The Sphinx Project (13 page)

An ache in my throat set in as I thought about Mom, like it always did. Mom was born with a genetic condition that caused her brain to deteriorate. She'd been diagnosed at a very young age.

The illness affected her memory, motor-control and nervous system. She always told us the truth about herself—that's why she volunteered for the surrogate program. She once told us she could never condemn a child of her own to be born like her, which was a possibility if she were ever to conceive.

Her memory had begun to go when we were ten, but for us her lapses were a game, resulting in second servings of dessert if we could persuade her we hadn't eaten the first. Her hands had always trembled, her writing terrible. She'd tried so hard to control the twitching while she led the pen across the page but was never quite successful.

We'd known she was going to get worse but expected her to carry on much longer. She'd gone from coping with the disease and living a full life to being dead within a week. Even the doctors were surprised at the speed at which her condition had deteriorated.

I'd never had reason to be suspicious of her death before, but still it had niggled at me. Now I knew something hadn't been right. How far in advance had they planned the escape? What was it that made her so determined to free me? Surely she'd known that the scientists would crack down on the others even harder if she'd succeeded. And she would have known they'd have cut her off from Nicole. Why was I so special that she was willing to make Nicole's life even more miserable?

Chapter Fourteen

As we moved farther away from the coast, the traffic thinned. The late hour probably helped too. Cars littered the roadside, their occupants asleep within. Parking lots were full and motels displayed neon signs and hand-written notices declaring they'd reached capacity.

We managed to reach Santa Fe by early evening the next day. Following the directions Mouse printed, we found the cafe where we were supposed to be meeting her contact.

Nicole and I went in first. As we stepped into the store, the warmth welcomed me, beckoning me in. Strange aromas swirled around, smells that I'd never encountered before. The dominant scent was strange—robust and invigorating all at once with notes of spice and a hint of sweetness permeating the air.

A wooden counter stretched along one side of the cafe. Small, round wooden tables and high-backed overstuffed armchairs inhabited whatever space was left. A small wood-burning stove sat in the corner, warming the entire room surprisingly well, in spite of the large windows that should have let all the heat escape.

Ordering hot chocolates, we ignored the call of the chairs nearest the stove. We seated ourselves close to the middle-aged man wearing a baseball cap. His hat had a red bird on it and he sat near the door, exactly as Mouse had described.

He didn't even look up from the game he was playing as we passed. Glancing over his shoulder, I saw him aim a bird at something with a catapult. For something that seemed so simple, he was incredibly absorbed in it.

We picked up magazines from a pile on the counter. They were old, dated several months ago, but the news was new to us. I flipped through the pages of clothing and relationship advice, pretending that it interested me.

The waitress delivered our drinks as Mouse and Briana walked in. They didn't bother buying anything, walking over and sitting opposite the man at the table. He didn't notice them until Mouse tossed the phone onto the table.

He jumped. Apparently he'd been so into his game, he hadn't paid any attention to his surroundings.

I took a long swallow of the heated milk, allowing the chocolate to flow over my tongue. I glanced into the cup and paused. There were white and pink bits floating on the top. I dunked my finger in, lifting the strange substance to my nose. It smelled good, so I licked it. I let my taste buds acclimatize to the sweetness, which eclipsed that of the chocolate. A smile spread across my face. Whatever it was, it tasted amazing!

"So, uh, you want the trace, right?" The man's voice punctured my thoughts. He was clearly nervous. I watched them over the rim of my mug as I took another gulp.

"We just want to know who received the last outgoing call and any details you can give us about them." Mouse sounded like another person when it came to tech, so much more confident.

The man didn't answer. He nodded as he dragged a black bag from below the table. He tugged out a knot of cables, untangling them until he found what he was looking for. The one he selected was white, with a box at one end. He plugged it into his tablet and picked up the phone.

He opened it, extracting a little chip from below the battery. Slipping the chip into the box, he exited the game and set the tablet on a little stand while he worked.

From where I sat I couldn't see what he was doing, so I turned momentarily to Mouse. She stared at the tablet, studying it intently. I couldn't tell if she was watching what he was doing, or examining the man's gadgets.

He tapped away for almost fifteen minutes, much longer than it took me to consume my drink. When he was finally done, he scribbled a few words onto a sheet of paper at his side. He folded it, slipped it into an envelope and held it out, extending his other hand palm up.

Mouse placed a folded sheet of paper in his hand, containing the agreed-upon fee. He stuffed it into his bag with everything else and stood to leave. He didn't even check the contents.

Gently, I ran my finger around the rim of the mug, collecting the last of the pink substance. I shoved my finger in my mouth as I stood and followed the others to the door. At the last minute I turned, approaching the girl behind the counter.

"What was that pink stuff in the hot chocolate?" I needed to know what to ask for in future.

"Uh... marshmallow..." She looked like she thought I was crazy.

Chapter Fifteen

Mouse sat down in front of the screen, unfolding the piece of paper from the envelope.

"Marissa Leanne Hamilton," she read aloud. "October twenty-third, nineteen seventy-four, New York, New York. Well, that gives me somewhere to start."

"Will you be able to find her?" I asked.

"Won't know until I try." Mouse pulled out the keyboard, which was set upon a tray that rolled back and forth beneath the monitor.

She got to work quickly. Mouse could manipulate the computer with the skill of a musician coaxing melodies from their instrument.

The sound of computer-generated gunfire jerked my head to the left, hurting my still-tender muscles. The accelerated healing had already taken care of the visible bruises, but the deeper ones would take another day or so.

Teenage boys lined the walls of the internet cafe, most of them staring unblinking at the screen in front of them. Occasionally one would sneak a peek sideways, only to look away again when I caught their eye.

"Got 'em," Mouse smirked after only a few minutes.

"That was fast," I said.

"There aren't many Marissa Hamiltons, even fewer who were born in nineteen seventy-four," Mouse explained.

We crowded around her, peering at the screen over her shoulder. The monitor displayed a black and white photo of a woman with a fine nose and large eyes, accompanied by a toddler. She looked quite young; there was no way it was recent.

"She owns a nightclub in New York. Apparently it's a classy place."

"What's it called?" Briana asked.

"The Rising Phoenix. Just a sec. Give me some space so I can get more info." Mouse began typing again, her fingers flying over the keyboard so fast they almost appeared to blur. "The only phone number I can find is the reservation line for the night club. Do you want to try calling them?"

"We may as well," Nicole said.

Mouse jotted the digits down and Nicole went outside to use the payphone then came back moments later.

"They won't take a message, give me another phone number or tell me anything useful," she said grumpily.

"Well that sucks," I said.

"Is there anything else?" she asked Mouse.

"Nope. No home address, no phone number and no permanent residence." Mouse flicked between pages, reading everything insanely fast. "She spends some Saturday nights in the club, but I don't know which ones. And we wouldn't be able to get in there anyway."

"Why not?" Briana demanded.

"Because you have to be over twenty-one."

"Keep looking," Nicole instructed. "There's got to be something. If not we'll have to find some way to sneak in."

I leaned back against the partition that separated Mouse from the boy on her right. The skin on my arm itched so badly, I almost couldn't bear it. I tried pushing my finger beneath the plaster but it wouldn't fit.

"Got it," Mouse said. "The third Saturday of every month is an eighteen and over night. We couldn't pass for twenty-one, but with the right IDs we could definitely pass for eighteen."

"Can you get us some?" Nicole asked.

"Yeah, no problem," Mouse said. How was she so confident about that? "What could be an issue is getting into the VIP area."

"Why?" I asked.

"Because Marissa has a booth permanently reserved there. She never leaves it to go out into the club." She scrolled down the page of a gossip website, her lips moving silently as she read to herself. "Everything says it's almost impossible to get in."

"Is there anyone we can bribe?" Briana asked.

"We don't have enough money to bribe anyone," Nicole said.

"Even after the laser tag?"

"Even after laser tag," Nicole confirmed. "We may not even win that, though."

Briana snorted, clearly believing we wouldn't have a problem.

"Let me have a look-see," Mouse murmured to herself, trawling through the website's photo galleries.

She flew over various gossip blogs, searching for something. Sometime later, she froze. She caught her breath and stared at the screen, unblinking. A strangled noise escaped her throat. "Oh. Oh, wow…"

"What?" I asked.

"Lord Richard William Lockwood, an acquaintance of Marissa, has a daughter who recently turned nineteen. Until now she's been at college studying art history and languages. She hasn't left the country since she finished high school," she rattled off.

"What's so 'wow' about that?" Briana asked.

"Look." Mouse tilted the screen so we could see what she was talking about.

My breath caught as I saw the image in front of me. It was almost like looking in a mirror. If it weren't for the riding clothes and the glossy mahogany horse she held, I would have thought it was a photo of me.

"How is that possible?" I asked faintly.

"I'd say there's two distinct options," Nicole said, her voice somewhat distant. "First, it could be a complete coincidence. Or second, they've made another one like you."

"And which do you think it is?" Mouse asked.

"I'm not going to make that guess," Nicole said. "There's way more going on here than we know about."

"So what do you want to do?" Mouse asked.

"Get as much information as you can," Nicole said after a pause. "We're going to Nashville, and then we're going to New York. You've got a week to learn everything possible about this girl."

That last comment was directed to me.

Chapter Sixteen

"We're here," Nicole said as we pulled into the parking lot. I folded the papers I'd been studying and uncurled my legs from beneath me. Mouse had found a veritable goldmine of information on the girl; there was a lot to learn.

I slipped my shoes on and tucked the laces down the side, not bothering to tie them. I climbed out, slammed the door behind me and sprinted for the covered walkway surrounding the mall.

What a miserable day. I couldn't see the sun through the pouring sheets of rain. If I didn't know any better, I'd have thought it to be the middle of the night, due to the gloom that settled so heavily over everything.

From the way Mouse had explained it, I'd been expecting to see the place full of kids. I'd been a little embarrassed about the idea of competing against people half my age, but we really needed the money.

Stepping inside, I was shocked to see a room full of grown men, stretching and warming up. They were taking this seriously.

We walked into the registration area, weaving between the people scattered around the room.

"Heya," the young guy behind the desk greeted. "You here for the competition?"

I nodded, smiling.

"Great." He eyed us warily. "Have you ever done this before?"

"We've never used
these
guns, no," I responded.

He seemed a little shocked.

"Are you sure you want to enter? It'll cost you two hundred bucks for the team: it's a waste of money if you're going to get knocked out in the first round." He sounded like he was trying to dissuade us.

"Trust me, we'll be fine," I murmured, giving him a smile to back up the confidence in my voice. I silently prayed I was right. We couldn't afford to lose two hundred dollars.

He sighed, shook his head but handed us the enrollment forms nonetheless. "You need to pay and hand those in over there." He pointed at another desk by a door lit with blue lights.

"What's our team name going to be?" Mouse asked, staring at the sheet in her hand.

"The Sphinx," Nicole said with a hint of laughter. "Or is it the Sphinxes? What's the plural?"

"I don't know," I wondered aloud, "how about the Chimaeras?"

We filled the papers in before handing them, and our not-so-hard-earned cash, over to the guy behind the other counter.

"The Chimaeras?" His face screwed up in disgust. "Why'd you name yourself after a fish?"

"It's not the fish." Mouse was obviously trying not to laugh. "It's the mythical creature."

"Sure, whatever." He obviously wasn't convinced. "And you've never played before?"

"Nope," Nicole replied.

He gave us the same look as the first guy. They both thought we were stupid. "So, I need to show you how to use the suits?" he asked.

We all nodded in unison.

He led us through the blue-lit door into a dimly lit room with a blue glow along the walls. The suits were hung over thick pipes. Those with red lights on the shoulders on the right, green on the left.