Ben ignored him. It was pointless. He was going to do yet another test on him, and nothing Ben could say or do would prevent him.
“I have some questions for you.”
“Great,” Ben said, rolling his eyes. “I have some questions for you. Let’s trade.”
“I know you don’t feel like cooperating. But the sooner you do, the sooner you’ll be out of here.”
Somehow, Ben didn’t believe that. Devereaux seemed to be in his late forties and wearing a badly tailored black suit that was too small for his big frame. His voice sounded gentle but strangely accented.
“Sure,” Ben said. “And the sooner you cooperate with me, the sooner I cooperate with you. That’s how this works.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Gellie, but that’s not how this works.”
“Why am I being held prisoner here against my will?”
“We’ll get to that.”
“No. I’d like to know now.”
Devereaux grunted. “Mr. Gellie, your eyes are an unusual color. You know what color they are?”
Ben spat out a string of curses. The guy could see what color his eyes were. They weren’t shut. It wasn’t like he was trying to hide the fact.
“I’m afraid that’s not a color,” Devereaux said when Ben had finished cursing at him.
“You tell me.”
“They’re violet,” Devereaux said. “Mighty unusual.”
“Give the man a prize,” Ben said.
“Do you wear contact lenses?”
“No, why would I? I have perfect vision, and I’m not some kind of vain jerk who needs to turn their eyes different colors for every day of the week.”
“So, violet’s your real eye color?”
“What did I just say?” Ben asked. What, was the guy a moron or something?
“I need you to answer the question verbally. Is violet your real eye color?”
Ben sighed and rolled his eyes. “Yes. Okay? Happy? What were you going to do if I didn’t answer, torture it out of me?”
Devereaux ignored his smart-ass comment and said, “Have you ever been sick?”
“Sure, whatever,” Ben said. “Whatever you want to hear, that’s what my answer is. Hurray! Now let me go.”
“Sorry, we can’t play it that way. Have you ever been sick?”
“Everyone gets sick once in a while, don’t they?”
Devereaux’s eyes narrowed. “Have you?”
Ben sighed. “Not really. Not ever seriously. I get a little hay fever in spring, that’s all.”
Devereaux cocked his dark eyebrows. “That seems a little unusual to you?”
“No. Lots of people don’t get sick a lot.”
His voice hardened. “You don’t think it’s strange that you’ve never been unwell?”
“It’s like the question, ‘How did a nice girl like you end up in a place like this?’” Ben asked. “Let me give you the classic answer. ‘Just lucky, I guess.’”
“Why is that?”
“Why is what?” Ben asked.
Devereaux persisted, “Why the good luck?”
“I don’t know. Genetics, that’s all. Whatever it is you’re after, I don’t have a clue about.”
Devereaux’s eyebrows rose. “I find it hard to believe that a man has gone through his life without enough curiosity to ask things like, ‘Why don’t I ever get sick?’ or ‘How come I’m the only one with violet colored eyes around here?’ Considering the way kids are, I’d think you’d have a chip on the shoulder about your eyes at least. Just about anything is enough to get a kid picked on. Even if he is strong and tough enough to take it.”
With his unattractive, broad face, and built the way he was, Devereaux obviously knew how that worked — both standing out and standing up to the attention it brought. For a moment Ben almost felt a shred of sympathy for the guy.
Ben smiled. “I was always the biggest, strongest, and fastest kid at school. No one ever picked on me.”
Devereaux laughed. “That’s probably the first true thing you’ve said all day.”
Ben remained silent.
“Despite that,” Devereaux persisted. “Did you ever ask the question?”
He grinned and dodged the question. “Some of us aren’t that inquisitive.”
“Mr. Gellie, you’d better start talking, or some very important people are going to start getting impatient. I don’t like to harass people to get them to speed up, but it’s either that or start dealing with a panic. Things could get a little messy, uh?”
What was Devereaux trying to say — that they were going to torture him?
“What’s the matter, do I have Ebola or something?” Ben asked. “Cancer? AIDS? What? What the hell is going on here? Am I some kind of carrier or something? If it’s that big of a deal, why aren’t you guys wearing HAZMAT suits?”
Devereaux said, “You’re a special case, Mr. Gellie.”
“Tell that to a judge,” Ben said. “What you’re doing isn’t legal, and I don’t have to be here. I don’t know if your clever report on me mentions this, but I have a law degree from Harvard and right now work for the State Department. Once I get out, you’re going to be in a world of trouble.”
“Oh, is that right?”
“Yeah. I have rights.”
“Let me tell you sometime about how the U.S. Government feels about the rights of its citizens,” Devereaux said. “I’ll try to explain why I don’t have a lot of sympathy for you using that as an excuse.”
“An excuse?” Ben screamed. “What the hell do you think I’ve done? I just donated blood for Christ’s sake! And now I’m being investigated like some sort of terrorist!”
“That’s right.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re a suspected terrorist.”
Ben started laughing. It felt like he was in an episode of the Twilight Zone. “I’m not a terrorist, and you can’t treat me like one in my own damned country! I want to make a phone call and talk to my lawyer.”
The man gave him a long look of assessment. “How old are you?”
“Thirty,” Ben said.
“Nah, you’re just about to turn forty. We already checked.”
Ben shrugged. He had always looked young — he was still getting carded in bars. He usually split the difference and told everyone he was thirty. The guy obviously had a copy of his medical records. “So what?”
“You look pretty good for a guy about to turn forty.”
“Aw, thanks, but I’m not looking for a date. And how does that make me a terrorist?”
“Well, it doesn’t make you a guy with a real firm grip on the truth. How are we supposed to believe anything you say? We’re seeing a lot of signs that you’re not who you say you are. You don’t belong.”
This one got to him.
His entire life, he’d felt like… he didn’t know how to describe it — like an observer to the human race. He was healthier, stronger, more coordinated, and smarter than everyone he’d ever met. He didn’t even seem to grow older. And his damned eyes…they made him stand out. He’d refused to wear contacts out of pride, but now he was starting to see that was a mistake. Standing out wasn’t something he could afford to do. He excelled at everything he put his hand to, and it made the people around him hold him at arm’s distance and treat him as a kind of freak.
He might even have a little bit of a chip on his shoulder about it. But that didn’t mean this guy had the right to push his buttons.
Gritting his teeth, he said, “I was born at George Washington University Hospital. I went to Wilson High School and Harvard University. I’m not just American — I’m a local. You’d know that if you took five minutes to pull my records. My grandparents were born in America, my parents were born in America, I was made in America…in the back seat of a Dodge, no less. You don’t get any more American than that.”
Devereaux chuckled. “Oh, I don’t know about that.” Then, looking more serious, he said, “We have pulled your records, Mr. Gellie. And there are several holes that can’t be explained.”