“Is this about the Gardner mission?” I hold my breath, waiting for him to bring up the cheat sheet.
Alpha takes a long inhale through his nose and lets it out just as slowly. “Yes and no.” He pauses a second. “I’m afraid I have good news and bad news. Which do you want first?”
“The bad.” Always get the bad news first. It’s like ripping off a Band-Aid. You just have to do it.
Alpha shakes his head and hands me a piece of paper that’s been folded over and sealed with wax. “Good news first.”
I take the paper and look down at the wax owl. “Then why did you pretend to give me a choice?”
“To see which you would choose. I’m a bad-news-first kind of person, too. Go on and open that.”
I slide my finger under the crease and break the seal.
GREEN
67^CAPITOL8*8
My breath catches in my throat. “Is this . . . Green’s log-in and password? Why are you giving this to me?”
Alpha takes a second before responding. “Because I think you deserve it. Don’t tell anyone.” He nods his head toward the library. “Go. You have five minutes. I’ll be in my office. Meet me there when you’re done.”
He walks toward his office, leaving me alone in the dining room. I don’t hesitate. I bolt into the library and pull out the chair in front of one of the computers. I flick the mouse from side to side to get the screen to turn on. Then I enter Green’s log-in and password.
Green. Green’s? What does this have to do with the Gardner museum? Anything? As soon as the US emblem hits the page, I type my dad’s name into the search box and wait for the page to load. There it is. I click on it and hold my breath.
A new page pops up, and my face falls. I only scan it, but it’s the same thing as before. Just a long, boring family tree. What is Alpha doing? Am I supposed to be looking for something else? Maybe something on the Gardner museum, something I don’t have clearance for? I move the mouse up to the search function and start typing. I’ve gotten as far as ISABELLA STEWART GAR when I notice something. This page is different. I stare at it, and my mouth drops open.
His dates of birth and death are there, but that’s not all. Mitchell Thomas Obermann. Born Natick, Massachusetts. Died Dallas, Texas.
Dallas, Texas. My dad died in Dallas. In the United States. That doesn’t make any sense at all. He was in the navy. I always assumed he died a hero, saving our country in some foreign locale. But not in Texas. Why would my dad be in Texas?
I stare at the screen for several minutes, waiting for an answer that will never materialize. I glance at the clock. I’m supposed to meet Alpha in a minute and a half. I close the government window and launch the Web browser, then quickly type DALLAS, TEXAS and the date he died into the search engine.
I scan the results. There was a Hole concert. That’s probably not why he was there. A meeting of the Dallas city council. Maybe? We’ll come back to that. A mixer of the Texas Iron Spikes, whatever that is. A wire fraud case. Gah! No. To all of these. I glance at the clock again. Thirty seconds. I click on the city council meeting, which takes me to a PDF. I scan it. Economic studies, housing reports, legal BS. A bunch of boring nothing.
I close the browser and slide the mouse across the table. I don’t get it. Did Alpha know I wanted to look up my dad? He had to have known. I push back the chair and head to his office. The door is open when I get there.
“Did you find what you were looking for?” Alpha asks.
“No,” I say.
His face doesn’t give away anything. He gestures to the chair on the other side of the desk. “Ah. Will you sit?”
“I’d rather stand.”
Alpha nods his head, very slowly. “The bad news.”
“The bad news,” I repeat.
“Well, there’s no reason to beat around the bush or try to build you up with platitudes. Late last night we received word from the DOD that the experiment is over.”
I blink. “What does that mean?”
“It means . . .” He takes a slow breath. “They’ve decided to keep Annum Guard as it is. No new members.”
I gasp. “I’m out?”
“You’re out,” Alpha says.
I scramble backward. My back hits the door, while my brain flies in a billion different directions at once. I’m out. The word bounces around in my mind. Out. Out. Out. Solitary. I have to get away from here. Now. They’re coming for me. I reach behind me to the door handle as the other hand reaches up to the Annum watch.
“Iris, wait!” Alpha says. “I think I have another solution!”
I keep my hands where they are and stop. “What other solution? Why?”
“Because I don’t want you to go. Neither does Zeta. We protested the decision, pointed out how well you’d done on the Gardner mission, but this goes higher than either of us. So much higher. It’s not our decision. But I think I know how to fix this. Will you listen?”
I still don’t move as Alpha’s words replay in my mind.
“You’re going to have to trust me.” His eyes travel to my hands, and I let go of the handle and watch. “And I know your past. This is going to be really difficult for you. But I think it’s your only shot. Are you with me?”
My past. Something that involves my past. My bipolar mother? Peel? Small-town Vermont? Or maybe—
My dad. A jolt of electricity shocks my system.
“I’m with you,” I say. It’s barely a whisper.
“You’re going to have to leave now. One last mission before the suits from DC show up for you. You’re going to have to go back in time and meet the man who invented the Annum watches. And you’re going to have to convince him not to add the genetic link. That way everyone will be able to project, and the government won’t care that you’re an outsider. Do you understand?”
I nod my head, but I don’t really understand. Alpha turns around and starts rifling through a filing cabinet. My dad invented the Annum watches? No, he couldn’t have. Annum Guard was started in the 1960s, when my dad was a baby.
Alpha finds a file and picks it up, then shuts the drawer. “This is your only shot,” he tells me. “You have to convince this man to change his entire design.”
“I understand,” I say.
Alpha pauses for a second, then flips over the file and plunks it down on the desk. My breath catches in my throat as a picture of someone I know very well stares back up at me. It’s not my dad. It’s Abe’s grandfather.
CHAPTER 16
The first day of combat training at Peel, I got paired up with a girl named Jordan Magnus. It was the first Krav Maga class either of us had taken, but it turned out that Jordan was already something of a jujitsu maven. I learned this the hard way when I took a roundhouse kick square to the gut. It knocked the wind out of me and left me writhing on the ground, gasping and choking and sure I was going to die.
That’s how I feel at this moment.
“Dr. Ariel Stender,” Alpha says. I stare at the photo. I don’t breathe. I can’t breathe. I know who he is. Of course I know who he is. Alpha starts talking about his background, and I nod and nod and nod. I don’t know what else to do.
Alpha keeps saying the name. Dr. Stender. Dr. Stender. Dr. Stender. Over and over and over again. Stender. Ariel Stender. Abe Stender. And I’d be lying if I said that there wasn’t a notebook lying around somewhere from freshman year with a bunch of hearts and the name Mrs. Amanda Obermann-Stender scribbled in it.
I stare at the picture in the folder. Ariel looks so much like Abe it’s scary—it was always a big joke at the Stender dinner table. They have the same protruding brow, the same intense, heavy eyes.