1 3 7 – ZOË (4 page)

“Wow.”

“Yeah, wow is right.  Michael is considered a national hero.”

I gasped in surprise.  “I had no idea.
”  I frowned in thought.  “Why didn’t he tell me these things?”

Lance looked down at hi
s half eaten cookie.  “He probably doesn’t want to overwhelm you,” he said dismissively.  “Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Something dawned on me.  “Does the “Z” in Z-Lab stand for Zoë?”

“It does indeed.”  Lance looked extremely uncomfortable and placed the uneaten portion of his cookie on the edge of the tray.  “I should go,” he said abruptly.

“Why?  What’s wrong?”
I asked, sensing his discomfort.

“I shouldn’t have come.”

I reached out and grabbed his wrist.  It was thick and warm.  “Please don’t say that.  I’m so happy you came to see me.  Laughing and chatting with you feels like old times.”

H
e looked down at me with concern. “I just don’t want to give you too much too soon, that’s all.  This whole thing must be a nightmare for you.”

“It is.  I mean, almost twenty years have passed and so much has happened…I feel so displaced.”

“I’ll tell you what,” he said, jovial once again.  “As soon as you’re fully recovered and ready to have some fun, I’ll take you to the museum.  There are some really interesting new additions to the Smithsonian.  We can do lunch afterward.”

“That sounds
really great.”

“It’s a date
.”  He bent down to kiss my cheek and added, “You just rest and enjoy the nice weather.”

I inhaled his clean sce
nt and held his gaze.  “We’re having a cookout this Saturday in honor of Independence Day,” I said.  “Nothing big, just a few guests.  Won’t you come and join us?”

He
straightened and looked down at me.  “I can’t.”

“Please?”

He shook his head and I let the matter drop.  “Well, if you change your mind the invitation is open.  Thank you so much for coming to see me.”

“It was my pl
easure, Zoë.  I’ll see you soon.”

“You better- you owe me a date!” 

He laughed and said over his shoulder, “Don’t you worry, that’s a debt I’ll enjoy paying.”

I
watched him go with a sense of sadness.             

“May
I take the tray away, Mrs. Adams?” Juana asked from inside the glass sliding door.

“Y
es, please.”  I watched her brush the cookie crumbs off the table into her hand.  “So, you know Lance?”

She
nodded and replied, “He used to come to the house to see Mr. Adams.”

“
I see.  Do you know what happened?”

Juana
bent over to pick up the tray and she looked at me nervously.  “I don’t know what you mean,” she lied.

“I won’t tel
l Mr. Adams.”  Juana looked troubled and still said nothing.  “Just tell me what happened to make them stop talking to one another,” I persisted.

Juana was a simple woman from Honduras who
worked hard and minded her own business.  Always courteous, she answered questions as diplomatically as possible.  It would be difficult to get her to reveal anything that would seem like gossip.

“Mrs. Adams, I am sorry, but I try to keep out of Mr. Adams’
s affairs.  You know how he likes his privacy,” she said firmly.

“Yes, I
know.  But I also know he had a falling out with his brother.  I’m merely asking you to tell me what happened.  Please, Juana, I’ve been dead for almost twenty years.  Is it a crime to want to know?”

I was well aware that
Juana didn’t like the fact I had been frozen.  In her country, such a person would be an abomination, something that went against the laws of Nature and God. 

Putting down the tray, she
placed her hands in her apron pockets.  “All I know is this: there was an argument…an ugly one.  I had just come home from the grocery store and the young Mr. Adams was here.  Carlos told me some of the details.”

Carlos was the
elderly gardener from Columbia.  Always smiling, watchful and silent, it would be nearly impossible to pump him for information.  The only other servant was Maria, the pretty, young Argentinean housekeeper who came to help Juana a few times a week.  Michael had employed Maria after Juana’s fiftieth birthday this past March, so she was another dead end.  Obviously, Michael had a preference for hiring South Americans.

“Can’t you give me some details?
” I prompted, trying to hide my eagerness.

“What details are we talking
about?” Michael asked, striding up the Tudor garden path with his briefcase still in hand.

“Hi Michael
,” I said brightly.  “I thought you had an all day conference.”

“Hi p
rincess,” he said, looking at Juana and ignoring my comment.  “Well?  What details?”

“Oh,
I was just talking about the upcoming cookout,” I lied smoothly.  “I feel I should do more to help.”

“Nonsense.  That’s why we have Juana and Maria.  Two of the world’s most indispensable employees,” he said, still looking at Juana.

I followed his gaze and said, “You may go, Juana.  Thank you.”

Juana
picked up the tray and practically ran into the house.             

“
I’m happy you’re home early,” I chirped.

Michael sat
in the lounge chair beside me. “The conference was cancelled last minute, but I got some good news.  The president wants to uphold a new law that would enable me to perform my work overseas with greater freedom.  He also sends you his warmest regards.”

“That’s
very kind.  What work will you be doing overseas?”

He looked at me with reproach. 
“We’ve had this conversation before.  When you’re better, I’ll tell you all you need to know.  For now, just concentrate on getting your strength back.”

I hid my frustration at being treated
like a helpless child.  “Will the president and first lady come to our cookout?”

He
shook his head.  “They need to be in Germany this weekend.”

“Oh?”

“Top secret, princess.  That’s as much as I can tell you without compromising Homeland Security,” he said, tapping me on the nose with his finger as one would a five year old.

I
watched as he sat back and inhaled the fragrant air of the garden.

“Your brother was here,” I
said, watching his face carefully.

“Lance was
here
?” he asked, surprised.

“Yes, he came to see me.
  He just left a moment ago.  I’m surprised you didn’t bump into him on your way in.”

“What did he say to you?” he asked tensely.

“That he was sorry he couldn’t come see me sooner.  He joked and made me laugh and told me to enjoy the weather,” I replied innocently.

Michael seem
ed to visibly relax.  “That’s good.”

After a moment, I asked,
“Why didn’t you tell me you owned ALTSYS and Z-Lab Industries?”

He turned his sharply.  “I didn’t think it was important.”

I looked at him with mouth agape.  “Are you kidding?  You’re a hero!  And you don’t think it’s important?”

“I hope my brother didn’t spend the whole time filling your head with stories
about me.”

“Don’t worry, he didn’t.  I was just telling him how amazed I am with the CCT and the use of clean energ
y.  Naturally, he mentioned your involvement with both.  And the cure for the Pod, too.”

Michael’s face reflected disapproval.  “Lance has a big mouth.”

“Maybe he’s just proud of his older brother, and you’re being way too modest,” I pointed out.  “I invited him to the cookout, but he said he couldn’t make it.”  Michael said nothing, but looked relieved.  “Is there something going on between the two of you?”

He frowned. 
“Why would you ask that?”

“Well, he said he hasn’t been
to the house in a long time. I find that odd.”

“Lance and I
don’t see eye to eye on many things.  I guess he simply decided to take off for a while.”

“But you two were so close…I don’t understand.”

He shrugged.  “You know he was like a son to me.  Well, sometimes parents and children don’t get along.”

“I see.”

“No more talk of family problems…only happy things.  Let’s go over the guest list for this Saturday, shall we?”

I smiled and nodded as my mind raced with questions.

***

The
weather for the Independence Day barbecue was pleasant.  Thanks to the CCT it was hot but not unbearable.  It was my first social event since leaving the hospital and Michael made sure that absolutely no press was admitted.  I chose to wear a long sun dress made of printed Indian cotton.  The style was Boho-chic, and I ditched the cane since it clashed with my strappy leather sandals. Michael made me promise to sit and rest if I got too tired.  My mother and Maddy were among the first guests to arrive. 

My mother
handed me a sealed glass serving bowl filled with homemade potato salad.  “Tell your maid to put this in the fridge,” she said.

“Mom, I told you not to bring anything,”
I admonished gently after kissing her cheek.

“Are you kidding?  Since
when does mom attend any gathering empty-handed?” Maddy asked before giving me a hug.

“I don’t think I’
ve ever seen you look prettier, sweetheart.”

“I think you’re right, mom,” Maddy agreed.

“Oh, stop it you two,” I chided playfully.

“No, really,” Maddy insisted.
  “You look great, Zoë.  How are you feeling?”

“
Stronger each day.”

My mother put her arm around me. 
“Good.  That’s what I like to hear.”

“My therapist said at the rate
I’m going, I’ll be able to run again soon.”

“B
et you can’t wait,” Maddy said.

“You have no idea,
” I said.  “Mom, will you join me in a good run?”

“I’m afraid I don’t do much of that an
ymore.  How about a slow jog?  I think my knees can still handle that.”

Thanks to modern technology, the average human life span was
pushed to about one hundred years.  My mother’s active lifestyle and her work with CAT (the Coalition Against Terrorism) kept her young.  I found out that she had teamed up with CAT shortly after I had contracted the Pod.  Miraculously, she and Maddy had both escaped the clutches of the terrible virus.

Maddy looked to our mother and asked,
“Are you going to tell Zoë about your latest victory?”

“
Oh yes!”  She looked at me with bright eyes.  “I made an important discovery yesterday.”

“Why didn’t you call me?”
I asked.

“Because I was going to see you today,”
my mother replied.  “I finally tracked down America’s most wanted terrorist.  His name is-”

“Don’t bother, it’s too long,” Maddy cut in.  “He’s commonly known as Al Majed in the
U.S. and he’s a real slime ball.”

“What exactly did Al Majed do?”

“He’s the person responsible for releasing the Pod virus into the U.S. water supplies,” my mother replied.  “The creator of the virus was arrested and executed ten years ago after being found guilty in international court.  Majed, however, disappeared after the outbreak and was never seen or heard of again.” 

“How in the world did you track him down
?” I asked.  My mother never ceased to amaze me.

“It’s a long story, but in a nutshell: the Internet. 
As you know, I do a lot of online research.”

“
She means hacking,” Maddy interjected.

“Shhh.  Don’t say that
, Maddy,” she admonished.  “You know it’s still illegal in many states including this one.”

“
But it’s true,” Maddy whispered, laughing.  “Besides, they make exceptions for CAT, don’t they?”

My
mother frowned in response and continued, “I found a terrorist site hosted by some crazy extremist.  Well, one of the anonymous guests who entered the site exchanged information that only Majed or someone who worked closely with him would know.  I reported it immediately to CAT and they tracked down the extremist and the so called ‘guest.’  After interrogating the two of them, they discovered that Majed was still alive and he’s gone into hiding
right here in the U.S.
”

“Can you believe that?  He’
s living right under our noses!” Maddy added.

“What happens now?” I asked.

My mother shrugged.  “The search is on for Al Majed.”