by Susan Adrian
But then I remember a sign we had on the wall in the library, near the customer complaints desk: ‘It’s better to be happy than right.’ I never knew if it was for the librarians or the customers.
I’m still right. But I’m tired of being mad, and it’s not helping anything. It might be time to make peace. I take a deep breath after we pass a sign for the airport. “Anyway. We need to solve the clue. What is ‘the place you love most’? That Vladimir would know about?”
He’s quiet for so long I think he’s going to just freeze me out. I watch him for a while, completely still except for his beard moving with his breath, then turn back to the road, to my own thoughts. Maybe it is time to leave, if he won’t work with me. If he has that little respect for me. What is this helping? How am I helping?
Maybe I really should go back home and face Mom. Stand up to her too.
“Da,” he says, gruff. He still doesn’t look at me. “I have been thinking of this. What I love most. There is home in Russia—but I did not love that, and Vlad knows. Home in Standish—da, I love this, but he could not get there. And we could not. It is too far.”
“A place,” I say. “Have you been here before? To Florida? Could it be somewhere around here?”
He shrugs. “I have. To see Vlad, once, twice, a long time ago. But no love of it, yes? It could not be this.”
We go quiet again. I put my feet up on the dashboard, which just makes me realize I desperately need a new set of clothes, and shoes. My sneakers have a hole on the side. My shorts are scruffy and dirty. I should get some sandals anyway.
Except I’m on the run. I can’t go buying shoes. It’s strange, but sometimes I miss the mall, the normalcy of shopping with friends, somewhere I’ve been every year of my life. And the library even more, the familiar smell of books, the spaces I know so well I could walk through with my eyes closed.
“What if it’s not a specific place?” I ask, suddenly. “What if it’s a type of place you love? Something you always do, wherever you are?”
Dedushka thinks, taps the wheel for a while. Then he smiles, slow and warm. “Fishing. Vlad knows this very well.”
Part of the tension in my chest loosens. “Okay, fishing. Good. Let’s try that. There’s a lot of fishing in Florida. So now we just have to figure out how you would go fishing with Sara, and what number 56 means.”
“A boat slip, 56,” he says, sounding completely certain. “But where, the Sara, we will have to find.”
“Sarasota?” I say. “There’s Sara in the name.”
He glances at me, with another smile. This one feels like it’s for me. Like he’s pleased I’m here, finally. Like I’m really helping.
“Da,” he says. “Maybe so.”
I hug my arms to my chest and sit back, watch green Florida fly by. We don’t talk about much until we get to Tampa, leave the car in a parking lot, take a cab to St. Petersburg, then take another car. This one, an old Honda, he starts with a mini-screwdriver. Once he has it started, he slides over, and points to the driver’s seat.
“I will not know unless I try, milaya,” he says.
I laugh, and drop into the driver’s seat. Finally. “Hang on.”
17
MYKA
Set Fire to the Rain by Adele
A woman with a fat, sleek bun, dressed in full uniform, comes and gets me after breakfast. She says Dad requested to see me, “to get to know each other again.” Mom doesn’t want to let me go, but I say it’s all right.
I admit, I’m curious about him. Practically, what he did doesn’t make sense. Why leave his family to come here? Why so dramatically, pretending to be dead? What does he want?
If I think about it like a puzzle, something I can solve, then it doesn’t hurt as much. Maybe I can find the reason. Maybe I can reverse the reason.
I mean, I know it can’t go back to the way it was before he left. Too much has happened. Too many bad things. Except…the Dad I remember was focused on his work, strict, even gone a lot of the time…but he also gave crushing hugs, and read to me at night, and listened to me even when I talked too much. He was the only one. And he was really good at asking questions to help me figure out whatever I was thinking about.
How did that Dad become this Dad, running a secret base?
But he’s still trying to be that Dad, setting up a room the way he thinks I’d like it.
It’s a puzzle.
So I follow the soldier-woman down a long hallway, then left, to a door at the end. She knocks briskly and waits for him to reply before opening the door and pointing me inside.
The office looks just the same as the one he had in the Pentagon, almost the same as the home offices he had at each base. A plain metal desk, with nothing on top except an open laptop and a phone. I know he keeps everything, carefully organized, in the drawers. Jake used to sneak in and mess things up on purpose. I never did. The entire back wall is metal bookshelves, almost full with reference books.
He looks up and smiles that thin, tired smile from last night, and waves me in.
I stand inside the door, uncertain. Seeing him, it feels like I shouldn’t be here. Like it’s a betrayal of Jake, of Mom. I stare at my feet.
“Come in, Myka,” he says, his voice a little impatient. “Sit down. We need to talk.”
I bite my lip, but I remember the puzzle, and I go sit in the chair. At first I keep my eyes on the desk, but after it’s silent for a few minutes, I look up.
“There she is,” he says.
My heart squeezes. He used to say that when I was little, whenever he came home from a trip. I don’t say my line, which is “here I am.”
“Why are you here?” I say instead.
He sighs, and runs a hand through his short hair. It’s definitely grayer than it used to be. “I’m here because I’m heading a remarkable project that could change the world. For the better. I’m here because I’m the best possible person—some say the only person—who can do it. If we can isolate what makes Jake different from anyone else, if we can recreate it…the uses are mind-boggling.”
“Super-soldiers,” I whisper.
His eyes narrow. “Not just that. Jake was doing a lot of good too, with DARPA. He can help people. We could do that here as well. We could multiply it.”
I frown. He’s right…in theory. But he’s also military. And he and the military are keeping this project secret for a reason. They kept the development of the atom bomb a secret too—so they could get it right before their enemies did. Jake, and possible copies, are weapons.
But that’s not what I’m most interested in. I admit, I want to know how he’s trying to replicate Jake’s power. Is he manipulating DNA? Isolating some element in Jake’s blood? I shouldn’t care. I know that’s not the point, not the puzzle I want to solve. I should be against him trying this at all, period.
“Do you even have Jake’s blood, or his DNA, to work with?” I blurt, before I can stop myself. “You weren’t involving him when you left. That’s what he said.”
Dad grins, and he looks more like I remember him. “There’s my girl. Blood, DNA, and stem cells. Every time he went to the doctor, after I knew about his tunneling, there were a few extra tests.” He looks proud. “Base doctors do what I like. Jake never asked why. But we’re having some luck with the stem cells. Combined with…another source I found. I think we may actually have something, very soon.”
I sit back, hard, in the chair. More people with powers under the control of the military. That’s terrible news.
But it’s interesting. Stem cells….
No. “Why did you pretend to be dead?” I ask, my voice sharp and accusing.
He sits back too, and is silent for a while, looking at me. I wonder if he’s figuring out how to tell me or figuring out how to lie, or deflect.
“It was a mistake,” he says.
I blink. “Really?”
“Really. I went along with the plan because I was told that was the only way to do the work. And I believe in the
work. But in retrospect…” His gray eyes are steady. “It was wrong, to you, to your mother and Jake. I should’ve done it another way.”
I take a few breaths, thinking. That doesn’t make me feel better. I expected it to, but it doesn’t.
Maybe the other puzzle will.
“Tell me more about the stem cells?” I ask.
He grins again. “How about I give you a tour?”
18
JAKE
Madhatter by Henry Ate
I guess somebody decides I stink, because they bring me new clothes. Nice-ish Jones hands me jeans and a white T-shirt, tells me to take a shower first for God’s sake and shave, and then they’ll give me some breakfast.
It’s my first shower in a couple of days. I’m thrilled to scrub some of the muck off. The first few minutes feel like a miracle of sensation. And showers wake up the brain, make it easier to think. For once I’m don’t worry about Mom or Myka or Rachel or Dedushka. I think about that boy in there, on the other side of a couple doors. Used to being here. Used to psychotic Smith needing him for something. He could be a genius, I guess, like Myk. Could have some special knowledge needed by a guy like Smith: technology, math. But Smith used to work in the program Dad ran, with Liesel, on using paranormal abilities. He’s still so deeply entwined in it that he has Bunny spying for him.
The kid’s got some kind of power, I’d bet on it. Not the same as mine, or he wouldn’t need two of us. But what? And how? I’ve never heard of anyone else with a power except Dedushka.
I shave, scraping thick stubble off. I was almost to beard level. I eye the razor, briefly, a generic blue one. They never let me have this kind in Montauk, for fear I’d use it as a weapon. But could I really do anything dangerous with a safety razor?
Not dangerous enough to be worth it.
When I step out I actually do feel refreshed, like a new person again. Exactly like Smith intended me to, for whatever sick reason he has. I read about manipulation of prisoners once in one of Dad’s books. You withhold something for long enough, a normal human need or habit, and the prisoner is actually grateful to you when you give it back.
I’m grateful to be clean. And I’m about to be grateful for food. So I guess he wins that little battle.
I need to ask Bunny for information, whenever she arranges for us to go to her secret bug-less place. She knows about Lucas. Hell, she probably works with Lucas, with whatever he does. And somehow, I’ve got to get her to tell me. Trust that she really does want to get out of here, and not that she’s manipulating me again for Smith, or herself somehow.
I have trouble trusting anyone. I wonder why.
Soon after I get dressed, there’s a knock on my door and nice-ish Jones escorts me to the dining room. “Better,” he says, and winks as he opens the door for me. He straightens his tie and stands there next to the dining room door, a tiny smile hanging on his face.
I go in. Bunny is in her place across the table, squinting up at me. Smith is sitting at the head again. He smiles. “Please, Mr. Lukin. Sit.”
Crap. She said he wouldn’t be here this afternoon—I was hoping he was already gone. I wasn’t planning for a repeat performance of last night.
I sit carefully, like there might be snakes on my chair. Who knows, there might be. He’d probably have fun with that. And he’s got to be majorly pissed off about me finding Lucas.
“You, Mr. Lukin, were not pleased to see me just now.”
I swallow, look across at Bunny. Her face is pure blankness.
“Just surprise,” I say. Which is dumb, because, what, I’m pretending I’m happy to see him?
“And I hear you’ve had an eventful morning. One impossible thing before breakfast: discovering one of my secrets.”
Here it comes.
He shakes out a folded white napkin from his plate—they’re all in shapes, like little hats—lays it across his lap with a flourish, and tsks. “I didn’t think I actually needed to spell out to you that you ought to stay in the areas I’ve taken you. But I should have known better.” He raises an eyebrow. “You always have been a troublemaker, haven’t you? I still don’t even know how you escaped from Montauk. Cecile here…” He points his big chin at her, and she flinches. “She wasn’t able to tell me.”
Cecile. That’s new information. I shake my own napkin out, the linen heavy, and spread it on my lap. I’m suddenly reminded of Mom’s State dinners, all those diplomats talking to each other over a table like this. Is it this tense, sometimes? At least I know all the rules, because of Mom. She used to make napkins like this for practice. Bishop’s hats. I tried too, though I could never get them to sit up straight.
I can’t forget that he has Mom. Has her hidden somewhere, with Myk, like he has me. And Lucas.
“Would you like to tell me how you escaped from Montauk?” Smith asks.
I twitch, involuntarily. That is absolutely the last thing I would like to tell him. He has no idea that I can take people over when I tunnel, if I want to. I didn’t discover it myself until after I’d been in Montauk for a while, after the DARPA scientists kept pushing me. I can’t imagine how he’d use that power if he knew about it. I’d probably be tunneling to people and shooting, left and right. Or signing checks, or contracts. “No,” I say, grasping at calm. “I think I’d prefer to keep that a mystery.”
“Ah.” He nods, his eyes bright, like that’s what he expected. “What if I told you who Lucas is? Would you tell me your secret in exchange?”
I swallow, then shake my head. If I could think of a good enough lie, and lie to him without him knowing, I would. If he offers Mom and Myka back, I’ll probably try that. But I can never tell him the real reason, no matter what he offers.
“Oh, dear.” His eyebrows curve. “It must be a good secret. I’ll have to see what I can find out on my own.”
Shit. I really hope he can’t.
The door opens, and the blond Jones comes in with a bowl of scrambled eggs. I try to meet Bunny’s eye as I scoop a spoonful, but she doesn’t look at me. She stares at the wall behind me like a bunny trying to pretend it’s invisible. The Jones serves Smith and Bunny, leaves the bowl on the table, and brings back a platter of bacon and buttered toast.
We eat silently for a while, which is a relief. Talking to Smith is like talking to the Red Queen in Alice in Wonderland. He might chop off your head at any second.
After Jones brings us coffee, though, I’m ready to try again.
“So what can Lucas do?” I ask.
Bunny startles, but Smith just eyes me appreciatively. “Perceptive and bold. Well, it’s quite simple. Tell me yours, and I’ll tell you mine.”
“Tell me where my family is,” I throw back. “There are lots of things I’ll tell you then.”
Bunny jerks and spills her glass of water, which cascades all over Smith’s side. He jumps up, swearing, and calls for a Jones. Two run in from the kitchen and mop up the mess.
Smith brushes at the patches of wet on his pants, glaring at Bunny. “I think that’s enough for you for the moment. You’re clearly too nervous to eat with us. Mr. Lukin rattles something in you, doesn’t he, Miss Milkovich?”
Bunny switches her cheek color to red, but doesn’t answer. She just glances at me once, like she’s trying to communicate something—I have no idea what—then walks around the table and heads out the door behind me. Smith moves to her place, since it’s dry. As soon as the Joneses are done cleaning up, he tells them to bring more coffee, and eyes me curiously.
“So what happens to you when you take this medicine, again? That’s another interesting twist.”
“Tell me where my family is and I’ll tell you,” I say.
He laughs again, ugly. “No, that’s not an equal trade at all. I’m just making conversation, Mr. Lukin.”
He looks at my empty plate and pushes the bowl of eggs towards me. I take more, and more bacon. You never know when he’ll kick me out too. You eat when you can, here.
“All right,” I say,
after a swallow. “Tell me what Lucas can do, and I’ll tell you about the medicine.”
He tilts his head. “Better. But still too valuable on my part. How about…you tell me about the medicine, and I’ll tell you who Lucas is.”
I think, take a bite of the bacon. God, it’s good. Crispy, salty.
The man is a lunatic, but he has good taste in food.
I take a deep breath, swallow, and tell him about the hallucinations. I’m trading, so I’m fair about it. I give him details, tell him how they tried to hide it from me at Montauk. How the hallucinations got worse the more medicine I took. He asks questions, and I answer. I know I’m giving him ammunition against myself if he wanted to find more of those pills, stuff me full of them, drive me mad. But I suspect he wants to keep me sane, at least while I’m here. I’m more useful that way, like Bunny said. I’m working voluntarily.
I finish telling him just as I eat the last of my food. “Now you.”
“Now me.” He clears his throat, sets his napkin next to his empty, greasy plate. “Lucas Payne, my dear boy, is your half-brother.”
I don’t move. Don’t even blink. I watch him, entranced, like he’s a cobra. “I don’t have a half-brother,” I say, finally.
“No, that’s not quite accurate.” He pushes back from the table, stands. I stand too. My legs are shivery, and I grip the back of the chair. “You didn’t know you had a half-brother. On your father’s side, with a lovely lady he worked with on one of those bases. I…well. I ran across him, and I snapped him right up. The family resemblance is there, don’t you think? In more ways than one.”
I shake my head. It’s not possible. I would’ve known. Somehow.