"I know, sir."
"None of this shit is going to stick to this Administration." Rayburn stood. "None, understand?" Rayburn's voice had regained his character, and anger was leaking in. It wasn't directed at Fitzsimmons, but he still felt it, and it was frightening. "This is the news, Larry. This is not a rogue operation. This is a mole."
"What are you saying, sir?"
"The United States does not sponsor terrorist organizations. The only other interpretation is that the IUF turned D'Arcy while he was in the CIA, probably others as well."
"Sir?"
"The IUF created D'Arcy, not the other way around. Do you understand?"
Fitzsimmons nodded.
The day had lengthened until Gideon thought that their captors might have forgotten about them. It seemed to be mid-afternoon before the door to their dark little Victorian room opened. Gideon stood as the door started opening, expecting Volynskji or another armed-guard type.
What he got, instead, was a tall white guy with a buzz cut. It took him a moment to recognize the man
from the group picture of the Evolutionary Theorems Lab.
The other Michael, Michael Gribaldi.
Mike wore a white turtleneck and a pair of blue jeans. He must have been in his late thirties, but he looked like a grad student. Gideon didn't know exactly what it was, something in the posture or the facial expression. There was an odd—for this situation—sense of repressed excitement, a sort of "gee whiz" look to the man that seemed more appropriate for a teenager.
Mike stood at the door and looked at the two of them, half-smiling. "Welcome to Chez Zimmerman. I see you've met the help."
Ruth didn't take Mike's glibness very well. "Who the hell are you? What right have you got to hold us prisoner?"
Mike backed off and held up his hands. "Hey, don't hold me responsible for the government hacks, I just work here."
Gideon stood up and stared into Mike's face, looking for any sign of duplicity. He didn't see any. The guy's face was almost too open. And what he said started the wheels turning in Gideon's head, and the resulting thoughts weren't encouraging.
He stepped forward, between Mike and Ruth to prevent another angry exchange. He held out his hand and said, "You're Michael Gribaldi?"
Mike took his hand and nodded. "And you are?"
For a moment Gideon found himself stymied by anyone who didn't already know who he was. "Gideon," he said. "Gideon Malcolm."
Mike nodded. "I'm sorry if the boys don't know how to treat guests. Sometimes they act as if they run the place." Mike gave Gideon such a broad wink that Gideon was certain that the man had no clue about what "the boys" had been up to.
"Guests!" Ruth's voice cracked on the word. "We were taken prison—"
Gideon shook his hand violently behind his back, and Ruth quieted. He asked Mike. "You mind telling me who 'the boys' are?"
"No problem, Gideon." Mike lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Though it's probably classified. Since you're here, at ground zero, I can probably tell you." He leaned forward and whispered. "They're NSA."
Gideon was gripped by a sick feeling that he had fallen down the rabbit hole. He had suspicions ever since their too-convenient-for-the-terrorists capture. The whole episode was staged. The reason Volynskji never questioned him about the Colonel's debriefing was because he knew what he and Ruth had told the government. Zimmerman didn't walk into the arms of any terrorists—she had walked into the arms of a covert operation run by her own government.
Shit.
"Let me guess," Gideon said. "This is one of Emmit D'Arcy's operations."
Mike gave him a fraternal push on the shoulder. "You've been leading me on. You know what's happening."
He gave Gideon a grin that reminded him of the conspiratorial smirk of two children reading a third's diary.
"Emmit. . ." Ruth asked.
Gideon turned around and faced her. "He was the guy who escorted us from the Colonel. The guy with the glasses, looks a little like Peter Loire."
Ruth nodded and said, "But—"
Gideon was going to motion her to be quiet again, before she started to say that they'd been kidnapped from D'Arcy's little escort. He didn't have to, because Mike interrupted. "He does look like Loire, doesn't he?"
Ruth looked at Mike, then at Gideon again, and asked, "Who the hell is Emmit D'Arcy?"
"He's the National Security Advisor for President Rayburn," Gideon said.
Ruth stared at him for a few long minutes before she said, "Oh."
"He had a reputation back in the eighties for engineering covert operations—" Gideon looked at Mike.
"—Like this one."
"Well, you got something on the ball there, Gideon." He stepped inside the room and held out his hand. "And you, I don't think we've been introduced."
Ruth was having problems. It was clear that she now realized that she and Mike had very different opinions of what was going on, but she still had obvious problems reining in her emotions. Gideon stepped in. "Michael Gribaldi, let me introduce you to Ruth Zimmerman." After a pause, Gideon decided to add, "The good Doctor's sister."
"I know." He gave her a polite little bow that seemed utterly out of character. "I was sent here by Madame El Presidente to fetch you."
Ruth stood, finally and took Mike's hand. "She's here?" There was a slight breathless note in her voice. Gideon felt a dark envy, Ruth was going to get her sister back. Rafe wasn't coming back . . .
Mike continued, apparently oblivious to how his comments affected them, "It's been a real honor to work with your sister again. Especially now that we've gotten back to the real work."
Gideon nodded, as if he knew what was happening. "The New Pythagorean Order."
Mike put a finger to his lips and gave an exaggerated, "Shhh." He looked around and said, "We don't want to let the heathens in on our little secret." Mike smiled, "Shall I escort you two to the lab?"
Gideon was now almost certain that he and Ruth were here, and alive, because of Julia Zimmerman's intervention. Mike's presence here all but confirmed it.
"Yes, please," Ruth said. "I want to see Julie."
Mike smiled. "As the lady wishes." He turned to Gideon. "The Doctor wants to talk to you, too. Come on, I'll give you the grand tour." Mike shook his head. "You're here at a great time. It's all being prepped for zero hour now."
Mike gave them a broad wink as if they knew exactly what he was talking about.
Mike led them through the farmhouse, saying, "Well, you've already seen the dorm. Ain't much, but it's home." He waved his hand around, taking in the cracked plaster and the boarded-up windows. Gideon kept an eye out for their keepers. Gideon noticed that they were being shadowed by one of the rifle-toting guards. Mike was either pretending not to notice the guy, or just took his presence for granted.
Gideon wondered exactly how many people were here, and how many were guards, and how many were misplaced academics like Mike.
"It's about an hour's drive to the nearest pizza," Mike was saying. That was something that Gideon had already suspected. They weren't going to get out of here on foot.
As Mike started leading them down the stairs, Gideon decided to press this opportunity for all it was worth, before the guards, the IUF, or the NSA decided to withdraw their implicit approval for Mike's little tour. He asked Mike, "You've been working on this since MIT, right?"
Mike laughed. "Since before that, most of us. Some of us were working on little viral programs in the eighties. But, yeah, you're right—the Aleph project has been around since the late, unlamented Evolutionary Theorems Lab."
Aleph project. . .
They stopped on a landing whose window was intact. Ruth took the opportunity to step between the two of them, to look out. The window overlooked the barn, about two hundred yards away. Mike tapped a finger on the glass. "There she is, Ground Zero, the lab."