what I’m about to send to you, except for your sister?
How do you know I have a sister? I think. Well, this person knew that something was going to happen to Aunt Veronica. They must somehow know I have a sister too.
Me : I promise.
Unknown : Good.
Me : Tell me why the only other family member I have contact with is my aunt Veronica. What does my family do for a living? Is my family even alive?
Unknown : Your maternal grandfather owns an FBI project called Genesis. It recruits and trains the most elite spies, undercover cops, agents, and assassins in the country & the President doesn’t know it exists, hence why I told you not to tell anyone besides your sister.
Me : I don’t believe you.
Unknown : Go to the panic room door and punch in the code 4-8-9-1. You’ll believe me then.
How do you know the code? Only my mother, Jo, and I know it! I think.
The unknown person doesn’t send anything else after that.
* * *
Joanna and I are sitting in the living room, watching the six o’clock news. I want her to take her medicines, but I don’t think it will do her any good on a severely empty stomach.
“If the police know Mom is gone, aren’t they looking for her?” Jo asks.
“I mean, the FBI are the ones who set up the case a few days ago, not the police,” I say. “which is kind of weird.”
“Do you think the FBI will come here, then? You know, to investigate, like they do on TV? They have to know our address.”
“Well—” The sound of the doorbell cuts me off. Who could that be this time? I practically tiptoe into the foyer and look through the peephole, holding my breath.
A policeman and a woman in a gray suit are standing there. A police car sits in the driveway but it doesn’t have the usual red and blue flashing lights, the barred windows, and the words CITY POLICE are on the sides in bold white letters. My hand reaches to open the door, but I hesitate. Why don’t I have a good feeling about this?
Joanna comes into the foyer and stays close behind me. I take a shaky deep breath and open the door. “Good evening, miss. Is this the Cambridge residence?” the woman asks. I nod, a nervous lump forming in my throat, preventing me from speaking. The woman looks to be in her early forties, with frizzy black hair tucked into a bun, dark brown eyes, and a serious-looking face. I can tell she doesn’t smile a lot. KERRI WINTHROP, DETECTIVE is engraved on her silver metal name tag. “I’m Detective Winthrop, and this is Officer Barlow. May we come in?” I nod again, stepping aside as they step into the foyer, and I close the door behind them. Jo and I sit down on the couch, and Detective Winthrop and Officer Barlow sit across from us.
“Identical twins? Interesting.” Officer Barlow says with a smile. He’s younger than the detective, with spiky blond hair and a scruffy beard, hazel eyes, tanned skin even though it’s winter in Pennsylvania, and muscular. He’s dressed in the standard Reddings Mill Police Department uniform, but it doesn’t have any badges or awards on it. Shouldn’t he have came in a Reddings Mill cop car, and not a city one? Joanna and I don’t smile back. We don’t do anything. Jo takes my hand, and I let her lean on my shoulder.
The detective opens a small notepad to the first page and clicks her pen. “Is your mother Victoria Cambridge?” she asks, immediately getting started. I nod. “All right. I’m going to ask some questions, and you girls need to be a hundred percent honest with me. Understand?” I nod again. “Good. What are your names and ages?”
“Harper and Joanna Cambridge.” I say. “We’re sixteen.”
“Where do you attend school?”
“Montpellier Academy…” I reply. What does this have to do with Mom?
“Victoria has been missing since Monday evening. Are you aware of this?”
“Our current evidence shows she hasn’t buzzed into her jobs at the station Monday morning, so she probably went missing before then.” Officer Barlow adds.
“Well, what’s the current evidence?” I ask. “Did you investigate or do anything yet?”
“We just investigated where your mother works. We would like to investigate your home before we head back to the station.” Detective Winthrop explains. “But first I’m going to finish asking questions. Is that alright?”
“I guess.” I reply with a shrug.
“What were you doing on the morning of Monday, November second, 2018?”
“I don’t know. It was just like any other day, I guess.”
“Has anything strange happened since your mother’s disappearance?”
I hesitate, hoping nobody notices. I don’t meet Detective Winthrop’s eyes. The only thing that’s strange is the letter and the unknown number that texts me, but I’m not about to tell these people about that. The anonymous person may be the only way I can find out about my family and why I don’t know anything about them or what they do. “Um…actually, nothing’s been happening.” I say. “We’ve been home all week.”
“Alright, then.” Detective Winthrop closes her notepad, and she and Officer Barlow stand from the couch.
“We’re going to do a quick sweep of your house.” Officer Barlow says. As he says this, he and the detective retrieve white cloth gloves from their pockets along with small flashlights. Joanna and I stay seated as they walk back into the foyer.
“What about that letter?” Jo whispers.
“It’s in my pocket,” I whisper back. “They won’t know about it.”
* * *
It takes them approximately an hour to search the entire estate. They come back into the living room with blank faces.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to come with us back to the station,” Officer Barlow announces, already preparing to leave.
“W-What?” I stammer, my heartbeat quickening with nerve. “Why?”
“There’s nothing here that will help us with your mother’s case,” he continues. “The Reddings Mill Police Department is a safer and better place to conduct business anyway. But don’t worry, it shouldn’t take long.”
“There are plenty of things that will help us right here!” I snap. “Her car, her laptop, her office—can’t you use some of your special equipment and collect DNA or hair or something ?”
“That’s all back at the station,” Detective Winthrop says flatly. “Please come with us—”
“No.” I say sharply. Joanna’s frail arm links through mine, and she holds on tight. “We’re staying. You can’t make us go with you.”
Officer Barlow sighs and opens the front door. “Backup will be here in two minutes. If you’re not in the police car by then, we’ll have no choice but to force you out of here.” And at that, him and his ‘detective’ leave. I watch them head back to their car, but they don’t get in. I scramble to close the front door and lock it, my hands trembling, my chest tight.
“Jo, go to the den, now .”
* * *
Instead of going down to the den, Joanna follows me to my bedroom. I grab my backpack and dump everything out of it, and fill it with things I think I’ll need: cell phone, charger, the letter, all the money I have saved ($100). Jo copies me and goes down the hall to her room. She returns only minutes later with her own backpack filled. “How much money do you have?” I ask her.
“Two hundred. Why? What are we doing?” I can hear the growing panic in her voice. I put on some tennis shoes just as I hear the sound of a vehicle pulling into the driveway. We’re out of time.
“Get some tennis shoes and let’s go.” I whisper, although I know nobody can possibly hear us; our house is nearly three thousand square feet of pure red brick. Jo nods and leaves. I take one last scan of my room to make sure I didn’t forget anything, before I wait for Jo in the second-floor hallway. We then go to the den, and
I close and lock the wooden door behind us.
The doorbell rings once again. The sound of it makes my heart clench.
“The silver door has to be here somewhere…” I say anxiously, but before I start searching, Joanna walks over to Mom’s bookcase. She has shelves of one-thousand-page novels, encyclopedias, atlases, dictionaries and so on, mostly about technology and coding and money. She lingers for a moment, then knocks the fourth row of books to the ground. And then I see it: a silver doorknob.
“Sis, you’re a genius!” I exclaim. Suddenly, someone knocks loudly on the front door, so loud I hear it all the way down here. “Open up!” Officer Barlow booms.
“This must be the door to the panic room. But how are we going to open it?” I say.
Joanna starts to push on the bookcase from its side. I sigh, but I don’t argue. Mom will be pretty mad if she sees all her books are messed up— if she ever sees them again.
It takes a while to knock over the bookcase and move it over far enough to get to the silver door. There’s a gray keypad right underneath the doorknob, and I punch in the code. Something beeps, and I’m able to open the door, letting Joanna go in first. There are no lights on and the air is stuffy, but I close the door and lock it behind us anyway. I use all of my strength to turn the lock because it’s so heavy, and it secures with a firm click . Hopefully that means this is a quality lock, that we’re safe.
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, my body not shaking as much. My sister and I are safe now.
I feel the wall for a lightswitch. I find one and flip it on, but it’s dusty. Gross. The panic room is the same size as my bedroom, which is fairly big. All four walls are white and paneled, the floor gray concrete, and there’s another door opposite of the one we just came in through.
Rogue (The Genesis Files Book 1) Page 2