Chapter 4 The Questioning
(AUTHOR'S NOTE: Miss Lischak's lecture on genetics is based on the science book THE GENOME, by Matt Ridley)
Grace used to consider schoolwork sheer drudgery, a meaningless ritual invented to torture students. But in the past two years she had gradually come to value some of the schoolwork, for two reasons. One was her bond with Luke, who always wanted to learn something new, even though he disliked the social side of school nearly as much as she did. It wasn't so much that knowledge was power, but knowledge was pleasure. If it meant so much to him, it must be important.
The second experience was the job she had had over the "Christmas" holidays, working on a farm owned by cousins of Luke's. She had been put in charge of a field of genetically altered wheat, a strain which was being evaluated as a possible solution to famine in the Third World. In spite of her devotion to the task, the wheat had died, due to a flaw on its artificial genetic structure. That was a big lesson to Grace: ardor wasn't enough, knowing How Things Worked was crucial. And so nowadays she really did pay attention to Miss Lischak as she lectured.
"Nowadays," said the teacher, "understanding of the genome is so extensive that when we find a flaw in its workings, we don't just dismiss it as a breakdown, but wonder: why is it there? Normally, if a flaw is serious enough, the organism possessing it would not reproduce, and so the flaw would die out in a generation. So the flaw must be there for a reason."
Grace nodded to herself. The G.E. wheat that she had worked on hadn't been bred for generations, but artificially produced. So it had flaws that wouldn't occur in naturally evolved plants, and caught the biologists off guard.
"The first known example of the phenomenon came during research into a genetic African disease called sickle-cell anemia. The cause, it turned out, was two copies of a certain mutant gene. But why had the gene not died out? Because it turned out that the pairing of a mutant gene and a healthy one gave you resistance to malaria -- and for most of African history, that was a good thing. Sickle-cell anemia existed for a REASON. Nowadays, we know of other diseases -- Yes?" she interrupted herself with annoyance, as one of the hall monitors walked in. Lischak always had a sense of the dramatic, and hated having her performance disrupted.
"Is Grace Polk in this class? Mr. Price wants her in the principal's office."
"Why?" called out Grace.
"I don't know, Miss. I was just told to deliver the message."
If Grace had been somebody else she would have been humiliated to be torn out of class in front of her fellow students. But she was Grace Polk, and it was scarcely the first time it had happened to her.
When Grace reached Price's office, she saw a small middle-aged blonde woman sitting at his desk. She did not look particularly dangerous -- which went to prove that looks can be deceiving.
"Miss Polk, this is Captain Lucy Preston from Washington. She's helping the local police investigating the City Hall bombing, and she would like to ask you some questions."
"Me? Why?"
"Because you might have be able to answer them," Preston said, dryly but softly. "Your vice-principal will stand by to make sure things do not get out of hand."
Out of hand? What was going on?
"Do you recognize this?" asked the woman, handing over a leaflet.
TEN YEARS AGO THE GUYS AT THE PENTAGON WORKED ON SOMETHING CALLED THE RADIATION BOMB, WHICH KILLED PEOPLE BUT LEFT PROPERTY INTACT. THAT'S THEIR SENSE OF PRIORITIES. WOULDN'T YOU PREFER A BOMB THAT SPARED PEOPLE AND WRECKED YOUR ENEMY'S PROPERTY? OR MAYBE NO BOMBS AT ALL?
IT'S YOUR TAX DOLLARS AT WORK. IT'S TIME FOR AN ACCOUNTING.
"Yeah," Grace said reluctantly. "I passed them out last week for a, um, club I belong to."
"So you agree with the contents?"
"I agree that the Pentagon shouldn't spend money to invent new bombs."
"But what about the line about wrecking your enemy's property?"
"That was sarcasm, put in for shock effect. To make people think."
"Contrary to what you may believe, Miss Polk, most people are capable of thinking, without being "made" to. Even if you don't like their conclusions," Preston said coldly.
Something in that voice chilled Grace. For the first time in a long string of encounters with Authority, Grace was starting to feel nervous. "Yeah. Maybe. I wasn't the one that wrote that line."
"Ah yes, your club. Do you know who did?"
"There was a group of guys."
"Names?"
"Yeah, they all had names."
"I mean, can you give me some of their names?"
"I can, but I don't see why I have to. It's a free country. Supposed to be, anyway."
Preston's eyes narrowed, as if hoping to drill into Grace. Finally: "Very well, let us bring up another topic. Where were you at 10:30 on Wednesday morning?"
That was two days ago, the day of the big afternoon free-for-all. Grace thought back. "I was at an assembly in the gym. Price was giving a pompous speech." The present Price looked annoyed at that but held his tongue.
"What was the speech about?"
"I don't remember. Ask HIM."
"I'm asking you. You were there but don't remember the speech topic?"
"I wasn't listening. I rarely do. What's this about?"
"Somebody sent a message from the school computer lab to City Hall, warning that the bombs would explode."
"And you think it was me?" The fear was growing greater.
"Merely checking into possibilities. Look, Grace." Preston leaned forward, as if that and the use of Grace's first name would create an illusion of friendliness. "Emailing the warning was a GOOD thing. It saved a lot of lives. If you get in trouble about other things, that might be considered mitigating circumstances--"
"Is that an accusation?"
Preston drew back suddenly, as if Grace had said a magic word. "Of course not."
"I didn't have anything to do with the bombing, and I didn't send any Email. I helped save a Muslim girl from bullies, but nobody seems to care about that. Is there anything else?"
Preston shut her notebook with a snap. "Not now, Miss Polk. We may have more questions later."
-----
"Grace?"
The girl whirled around at the sound of her name in the crowded hallway. "Yes?"
Joan looked startled. "Wow, that's the quickest response I ever got out of you. What's wrong?"
Grace pulled her friend into an empty classroom to talk. "There was some bitch from the police, hinting that I had something to do with the bombing. And Price was standing there enjoying it all." It was curious: for years Grace had considered herself at war with Authority, and prided herself on her stance. But today, now that she had actually confronted a member of the police who suspected her of something, Grace no longer felt bold. She felt terrified. She poured out her story.
"Oh my God. I -- you better come to my house, and talk to Dad."
"The enemy?"
"He's my Dad and he's honest. He'll level with you. Then we'll bring Luke and Adam in. See if we can get help from You-Know-Who. Make it a sleepover."
"My parents won't let me sleepover." It was a measure of Grace's angst that the idea of fibbing to her parents did not occur to her, even though she had done it dozes of times in her life.. "After last time--"
Joan went red, doubtlessly remembering what happened "last time": she had caught Grace in bed with Luke without any clothes on. But she plowed on. "Tell your parents the truth: that you're in trouble and may need Dad's help."
"All right."
-----
Joan was right, in at least one sense. Talking to Mr. Girardi, Grace felt none of the malice that seemed to radiate from Captain Preston. He was angry, but not at her. Joan, Luke, Adam, and Mrs. G sat by without interfering, though Grace noticed a scowl on the mother's face when she mentioned Lucy Preston.
"I'm not supposed to say this," said Mr. Girardi, "but Lucy can be very manipulative, trying to entrap somebody into making an admission. She didn't give you the Miranda warning, did she?"
"No," said Grace.
"Then even if you admitted to something, it can't be used against you in court. I think she was basically trying to scare you, to get information on your 'club'."
"None of them would have done this." Grace insisted
"Unfortunately, saying so does not seem to get you far with Lucy Preston. I tried to talk the others out of involving the school in the case; unfortunately, all that accomplished was that they decided I was "too close" to that part of the investigation. That's how Lucy got assigned to the school. My advice, Grace, is to find a lawyer and insist on his being present at all future interviews. Not Mr. Price."
"Thanks, Mr. Girardi." Though Grace was not entirely reassured. A lawyer would work only in an open court. Mr. Girardi implied that Lucy Preston could fight dirty -- and she wasn't the only one. Grace had read newspapers about "terror suspects"---
"And now," declared Joan with a faux-cheerfulness that fooled absolutely no one, "we can forget this police stuff and concentrate on homework! It'll be just like old times."
"Except that I'm new to the group," said Adam. "Different schedule this semester."
As the four teens went up the stairs, Grace heard Mr. Girardi say to his wife: "Something peculiar is going on. Did you ever see four teenagers so thrilled with doing schoolwork at the beginning of a weekend?"
"Nope," said Mrs. Girardi glumly. "Whatever it is that used to make Joan to do odd things, it looks like they've all caught it now."
------
Four people crowded into Joan's bedroom made quite a crowd, particularly since Adam had not been therefore and seemed to be trying not to think of the sexual implications. Joan took charge. Having spoken to God for two years longer than the others, she was the natural leader.
"OK. Has anybody had recent encounters with Mysterious Strangers?"
"That weird little girl visited my shed," volunteered Adam. "She repeated the advice about being wise and cautious."
"Nothing else?" The others shook their heads. "All right, it looks like we're on our own with this."
"The logical thing would be to figure out who really did send that message," said Grace.
"That's a computer problem," observed Adam, "so maybe Luke can look into it.
"There's no point," said Luke.
"Of course there's a point!" exclaimed Joan. "Whoever sent the message will know SOMETHING about the bombs, and can clear Grace's name."
"I understand THAT," said Luke. "But there's no point in trying to find who sent that anonymous Email. I already know. I was the one that sent it."