Fox Forever (22 page)

I nod. Maybe I’ve only slipped to an eight on the trust meter.

She disappears down the hallway and I step into the living room to wait. It’s less painful to stand than to ease myself in and out of chairs so I walk around the room, examining the artifacts the Secretary has collected. Maybe as I wait I’ll come across one of those bits that Carver has instructed me to find fast, but it mostly looks like expensive things a designer has collected for him. Items are artfully arranged on shelves and in nooks, a Chinese vase, silver filigreed masks, an antique tortoiseshell letter opener, things with no personal connection other than being suited to his tastes like the antique sword hanging behind his desk.

In the far corner, on a shelf almost out of view, I find three beautiful leather-bound volumes that look like antiques too, but when I pull them out I see they’re photo albums, not casual snapshots but professional photos taken for special occasions. Something personal at last. The first album has pictures of Raine as a toddler. The first photo is one of Raine dressed in a matching red dress and hat, held in the arms of a woman with auburn hair and a beaming smile. Raine’s other mother. I turn the pages, one after another, some with Raine alone, many with her mother, but only one with the Secretary present.
He never did know what to do with me.
And yet, he saves these pictures.

I look at the next album, Raine as an older child, five, six, seven … always smiling with her mother. At least she had that much, an adoptive mother who cared about her. Was this woman really unaware of how the Secretary obtained Raine, or was she so desperate for a child that she didn’t care? And finally the last album, beginning at about age twelve, only a quarter filled, probably because her mother died. The last picture is of the whole family, her mother, gaunt with a weak smile, Raine with a brave one, and the Secretary not looking directly at the camera but instead gazing somberly down at his wife and Raine. Worry or burden? Was he already wondering what to do with Raine once his wife was gone? Keep her or give her away?

“The Secretary doesn’t like those to be viewed.”

I glance over my shoulder to see Hap setting a tray of tea on a table. I flip another page. “Then why does he keep them?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “But before he returns home, I would advise you to put them back where you found them.”

I turn around. “The Secretary isn’t here?”

“There was a security breach two nights ago. His duties have required additional attention. But he’s due back later this evening.” A security breach? Just at the same time I went down into the tunnels? Since when did his duties include securing supposedly abandoned tunnels? This only confirms that the tunnels are home to more than half-dogs.

I place the albums back to where I found them. “Thanks for the tip.” If there was ever a time I needed to butter up nugget-head this is it. “And thanks for the tea too. I don’t need anything else. You can go.”

He doesn’t move.

“I won’t touch any more albums if you’re worried,” I add.

“I’m not worried. For an Eater and Breather, you appear to be a fast learner.”

Eater and Breather?

Besides Dot, I’ve never heard another Bot use that term. Dot used it in a soft, endearing way. Hap uses it with utter contempt. I know Raine is his priority, even above the Secretary. Is that what this is all about? He resents me and the way I’ve wormed my way into her life? He must have been aware of every single night she went down the rope ladder to be with me. He used to be her lone confidante. Now she has another.

I take a step closer to him. “I’m not trying to replace you, Hap.”

“And that would be quite impossible, considering your abundant limitations.”

I grin. “I’ll remember that.”

For the first time I see the expression on his nugget-head change, his eyes narrowing like a cat that’s come to an understanding with a mouse, the closest thing I’ve seen to satisfaction on his face. He nods.

“Dorian has the night off,” he says. “So I’ll excuse myself now to finish preparing tonight’s refreshments.”

As soon as he leaves, I waste no time heading down to the lower level. How long do I have before Raine returns? Ten minutes? Fifteen?

* * *

The Secretary’s office is in disarray, as though he left in a rush. Drawers and files are open. A half-finished drink still sits on his desk. His haste could be my gold mine. I race through the open files first, but there are only four memos that all seem to be standard bureaucratic transmittals. Trying to open up something else could be tricky, perhaps sending the whole system crashing, or setting off alarms if I touch the wrong file. Instead, I look through the drawers. Paper trails are rare these days, paper itself seldom used except for certain types of documents, and the only paper I find of consequence is a small handwritten note on a torn scrap of paper, yellow and brittle with age, that shows an address:

1407 Bridgemont, Cambridge

I compare it to notes on the Secretary’s desk where he jotted down some random tasks, including an appointment at 7:00 with LeGru. The handwriting doesn’t match. He didn’t write this note. I commit it to memory and put it back just as I found it, tucked in a corner of a lower drawer. I return to the files. I’ll have to take a chance and hope I don’t freeze or crash the whole system as I try to open additional files. My finger hovers over three possible folders identified with icons, no names. I briefly close my eyes.
Concentrate, Locke, which one?
I open my eyes and touch the one with a red triangle and hold my breath. A hundred subfolders spring into the air in front of me.
A hundred.
My eyes scan across them, bare titles that give little clue as to what’s inside. There isn’t time to hunt and peck. I zip my finger across the whole first row. A hundred more files fly into the air, the room a virtual littered mess of folders and files.

Time ticks wildly in my head. Seconds count. I scan as fast as I can and I’m almost to the end of the bottom row when I spot something. Blueprints for a lighting grid. I press it and a dozen more files open. Immediately I recognize the Old Library Building, but then something far more interesting—

“What are you doing?”

I look up. Raine is in the doorway.

What can I possibly say? I’m lost? Curious? I just stand there and she steps closer, her expression incredulous.
“What are you doing?”
she repeats.

“Raine, please, I can’t explain right now. Keep your voice down. I just need another minute to—”

She comes at me, screaming, “
This
is what you had to tell me? You were going to snoop through my father’s files? I can’t believe this! Get out!
Get out!
” She swipes at the open folders and I grab her by the wrist.

“I know this doesn’t look—”

“You’re nothing more than a spy! That’s all you ever were! Exactly what he warned me about! I was only a way for you to get to my father!” She reaches out with her other hand for the files but I pin her to my side.

“Please, Raine,” I whisper into her ear. “I need this information. You have to trust me.”

“Trust you? You’ve never done anything but lie to me! Let go! Let go of me right now!”

I miss half of everything else she’s yelling as I try to maintain my grip on her with my injured arm and read the file that I need. Arlington station—a lighting grid, two pressure points, another grid down the main tunnel—

She stomps on my foot. Her elbow finds my already cracked ribs. I let go, bending over the desk trying to breathe. She jumps away from me and spins, a river of anger and hatred spewing from her mouth.

“It all adds up now! Your sudden entrance into the Collective, all the questions about my father, the—” Her eyes widen impossibly larger. “Oh my God. That little Non-pact girl. She knew your name because you’re one of
them.
” She steps back like the thought horrifies her and she shakes her head. “I
trusted
you. I gave you—”

She turns and runs out of the room.

I close all the files in one sweep and run after her, catching her midway on the stairs. I grab her hand from behind. “You have to listen to me, Raine! You owe me that much! I—”

“I owe you nothing! Now get out! Get out of my house and get out of my—”

“What’s this?”

We both stop and look up. At the top of the stairs a crowd has gathered. Shane, Vina, Cece, Ian, Hap—and the Secretary.

Raine yanks her hand away from mine and continues up the last few steps. I follow her. The group ambles around us silently, the Secretary’s eyebrows still raised waiting for an explanation. Neither of us speaks, so he does. “It seems that my daughter is throwing you out of our house,” he says. He reaches out and pulls Raine to his side. I watch her stiffen under his touch. He never takes his eyes off me, zooming in on my gashed lip and cheekbone. “Was he inappropriate with you, my dear?”

Raine stares at me, her eyes large black pools, frightened and filled with fury all at once.
Please don’t say it, Raine. If you mention the word
spy,
I’m a dead man.
She breaks her gaze with mine and looks down. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she whispers. “I just want him to leave.”

The Secretary nods. “I understand. You’re upset. We’ll discuss this matter later in private.”

“I’ll throw him out. I’d be happy to,” Shane says, taking a step toward me.

“I wouldn’t,”
I tell him.

Shane stops. I don’t know if it’s the sound of my voice or my eyes drilling into him, but for once he makes a wise choice. He holds back. Vina, Ian, and Cece all stare, speechless, still trying to understand what just happened in the space of a few minutes.

“No need, Shane,” the Secretary says. “I think my daughter has quite capably handled Mr. Jenkins already. Her message is clear enough. I’ll walk him out.”

I look at Raine one last time. She turns away and refuses to meet my gaze. I walk to the foyer, the Secretary following behind me. The elevator doors open and I step inside. I turn to face him. His smug smile returns and he touches his cheekbone in the same place where I have the deep gash on mine. I see his gears turning, wondering where I got it. “There was always something about you I found unsettling.” His hand drops to his side. “I suppose one’s true character is impossible to hide for long.”

I look at him, returning his smug smile with one of my own. “And sometimes it’s impossible to hide it at all,” I answer, and the elevator doors close between us.

In the Tower

I return home and tell Jenna to go to the art gallery and stay with Miesha.
Now.
It’s not safe for her to stay here anymore. As I expected, she argues the point with me, but I argue louder telling her this is my Favor, not hers, and she has to trust me. She must sense my desperation, and she leaves, with the caveat that if I don’t check in with her she’d be back. As soon as she’s gone I pack up all evidence of plans and the Network and destroy them. If it’s not in my head, it’s gone.

My arm and hip scream with pain. Holding back Raine from the files and then running after her took its toll.
Dammit! Hurry!
“I don’t have time for this healing stuff!”

I check my bandages. The wound on my hip has torn, just as Jenna warned, and BioPerfect oozes from it again. I rummage through her supplies and find the tool that punctures and weaves the skin back together. I can’t use anesthesia. I sit down on my bed and turn the tool on and then press it to the torn part of my wound. It penetrates my skin and I grit my teeth to keep from screaming. Sweat pours down my face, trickling down my neck. The only thing more painful than a half-human ripping your flesh apart is a laser needle weaving it back together. My hand shakes, and with every burning pulse, color explodes behind my eyes, blacking out the room, but I keep the tool in place until it signals that the job is complete. The tool drops from my hand to the floor and I fall back on the bed. I don’t look to see if I did as good of a job as Jenna. I know I didn’t. Just so it’s closed, that’s all that matters.

I wake with a start to find that I’ve slept for two hours. I listen for noise in the apartment, an intruder, but the only sound is the whir of an occasional car passing on the street. I pull myself up, leaving all the lights off, and go to the kitchen to look out the window, which has a better view of the parkway. Nothing.

The meeting must be over by now. I see Raine’s face again, the shock and betrayal.

I close my eyes and brace myself against the kitchen counter taking several slow deep breaths. If only I had told her the truth sooner. Maybe then there would have been a chance. But by the time I admitted to myself that I loved her I had already lied myself into a corner.

We’ll discuss this matter later.

Is the Secretary grilling her now? Is she telling him what she saw? How much longer before there’s a knock on my door? Or maybe they’ll just burn me out the way they did Karden.

My palm ripples. I jerk my hand up and check my iScroll, praying it’s Raine, but it’s only Carver. “Off!” I yell.

Percel appears. “It’s an emergency, sir. I’m told to alert you at all costs.”

“It’s always an emergency with Carver,” I shout. “I said
off!
” I can’t recount the details of tonight’s meeting with him right now. There are too many other things I need to do. I need to check the apartment for any lasting evidence in case someone comes. I need time to think. I need—

* * *

The Commons is quiet. Deathly quiet. Not even the smallest rustling of animals in the bushes. Is it the chill in the air, or something else? I don’t sit on our usual tree. I hide in the shadows, afraid if she sees me she won’t come down, but she doesn’t come anyway. I wait hour after hour. The clouds thicken, weaving together until they block out the moon, and somehow that makes the silence even heavier.

Finally, near three in the morning she appears, a dark blanket wrapped around her shoulders so she’s barely visible. She walks the length of the rooftop, maybe the only place where she still feels in control. She leans against the roof wall, looking out, not searching down below for me, but just staring out past the treetops, probably staring at nothing at all. Is she retracing every moment we spent together, imagining that it was all lies? It wasn’t. She has to know that. What we shared …