Twist (15 page)

“Yes,” she said in a dismissive tone. “I heard you the first time.”

Then she opened a door to another room and I stumbled when I saw my dad, partly because it was unexpected—I thought I'd be waiting some more—but also because of the way he looked. His eyes were sunken even more than before, like he hadn't slept in
days.
But there was something about his smile that made me melt. Even though I was kind of mad at him, I ran to him and jumped into his arms. He'd gotten skinny.

“Are you sick?” I asked.

He shook his head, and then he said to Agent Carter, “Thank you.”

She closed her eyes and bowed.

When she pulled the door shut behind her, I said, “Do you know her?”

He nodded. “I do now.”

Why were these men treating this woman, my nemesis, with such . . . niceness! And the way she had responded to both of them was also bothersome. Way too kind. Or was I just going crazy?

I dismissed all thoughts about her. “Are they feeding you, Dad?”

He looked at me like I was
nuts
.

“Well, you're skin and bones,” I said, and realized I sounded like my mother.

He chuckled and said, “I forget to eat sometimes. I've been so focused in the lab.”

“Lab? I thought you were in jail.”

“Bea.” He sat down next to me and placed a folder on the table. “I'm developing a form of biochemical warfare for the government.”

“Oh,” I said.

“Because of my past efforts, developing a drug for CJD—I will save the NSA years of laboratory time on a slightly different form of the same drug,” he said.

“Are you being held against your will?”

“I can't walk out the door, if that is what you are asking,” he said. “But I've made a deal that includes a new identity and reestablishment in another part of the country.”

“
Like witness protection?” I asked.

“Yes, similar,” he said.

“For all of us?” I asked. “Aunt Charlotte and Uncle George?”

“Let's talk about that,” he said.

“Are we in a private room? Mr. Campbell said—”

Dad put his hand on my arm and slid his folder over to me.

“He's a good attorney. I'm glad Charlotte found him.” He tapped the file. “I've been writing in this journal at night to unwind and I wanted to show you some of these things.”

I opened the folder and saw his handwriting scrawled across several pages. It was almost impossible to read. I laughed and said, “You write like a doctor.”

“It's what they teach you in medical school.” His voice was light but his actions were swift and purposeful. He pulled open the file that I brought, and in between two photos was a clear sheet that he placed over his writing. “I just let the words flow at night when I can't sleep. I thought you'd want to know more about what's going on in my head and how I felt about your mother.”

I sat there with my jaw practically on the floor. Both he and Mr. Campbell had included me in some trickery with the FBI and that just plain scared me.

Dad spoke about nothing pertinent to the case and prompted me to say yes every so often when he asked a question like, “Are you listening?” and “Makes sense, right?” And I complied.

When
he put the plastic sheet over his writing, certain words became highlighted—for my eyes only, apparently. I immediately scanned the room and noticed there were no cameras—or none visible.

“I want you to think about starting a new life with me,” he said, and gestured toward the document. “And the possibility of leaving everything else behind.”

“Everything?” I said. But my mind was busy reading his encrypted message.

The writing was clear and concise, not the scribble I had looked at moments before. He'd written:
We are going to fake a fight. When you leave here it's important that you will be crying and distraught. My writings will be transferred to your folder and your pictures will be transferred to mine
.

I have a vial that you will need to leave with
.

Jessica Gray will soon know what to do with this vial
.

I knew it! I knew he had something to do with that supposed job. “I'm not starting fresh with you! I'm so pissed right now.” I pointed at Mrs. Gray's name on that paper and mouthed, why her? “You just don't give up, do you!?”

He waved his fingers, a gesture for me to keep reading.

I looked down and read the next line repeatedly because I could not believe my eyes.

Your mother is alive . . .

Your mother is alive . . .

Your mother is alive and she will need this medicine to stay that way
.

“
Bullshit,” I said with less vigor and a lot of confusion. I went to her funeral. I cried for her. I balled my eyes out and every day since then I'd wished that I could see her again. And suddenly, I find out she's still alive.

He gestured toward the paper and said, “I'm sorry you feel that way.”

She's safe, but very ill. Not able to function at all
.

“Why? What can these people possibly want from you that they keep you locked up? It doesn't make sense!” I yelled and tears streamed down my face.

I needed this lab and resources to finish the drug—for your mother
.

“My security clearance doesn't allow me to share everything,” he said.

I replied through my sobs, “You don't make sense.” I was perplexed, but I tried to keep following his lead.

“Yes, well, I can only share so much and sometimes that's too much,” he said.

You will see your mother shortly. She needs you to do this
.

He pulled a small vial from the inside of his cheek.

My eyes bugged out when I saw it. “I'm not into any of this!”

He made a gesture with his arms—pleading with his entire body.

I had to fake your mother's death so that I could finish developing the drug. It is one and the same for the government and for your mother
.

“This is so stupid. Why would anybody keep all of this to themselves!” My head was about to explode. “Who are you really? I don't believe you just do research. This is
not normal behavior
!” I screamed at him.

He grabbed my right arm and shoved the vial up my sleeve.

“
I'm sorry, sometimes things aren't what they seem.” Then quickly he leaned in real close and whispered, “Yell at me, slap me—now.”

I slapped him lightly.

“You ungrateful brat!” he yelled and then whispered, “again, harder. Make some noise.”

I did it again, with a full swing and said, “I can't believe a flipping word you say!”

“Carter!” he yelled. “Take her away!” He shoved the folder under my arm and whispered. “Go!”

“What are you doing?” I shouted in his face. “Get away from me. You're not my father. He'd never treat me this way!”

The second Agent Carter opened the door Dad grabbed me around the neck. She tried to pull him off of me. I was about to pass out. Then I felt someone behind me and realized it was Mr. Campbell—with his fingers up my sleeve. He'd pulled the vial out! “I've got her,” he said. At that moment my father released me and two men rushed in, grabbed my dad, and slammed him against the wall.

Agent Carter grabbed me and I wrestled her around, keeping her back to Mr. Campbell while he fumbled for a second with his suitcase. I saw him drop the vial inside.

“You and you!” Agent Carter said, pulling away and pointing at Mr. Campbell and me. “Search them both. I'm not buying the false hysterics.” She yanked the folder out of my hands and flipped through the handwritten document.

I sniffled and said, “That's mine.”

“
In a minute—I want the lab to look at it.” Her eyes were steely cold. Agent Carter didn't even pretend to be nice.

Chapter
31

I was pushed into the windowless room where I had been searched earlier. A female agent came in right behind me.

“We have to do another search,” she said. “Sorry.”

I moved real slow, sniffling and trying to act like it didn't matter. I handed her my clothes, and when I was down to my underwear she motioned at me to continue.

“Lift your arms,” she said. “Take your bra off, and your panties.”

When I could not stop crying, she handed me a tissue. She actually did a cavity search! That was humiliating.

They took my clothes and gave me a robe. I sat in the room with one chair for an eternity. Finally my clothes were returned.

Once I was dressed, they moved me to an interrogation room were I was alone for what seemed like eternity number two. Then Agent Carter and a man entered the room.

“Did your father give you anything?” she asked.

“Where is my attorney?” I said. “I was promised that he would be here during the debrief.”

“This is not a debriefing,” the man said. “It's an interrogation.”

“Okay, I want my lawyer.” I folded my arms. “Shouldn't be hard to locate. He came here with me.”

“Look, we need to make sure that lethal substances—toxins—do not leave the premises.”

“
Haven't my rights been violated enough today?” I said. “I'm done talking to my dad, to you people, to anyone about all of this made-up biochemical weapons crap. Leave me alone!”

For a moment Agent Carter seemed confused. “Is that what he told you, more of the biochemical story?”

“Yes,” I said.

The agents exchanged a knowing look, and then left the room.

Mr. Campbell was the next person I saw. I heard him first. He was making a big stink to someone about catching his flight and then he tapped on the door and entered.

“We're leaving,” he said. “Get your things.”

“I'm not finished yet,” Agent Carter's voice carried into the room.

“Yes you are.” Mr. Campbell pushed past her and handed me my book bag from the table. “We're done.”

And it was as if he'd parted the sea. They moved out of our way and in a few minutes we were on the curb. A sedan pulled up and we were whisked away.

Mr. Campbell found a tracking device in my book bag, and something that looked like a bug on the side of his brief case. He tossed them out the window.

“I'm shocked they went that far,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“The searches, trying to question you.” He waved his hands toward the street. “Tracking devices, a bug.”

“It's time to tell me,” I said.

Mr.
Campbell's suit looked wrinkled. I'd never seen anything affect him. I wondered if they stripped him, too.

“I knew this moment would come and it would fall on me to tell you, but that doesn't make it any easier,” he said.

I waited, because everything seemed easy for him. Even the way he said
that doesn't make it easier
was ice cold: no emotion whatsoever.

“Your father faked your mother's death so that he could finish developing this drug that he believes will save her life.” He looked out the window.

“Where is she?” My voice rippled.

“She's safe.”

“Can she talk? I want to see her,” I said.

He wrinkled his nose, and a flicker of emotion seemed to come out of his steely resolve. “She's deteriorating. I'm bringing you to her. But—”

I wiped my face with the back of my trembling hand. I thought I'd never see her again on this planet. But this whole thing didn't seem real. “Why all of this—I waved my shaking arm—“craziness?”

“The government wants this drug, but more importantly they don't want anyone else to get their hands on it. This medicine is an unbelievable weapon of intelligence.”

“So he developed a bioweapon already?” I asked.

Mr. Campbell shook his head. “Technically, it's more of a tool.”

The lines on his forehead wrinkled, and his brow swept downward. “Your mom's far advanced in her symptoms. The medicine might not work at this stage. But it was your mother's wish to continue the research and use her brain—use her—as the
experimental
subject. She was adamant. She insisted your father fake her death so that Sanctity would back off.”

“Why?”

“Well, first, what you need to know is that faking her death included making sure that everyone else in her life thought she was dead. You understand why, don't you?”

“Yes, but that doesn't make it right.” The car sped down the highway as we spoke. “I can't believe my mom would play along.”

“Your mother did this for you,” he said.

“Huh?”

“Your mother is the true heroine behind this entire operation. Your father is carrying out her wishes.”

Suddenly I felt fearful for all of us, my mother, my father, and me. That mountain of dread that accompanied my swinging mood tree was bearing down on me.

“She had the implant installed because of you. She developed CJD because of you.” He adjusted his tie and kept his gaze on the back of the driver's head.

“No, no—you can't just say these things. This lie hurts,” I said. “Stop this flipping game.”

“Beatrice, you are the reason,” he said.

“No.”

“You have CJD.”

“No.”

“
Yes,” he said. “Your mother and father developed the drug that put you in this incubation, or what would more commonly be known as remission. But it will be short lived, as all of the research has indicated.”

My head spun. Why would I have an implant? How come I don't remember going bonkers like Mom did? And why wouldn't Aunt Charlotte know about this?

“I don't believe you.”

“I don't care if you believe me,” he said.