Part 5 (1/2)

I tap my foot as I wait for the light to change. It's the middle of the day, so traffic isn't as bad as during rush hour, but there's a steady stream of cars, trucks, and Duck Tour boats barreling down Beacon Street. Finally, the walk sign lights up, and I jog into the Common. I head to the Greek Pavilion, looking over my shoulder several times to make sure I'm not being followed. I seem to be okay, so I trudge up the steps, plop myself next to a pillar, and whip out my phone.

Deep breath.

The first few pages of testimony are all background, stuff I could have guessed. Zeta's father-Yellow and Indigo's grandfather-was one of the founding members of Annum Guard-first generation. He was code-named Five. Zeta didn't join the Guard until after he had obtained an undergrad degree from Harvard with a concentration in physics. He then joined the Guard and started working on a PhD at MIT in theoretical nuclear and particle physics-which makes my head hurt just thinking about it-but had to abandon it due to time constraints. It was during the MIT years that he devised the idea for the gravity chamber to lessen the physical trauma of projection, and the government funded a research and development team at MIT to design a prototype for the chamber. Zeta remained a part of the team.

I skim through these pages. Interesting, but not what I need.

There's a little bit more on a failed marriage that produced two children, which I already know, and then around page thirty, it starts to get really interesting. I slow down and take my time, relis.h.i.+ng every word of the transcript.

Sen. Wharton: Are you aware of any covert operations that took place during your tenure at Annum Guard?

Masters: Well, that's a pretty broad question, Senator, considering our entire agency is covert.

Sen. Wharton: Allow me to rephrase. Are you aware of any operations outside the scope of Annum Guard's stated purpose?

I flip to the next image.

Masters: Are you asking me again whether I was aware that Julian Ellis was selling every mission he could on the side to the highest bidder? Because the answer is no. Just as it has been the last hundred times you've asked me this question over the past two months.

Sen. Wharton: Let's put this matter concerning Mr. Ellis to the side for a moment- Masters: Put it to the side? The one thing you brought me here to talk about? Again?

Sen. Wharton: Mr. Masters, I would like to know whether you are aware of the existence of any covert operation teams within the confines of Annum Guard.

Masters: Covert op teams within Annum Guard? I don't know what you're talking about.

My hands tremble as I flip to the next image.

Sen. Wharton: Really now? So if I said the words ”Operation Blackout” to you, that wouldn't ring a bell?

Masters: Nope. Like I said, I have no idea what you're talking about.

Sen. Wharton: Please let the record reflect that Mr. Masters took approximately thirty seconds to answer the question and then did so with a clipped tone.

Masters: No, let the record reflect that this line of questioning has nothing to do with the pretext under which you brought me here today.

Whoa. Next image.

Sen. Wharton: With all due respect, sir, I am the one asking the questions, and I will lead the questioning in the direction I feel it needs to go. Are we understood?

Masters: (silence) Sen. Wharton: Are we understood?

Masters: I understand what you're saying, yes.

Sen. Wharton: Good. So now be truthful with me, Mr. Masters. You have heard the term Operation Blackout before, correct?

Masters: (silence) Sen. Wharton: Don't feel like answering? Fine. You do have two children who are still members of Annum Guard, do you not?

Masters: Are you threatening me, you son of a- I flip to the next image, but there isn't one. No! No no no!

I sit back and take a breath, then look up to see a young couple with linked arms laughing as they walk toward the small concession in the park. I read through those last pages again. Operation Blackout. My brain is zooming straight to one idea, and I don't want it to be right.

Blackout. Like black ops. Elite special forces. Unknown, unseen, unrecognized.

And in many cases, an a.s.sa.s.sination squad.

CHAPTER 5.

My brain wages a million intense debates with my heart over whether to tell Yellow and Indigo what I know. My heart says they have a right to know-and maybe they even have some information-but my brain always clobbers my heart with a quick right hook. I have no business even knowing Zeta's testimony exists. I have negative business telling anyone about it. That could earn me a one-way ticket out of Annum Guard and into a federal detention facility.

And so I try to stay focused on doing my job-on reading thousands of boring doc.u.ments that I only marginally understand. And on waiting for Colton.

On Monday morning, there's a knock on Annum Hall's front door. Abe and I are in the library going through a box marked ”SPECTRA CAPITAL TAX RECEIPTS,” which is about as interesting as it sounds. We both look at the door, then back at each other.

”Was that . . . the front door?” Abe asks. ”Shouldn't they be going through the security entrance downstairs?”

”Probably.” I look toward Bonner's door. It's shut, so I grunt and stand. ”I'll pay you to do this.”

Abe shakes his head. ”Oh, h.e.l.l no.” And then he smiles. ”Just imagine what the vice president would say if she found out you were trying to p.a.w.n your babysitting job off on me.”

”Babysitting job. That's the most accurate description ever for this.”

I swing open the door. Colton is standing there, his hair flopping in front of his aviator sungla.s.ses. He's wearing a concert T-s.h.i.+rt, khaki shorts, and flip-flops, and he has one shoulder shrugged up high, like he's posing for a catalog.

There are two people behind him. A guy with olive skin like mine, dark hair, and dark eyes, and a girl with wildly curly red hair. They're both dressed like they're showing up for Day One of an important government interns.h.i.+p. Corporate casual. That's the term Bonner used when she described what she expects us to wear when we're off the clock. The guy has on navy pants and a dress s.h.i.+rt with rolled-up sleeves, and the girl, like me, has on black pants and a blouse.

”Hey there,” Colton says. ”We're here.”

”I see that. We were expecting you down through the security entrance.” For a moment, I debate being a stickler for the rules and telling them to go through the alleyway to the back door, but I decide against it. No need to start off on the wrong foot, and, besides, rules have never really been my thing. I stand back and let the three of them pa.s.s.

Colton walks into the foyer and pops his sungla.s.ses up on top of his head. His mouth chomps open and closed like he's-hang on, he is chewing gum.