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The last place anyone is going to look for contraband is in their own vehicle.
“So, you have something to turn in?” Yulikova says. She’s in the back with me. The other two agents are up front.
The gun. Oh, no, the gun. I left it in Wharton’s office, under the desk.
She must see it in my face, the flash of horror.
“Did something happen?” she asks.
“I forgot it,” I say. “I’m so sorry. If you let me out, I’ll go get it.”
“No,” she says, exchanging a look with the other female agent. “No, that’s all right, Cassel. We can get it when we bring you back. Why don’t you tell us where it is.”
“If you want me to get it—,” I say.
She sighs. “No, that’s fine.”
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on now?” I ask. “I’d really feel a lot more comfortable if I was in on the plan.”
“We’re going to tell you everything. Honest,” she says. “It’s very simple and straightforward. Governor Patton is going to give a press conference, and when it’s over, we’d like you to use your gift to change him into—well, into a living thing that can be contained.”
“Do you have a preference?”
She gives me a look, like she’s trying to gauge whether or not I’m testing her. “We’ll leave that up to you and whatever is going to be easier, but it’s imperative that he doesn’t get away.”
“If it’s all the same, I’ll turn him into a big dog, I guess. Maybe one of those fancy hounds with the pointy faces—salukis, right? No, borzois. Some guy my mother used to know had those.” His name was Clyde Austin. He hit me in the head with a bottle. I leave those details out. “Or maybe a big beetle. You could keep him in a jar. Just remember to put in the airholes.”
There is a sudden flicker of fear in Yulikova’s eyes.
“You’re upset. I can see that,” she says, reaching out and touching her gloved hand to mine. It’s an intimate, motherly gesture, and I have to force myself not to flinch. “You’re always sarcastic when you’re nervous. And I know this isn’t easy for you, not knowing details, but you have to trust us. Being a government operative means always feeling a little bit in the dark. It’s how we keep one another safe.”
Her face is so kind. What she’s saying is reasonable. She seems truthful, too—she’s got no obvious tells that would indicate otherwise. The thought nags me that Barron could have made up everything he told me about the content of the files. That would be profoundly awful and totally plausible.
I nod. “I guess I’m used to relying on myself.”
“When you first came to us, I knew you were going to be a special case. Not just because of your power but because of where you were from. We seldom have significant contact with boys like you and Barron. The average LMD recruit is a kid who’s been living on the street, either because they left home or because they were forced out. Sometimes a family contacts us with a child who they think might be a worker, and we bring them into the program.”
“Nonworker families, you mean?” I ask. “Are they scared—the parents?”
“Usually,” she says. “Sometimes the situation is so potentially violent that we have to remove the child. We have two schools in the country for worker children under the age of ten.”
“Military schools,” I say.
She nods. “There are worse things, Cassel. Do you know how many worker children are murdered by their own parents? The statistics are one thing, but I’ve seen the bones, heard the terrified excuses. We’ll get a report of a kid who might be a worker, but when we get to the town, the girl will be staying with “relatives,” whom no one has any reliable contact information for and who don’t have a phone. The boy will have transferred to another school, only there’s no record of where that might be. They’re usually dead.”
I don’t have anything to say to that.
“And then there are the neglected children, the abused children, the kids who are raised to think their only choice is becoming a criminal.” She sighs. “You’re wondering why I’m telling you all this.”
“Because that’s what you’re used to—not kids like me, with mothers like mine and brothers like mine.”
She nods, glancing toward the front of the car, where Agent Jones is sitting. “I’m not used to being thought of as the enemy.”
I blink at her. “That’s not what I think.”
She laughs. “Oh, I so wish for a lie detector test right now, Cassel! And the worst part is that I realize it’s at least partially our fault. We only know about you because you had no other choice but to turn yourself in—and now with your mother being in a lot of potential trouble, well, let’s just say that our loyalties are not in alignment. We’ve had to make deals, you and I, which isn’t how I want us to proceed. I want us to be on the same page, especially going into such an important mission.”
She lets me chew that over for a while. Eventually the car stops in front of a Marriott. It’s one of the innocuous massive box hotels that are perfect for keeping track of someone in, because every floor leads to one central lobby. Pick a high enough floor, and all you need is someone posted outside the room and maybe another person by the stairs and another by the elevator. That’s three people—exactly the number in the car with me right now.
