by Ellery Kane
“Before I agree to anything, I need to know how you can help me. If your information is as good as you think it is, I’m sure we can come to some mutually beneficial arrangement.” He extended his hand to Augustus and waited.
From behind me, I heard a shriek. Elana was pale-faced, transfixed by Augustus. She must’ve been sleeping in the guest room downstairs.
“It’s okay,” I told her. “He’s working with us now.” She kept staring, speechless.
“Is he?” Mr. Van Sant asked, still offering his hand.
Augustus took it with thinly disguised disdain. “I wouldn’t think of it like that.”
CHAPTER FORTY
TO BE DETERMINED
TEN MINUTES LATER, Elana finally found her voice. A cup of coffee in one hand, she used the other to punch Edison’s arm as she sat down between us on the sofa. “I can’t believe no one bothered to wake me up.”
“Ouch,” I teased as she punched me next.
“And I can’t believe you were hiding Augustus!”
“So he was your text-happy boyfriend?” Edison chimed in.
My cheeks reddened. “I would’ve told you eventually. I just … well, it seemed pretty crazy.”
“Or brilliant,” Edison offered.
“To be determined, I guess.” My eyes traveled up the stairs toward Mr. Van Sant’s office. The door was closed. He and Augustus were inside.
“Do you think he’s being truthful about that account belonging to Ryker?” Elana asked.
I nodded. “We already suspected as much after Baudin left that clue with the black roses. The real question is, can he prove it?” Mr. Van Sant was hoping Augustus could crack Baudin’s coded message.
“And Quin?” she wondered. “Do you think we’ll hear from him?” After I’d spit out the story of last night, Elana and Edison were steadfast—Quin would never betray me. He’d never hurt me. But I couldn’t free myself from the nasty barbs of Xander’s words. I was hooked, a fish on a line. Either Quin was lying to me or he was in more danger than he thought. Both options seemed dire.
“I hope so,” I said. “He told me he would find a way to get in touch.” I sighed, remembering the way Quin looked in my eyes when he’d said it, just before I walked down those stairs alone. It sounded so different, so much less certain in my own voice. Somehow it was harder to trust Quin now than the first day I’d met him, the day we’d taken that long, dark walk into the BART tunnels. It was knowing that I had so much more than my life—I had my whole heart—to lose.
“Then I’m sure he will.” Elana squeezed my shoulder.
Edison reached over Elana, grabbing the remote. “SFTV’s morning broadcast is about to start. We should see if there’s any news about the crash.”
“Doubtful,” I said, reaching for Edison’s phone.
“Anything from Max?” Elana asked. I’d already left him two messages, trying to explain the last couple of days—an impossible task when I didn’t even understand it myself.
“No, but I’m going to try my dad again, at home this time.” All my prior calls had gone unanswered, straight to voicemail every time.
Five rings and, finally, someone picked up. “Hello?” It was Carrie. She sounded tired.
“Carrie, it’s me. Lex.”
“Lex!” Silence. “Have you heard from your father?” Her question echoed inside the hollow pit in my stomach.
“No. That’s why I was calling. Have you?”
She exhaled. “I’ve been trying to reach him for hours, ever since Langley texted.”
“What did she say?” I didn’t really want the answer.
“Uh … ”
“Just tell me, Carrie. Whatever it is.”
It came out fast, in one breath. “He’s been taken.”
“By who?” In my mind, I saw him—a knee in his back, a needle in his arm, his face pleading not for himself, but for me.
“The military.” I already knew, of course, what she left unsaid. What no one seemed to be saying. The Guardian Force.
“Stay safe, Lex,” Carrie warned before she hung up, cautioning us both.
When the door opened, Augustus emerged first, sneering. My heart paused until I saw Mr. Van Sant’s broad shoulders behind Augustus. Still breathing. He was carrying his laptop.
“Well?” Edison asked. “Any luck?”
Excited, Mr. Van Sant held up his hand to Edison, connecting in a high five. “Eddie, we’re back in business.” Setting the laptop on the coffee table in front of us, he perched on the edge of the sofa. On the screen was Baudin’s cryptic message:
roSes, are in Bloom oncE again, saMe as bEfore—don’t forget to share.
Underneath, Mr. Van Sant had typed: January 23, 2043.
Edison spoke first. “That’s it? A date. What does it mean?” He looked expectantly at Augustus.
Augustus’ expression was flat—impossible to read. “Surely, I don’t have to do all the work around here.”
“Listen, you … you … ” Edison approached Augustus, jabbing at him in accusation. His head barely reached Augustus’ chin. “ … you crook. I’ve heard all about you. You’re nothing special. Just a small-time con man. My dad could run circles around you.” Augustus acted as if Edison was invisible. I’d seen that before.
“Edison Archibald, sit down.” Despite his protestation, there was a proud gleam in Mr. Van Sant’s eyes. “It’s a substitution cipher, simple if you have the key.” He nodded at Augustus. “But Mr. Porter’s information is only a jump start. It’ll be up to us to do the rest.”
“How did you break the code?” I asked Augustus. He said nothing—but held up his middle finger at Edison, chuckling. I gasped. He was wearing a ring with a shiny black stone. I imagined he’d slipped it from Xander’s finger after the accident.
Elana chuckled. “Are you kidding? A decoder ring?” I couldn’t help but laugh with her, but Augustus wasn’t amused.
“Is something funny, Ms. Hamilton?” Her face sobered instantly. She shook her head.
I watched Augustus watching her. He relished in his power, and it made me wonder who was really in control here. “How did you know about the ring?” I asked him.
He tapped his finger against his lip, pretending to think. “How did I know about the ring? Let’s see … oh, yes, I remember. I was about to make a deal—a very lucrative deal, I might add—with General Jamison Ryker, when someone got too big for her britches and messed things up for me.”
My veins pulsed with fire just looking at him, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “So Ryker told you?”
“Ms. Knightley, did anyone ever tell you the story of curiosity and the cat?” Augustus looked at me with pity. “Poor, poor kitty.”
Two can play this game. “But satisfaction brought her back.” I smiled at him. “If you’re lying to us, the deal is off.”
With Augustus and me locked in a standoff, neither of us budging, Mr. Van Sant stood up. “January 23,” he announced. “Something important happens on January 23.”
I took my eyes off Augustus and looked at my watch. “Whatever it is, we have three days—counting today—to figure it out.”
CHAPTER FORTY - ONE
SLEEPING SNAKE
IN FIFTH-GRADE BIOLOGY, I learned it’s almost impossible to tell if a snake is sleeping. Augustus’ eyes were closed. His head was drooped lazily against the back of Mr. Van Sant’s sofa. His lips were parted, the cave of his mouth slightly open. His fingers twitched. It was unnerving watching him, the feeling he could strike without warning. Knowing better, I leaned in anyway to inspect his face. His beard was returning, a few stubbly patches at a time. Just below his ear was a scar—a dark and jagged line, slightly raised—that extended under the too-tight collar of my father’s shirt. I’d never noticed it before. The last time I was this close, I was in his office closet, his fingers coiled around my neck, squeezing.
“What was he like on Docil-E?” Elana whispered. She was observing Augustus too, but not the way I was. To my in
quisitive mind, he was a specimen to be examined with neutrality—at least for now. But Elana’s face was contorted in equal parts fear and disgust.
“He was … ” I paused. There was really no word to describe it—his warm, obliging tone, his glassy-eyed smile. “Just imagine the complete opposite of the Augustus you know. That’s how he was. He told me he couldn’t remember what he said or did, only that he felt sublime.”
“Sublime?”
“That was his word.”
“Too bad the effects aren’t permanent.” Next to her, Edison nodded. I couldn’t admit it, of course, but I wasn’t so sure I agreed. Augustus’ predictability, as sly and scheming as he was, brought me comfort. I could see him coming. But like slumbering Augustus, on Docil-E, he was unnatural, the outcome dangerously uncertain. When I turned back to Augustus, his eyes were open, and I felt certain he was never sleeping at all.
“I’m hungry,” he announced.
“Don’t look at me. My days of pimento sandwich delivery are over.” I saw Elana and Edison exchange a glance, but neither questioned me.
“I’m hungry,” Augustus said again, this time to Barry, who was stationed across from him.
Barry’s jaw tensed. He placed a hand on his weapon. “Do I look like a waiter to you?”
Augustus shrugged, returning Barry’s frown with an innocent smile. “You are the hired help, correct?”
“Yeah, hired to put my fist through your face.”
“Easy there, you two.” Mr. Van Sant returned from his office, rounding the corner just in time. “I need you on the same team right now.”
“Hmph.” Barry glared at Augustus, but said nothing more. I was relieved, eager for Mr. Van Sant’s information on my father.
“Did you find out anything about my dad?”
Mr. Van Sant sighed and sat down next to me. There was pity in his eyes. “Good news or bad news first?” he asked.
“Good,” Elana answered for me.
“My law enforcement source confirmed that Mr. Knightley is okay, but … ” Here comes the bad. “ … he’s being held by the military for resisting orders.”
“Can they do that?” Edison asked, incredulous.
“Unfortunately, yes. They have jurisdiction during curfew hours.” Mr. Van Sant gave me another look, more crestfallen than the last. “I don’t think this is about your dad, Lex. It’s about you. The police are planning to offer a reward for your arrest.”
“Arrest? I thought they just wanted to question me.”
“Apparently, Steele changed their minds for them. My source said he’s alive—pretty beat up and mad as a hornet—but alive. They both are. Him and Valkov.”
Augustus frowned. “How unfortunate.”
“So what do we do now?” I asked.
“You’re probably not going to like it,” Mr. Van Sant admitted. “But it’s the only way. We need to deal with this before it becomes unmanageable. You have to turn yourself in for questioning.”
I’m positive I stopped breathing. Mr. Van Sant’s mouth was moving, but his voice was out-pounded by the bass drum thumping of my heart in my ears. I read his lips. “I’ll go with you.” I could only nod. “Edison too.”
I collapsed back against the sofa. Elana patted my arm. “It’ll be okay.” Inhale, exhale, I reminded myself, watching the rise and fall of my chest until I felt steady again. Mr. Van Sant’s words nagged at me, droning over the rest of my thoughts. Without meaning to, I’d picked a fight with a hornet. A hornet on EAMs.
Augustus cleared his throat. “Still hungry.”
CHAPTER FORTY - TWO
AMATEUR
“JUST LET ME DO THE TALKING.” Mr. Van Sant’s reminder—as if I needed one—came a block from the San Francisco Police Department’s headquarters. We had already reviewed his strategy and rehearsed my answers before we left. I would gladly let him speak for me. In fact, I was hoping I wouldn’t have to say much at all.
“Pardon me, Mr. Van Sant, but there appears to be some commotion up ahead.” I followed Scooter’s finger to a mob of protestors. They spilled out into the street, halting traffic. I cracked my window so I could hear their chanting. “No new drugs! No more violence! Clean up our streets!” The crowd was haphazardly moving in the direction of Zenigenic about a half-mile walk from the station.
“Should I let you out here?” Scooter asked.
Mr. Van Sant nodded. “Eddie, keep an eye on Lex, please.” Shielding his face with his leather briefcase, Mr. Van Sant headed into the fray. I tagged behind Edison, keeping my eyes on the ground and praying I wouldn’t be noticed.
“Mr. Van Sant! Mr. Van Sant!” Her recognition a step late, Barbara Blake nearly tripped in her heels sprinting after Edison’s father. “Can we get a statement about Zenigenic’s new drug?” She was in pursuit. “The status of George McAllister’s appeal?” Still running. “The interview with his son, Quin?” When she finally reached him, she expelled her last question in one exhausted breath. “Bill Knightley’s arrest?”
“No comment.” The door closed behind him. Barbara paused for a moment, her dejected face reflected in the glass. Then her eyes opened wide with utter thrill. She whipped around toward us as we approached.
“Alexandra Knightley!” The microphone was in my face, its presence as demanding as Barbara herself. “What can you tell us about Peter Radley? Did you know him? Were you there when he died?” Edison stiff-armed Barbara, but it didn’t deter her. “What would your mother think of Zenigenic’s new drug? Is she responsible for this one too?”
I stopped cold. Since November, when the media obtained the transcript of Dr. Pearson’s trial testimony linking Emovere and Onyx, my mother had resumed center stage in the controversy. A few weeks ago The Real Scoop had run an exclusive interview with one of her former coworkers at Zenigenic. He insinuated she knew that Onyx, even in its earliest form, would be misused by the Guardian Force.
“C’mon, Lex.” Edison stood at the threshold, prompting me.
“Is she?” Barbara Blake demanded. “Is she responsible?” Her eyes were accusing. I returned her stare, harder and hotter, but it was really my mother I was angry with. More and more, she was splitting in two—Dr. Victoria Knightley, ambitious Zenigenic psychiatrist, casting a shadow over my mother. I hated one and desperately loved the other.
Don’t do it, Lex. “My mother regretted every minute she spent at Zenigenic. She would be disgusted that—”
Edison pulled me inside before I could finish. As the door shut, I caught one last glimpse of Barbara. She was lit with excitement. Beaming, her white teeth signaled victory. I felt sick inside. I was such an amateur.
“Please don’t tell your dad.” Edison didn’t answer, just shook his head disapprovingly. Hard to believe, but San Francisco Police Department’s headquarters was more chaotic than the Oakland station where I’d visited George McAllister. Mr. Van Sant had already bypassed a long, disgruntled line and was speaking to an officer at the desk. The man was nodding, his expression deferent.
“What next?” I asked Edison, trying to distract myself.
“We wait.” He glanced at me sidelong, amending his instructions. “We stay out of trouble, and we wait.”
“Sorry,” I murmured. I knew my mistake with Barbara was costly. Alexandra Knightley’s statement to the media was probably already being processed and packaged for the next news brief. Daughter of Victoria Knightley Slams Zenigenic. That certainly wouldn’t win me any points with Xander.
“Comin’ through!” The door swung open wide, and two military officers entered, waving their arms to clear a path. Behind them, a row of men, each handcuffed and joined to the other at the waist, filed inside.
“Last night’s arrests,” Edison whispered. “Mostly curfew violations. They bring them here after they detox.” I knew my father wouldn’t be there, but I scoured the line anyway, searching for a sign of him. Satan’s Syndicate was well represented, at least ten necks tattooed with an unmistakable inverted pentagram. The group was sur
prisingly subdued. Most held their heads down. None spoke. I had no doubt that, like my father, all these men had been injected with Docil-E.
“Edison,” Mr. Van Sant called out over the zigzag of inmates. “They’re ready for Alexandra.” I stood and waited for the last of them to pass. A tall, scrawny redhead … a dark-eyed potbelly … a perfectly sculpted, painfully familiar Mohawk.
I jabbed my elbow into Edison’s side, and he yelped. “It’s String,” I hissed, averting my eyes from the line. I wasn’t sure where to look so I fixed on their feet until String’s boots were several steps ahead of us. I slowly raised my head, then snapped it back down again. He was looking at me—but not just looking. His eyes were issuing a challenge.
“Lex.” I heard Edison pleading with me under his breath, but I ignored him. Instead I marched away from him toward String.
“What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?” he asked, singsong.
I rolled my eyes. “I would ask you the same, but, well … you’re not nice, are you?”
String shrugged off my insult. “Whatever you say. You’ve got it all figured out.”
“You killed Peter Radley.” The words were out before I could measure their impact.
String blinked, the only movement on the flat landscape of his face. “Peter Radley killed himself.”
“You didn’t exactly stop him. He told me you gave him that Emovere.”
“Funny, I thought you were the person of interest here.”
I heard Edison gaining ground behind me, but I wasn’t finished yet. “You were following George McAllister. You were following Quin. Maybe you followed me too. Is that how Xander found me?”
String seemed surprised, then incensed by my indictment. “That’s a lot of accusations from someone who once said she trusted me.” He glanced over his shoulder toward the officer. He was leaning over the desk, back turned to us. “As for the McAllisters, do you really know who you’re defending?” I opened my mouth, but he plowed over me in an exaggerated whisper. “I’ll tell you who. One twice-convicted murderer and one—”