Gallagher Girls 5 - Out of Sight, Out of Time (22 page)

S
he was there. The woman from the roof in Boston and the tombs of Blackthorne. The woman who was Zach’s mother.

Zach’s mother was there.

She stepped from behind a pile of debris and stood silhouetted in the fading light that sliced through the narrow gap in the wall. I wanted to be wrong, but there was no mistaking her voice or her form and, most of all, the sick feeling in my gut that came from the sight of her.

She was there, standing between me and my only means of escape.

“How did you find this place?” I had to know.

“Oh, I could ask the same of you.
I’ve
been coming here for years.” She walked through the ruins as if she had pulled the castle down stone by stone until she finally found me and that moment.

“Then why didn’t you just take it?” I asked, bile in my throat. “You take everything else.”

“Oh, I would have,” Zach’s mother said.

She’s Zach’s mother.

She’s Zach’s mother.

She’s Zach’s mother.

“But Gilly…she was as pesky as all Gallagher Girls seem to be.”

I looked at the box I’d just opened and saw the intricate mechanism that lay inside: gears like clockwork surrounding a small compartment filled with gunpowder I didn’t dare to touch.

“Nineteenth-century explosives?” I asked.

“Oh, yes,” Zach’s mom said.

“So Gilly booby-trapped it?”

I remembered Townsend’s distaste at the word and felt a nervous laugh rise up in my throat. It was all I could do to swallow it and not let the terror take hold.

“You’re going to give me that list, Cammie.”

“No.” I shook my head. “I’m not.”

She held out one hand as if I were going to just hand over the very thing my father had died trying to find. “Cammie,” she said, impatience ringing through her voice.
“Now.”
The comms unit in my ear was as dead as it had been in Rome. I was alone when she said, “Come now, Cammie. We got to be so close last summer.…”

The lie was cold and empty, and yet the smile was a real one. She was happy to be there, taunting me.

“It is so good to see you strong and well.” She talked on, then glanced down at the cylinder in my hands. “Now, hand me that very carefully.”

But I just held the thing that Gilly had hidden away—held it like my very life was trapped inside, and I didn’t dare let it out of my grasp.

When I didn’t move, Zach’s mother cocked her head. “Cammie,” she said, and slowly began to hum, “do you hear the music?”

I
did
hear it, and I wanted to say so, to tell her that it was always there in the back of my mind, pulsing and beating like my own heart. It was even stronger then. I felt myself start to sway, a quiet rage building, and yet I did not move to fight, to scream. It was as if I were frozen there, waiting…teetering…and then…

Dust filled the air. Bits of rock scraped my face and arms, and the force of a blow knocked me to my knees. When the smoke began to settle, I could see that the small hole had become a massive, gaping opening. The exterior wall was practically gone. There was absolutely nothing standing between me and Liz, who shrugged. “I also packed explosives.”

There was no time to hug her, because I was already pushing through the rubble, grabbing her hand in mine, and yelling, “Run!”

It had started to rain. Cold drizzle turned to pounding, piercing drops as we ran, sliding down a steep embankment, the ruins at our back.

Liz’s bag fell off her shoulder and tumbled across the rocks, leaving a trail of books and markers and tranquilizer darts. There were a scary number of tranquilizer darts. She stopped as if on instinct to reach for her things, but I pulled on her arm.

“Leave them!” I cried just as I felt a blow to my back. I fell, crashing against an outcropping of rocks, and slid across the wet stones that ran like giant steps lower and lower, closer to the cliff’s edge.

My right arm slammed against the ground. Pain shot from my elbow to my shoulder as if lightning had struck; and I couldn’t help myself—my hand fell open and the cylinder flew from my fingers and skidded across the massive slab of stone, falling to the ledge below.

“I told you to hand me the list, Cammie.”

I rolled over and looked up. Zach’s mom was standing behind me. The wind was so much stronger there, blowing against her wet hair. Rain ran down her face and clung to the corners of her mouth.

“It’s not like you even need it.” She laughed. “You’re the one person on earth who doesn’t need it. Now, give it to me!”

What did she mean I didn’t need it? I didn’t know—didn’t care.

“You want it,” I told her, climbing to my feet. “Come through me and get it.”

“Cammie, no!” Liz cried, just as a gust of wind blew from the sea and almost knocked me off balance. I glanced to the ridge below and saw the cylinder beginning to roll, closer and closer to the edge until…

“No!” I yelled, lunging for it, sliding across the wet ground. But it was too late. The precious thing was falling end over end through the rain and the wind, crashing to the stormy sea below.

From the corner of my eye, I could see a helicopter sitting on the hillside, its blades starting to spin. There was a distant crack of gunfire, muffled by the sounds of the storm. And there, on my hands and knees, I looked for any thing—any way—to make Zach’s mother hurt as much as I hurt.

Rain pounded against my face, and I crawled—the wet stone hard on my knees, grappling until I felt the barrel and the trigger, and stumbled to my feet.

The flare gun was in my hand, and my hand was pointing at her chest. I could feel my body moving independently from my mind again. The haze and the fog filled my head. I was aware faintly that my friends were there yelling, “Cammie! Cammie!”

But the list was gone, drowned in the ocean, broken on the rocks and dissolved in the rain. My father had looked for it. My father had died for it, and it was gone. I would never see either of them ever again.

So I raised the gun higher and fired.

Red streaked across the sky. With the flash, I looked down at my arms and remembered the way the red drops had stained the ground, the way the cold water of the river had felt so good against the gashes and scrapes.

I remembered water and running.

I remembered how to survive.

“Oh, Cammie, you are such a good girl,” the woman said, and I honestly couldn’t tell if it was supposed to be an insult or a compliment. There wasn’t time to ask, because she was already stepping toward the cliff, saying, “I’m sorry it has to be this way.”

And then Zach’s mother raised up her arms and jumped, diving into the waters below.

My first thought was that I had to get the vial. To find it. If it had survived, then…

I had to follow.

“No!”

I felt arms grasp my waist and draw me back.

“Let me go, Zach.”

“No, Cammie!” It was Bex’s voice, clear and strong.

“No, Gallagher Girl,” Zach said, holding me tighter, whispering in my ear. “It’s gone.”

I
know the flight home wasn’t the longest plane ride of my life, but it felt like it. The ocean was so vast outside my window, and all I could think was that the list was out there somewhere. Sitting on the ocean floor. Smashed against a rock. Or maybe floating like a message in a bottle, bound to someday turn up on a distant shore.

But I didn’t know. And I probably never would.

When we finally reached the mansion, Zach insisted on walking me to my room.

“Excuse me, but aren’t boys forbidden on this floor?” Macey said on our way to the suite.

“That’s the advantage of being the only boy,” he said. “No one actually comes right out and makes rules like that.”

It sounded like a fair enough point, and Macey shrugged. We were all too exhausted to argue.

The halls were dark and empty. The only light came from the emergency exit signs, and the whole school seemed to be sleeping around us. My classmates didn’t know how close we’d come to finishing my father’s final mission. If I had my way, they never would.

“What’s wrong?” Zach said, stopping me and reading my mind.

I shrugged. “What isn’t?”

My elbow throbbed. My head ached. And I was pretty sure I was having the worst hair day ever, but when he grabbed my hand and pulled me to him, I didn’t protest.

“Hey,” he said. “It’s going to be okay. You’ll get some sleep. And everything will look better in the morning.”

Sometimes the best advice is the simplest—every good spy knows that. So I chose to believe him.

He kissed me on the forehead and started back the way we’d come, but at the last second I called, “What’s her name, Zach?” He turned back to me. “Your mother…I don’t even know her name.”

“Catherine. Her name is Catherine.” Then he smiled a little sadly and went downstairs.

Even after I woke and got out of bed, I didn’t feel better. To tell you the truth, I didn’t feel anything. I was faintly aware of the fact that the halls were empty, the corridors quiet, as I walked alone to the closed door and raised my hand to knock.

“Come in! Come in,” a voice yelled, and the door creaked open. “It’s good to see you, Cammie.” Dr. Steve put a book into a large satchel, then snapped the lock and gestured to the chair beside the fire. “I appreciate your coming so late.”

“It’s not late,” I said, then glanced at the window and saw that it was dark outside. I looked down at my legs and remembered I was wearing my pajamas.

Dr. Steve walked around his desk, took the seat opposite mine. “I heard about what happened in Ireland, Cammie. And I wanted to know…how are you?”

It was a question I’d heard a lot in my life.
How’s your head? How’s your safety? How’s your heart?
So I answered as truthfully as I could.

“I don’t know.”

“I can imagine that you might feel sad and confused after what happened. It’s only natural. Here”—he handed me a piece of paper—“I find that it can be very helpful to write those feelings down.”

“I’m sad and confused,” I said, writing out the words. “It’s only natural.”

“Of course it is.” He leaned forward, looked at me through the light of the fire. “Do you get tired of wearing that necklace, Cammie?”

My hand went to my throat. “This necklace?”

“I feel foolish for not realizing what it was earlier. But of course you didn’t have it at the stone house.”

“No,” I said. “When I was in Rome, I mailed it to myself with a bunch of other jewelry.”

Dr. Steve laughed. “You’re a very smart girl, Cammie.”

“Thank you.”

“That’s why you’re such a formidable opponent for the people who have been after you.”

“I guess,” I had to admit, but truthfully I didn’t feel formidable in any way.

“Tell me about that song, Cammie.”

“What song?” I asked.

“The song you were just singing.”

“I wasn’t singing any song.”

“Yes you were. It was this song.”

Then Dr. Steve pushed a button and I heard it—I really heard it—the music that had been playing inside of me from the moment I woke on that narrow cot.

I felt myself begin to sway, and when Dr. Steve said, “Sing it, Cammie,” I began to hum because there were no words.

“Do you remember the first time you heard that song, Cammie?” Dr. Steve said softly.

“It was the week before my father disappeared—the day he took me to the circus.”

“That’s right. Think about the circus. It’s like you’re there now. What do you see?”

“There is a lion tamer and some clowns and—”

“Where is your father, Cammie?”

“He’s beside me. We are walking through the crowd. A woman is stopping in front of us. She’s dropped her purse and he’s helping her. There’s a napkin on the ground.”

“What does he do with the napkin, Cammie?”

“He offers it to her, and she says, ‘No, that’s trash.’ Then he puts it in his pocket and leads me away.” My voice was flat, but something in my mind recognized the scene for what it was. “It’s a dead drop.”

“It is,” Dr. Steve said.

“There’s a list of names written on the napkin. It’s the list that Gillian Gallagher wrote. I am supposed to remember that list.”

I knew it was true—that it was right—but even as I spoke the words, there was something in my mind, like a tiny ripple on a perfectly still pond.

“Dr. Steve,” I said, my voice slightly stronger, “how did you know it was a stone house where they held me?”

Dr. Steve smiled. “Because I was there, of course.”

“Of course,” I repeated, and I honestly felt embarrassed that I hadn’t remembered. It was like I’d failed a test, and I wasn’t looking forward to the day when Mr. Solomon found out. “I’m sorry I forgot.”

“Don’t be. We would never have let you escape if we weren’t certain we could
make you
forget.”

“So I didn’t block it out because it was too painful? I didn’t…mess up?”

“Oh, no, my dear. You did exactly as we needed you to do. And it almost worked. We got so much further here—in the safety of your school—than we did on the mountain, didn’t we?”

“Yes,” I said.

“We learned so much. But, of course, we never quite learned what we were looking for. A part of you always resisted.…You never quite let us in.”

“I’m sorry,” I said again.

“Oh, that’s okay. We were worried for a while, but now that we have the original list that Gillian hid in Ireland, it doesn’t matter.”

“But I saw the vial go over the cliff,” I said, thinking about Zach’s mother and her long dive to the rocky waters below.

“Yes. But it didn’t break, and dear Catherine was able to retrieve it. So now we have it, you see.” He smiled at me kindly. “Which means now, I’m afraid, we don’t need you.”

I actually felt ashamed. I didn’t like being unnecessary—a disappointment. There had to be something else I could do, so I asked, “But…why? If you’re part of the Circle, why would you need to know what Gillian learned about the founders of the Circle?”

He chuckled his
aren’t you adorable
laugh. “Now, Cammie, you know that I’m just a lowly worker bee. No one knows who the heads of the Circle are. No one knows who calls the shots—the
inner circle
.” He smiled at his own cleverness. “Do you think the CIA and MI6 are the only ones who would like that information?”

“So the Circle has a splinter group?” I asked.

He nodded, eyes wide in the dark. “Yes. There are people within the Circle who want very much to use that list. And there are other people—powerful people—who would gladly kill you to keep it from ever being found.”

I watched him shiver as he sat by the fire. All the color drained from his face. “I was so afraid they were going to kill you, Cammie.” He nodded slowly. “And they would have, eventually. The people in charge would have sent more snipers, other grab teams. They wouldn’t have stopped until you were—”

“But now they will stop?” I asked, hopeful.

“Yes. Now it all will stop.” He nodded and patted my hand. “For you.”

“I just want it to be over,” I said.

“I know, Cammie. Write that down,” he told me, so I did.

It felt so easy, sitting there by the fire. So peaceful. I’d never known how much work it was to think, to worry, to feel.

“You’re very tired, aren’t you, Cammie?”

“Yes,” I said.

“That’s okay,” he told me, and pointed again to the paper. As I wrote how tired I was, he talked on. “We’ve been working so hard to help you remember what you saw at the circus. But now you don’t have to remember anymore. In fact, now I need to make sure no one ever questions you again. Would you like that?”

“Yes,” I said. It sounded like the sweetest possible release.

“Trust is an important thing to an operative, isn’t it, Cammie? Important to a girl.” Dr. Steve moved a little closer, looked into my eyes. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Good. Now, I need you to go to the terrace beside Madame Dabney’s tearoom. You’re going to stand on the balcony and watch me drive away. When I’m safely out of the gates, I need you to jump.”

“When you’re safely out of the gates, I’ll jump.” I stood to leave, but something stopped me at the door. “Dr. Steve,” I said, thinking of the gun in my hands in CoveOps, the shot I didn’t remember firing on the hill. “Did you teach me how to kill?”

“No.” He shook his head slowly. “You mastered those skills all on your own.” He picked up the bag that sat beside his desk and reached for his jacket. “It’s been very nice knowing you, Cammie. Good-bye.”

“Good-bye, Dr. Steve,” I said, then climbed the stairs and went to the fifth floor to die.