Annum Guard: Blackout Part 11

I feel stupid for even bringing up the Gardner heist. That mission was completely insignificant in comparison.

"Now ask me whatever it is you came to ask me."

"What?"

"You came here for a reason. What is it?"

"Oh, right." I shake my head, try to shake everything Ariel just told me out of my brain, but it doesn't work. "Have you ever heard of something called Operation Blackout? Something that has to do with Annum Guard?"

"No, I've never heard the term, but whatever it is, I doubt I'd support it."

I agree. I think. I don't know.

"I believe it has something to do with taking out Annum Guard members. Capture, kill, we don't know. Zeta hasn't been heard from in months, and Orange disappeared a couple of days ago. His tracker just went off. Can you think of any reason a tracker would just deactivate like that?"

Ariel raises an eyebrow. "Death."

"Besides that?"

"I don't know anything about the new trackers, Amanda. I don't know anything about the old trackers. I never used one. They started second generation. And I really wish you would stop telling me these things. I have a hard enough time knowing you and Abraham are out there-projecting-putting your lives in danger. Now to know someone might be trying to silence you? I don't want to hear about it."

"Okay," I say. But there's one more question I have to ask. "You don't know anything about an XP, do you?"

Ariel's eyebrows creep up again. "A what? Expy? What's that?"

"No. XP. Like initials. Maybe for a person or a project? Or the Greek letters chi rho?"

He shakes his head. "I don't know anything, Amanda. My involvement with this organization has been minimal for quite some time now."

There's nothing more I can say. So I stand up and give Ariel an awkward hug, which he returns with an even more awkward pat on the back.

I leave the office and find Mona sitting in the living room with a crocheted shawl wrapped around her. She looks at me with hollowed eyes and opens her mouth, like she wants to ask how everything went, but in the end she must decide it's too much effort, so she just nods.

"I'm sorry," I whisper.

Mona doesn't respond. I show myself out the back door to find Abe. He's slouched on the wicker bench, his head resting on the back and his arms crossed over his chest.

"Let's go," I say.

Abe opens his eyes. "Did he tell you anything?"

Tons.

"Nothing about a blackout or XP. He's never heard of either."

"Shocking. He probably knows exactly what they are but isn't telling out of spite." He pushes off the bench and walks toward the side of the house.

"He doesn't know, Abe- Where are you going?"

Abe lifts the latch on the fence gate. "We're leaving."

"But . . . You didn't say good-bye to Mona."

Abe shrugs. "She'll figure out we left."

I inhale sharply. "What are you doing, Abe? This isn't you. She's your grandmother, and she's sick. Tell her good-bye."

He hesitates, and I get angry.

"Do you even know how good you have it? Your life is a d.a.m.ned family values ad that runs during every election season-mom, dad, kids, and grandparents, huddled around a professionally decorated birthday cake while some blowhard politician talks about 'the way things used to be.' I would kill for this." I point toward the back door.

Abe is silent.

I shake my head, just once. "Do you know how much I wish my biggest family problem was a stupid fight with my grandfather?"

And then Abe yells at me. It's the first time he's ever done it. "Can you let me know how much longer I have to feel sorry for you and your c.r.a.ppy home life before you'll finally acknowledge that other people have real problems, too?"

"I . . . what?" His words land a sucker punch in my gut.

Neither of us says anything for a moment. Then Abe mutters, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. And you're right. I'll go say good-bye." He disappears inside the house, but his absence doesn't get rid of the pain I feel, mostly because he has a point.

The back door opens and shuts, and Abe's at my side again. "I'm sorry," he says. "Really."

"Me, too. I don't like fighting with you, Abe."

"Me either."

"Can we just . . . call a truce for now? There's so much else we have to focus on."

"Truce." Abe weaves his fingers through mine as we walk back to the car, and I try to ignore the fact that his are cold.

CHAPTER 10.

I linger in the hallway outside Sit Room One the next morning. It's a few minutes before eight, the typical time that a small, weekend breakfast spread is set out in the dining room. I take a breath, then step into the room.

Red shuffles a bunch of papers into a folder, then looks up at me. "You do realize you get Sat.u.r.days off, right?"

I shut the door behind me and take a breath to calm my nerves, which doesn't help. So much is riding on this. I glance back to make sure the door is fully closed and that Bonner isn't hanging around outside, then I look at him. Red's at least six inches taller than me, and he has a way of standing and staring that makes me uncomfortable, that oozes authority.

"If I were to say the word blackout to you, how would you respond?"

"How about you cut the bulls.h.i.t and tell me what you're doing here?"

Okay then. So much for that approach. I begin again. "I know there's more to Orange's disappearance than you're letting on."

"Excuse me?"

"I trust you, Red, and I want to tell you what I know-everything I know," I say without hesitation. If I hesitate, I'll lose my resolve. "So please just let me tell you, and then we can talk about what it all means afterward."

I'm met with silence, so I jump back in.

"I recently became aware of three things, and I don't know how much you know about them."

"Try me."

"First. You know about XP." I say it as a statement because it is a statement.

All I get in return is a blank stare and the tension ratcheted a degree. I'm suddenly reminded that Red isn't just another teammate. He's a superior.

Red clears his throat. "And?"

"Right." Forget my nerves. I just have to do it. Like ripping off a Band-Aid. "I have a hunch about what happened to Orange."

Red raises an eyebrow.

I walk farther into the room and rest my palm against the edge of a table. "I have it on good authority that there might be a secret operation taking place inside Annum Guard. An operation that's responsible for making people disappear."

"A blackout," Red says.

"You've heard of it?"

"No, that's what you just told me. Where did you hear this from?"

"I'd rather not say."

"Uh-uh, wrong answer." Red crosses his arms over his chest. "That's one h.e.l.l of a revelation, accusation, whatever label you want to slap on it. And you're going to tell me right now where you heard this."

This makes me hesitate. Because what I did was illegal, and I don't want to admit that to my boss. Or to the guy who would have been my boss had Bonner not come along.

"Now, Iris."

I clasp both hands in front of me. "I read it in some Senate testimony."

"Whose testimony?"

"Zeta's."

Red c.o.c.ks his head. "And how did you come across this testimony?"

"Is that really important?"

"You know it is."

"I accidentally"-I hold up my hands to deflect Red's look-"I swear, it was accidental. I found his testimony on top of a stack of papers when I was meeting with the vice president."

"And, what, you accidentally read it while she was in the bathroom?"

"No, I very deliberately took pictures of all the pages I could while she was on a phone call."

Red's brow furrows and his skin reddens. But then, he composes himself. "Show me."

"I can't. I deleted the images from my phone, then scrubbed it. They're gone."

"What exactly did they say?"

"Just that there's some sort of covert operation team inside Annum Guard a.s.sembled for Operation Blackout. We've been trying to put two and two together ever since."

"We? Who's we? I swear, if you've told every other Guardian about this . . ." And then understanding dawns on his face. "You have, haven't you? You've told every other Guardian about this."

"We just want answers, Red."

"I am pretty d.a.m.n annoyed with you right now. With all of you. You're lucky I don't have much authority these days."

"I'm sorry," I mumble. Then I stand tall. "No, I take it back. I'm not sorry. I want to know what the truth is. And I want you to help me. I need you to help me. We all do."

"Give me one reason why I should."

"That's the second thing." I pause. "What do you know about the reasons that Annum Guard was started, Red? About its very first mission?"

"That's cla.s.sified, you know that. Way above my clearance level."

"Well, what would you say if I told you I know what the very first mission was?"

"Should I even ask how you know this?"

"Ariel Stender told me." I need to word this next bit carefully. I need to be resolute, but I don't want to come off sounding insensitive. And that's such a fine line. I reach out and touch Red's forearm. He's wearing a long-sleeved shirt, but I remember that glimpse of a tattoo peeking out under his sleeve all those months ago at Peel. The tattoo of two flags intertwined. Two national ident.i.ties. The United States flag and one other. "It's above my clearance level. Yours, too. And I was told it in the strictest of confidences."

Red looks at my hand on his arm, then looks at me. I can see the struggle in his eyes. I know the business side of him wants to tell me to keep the mission to myself, but the personal side is curious.

Ariel told me this in confidence. But don't we all have a right to know our origin? What Annum Guard's original purpose really was?

"The Cuban Missile Crisis," I say. "That was the first mission. It really happened. In 1962, the Soviets and the US launched missiles at each other, and DC and Moscow both crumbled and burned. Fifteen million people were killed. Our economy was toppled. And Cuba was wiped off the map. Just . . . gone." I tap his arm once, right where the tattoo is under his sleeve, before I pull my hand away.

I don't know when Red's parents came to America, whether it was before 1962 or after, and I'm not about to ask. But I see Red struggling to put together the reality of the situation.

"The very first Annum Guard mission was to stop the bombing. To avert the crisis," I say.

Now Red looks angry. "And you know I'm a Cuban-American so you're trying to play to my sensitivities? You want me to weep for my homeland and give you whatever you want? You're out of line, and you clearly don't know me."

I take a step back and hold up both hands. d.a.m.n, I did this wrong.

"No, Red. All I'm trying to do is get you to see that Annum Guard needs help. Your help. We need to stop going on missions that don't matter, stop poring over tens of thousands of irrelevant doc.u.ments, and we need to get back to what's important-finding XP, ridding ourselves of the bacteria that's infesting our ranks, and taking sight of our true purpose again. Changing the past to improve our present."