I shook my head regretfully. "Never seen him."
"Have you ever been to Colorado?"
I frowned. "Is that one of those square ones, in the middle?"
I saw Dean take a deep breath.
Quickly I glanced around. Angel was on the floor by the door, eating my muffin, sharing it with Total. Iggy's and Nudge's agents were conferring, whispering behind some papers, and Iggy and Nudge lounged in their chairs. Nudge was looking around curiously. I hoped she was memorizing escape routes. The Gasman got up, cheerfully said "Bye" to his agent, and went over to Angel.
"Max, we want to help you," Dean said quietly. "But you've got to help us too. Fair is fair."
I stared at him. That was the funniest thing I'd heard in days.
"You're kidding, right? Please tell me you have a stronger motive for me than 'fair is fair.' Life isn't fair, Dean." My voice strengthened, and I leaned forward, closer to the agent's impassive face. "Nothing is fair, ever. That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. I need to help you because fair is fair? Try, 'I need you to help me so I won't rip out your spine and beat you with it.' I might respond to that. Maybe."
Dean's jaw clenched, and two pink splotches appeared on his cheeks. I got the feeling that he was more mad at himself than at me.
"Max," he began, his voice tense, but was interrupted.
"Thank you, Dean," said a woman's voice. "I'll take over from here."
15
Dean straightened up and smoothed his expression. The new woman gave him a friendly smile and waited.
She was blond-I couldn't tell how old. She had the sort of professional polish and attitude of a major-network news anchor. She was pretty, actually.
Dean gathered up his files, nodded at me, then went to confer with another agent. The new woman sat down across from me.
"They're all kind of full of hot air," she whispered behind her hand.
I was startled into a grin.
She reached her hand across the table for me to shake. "My name is Anne Walker," she said. "And yes, I'm one of Them. I'm the one they call in when everything goes kablooey."
"Have things gone kablooey?" I asked politely.
She gave a short laugh. "Uh, yeah," she said in a "duh" tone of voice. "When we get a call from a hospital saying they've got at least two and possibly six previously unknown recombinant DNA life-forms and one of them is gravely injured, then, yes, I think we can safely say that things have gone kablooey with a capital 'kuh.'"
"Oh," I said. "Gee, we sound so important."
One side of her mouth twitched. "Uh-huh. Why the surprise? Hasn't anyone ever told you you were important?"
Jeb. The one word shocked my senses, and I went into total shutdown so I wouldn't start bawling like the goofy recombinant life-form that I am. Jeb had made me feel important, once upon a time. He'd made me feel smart, strong, capable, special, important... you name it. Lately, though, he mostly made me feel blinding rage and a stomach-clenching sense of betrayal.
"Look," I said coolly, "we're in a tough spot here. I know it and you know it. One of my fl-brothers is hurt, and we need help. Just tell me what I have to do so we can get that help, and then we'll be on our merry way."
I shot a quick glance at the flock. They were sitting together, eating bagels and watching me. Gazzy cheerfully held up a bagel to show he was saving one for me.
Anne's sympathetic look set my teeth on edge. She leaned over the table so she wouldn't be overheard. "Max, I'm not gonna tell you a bunch of crap," she said, surprising me again. "Like the crap you're giving us about your parents being missionaries. We both know that isn't true. And we both know that the FBI isn't in the business of just helping people out because they're so wonderful and special. This is the deaclass="underline" We've heard about you. Rumors have been filtering into the intelligence community for years about a hidden lab producing viable recombinant life-forms.
"But it's never been verified, and people have always dismissed it as urban-legend stuff. Needless to say, the very possibility that it could be true-well, we've got people assigned to finding out and cataloguing info, hearsay, or suspicion about you. You and your family."
Wait till she found out about the Erasers.
Anne took a breath and sat back, keeping her eyes on me. "So you see, we consider you important. We'd like to know everything about you. But more important, if the stories are true, then our entire country's safety could be at stake-if your so-called family were to get into the wrong hands. You don't know your own power."
She let that sink in for a moment, then smiled ruefully. "How about we make a trade? You give us a chance to learn about you-in nonpainful, noninvasive ways-and we'll give Nick the best medical care available and the rest of you a safe place to stay. You can rest up, eat, Nick can get better, and then you can decide what to do from there."
I felt like a starving mouse staring at a huge hunk of cheese.
Set right in the middle of an enormous, Max-sized trap.
I put a look of polite disinterest on my face. "And I believe that this is all straight up because..."
"It would be great if I could offer you guarantees, Max," said Anne. "But I can't-not anything that you would believe. I mean, come on." She shrugged. "A written contract? My word of honor? A really sincere promise from the head of the FBI?"
We both laughed. Those wacky agents.
"It's just-you don't have a lot of choices here, Max. Not right now. I'm sorry."
I stared at the tabletop and thought. The horrible thing was, she was right. With Fang in such bad shape, she had us over a barrel. The best thing I could do was accept her offer of shelter and care for Fang, bide my time, and work out an escape later. Silently I swore a whole lot. Then I looked up.
"Well, say I accepted. Where's this safe place you're dangling in front of me?"
She looked at me. If she was surprised that I was going along with it, she didn't show it.
"My house," she said.
16
Fang came out of surgery almost two hours later. I was waiting outside the OR, wound tighter than a rubber ball.
The doctor I'd talked to came out, still in his green scrubs. I wanted to grab the front of his shirt, throw him against a wall, get some answers. But I'm trying to outgrow that kind of thing.
"Ah, yes, Max, is it?"
"Yeah. Max it is." I waited tensely. If the unthinkable had happened, I'd snag the kids and make a run for it.
"Your brother Nick-it was a little dicey for a while. We gave him several units of blood substitute, and it brought his blood pressure up to a safe range."
My hands were clenching and unclenching. It was all I could do to stand there and focus on the words.
"He didn't go into cardiac arrest," the doctor said. "We were able to patch up his side, stop all the hemorrhaging. A main artery had been hit, and one of his... air sacs."
"So what's he like now?" I forced my breathing to calm, tried to shut down my fight-or-flight response. Which in my case is, you know, literal.
"He's holding steady," the doctor said, looking tired and amazed. "If nothing goes wrong, he should be okay. He needs to take it easy for maybe three weeks."
Which meant probably about six days, given our incredibly fast healing and regenerative strengths.
But jeez. Six days was a long time.
"Can I see him?"
"Not till he comes out of recovery," the doctor said. "Maybe another forty minutes. Now, I'm hoping you can fill me in on some physiological stuff. I noticed-"
"Thank you, Doctor," said Anne Walker, coming up behind me.