Annum Guard: Blackout Part 9

"Or she," I correct her. "We don't really know, do we? But it looks like you're on the right track."

"But why?" Indigo demands.

"Maybe they knew too much? Or maybe we're getting too close to the truth?" I sigh with frustration. "I really don't know, you guys."

"Was there anything about XP in Alpha's notebook?" Yellow asks. "I can't remember."

"Me either," I admit. And I hate that I don't know. But I hadn't known about XP when I found the notebook. Now I wish I'd had the chance to go through the notebook and specifically ferret out XP entries while I still had it in my possession.

Abe stares at me. "Have you tried Samuels's method?" He's referring to our Practical Studies professor at Peel. "Opening your mind and letting the answer come to you?"

"I've tried, Abe. Really, I've tried so hard. I can't tell you how many nights I've lain awake, wishing hoping praying I could remember if XP was even mentioned. But I can't. It's not like I memorized the whole stupid thing."

"Okay," he says, and his tone takes me aback. There's more than a hint of annoyance in it. And he's not making eye contact with me.

"Did you try an online search for XP?" Green asks. He sounds like a kindergarten teacher asking a kid if he washed his hands after using the bathroom.

"Where?" I say. "The computers downstairs, which are probably alerting the Narc to every keystroke? I think she'd know in a heartbeat if I started Googling 'XP' for the h.e.l.l of it. Besides, did you guys not hear the 'ordered to stay quiet' part?"

Abe springs up. "Seriously? Okay, now you're just being dumb." He's out the door in a flash. I'm sure he didn't mean it like that, but my boyfriend just called me dumb. I don't have time to dwell because then Abe's back and tossing a phone on the bed between Yellow and me. We both look down at it.

"Disposable smartphone," Abe says, stating the obvious.

"You have a disposable smartphone?" I ask.

"No, I have seven of them. I keep them charged and hidden in the back of my closet in case I need to use it and ditch it. The real question is, why don't you?"

Before I can respond-or beat myself up for missing such an obvious solution-Yellow grabs the phone, powers it on, and opens the browser.

"I have a small lead," I tell everyone while Yellow types. "Mike found a record in one of the boxes of a mission involving someone named Xavier Portis."

"Please," Green sneers. "Nothing in those boxes has anything to do with anything."

He's right-my gut tells me Xavier Portis is a dead end-but his statement annoys me all the same.

"XP," Yellow whispers, tapping the screen with her perfectly manicured fingernail as the search results load. "Here!" She holds the phone closer and frowns, then scrolls down. "Okay, most of this has to do with an old version of Windows." Then she stops and gasps. "Bill Gates! Maybe he's XP!"

I blink in disbelief while Violet laughs. But Yellow's not joking.

"Bill Gates?" I say. "Really? One of the world's biggest philanthropists is running a murderous, time-travel corruption scheme?"

"Maybe that's how he made all of his money?" Yellow's voice is weaker, like she knows just how stupid her suggestion is.

I sigh. "Even if you were right, don't you think 'XP' would be a bit of an obvious code name? The first hit on an Internet search?"

"Okay, fine," she says.

"What else is there?" Abe asks.

Yellow looks back at the phone. "Extreme programming? It's a kind of software development." She looks up at us, and we all look at Abe.

Abe shrugs. "Maybe? I don't see how it's relevant, but we can't count out anything at this point."

Yellow looks down and scrolls some more. "Um . . . we have a power supplier . . . probably not . . . a kind of digital camera . . . power saws . . . There's xeroderma pigmentosum. That's a kind of rare skin condition, apparently."

"None of this seems likely," I say.

"I know." Yellow goes back to scrolling. She's silent for a moment, then her face lights up. "Ooh, here's something. XP. The Greek letters chi and rho, often used by early Christians to mean Christ."

"So . . . Jesus is behind Eagle Industries?" I ask.

"Or maybe the pope? I don't know."

I c.o.c.k my head. "So we have Bill Gates and the pope as our top two suspects? Yes, I'd say we're definitely on the right track."

Yellow looks back at the phone.

Green stares right at Abe. "Have we all forgotten that we still have access to the man who invented time travel? Anyone thought of asking him for his input on any of this? Orange? Blackout? XP?"

Abe tenses next to me. His grandfather is a sore subject these days. To say that Ariel wasn't happy when Abe decided to join the Guard would be an understatement. They're barely on speaking terms.

But still. If there's anyone who might have a clue what happened to Orange, it's Ariel.

"That might not be such a bad idea," I say slowly, looking over at Abe to gauge his reaction before I decide how much enthusiasm to throw behind this plan. His lips press into a thin line. Okay, so, annoyed but not angry. I can push this further. "We haven't been over there in a while. Maybe I could call Mona and set up a dinner-"

Too far. Abe's brow furrows, his eyes narrow, and little flames of red appear under them. Cla.s.sic Abe. I've seen this face before-it's the face he gets when he's angry but knows he shouldn't vocalize it. The worst was back at Peel after Abe took second place in the soph.o.m.ore-cla.s.s combat challenge, even though the winner totally stepped out of bounds, according to Abe. But Abe didn't want to protest for fear of looking like a sore loser, so instead he sat and stewed. Which is way worse for your mental well-being, in my book, but that's Abe.

And then Yellow gasps again. Loudly. Her hands tremble as she holds the phone.

"You guys. It is Chi Rho. Jesus Christ. Whatever." She holds up the phone so we can see the screen. "This is its symbol."

I turn to Abe. "Do it. Set up a dinner, make a call, do whatever you need to do."

Abe huffs. "Fine."

There's a knock on my door. We all freeze. I whip the phone out of Yellow's hands and chuck it into my closet, where it lands behind the laundry hamper. Yellow gets up off the bed and opens the door.

"Hi!" she greets Bonner, who has her hands on her hips and a scowl on her face. Her eyes widen in surprise, like she doesn't understand why Yellow just answered my door. "We were just talking about you!"

I cringe but then force myself to relax as Bonner peers past Yellow into my room. After all, if there's anything I've learned since I became Annum Guard, it's that Yellow is the best freaking liar on the face of the earth.

Bonner takes her hands from her hips and crosses them over her chest. "I heard voices. What's going on here?"

Yellow smiles sweetly. "I'm sure you can understand that we're all worried about Orange"-Bonner opens her mouth to respond, but Yellow holds up a hand and flashes a grin-"and I know you totally are, too. I'm sure you've been working nonstop since last night to try to figure out what happened. You're probably concerned about all of our safety."

"Of course I'm concerned about your safety," Bonner says. But nothing about her tone or her body language agrees with her words.

"It's just . . ." Yellow pauses deliberately. "We're a team, you know? We want Orange to be okay."

"As do I." Bonner's voice is flat, the voice of someone who's reading economic reports on C-SPAN at four in the morning.

"Oh, I'm sure you do! But we all just want you to know that we're not afraid to go back to doing missions. We want the truth as much as you do, both about what happened to Orange and who's really behind Eagle."

And then I see it. A little flick at the corner of Bonner's mouth. I know what that means. She's worried. I look over at Abe as inconspicuously as I can, and he raises his eyebrows at me. He noticed it, too.

"We'll see," is all Bonner says before she changes the subject. "It's nearly time for our morning briefing. Are you all planning on attending?"

Indigo nods his head and stands. "Yes, ma'am." His eyes meet mine for one quick second as he walks past. Maybe he caught Bonner's look, too. Green, Violet, and Yellow follow him.

"I'll be down in just a minute," I tell Bonner, my hand on the doork.n.o.b.

She looks past me to Abe.

"Don't worry, I'll bring him with me," I say. I check the clock. "It's only six twenty-three. I promise we'll be there on time."

"Very well," Bonner says.

I wait for her to head down the stairs before I shut the door. "She suspects us, doesn't she?"

"Of course she suspects us," Abe says.

I lower myself onto the bed and touch Abe's leg. He doesn't bat my hand away, but he stares down at it like it's an intruder.

"Is it too early to call? They're both early birds, right? Do you want me to do it in case Ariel answers?"

"Really?" he says, still not looking at me. "That's what you want to talk about right now?"

I suck in my breath. "As opposed to?"

And then he looks up, right into my eyes. "Oh, I don't know. Any other secrets you're keeping from me?"

"That is not fair." I punctuate every word. "I was under orders not to disclose that information."

"You seem to have no problems breaking rules when it suits you, which, you know, is all the time. But the second you want to keep secrets, you hide behind the protection of the rules. You can't deny it."

I can't. I've always disregarded rules that didn't suit me in the moment. And I have no real answer for why I didn't tell anyone about XP sooner-why I didn't share it with Abe.

"Hand me the phone. My grandfather isn't going to answer. He's going to see the number on caller ID and make Gran answer."

I hesitate. Is he dropping this fight, right when it's starting? Part of me wants to press him, to hash everything out and get it over with. But instead I lean back and grab my cell off the nightstand. It's dead. Oops. So I grab the black handset-the kind of phone you'd find in an office conference room-wind the cord around the edge of the nightstand, and set it on the bed between us. I dial the number, then hand the receiver to Abe. His fist tightens around it for a second before he holds it up to his ear.

"Hey, Gran, it's Abraham," he says. "I'm good. How are you and Grandpa? . . . I know, it's been a while . . . She's good too . . . I . . ." I see Abe struggle with what to say next. He knows any call made from an Annum Guard phone is being recorded at the very least, if not monitored as we speak. "I was hoping we could have dinner and try to bury the hatchet . . . No, I know you don't have a problem with . . . Well, I wouldn't call it being ridiculous . . . Okay . . . I know . . . Okay . . . Okay . . . Sounds good. See you then."

Abe thrusts the receiver forward, and I take it and set it back in the cradle.

"Tomorrow night," he grunts. "Six p.m. It's done."

I know Abe's mad, so I definitely don't mention how ridiculous he sounds, saying "it's done" like he just ordered the a.s.sa.s.sination of a target who's only a questionable threat to national security.

"Gran's making brisket," he adds.

I almost smile. I haven't known Mona for very long. I accidentally saved her from an early death caused by lung cancer by s.n.a.t.c.hing a cigarette out of her hands when she was nineteen, back when Alpha had me trying to convince Ariel to change the design of the Annum watches so that he would be able to travel through time himself, because Alpha didn't have the genetic makeup. The only people who can project are those people directly related to the first generation of Guardians.

I haven't told anyone about how I saved Mona. Another of my secrets. It's been hard, trying to play catch up. Trying to fake like I know all these things about Mona when really I've only known her for a few months. Everyone else has a complete memory of her in this new reality. But one thing I learned early on is that she's an amazing cook, and her brisket is the best of the best. I never had home-cooked meals growing up. At least, not after my grandmother died, taking with her memories of lamb soup at Easter and gogosi doughnuts at Christmas. Even when my mom was lucid, cooking was the lowest of her priorities.

d.a.m.n. My mom.

I shake my head. Later. I'll deal with that later.

Even though she's being discharged tomorrow.

I lean back so I'm lying on the bed and place the phone on the nightstand. We still have two minutes until the briefing, and it takes like thirty seconds to get downstairs. I roll over and put my hand on Abe's stomach as I nuzzle myself into the warm crook of his neck. We're okay, I tell myself. We're going to be okay.

Except that Abe's not having it. "We're going to be late," he says as he rolls off the bed.

I let him go, but when he's at the door, I tell him, "I love you. I'm sorry."

Abe turns around. "You hurt me. You hurt me today. You've hurt me before." He holds up a hand so I can't interrupt. "Yeah, I get it, you didn't have such a great childhood, but you've got to let me in. If we're going to have any sort of future together, you can't keep secrets from me."

It's like someone has shot me in the chest. I push off the bed. "If we're going to have any sort of future together? As in, there's a question about that?"

"I love you. But you are so incredibly frustrating, and you don't seem to realize it." He lets out a long sigh. "I think maybe joining Annum Guard was a mistake."

"What, you want to go back to the original plan and have us both join the CIA? Do you think they'd still recruit us?" I'm not committing to anything, or even thinking about committing to anything, but I want to know.

"I'm starting to think that if we want to have a future together, we shouldn't work together and live together and spend almost every waking second of our lives together."

I blink. "Are you breaking up with me?"

"No. Of course I'm not. I just . . . Maybe we need some s.p.a.ce."

My heart sinks.

"Abe," I whisper. He's looking at me, and I see him. See the Abe I know and love. He's there, hiding behind a wall of pain. A wall that I've built myself, brick after brick. Abe has been nothing but supportive from the first day I met him. He provides me with the only stability I have in my life, and I haven't been very fair to him. I've taken and taken, and I can't think of a single thing I've given. Not since Annum Guard.

"Do you want me to stay here tomorrow night?" I ask.

"No." There's no hesitation. "I want you there. I need you there."

Need. The word is so short, so simple, but it gives me hope.

His hand is on the door.

"I love you, Abe. I know I haven't been very fair to you, but I really do love you."

He looks back at me and frowns. "Yeah, I know. We're going to be late for the briefing."

He doesn't wait for me.