Collapsed: Book One of The Illusion of Truth, page 20
“Oh, you poor thing,” Mrs. Green says. She wraps one arm around my shoulders and guides me through the front door.
Inside, the foyer opens up into a large, open meeting space, which I recognize from the gala’s online images. But this time, instead of being filled with wealthy patrons, it’s empty save for Mrs. Green and myself.
“Let’s get you something dry to wear,” she says, “and then I’ll get you to Mr. Robinson.”
I open my mouth to speak, but Mrs. Green quickly cuts me off.
“I know you must have many, many questions. But I am not the person to answer them . . . and there is only so much time.” She ushers me to a downstairs bathroom and from a cabinet produces a cotton shift dress. “Here, put this on, and while you talk with Mr. Robinson, I’ll have your clothes dried in a jiffy.”
I tip my head in confusion . . . How could have they known I was coming and have all this ready for me?
But instead of asking, I close the door and do as she asks, mostly just happy to be out of my wet clothes and trying not to think too much about the risk I’m taking just being here. When I’m done, I head back out and hand her my skirt, jacket, and blouse but keep my Flexx, tucking it into my pocket again. Mrs. Green cheerfully takes them and leads me farther down the hall into a room with a large banquet table surrounded by chairs. A man stands with his back to me, filling his plate from a small buffet of food options.
Mrs. Green clears her throat. “Miss Hawkins has arrived.”
The man turns and smiles . . . Mr. Robinson. “Good.” With his free hand he gestures me to the end of the buffet. “Do you need anything to eat?”
I glance to Mrs. Green, but she only smiles and turns to leave with my still-wet clothes in hand.
“Is this all for me?” I ask. The question seems completely ridiculous.
Mr. Robinson picks up a roll with a pair of tongs and places it on his plate with a slice of meat and a scoop of assorted chopped fruits. “No, but you are welcome to partake. In about a half an hour I’ll be joined by several of my associates, and I always like to provide nourishment if I can . . . no matter the hour.”
I gaze around at the buffet but decide I’m too nervous to eat. “No, thank you.” I wave my hand in the air.
“Then please have a seat.” He gestures to the table.
I furrow my brow and cross my arms over my chest. “Can you please just tell me what’s going on?” But I don’t wait for him to answer before my mouth dumps out the thoughts my brain is churning. “My friend Kalib, who is now in custody for being a terrorist, told me to come here if anything happened to him. I know Kalib, and he is not a terrorist . . . yes, he got into some trouble in the past . . .” Tears burn at my eyes. “Then at my own risk I snuck out of the Pierces’ house and here I am. When I used the comm out front, it read my fingerprint and opened the gate for me? Why?”
Mr. Robinson sighs. “I assure you that we are very aware of Mr. Fisher’s current status. That is one of the primary topics of conversation with my colleagues shortly.”
“So you’re going to do something about it?” I demand.
Mr. Robinson purses his lips together and walks to the table. He sets his plate of food, along with a fork and napkin down. “Please sit, and I’d be glad to try and answer your questions.”
In a huff I walk to the table and pull out a chair. I plop into it. There. I’m sitting.
Mr. Robinson pushes his plate of food slightly away from him. “I can assure you that your friend is not a terrorist. But unfortunately something he did was detected, and now it is putting our goals at risk.”
“Our goals? Whose goals? And what did Kalib do?”
“Kalib was cooperating with us.”
“Again—who is us?”
Mr. Robinson reaches across the table for a plate of butter and proceeds to slather a pat onto his roll. When he’s done, he places the bread back down on his plate. “Those whom I work with.”
I let out an exasperated breath. “I came here because Kalib told me to. As I said earlier, I am risking everything by doing it . . . I don’t want to end up in prison too! But I want to help my friend.”
He eyes me. “I appreciate that you are here, and that provides me with some measure of trust. But Kalib informed me of your habits.”
I narrow my brow. “What does that mean?”
“It means that I need more from you than just the fact that you came . . . even if doing so was a huge risk to your safety. If I give you real information, I must know that it is safe to do so. If you really want to help your friend, then I will need your assurance that you are willing to continue putting yourself at risk beyond this one time.”
“How can I agree to something when I don’t even know what I’m agreeing to?”
He folds his hands together. “If you cannot, then I will have to bid you goodbye. I will have you escorted safely home. But we will need to administer a medication that will remove selective memories. The risk of you betraying us is too high otherwise, even if unintentionally.”
I run my hands over my knees and a thought dawns on me. That’s what happened during the testing—we were given something that made us forget. Part of me finds the offer of expelled memories enticing. Maybe they could even make me forget my entire day . . .
No! That part is the old me just trying to get out again, and I won’t listen to it. “I want to do what I can to help Kalib! You need to get him released. It’s the whole reason I’m here. If I can’t even remember doing that, then my coming was a waste!”
Mr. Robinson nods and plucks his roll from his plate. “So be it. First, tell me what you know. What happened to you earlier today?”
Frustration brews, but I recount everything that happened today all the way up until Dr. Pierce and I returned home, including the fight between him and his wife.
“And what did he say about it being part of his job to keep the focus away from the Progressive Scarlet ideas?” Mr. Robinson twists his lips. “What were his words again? It was his duty to stave off anything that could put the government at risk?”
I think back to this afternoon. “He really didn’t . . .”
He waves his hand at me as if to stop me from speaking so he can think.
Finally Mr. Robinson speaks. “Gavin Pierce is a virologist, correct?”
“He’s working on studying the recent avian virus outbreak.”
Mr. Robinson tips his head in interest at my admission. “How would you know this?”
I press my lips into a thin line. I don’t really want to give up the fact that Dr. Pierce has allowed me access to his home lab. But in all honesty, I’m not sure after this morning if he’ll continue allowing me to use it or continue with the science curriculum. It may all be too risky, and I might be in for a talk from my employer. “Because I have access to the lab.”
Mr. Robinson’s eyes widen, and before I know it I’m explaining the entire story . . . from the poor bird that died in the garden all the way up to finding the thirty incidences of bird deaths in the Carmine area, even though the news had only reported four.
He takes it all in with great fascination, even though I’m not entirely sure what it means.
“Now, can you please tell me what happened to Kalib?” I finally ask.
“Early this morning I received an alert.” Mr. Robinson taps his fingers on the surface of the table. “That Kalib had become suspect for somehow passing the CPW exam without meeting all the requirements.”
I scoff and raise my brow. “Did he?”
Mr. Robinson eyes me for a moment and then reaches inside of his suit coat. He produces a green journal that I recognize. It’s Kalib’s.
Immediately I take it from him.
“The sentries came in this morning and ransacked Kalib’s room. I don’t believe they found anything, but they took him anyway. From the little intel I have, I believe someone became suspicious of Kalib and reported him for further investigation. As you obviously suspect, his passing of the exam was arranged.”
“By who?”
“It’s not something that I’m at liberty to say.”
“And the form I signed this morning confirmed whatever they wanted to hear.” My voice cracks.
“I had to sign a similar form. It was the only way for me to bring attention away from myself and the CPW. If it were not for us, then they would have figured out how to get what they wanted another way. We were just the easy route. And the reality is that President Nelson doesn’t really want the attention drawn to the CPW . . . they want to be able to pin it on a few bad apples. Keep up the pretense that the system is working.”
“Are you going to just leave him to die? To save yourself?” I clutch at the journal since it might be the last thing I ever have from my friend.
He shakes his head. “Sometimes sacrifices must be made for the greater good, but there are plans to make a rescue attempt. An agreement has been made.”
“An agreement?”
“Something else I can’t tell you, Miss Hawkins,” he says quickly.
My heart picks up speed to match my confusion. “Will I be able to see him again?”
Mr. Robinson takes a bite of his roll. “Unfortunately, no. Even if the mission is successful, Kalib will not be able to return to Carmine or the Tenement. We have some safe houses, off the grid. Perhaps you could write him a letter.”
I stare at him for a moment. Never see Kalib again? I guess I’d always planned for this, and I’m not sure why it bothers me so much now, but it does.
I stand and look Mr. Robinson directly in the eye. It’s not a stance I ever believed I would use with a Scarlet. “You said you wanted my help, and if I’m not mistaken, my living in the Pierce house along with the privileges Dr. Pierce has given me has value to you.” I pause to allow Mr. Robinson to speak, but he doesn’t, so I continue. “But for me to cooperate, I need to be able to say goodbye to my friend. If this means that I’m coming with you on the rescue mission, then so be it. And if you cannot agree, then I need for you to erase my memories of today and tonight . . . because I will not be able to live with myself knowing what I did and not being able to explain it to him in person. But I will also be worthless to you.”
Mr. Robinson’s lips turn up into a smile. “Miss Hawkins . . . I think you may be someone we can use.”
Chapter 28
“And the best way for you to do this is to go back to the Pierces and await our instruction,” he says.
I grit my teeth, then let out a snort.
“Miss Hawkins. I can see your enthusiasm and empathize with your desire to see Kalib again. Please know that we are doing everything we can to help him. Believe me, I want to help him too. But he knew the risks and was willing to see the concept of equality between the Scarlets and Cobalts as a bigger thing than himself . . . and if you want to be a part of this, that is what you’ll need to do too—not take impulsive risks.”
“My coming tonight was on impulse.”
He sighs. “It likely was, and from what I know about you, that is something we can easily curb. You are not a naturally impulsive person . . . from your records.”
Not before I got here I wasn’t. Somehow Carmine has changed me.
Frustration stings at my chest as logic overrides emotion in my brain. What sort of help would I be on a rescue mission? I’d simply be a liability. But then I can’t bear to let my last awful meeting with him be how it ends between us. I have to explain why I had to sign that form . . . he can’t think that I wanted to betray him. A letter will never do.
“I can make sure you are returned to the Pierce home.” Mr. Robinson checks the time. “When everything has settled down, we will be in contact with you. But you must go now—”
Before he even gets the chance to finish, the dining room door swings back and a woman enters.
Mr. Robinson glances to her and frowns. “You’re early, Ms. Brink.”
I know her . . . she was the woman who gave us all our placements when we arrived at the CPW headquarters. But instead of being dressed in her uniform, she’s clad all in black—in form-fitting black pants and shirt. Not typical Scarlet woman clothing at all.
“Plans have changed,” she says and eyes me. “Who is this?”
“Tenly Hawkins,” he says and stands. “You might remember her from the last group of Cobalts that came through from the Tenement.”
She studies me again. “Hawkins? She’s not supposed to be here.”
“That may be the case,” Mr. Robinson says. “But she is, and plans have changed on my end as well. We need her.”
Ms. Brink shakes her head. “The risk is too high to have her involved in anything, not to mention that this is not going to go over well.”
Not going to go over well. What is she talking about?
“It may interest you to know I’ve learned tonight that Miss Hawkins has access to Gavin Pierce and his home lab. Access that we’ve yet to garner. Dr. Pierce trusts her, and she’s willing to help the cause.”
Ms. Brink tenses her jaw.
I step back slightly. “I want to know what is going on.”
She furrows her brow and checks the time on her watch. “What is going on is that you need to forget you were here. Go back to your position and do only what your job requires. Nothing else.”
Several other people, men and women, pass behind her in the hall and she trains her gaze back on Mr. Robinson. “You need to take care of this and help her forget . . . more than tonight, maybe.”
I gulp down my nervousness and waver my attention between them.
Mr. Robinson stands his ground. “While I do admit she needs to return to the Pierces . . . I insist she do so with her memories intact.”
I form my fists into balls. “Stop talking about me as if I’m not here.” As the words come from my mouth, for one of the first times in my life I feel in control, even though I still have none. But I won’t just let these people I barely know make all the choices for me.
Ms. Brink locks onto me and her expression remains hard. “Miss Hawkins, I don’t have time for this. It’s too dangerous for us to leave your friend Kalib in custody since he’s young, with little training. A few minutes ago we found out that he’s being moved to a location known for torture and getting information out of even the most skilled of us. We thought we might have more time to act, but the government must suspect that he has access to information they want . . . otherwise, he’d already be dead.”
I gulp. The last thing I want to do is get in the way of them rescuing Kalib. “Fine, just take me home and I’ll let you do your job.”
Ms. Brink turns her attention to Mr. Robinson. “After the procedure.”
The older man scoffs. “You know the risks . . . and she would be more helpful to us with her memories complete.”
Ms. Brink shakes her head. “Not an option.”
A dark-haired woman wearing black-rimmed glasses steps into the room from behind Ms. Brink. She holds a larger version of a Flexx and opens her mouth to speak but stops when she sees me. The woman, probably in her mid-thirties, eyes me up and down and her gaze stops when she gets to the back of my hand . . . my tattoo.
“You’re a Cobalt,” she says.
“Yes, yes,” Mr. Robinson confirms. “Miss Hawkins is a Cobalt, but she’s about to leave.”
The woman shakes her head and glances down at her device.
Ms. Brink gestures to me. “I’ll be escorting her after the procedure is done.”
I balk. “I don’t even get a say in this?”
“No, you don—” Ms. Brink starts.
“We need her,” the woman with glasses interrupts.
Ms. Brink tenses her jaw and spins toward the woman. “We don’t have time for nonsense, Garcia. Time is running short.”
Garcia pinches her lips together and pokes at her screen. “This is my point exactly. I’ve been running some scenarios since the news of the transfer came in. And having a Cobalt on the mission gives us the highest odds of success.”
My heart builds in speed.
“Please explain,” Mr. Robinson quickly pipes in before Ms. Brink can shut the conversation down.
“To get into the actual holding cell requires special authorization. It’s not something easily bypassed, and we can’t shoot our way in . . . not through the inner doors. Hacking them will take time, and if this mission moves too slowly, it will fail, and all our efforts will be wasted.”
Ms. Brink crosses her arms over her chest. “Then find someone with authorization. We’ll make them open it.”
“Trust me, it’s not that simple. But I can temporarily hack the code embedded in her”—Garcia nods to me—“DNA stripes to trick the system into believing that an alias I’ll give her is an authorized user.”
Both Mr. Robinson and Ms. Brink narrow their brows in confusion.
“It’s a one-off . . . a weakness I found in the system,” Garcia says. “The organic nature of the tattoo will fool the system into believing that this Cobalt—”
“Miss Hawkins,” Mr. Robinson corrects.
“Yes,” Garcia bobs her head. “Miss Hawkins is authorized to enter the holding area. After we’re done, they may not realize how we did it, but they will close the glitch. It might be our one chance.”
“And there’s no other way?” Mr. Robinson asks.
“There are . . . but the odds of success are lower, and the loss of life is higher,” Garcia says.
Ms. Brink lets out a long sigh and twists to me. “Are you willing to do this?”
Suddenly I want to melt on the floor. Yes, I wanted to see Kalib, but to actually do something to help him escape? I can’t do that.
Garcia taps her screen again. “Even factoring in her inexperience, the odds of success are still higher than our other options. The next best is to wait for the transfer . . . but that is not a rescue operation.”
My skin goes cold. “Meaning you attack the transport and Kalib doesn’t make it out alive?”
Ms. Brink clicks her tongue. “It’s unfortunate, but one way or another this problem must be solved.”
I spin toward her. “Problem? Would you feel this way if Kalib was a Scarlet?”
