“We’re happy to have you,” said Rourke. “First things first: You can use the phone in my office to call home. Follow me.”
Dr. Robbins stood as well, holding up Will’s paperwork. “I’m going to expedite this and get your admission finalized,” she said, heading to the office.
Will followed Rourke into a smaller office next door. Heavy leather couches bracketed wagon-wheel tables in front of another blazing fireplace. A substantial oak desk sat on a riser in front of a picture window. A bronze sculpture of a Native American warrior slumped on the back of his pony filled one corner, the work of a famous artist whose name Will couldn’t recall. Portraits faced each other on the walls, paintings of two tall imposing men, in clothes and settings from different eras.
“My predecessors,” said Rourke. “Thomas Greenwood, our founder and first headmaster, and Franklin Greenwood, his son.” Rourke pointed Will to a console phone on his desk. “Hit nine for an outside line, Will. I’ll give you some privacy.”
Rourke stepped out. Will wondered if anyone would monitor his call. They would at least have a record of any number he dialed and could check it against the ones he’d put on his application.
He weighed the risk of being caught in a lie against the chance that whoever answered at home might trace his call to the Center. He decided to place the call but spend no more than a minute on the line. He punched in his home number. The phone rang twice before a bland male voice he didn’t recognize answered. Will started the stopwatch on his iPhone.
“West residence,” said the voice.
“Jordan or Belinda West, please,” said Will, dropping his voice an octave.
“Who’s calling?”
“Who am I speaking with?” asked Will. “I’m a colleague of Mr. West’s.”
He didn’t sound like any colleague that Will recognized.
“Can I tell them who’s on the line?” said the man.
“Supervisor Mullins, Office of Family Services in Phoenix, Arizona,” said Will.
The man muffled the receiver, repeated that to someone in the room, and a moment later another hand took the phone.
“This is Belinda West.” Will felt the same sick ambivalence when he heard her voice. This was her, and yet it wasn’t.
“Mom, don’t say anything, just listen,” said Will in his own voice. “I’m all right, don’t worry. I’m in Phoenix—”
“They said Family Services. Are you in some kind of trouble?”
“I’m fine. They’re helping me. Are you all right? Is everything okay there?”
“No, Will, we’re worried sick about you—”
“Who just answered the phone?”
She hesitated slightly. “Someone from your dad’s office is helping us—”
“What’s his name?”
“Carl Stenson. So are you coming home? Should we fly over there?”
“Let me talk to Dad.”
“He’s sleeping right now.”
That’s a lie. Will checked his iPhone: fifty-five seconds.
“I’m going to Mexico,” said Will. “Don’t come after me. Don’t try to find me. I’ll call in a couple of days.”
He hung up, then called the main switchboard for the science department at the University of California, Santa Barbara. A receptionist answered.
“Hi, I work for the school newspaper,” said Will. “I’m trying to reach someone in your department. Carl Stenson. I think he works with Jordan West.” He pictured the receptionist scanning a list.
“I’m sorry, we don’t have anyone here by that name.”
“You’re absolutely sure about that?” asked Will.
“Yes. Would you care to leave word for Mr. West? He’s not in”—Will started to hang up—“but the police were here earlier and I know they’ve spoken with him.”
Will froze. “That’s what I’m calling about.”
“You mean the break-in last night?”
“That’s right,” said Will, going with it. “In Mr. West’s office?” He heard reluctance in her silence. “This can be off the record if you like.”
“All of Mr. West’s work was taken,” she said, lowering her voice. “Files and two computers. They’re going through everything now to see what else is missing.”
“Do they have any idea who did it?”
“Not so far. If you—”
Will hung up. Stealing Dad’s research, on the same night. It had to be the Black Caps. But why? Was that what this was all about? What could Dad have been working on that would justify all this?
Will pulled out a business card and, using the cell phone Nando had given him, tapped in the number.
He answered after the second ring: “This is Nando.”
“Nando, this is Will, you drove me to the airport last night?”
“Young fella, how you doin’? I was just thinking about you. You make it to Frisco okay?”
“Yeah, just wanted to let you know.”
“So how’s your pops feelin’?” Will heard a horn honk. Nando shouted something away from the phone in Spanish. “Sorry, bro, I’m working here.”
“He’s better, thanks. But I’m probably gonna be here for a while and we’ve got kind of an odd situation. Could you do me a small favor?”
“Absolutimento, whassup?”
“My dad’s worried somebody might try to break into our house,” said Will.
“Your house here in Ojai?”
“Yeah. I forgot to lock up and the doctor says he shouldn’t have any stress right now. Could you swing by and check so I can tell Dad everything’s okay?”
“I’m all over it. What’s the address, bro?”
Will told him.
“See you’re using that phone I gave you,” said Nando. “Untraceable is the way to go, bro. Gonna check this out and get back to you pronto.”
Will turned and saw Lillian Robbins in the doorway. He worried she’d overheard, but as she moved forward, he realized she was focused on something else.
“Got to go,” said Will. “Thanks, Mom. Check in with you later.” He pocketed the phone as Robbins reached him.
“I have to ask you about this before I bring it up with Mr. Rourke,” she said, concerned. “What you told me last night about the test in September. That you deliberately tried to fail. Is that really true, Will?”
“I didn’t try to fail, exactly. I just didn’t try to succeed.”
“But your score topped results across the board. How could that have happened if you weren’t trying?”
“I don’t know.”
“Will, the bigger question it raises is, Why would you do a thing like that?”
She looked at him searchingly with genuine concern, so he told her the truth. “A rule my parents had.”
“What sort of rule?”
The words felt painful to say. He had never really questioned before why Dad put Rule #3 on his list. But now all bets were off.
“Don’t draw attention to myself,” said Will.
Robbins spoke carefully. “Why would your parents want people to think that you’re not as smart—exceptionally smart—as you actually are?”
“You’re a psychologist, right? That’s the kind of doctor you are.”
“Yes,” she said.
“Then you tell me,” he said. “Because I don’t know.”
“They explicitly told you to hold yourself back, with no explanations?” she asked.
“All they ever said was, ‘We have our reasons.’ End of discussion.”
Dr. Robbins thought for a moment. “And then, after scoring off the charts, you discover you’re being followed.”
“Yes.”
“Maybe they had some genuine cause for concern,” she said.
“Maybe.” Will flashed on his plane ride from hell and thought, You don’t know the half of it.
“I can promise you you’re safe here,” said Robbins. “We have a lot of high-profile families and we take security very seriously.”
Before Will could respond, Stephen Rourke walked in and moved toward his desk, giving no indication that he noticed any tension between them.