Friday December 8 2006

11:00 EST

US Highway 1, between Pigeon and Little Duck Keys

Nicole piloted her rented car down the causeway connecting mainland Florida to Key West, a two-lane ribbon of concrete raised ten feet above the surface of Caribbean. The road stretched out in front of her to the horizon, with almost nothing but water all around: a couple of pleasure boats far out in the water, and an oncoming vehicle, small with distance, were her only distractions. To her right, an unused and possibly abandoned railway bridge paralleled the highway, serving no purpose but to spoil the view. She looked at the concrete guardrails lining the shoulder, and wondered how often people traveling this lonely highway fell asleep at the wheel.

She glanced at the time display on the center screen; as with every clock she encountered, she had checked its setting and accuracy, and was reasonably confident of its reading. Eleven AM. Almost lunchtime here, but a good time to have breakfast in California. Were they still on the West Coast somewhere, or even in the US? After Chula Vista, she would have run to the other side of the world, but John Lynch had made a career of being unpredictable.

Did they all eat at the same time, she wondered? She smiled at the image of him sitting at the table with his adopted family. Did they say grace before digging in? Who did the cooking? Sarah? Bobby? No, the little blonde was their housekeeper, wasn't she?

The rental was a top-tier upgrade, fitted with a hands-free phone connection. She directed it to call a number that she recited from memory. As it began ringing, she thought about how to start her conversation with the little agent provocateur on the other end. She'd be cautious, certainly, but would she be hostile? How might she overcome that?

The ringing stopped. The deep rough voice on the other end gave her a tiny start. "Who is this?"

She smiled at the windshield. "Uncle Jack?"

A moment of silence, then, "Nicole." Voice flat, neutral. Well, he couldn't be expected to be glad to hear from her, could he?

"It's been a long time, I know. I would have called sooner, but I didn't have your number." She added, "I thought I was calling Anne."

"She's not here. How did you get her number?"

"I got it from Frank. Don't be mad at him, he doesn't know he gave it to me. He was asleep at the time. Well, not exactly asleep. Delirious, more like."

"What else did he tell you?"

"Well, I know he's protecting you," she said. "And I think there are other people helping – probably your old pal Benito, if I were to guess. Don't tell me if I'm right."

"What are you going to do, Nicole?"

"You mean, am I going to tell anyone? No."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want to. I really like Frank. I'm kind of courting him. I'm not going to give Ivana an excuse to kill him." She softened her voice. "And I'm glad you got away. You know I don't remember my real dad. You're the closest thing I had to a father growing up."

"Nicole, when you were sixteen, you tried to seduce me."

"Well, what else did I know about love? I wouldn't do it now." She decided to change the subject. "How is everybody doing? Does Kat have a boyfriend yet?"

"I'd say she's between boyfriends right now. Why are you calling, Nicole, really?"

"First, because I thought Anne should know I had her number," she said. "You probably noticed I'm not calling from the same phone as last time. The first call was my personal. I hung up because it didn't seem like a good idea to have a conversation from a known line. I'm on a burn phone now." She reminded herself to erase the phone data from the car's Bluetooth directory before she turned it in. She had not officially reported in since she had left, telling Ruche and Ivana by text that she was still investigating the information broker's claims, and promising a full report when she returned to Central – a report that she intended would be rather different from the story she had told Sharita and the other runaways. But she knew a few people – more than a few, actually – whom she could rely on to call her with gossip. "And, second, because I have some news you might be interested in. I hear that Ivana's going to be pulling all your old Odd Squad buddies out of field operations soon. Most of them will be coming to Boulder to be guinea pigs for Doctor Ivery. I thought maybe, before that happens, you'd want to get in touch with a couple of them."

A moment of silence on the line. "Probably not, but thank you anyway, Nicole." Then: "I need to go now."

"Okay. If I call again, it'll be from a different number. Can't be too careful."

"If I call your personal phone, it'll be on a secure line. But that just means that someone tapping your phone won't be able to trace it. They'll still be able to hear our conversation."

"Understood." She paused. "It's good to hear your voice, Uncle Jack."

"You too. Be careful, Nicole. And be kind to him." The line went dead. Nicole rolled down the window, reached out, and flung the phone over the roof of the car into the sea.

Escondido

Lynch, sitting at the two-seat kitchen table, set the phone down on its surface, next to his own, and stared at it. Sarah, standing behind him, said, "Was that really Nicole? Our Nicole?"

"Yes."

"And she really tried to seduce you? The bitch."

"You don't know her circumstances, Sarah," he said. "I'm inclined to give her a pass."

"She tried with Bobby too. Is she going to be trouble?"

"My gut says yes," he said. "But I've always been a sucker for a pretty girl with a hard-luck story."

"Hm." She slid a loaded plate in front of him, pushing the phones aside. "Huevos rancheros. I'm sure Anna doesn't want you to starve while she's gone."

He looked at it. "You cooked this?"

"I know how to cook," she said in mock indignation. "But usually, you can't make a slice of toast around here without Anna taking the butter knife out of your hand." She set a plateful of sliced fruit down on the table across from him and took a seat. "You miss her already."

He gave her a little smile as he picked up his fork. "What was your first clue?"

"The first one today?" She speared a melon piece. "When you got up, after a night alone, and came in here to sit in her kitchen."

"And found you."

"She's a sister to me now. Far more than that one on the phone." Her fork paused over the next morsel. "Nicole, me, Roxanne. How could sisters be so different?"

He forbore to mention any of the numerous similarities he had observed among the young women in question. "Stephen didn't have anything to do with you or Roxanne, aside from providing half your blueprints. And your mothers were all very different."

"Hm." She stuck a bit of melon into her cheek. "Are there any others, do you know?"

"I was frankly surprised about you and Roxanne," he said. "I would have sworn Stephen would never cheat on his wife." His fork paused. "I was having barbeque in his back yard when he and Lissa told me they were having a baby. They were both so happy."

"Matt?"

"Yes. They asked me to be the baby's godfather."

"Nicole's, too. Anna told us." Her eyes rose to meet his, the whole and ruined one both. "I wasn't just asking about my sibs."

He held her eyes. "Eddie has an older brother – full brother, old enough that it's uncertain whether he's Genactive. He wasn't at Darwin."

She smiled. "Did his parents give him a name that he has to keep secret from his friends too?"

He smiled back. "Absalom."

"Oh, my God." She took a strawberry slice into her cheek. "Caitlin thought Roxanne was hers for the longest time."

"I know. She had reason. Unlike Stephen, Alex Fairchild was a shameless rake. It's hard to believe he didn't leave behind any woods colts along his trail of conquests. But I don't know of any."

"Hm." She toyed with the contents of her plate, stirring them with her fork.

"Sarah. You know someone?"

"I suspect someone. A girl at Darwin. I don't know, though." She didn't look up from her plate. "And Bobby?"

He reached across the little table to cover her hand resting beside her plate. Her eyes jumped up to meet his, and they locked. "I'm not going to tell you, Sarah. Someday, I'll let him know everything. I'm sure he'll ask you if you knew, and how long. I intend that you be able to tell him truthfully that you didn't know, regardless of what you suspect."

"That's a bit disingenuous, don't you think?"

"If it really bothers you, go to him with your suspicions. But if he comes to me for confirmation, don't expect me to provide it. I don't keep this secret lightly. There are people involved besides Bobby and me and him. People whose safety might be compromised if this isn't kept under wraps for now."

"Until when?"

"Until things change. That's not meant to be a brush-off, Sarah. I'm working towards some of those changes, but I'd rather not elaborate, because I can't be certain when they'll happen. Some of that depends on things that other people need to do yet."

Bobby appeared in the doorway, yawning. "Not the last up, am I?"

"Not quite," she said, smiling. "Eddie's still dead to the world. Roxanne was in the bathroom when I came down. Caitlin's been up for at least an hour." Her smile cooled somewhat. "She's biking up to Dixon Lake."

Bobby nodded. Kat had been spending a lot of time off by herself since the breakup with Dan Grissom. There had always been times when her single-minded focus had taken her deep into her own head, but this was different; she seemed to be deliberately avoiding people, even ones who cared deeply about her. At his dad's birthday celebration at the house – a rather pale affair, with Anna so conspicuously absent – she had solemnly presented him with her gift and, as soon as he opened it and she accepted his thanks, retreated to her room while the rest of them tried to make up for the double absence.

Bobby came up behind Sarah's seat and put a hand on her shoulder; her free hand came up to rest on it. He leaned over to kiss her ear, and saw the plate and phones. "Hear from her yet? I thought I heard the phone ring."

"I got a call," his father said. "It wasn't her. I expect one of them will get in contact before she does."

Looking over the stove for any unserved food, he said idly, "Who called then?" Sarah's hand pressed briefly on his, squeezing, and his focus came back to the table, where his father was looking at them both with a resigned expression. "Somebody I know?"

"I would rather have talked to everyone at once about this," he said to Sarah.

"You've just gotten so used to keeping secrets that you don't know how to shut it off," She rejoined.

He said to Bobby, "I just got a call from Nicole Callahan. I don't know how much she knows, besides having one of our numbers. She's promised to keep it secret, and hinted that she might be willing to give us some help."

Bobby's neck and forearms prickled. "Dad. You can't trust her. She's crazy. I mean, serial-killer crazy."

The muscles under his ear flexed. "I know. She also inferred that she's in a relationship with Frank."

"Frank? The man who-"

"Yes."

From the door, Roxanne said, "That poor guy. He just doesn't get a break. Anna told me he's still in a wheelchair." Her eyes flicked to her half-sister's as she crossed the kitchen to the refrigerator. Lynch caught the tiny exchange, and wondered what secret the girls were sharing. He wondered, too, why his wife's was the only one of their numbers that Nicole had fished out of Colby's head. "Does he know anything else about us? Cuz she'll get it out of him, if she hasn't already."

"Nothing that can do us real, harm," he said, sipping his coffee. "We won't have to move, if that's what you're wondering."

"Good." She pulled a carton of milk from the refrigerator and opened an overhead cabinet. "I was just getting used to this place. It's really starting to feel like home, not a hideout."

"She's likely to learn things that could get some friends at IO killed, though." He sipped again.

"Oh," she said, cereal box poised over her bowl. "Sorry."

He nodded absently. The fates of Colby and Alicia and anyone they had recruited were presently out of Lynch's hands; if they made a run for it, he would help them, but first they would have to break contact with IO. Which would hamstring the defensive operations he had established within the organization.

Nicole's little tidbit of information, however, opened up a possibility for restoring his network almost immediately. Most of his former Team Seven squadmates were dead, insane, run off, or assigned to other duties. But there were still two Genactive former members of his old squad in the X-Teams: Michael Cray and Marcus Slayton. If one or both had accepted Research Directorate's offer, they would be moving to Boulder, where he might be able to establish a connection…

If Nicole was telling the truth, and if she wasn't baiting a trap with the information.

You know I don't remember my real dad, his goddaughter had said. You're the closest thing I had to a father growing up.

There were better ways to seduce a man than by simply offering him sex, he told himself. And Nicole Callahan knew them all.

Saturday December 9
Undisclosed location
Southwest United States

It was nice, Joel decided, to feel accepted again – especially, being accepted more or less on your own terms. He sat on a barstool-height chair at a worktable in the team's lab – a common room for project discussion and conferences, really, the work usually being done in various locations throughout the complex – analyzing data on his laptop and making notes. Along with the dozen people scattered in groups of two and three throughout the room, and Doctor Preiz at his desk discussing something with another senior researcher, two of his coworkers stood on the other side of his table, chatting about something that might or might not be work-related. Their proximity showed a blatant disregard for his privacy, but, unlike such behavior at MacArthur, it was also an invitation to join in.

The group's initial surprise and caution at Joel's appearance in the lab had faded, and after a week of spending his workdays in the same room, people were used to coming up to him with their issues instead of messaging him. They talked about problems and observations in a way that they hadn't before, and even included him in nonwork conversations, though it was clear to him that they were making an effort to do so. To Joel, it was far more obvious here than at MacArthur that his isolation was largely self-imposed. At Indra's urgings, he had made efforts to break out of his shell, and thought he had made some progress, at least to the point of making casual responses to questions and being able to remember people's first names.

Nevertheless, he couldn't help feeling a measure of frustration at the amount of sidebar conversation going on in the lab all day. He was here to work, and talking about sports, past experiences, or mutual acquaintances simply wasn't productive. But he had resigned himself to it. With practice and self-discipline, it wasn't too difficult to tune out most of the nonwork goose-gabble, at least until they included him in the conversation.

The background chatter across the table stopped. He looked up. Kurt and Hyun-Ju were looking down at him expectantly. "Sorry, I was kind of distracted."

Kurt smiled tolerantly. "I said, are you going to the mixer tonight?"

"Mixer?" He frowned, thinking of the fratboy circus at the Chi's that he had escorted his sister and her girlfriends to, where he had nearly gotten pummeled for stepping between Kat and some predatory lunk who had been about five seconds from getting physical with her. "What mixer?"

"The one that's been posted on the bulletin board for almost a month. Man, do you never look at the facility site?" He reached over the table to rest a hand on Joel's shoulder. "Come with us, Joel. Be a good chance to see what the other teams are doing, maybe exchange information."

"Among other things," Hyun said. "I hear the new redhead in Special Projects is pretty hot."

Joel froze. Get real. There are ten million redheaded females in the world. You can't know the only smart one. Nevertheless he said, "What's her name?"

"That bit of information wasn't passed on," Hyun said. "But she's tall, and has a very nice ass, I'm told."

"Indra's coming." Kurt studied him. "I'm sure she'd like to see you there."

Joel nodded. "I think I may show up, at least for a little while."

"Tall." Joel scoffed into his glass, leaning against the wall and looking across the room at the red-haired girl from Special Projects. They had been introduced just a few minutes before, and while Kelly was certainly cute, and there was nothing wrong with her rear view, when clasping hands she and Joel had stood eye to eye. Looking down at her feet, he saw that the girl was wearing shoes that raised her heels at least two inches off the floor.

Kurt said, "Consider the source. Hyun is, like, five feet nothing. He probably thinks any girl who can reach the top shelf without a stool is an Amazon." He tipped his head toward a knot of people. "Indra's not going to be here for a while yet. Let's mingle."

"I think I'll just-"

"Come on, Joel. Jesus, you're not really going to hold up the wall for an hour, are you? Let's talk to some people."

Kurt led Joel around the room, making introductions and inserting the two of them into other people's conversations. Joel was uncomfortable at first, but no one seemed put out by their intrusion, and he got used to it. Half a dozen teams were housed at the underground complex, conducting research and development work in an equal number of R & D projects that seemed only marginally related. Though much of the general conversation had little to do with the actual meat of their research, Joel found some of the discussions interesting, at least enough to ask a few questions. When the discussion involved mundane topics, he was able to nod his head and feign interest, even when the talk was about people he didn't know, or pointless discussions about the outside world.

One conversation not strictly of intellectual interest did prick up his ears, something of a gripe session between two men working for different projects and comparing notes.

"I dunno, Adelmo," one said to the other. "I mean, it's a great concept. I can see plenty of potential applications for it."

"Yeah." Adelmo looked glum. "We showed our findings to Bellamy, along with a couple of possibilities, just scratching the surface, really. He seemed impressed. So how come the next day we've got orders to close up shop and turn our data over to the archive? We're just getting started on this. Why would they shut us down before we do anything useful with what we have?"

"They might be turning the data over to another team for development," Joel said, and immediately wished he hadn't spoken. Both men turned to him, surprised – by his statement, or that he had spoken at all? He went on, "Maybe they think you're the wrong people to develop the products they want. Just a thought." He remained silent thereafter, and excused himself as soon as he could. Take a look at this place. Look at the security. What kind of people do you think we're working for? What do you think they want to do with what we're discovering?

Indra hooked elbows. "Hey. Been here long?"

"'Long' is a relative term. You just get here?"

"Yeah, I had some things to do. What are you drinking?" She wrapped her free hand around his glass, partly covering his fingers, and brought it to her lips. She sniffed at it and took a sip. "Rum and Coke? Was this a quick-and-easy favorite at your frat or something?"

"I wasn't a fratboy," he said. "I just don't drink much." He remembered how Kat had, on occasion, unselfconsciously shared his glass, an odd little intimacy that he hadn't shared with any other girl, even Alex. "A little wine now and then, that's it. You want something fancy, you'll have to mix your own."

"I'd be afraid of you bailing while I'm at the bar."

"I wouldn't do that."

"Really? How unlike you." she brought the glass to her lips again, holding his hand more firmly, and lingering with the backs of his fingers against her chin. "This is fine."

Joel struggled for something to say that wasn't work-related. "Where did they get the booze for this do? Somebody have a still?"

She scoffed. "Funny, Joel."

"I wasn't trying to be. I know the commissary doesn't dispense alcohol. I…" He faltered when he saw she was staring at him.

Indra said, "You really don't know about debit accounts?" He must have looked confused; she went on, "You can set up a charge account to buy stuff. The money comes automatically out of your comp account." She shook her head. "Wow. I noticed that you wear the same five shirts and pants all the time, but I thought that was just you. You've really been living on what you can get from the dining hall and the commissary. For three years?"

"And what's wrong with the food in the dining hall? It's way better than what I was eating in school," he said, feeling a little defensive. "As for toothpaste and shampoo and such, commissary issue is fine. Especially since you don't have to pay for any of it."

"Joel, you must be a millionaire by now. Don't you ever want to spend some it? Just to remind you why you're doing all this, at least?"

"Just because I've got money, doesn't mean I want to throw it away," he said. "I'll spend plenty once I'm out of here."

"Like on a fancy car to impress the girls?" Her lashes lowered.

"Impressing girls isn't very high on my do list," he said, suddenly uneasy. "But I do like nice cars." He said, "What are you going to do with your money?"

"Travel," she said. "Japan and Italy are at the top of my list. I might even buy a house in one of them." She looked into his eyes. "What's wrong?"

"Indra, have you ever seen anybody leave this place?" He should have read his contract before signing it, he thought; he should have had a lawyer go over it. But he had only skimmed it, his attention mostly on the compensation package and glossing over the security requirements. He had completely missed a brief clause buried in the middle of the eight-page document, one stating that his 'four year' contract renewed automatically until terminated, which could be done at any time, but only by mutual agreement.

"Joel, we just threw a retirement party for Doctor Laurent a month ago, don't you remember?" Her eyebrow twitched. "Oh, that's right, you weren't there."

He ignored the barb. "I mean, anybody this side of sixty."

"No. I've never heard of anybody requesting termination of their contract before they're sixty either. If you're a scientist with things to discover and prove, where would you rather be?" She tugged him toward the drink table. "You'll be directing your own projects before you know it. When that happens, you'll hardly give a thought to leaving. Let's go get a refill."

At the table, Joel said, "Whoa, that's too much rum."

"Relax, this off-brand stuff can't be very strong." She added another dollop to the glass. "As much money as these guys make, you'd think they could at least order Bacardi."

Joel examined the bottle. "This stuff is imported from Guyana. It's fifteen years old, and probably costs fifty bucks a bottle. Label says it's a hundred and fifty proof."

"Well, fine then." She set the drink on the table, passed him a new glass, dumped a rather smaller portion of the dark liquid into it, and added cola and a few ice cubes. She picked up the original glass and tipped it toward him, offering to touch glasses. They did, and she tipped the glass back for a long swallow, eyes on him. Reluctantly, he took a deep draft of his own drink, resolving that this would be his last round.

"I heard we've got some big shots coming to the complex sometime next week," she said. "Corporate."

"Think we'll get to meet them?"

"Well, we might see them, if the senior researchers get called on for a presentation and they drag us into it. Doubt there'll be any introductions though."

Elbows still locked, Joel and Indra drifted through the crowd, surfing through the conversations. Joel didn't remember much of it; Indra did most of the talking, guiding him around the room with an occasional tug or hip bump. He became very aware of her closeness and warmth and scent. He looked around the room for the people he had come with, but Kurt and Hyun were nowhere in sight.

He suddenly realized that they were back at the drink table, and Indra had just pressed another glass into his hand. He looked down into the dark liquid. "I don't think I should drink this."

"Then don't." Indra tipped her glass back, emptying it, and set it on the table. As she had earlier, she reached for his glass, still in his hand, and brought it to her lips. "Just hold it, and I'll finish it."

They wandered a bit more, auditing other people's conversations but not really joining in. Joel caught himself sipping from the glass in his hand from time to time, but most of it was claimed by his companion. Eventually it was empty. Indra said, "Ready to leave?"

"Yeah, sorry. I'm not really a party person."

"Well I am," she said, setting her empty glass on a table. "But I'm ready too."

They left together. Joel was mildly surprised, when they got on the elevator and he pushed the button for his floor, to see that she didn't make a selection of her own. When the doors opened, she got off as well, and walked side by side with him down the wide hall.

She slipped an arm around his waist. "I had a good time tonight."

"Me too," he said automatically, and decided that it was true.

The hall ended at a T junction. He turned left and paused, but Indra completed the turn, guiding him down the hall. He said, "You're in the same wing?"

"Just three doors down from you." She pulled him closer, bumping hips. "You didn't know, really?"

"Well, I never saw you in the hallway."

"Well, now that you're coming out of your room more often, maybe you will."

They reached Joel's door. He punched in the door code at the pad beside the jamb, and door unlocked with a click. That was when he realized that she hadn't let go of him.

They regarded each other, their faces only a shoulder width apart. Her eyes were dark, heavy-lidded, sleepy-looking. Waiting for him to invite her in, or maybe just pull her inside. He said, "Indra, you're drunk."

"So are you." She moistened her lips. "We could apologize to each other when we wake up in the morning, if you want."

He slipped free. "I'm really not ready for this. Sorry," he added. "You're great, really. I'll be kicking myself in the morning. But…"

"Okay," she said. "It's okay. We've got time." She gave him a peck on the cheek, then went a short distance down the hall and unlocked another door, and threw him a smile as she went inside.

In his room, Joel downed an aspirin and two glasses of water before undressing. He took his wallet out of his pocket and stared at it. He opened it and went through the contents, looking for something he actually needed on his person all the time. There wasn't anything. Carrying it around with him now seemed kind of silly. The cash and ID cards were useless here, and staring at the pictures in it every day probably wasn't healthy. He decided to leave it home from now on, and set up a drawing account tomorrow or the day after. It was time to admit that this place was his world now, and get on with things.

A bit of green in the money pocket caught his eye, and he drew the bills out, counting the cash. Fifty-three dollars. All that was left of my weekly folding money when I came here. I make more than this now while I'm in the washroom. He started to put it away again but paused for another look. Something about the money in his hand was niggling at his mind. He tried to bring it to light, but nothing more than an odd disquiet registered. He shrugged and put the money away and stuck the wallet in a drawer.