Edgewood Series: Books 1 - 3 (89 page)

“Let me tell him,” Mallory said, turning to tell me the big news. “Get this—everything in PGDC is free.”

“Free,” I said.

“Absolutely free, as in no money. Nada. The food vendors, the clothing stores, the grocery, none of them even have cash registers. If you want something, it’s completely free. They do have signs asking that you not take advantage of the system, but no one enforces it or anything.”

“Huh. Interesting.” I closed the comic book.

Jameson said, “I got all this stuff and I never even got my wallet out of my pocket. This place is freakin’ awesome. And you missed out, old buddy. Sitting here like a lump while we were out claiming our territory.”

Sitting like a lump? “While you two were out acting like you’re on vacation, I was reading this.” I held the comic book up. Since neither of them looked in my direction, I knew that I hadn’t quite emphasized its importance. “It’s a comic book from Kevin Adams. He and Mr. Specter made it when they were teenagers and it’s about us.”

“What do you mean it’s about us?” Mallory said, putting down her drink and taking the comic book from my hands. She sat on the edge of Jameson’s bed and examined the cover.

“I mean, we’re in it. The characters are us and they’re in Washington D.C. just like we are now.”

“Mr. Specter and Kevin made this?” She flipped through the pages.

“Thirty years ago. Mr. Specter came up with the story. Kevin did the illustrations.”

Jameson sat next to Mallory so they were elbow to elbow. They silently read it together. Mallory took charge turning the pages, waiting until Jameson nudged her before flipping to the next one. I watched their faces and knew exactly when Jameson had spotted Mover!’s entrance on the page because he got a big grin on his face. He’d made the connection that it was supposed to be him.

I was dying inside for them to finish it. I wanted someone else to experience it with so we could discuss it, note the similarities, and strategize. We could talk about what Sam Specter had in mind when he wrote the text, and what Kevin Adams expected us to do with the knowledge. As impatient as I was, it felt like it took them forever to finish, giving me only their facial expressions to go on. When they reached the end, they looked pleased, but neither one said a word.

“What do you think?” I asked.

Jameson gave me an amused grin. “I think that Mover! is one cool dude. The best one in the bunch, clearly.”

“Okay, if you can’t be serious for one minute—”

Jameson held up his hand. “Chill, Russ. I can be serious and still think Mover! is the best character in the story.” He rubbed his forehead. “Pretty trippy that Specter came up with this so long ago. I wonder if he saw the future exactly like this, or if he just got glimpses and filled in the rest of the story with guesswork?”

“Does this worry either of you at all?” I stood up and took the book back. “It doesn’t end well for Nadia.”

“I’m wondering why Kevin gave it just to you and not to me and Jameson.” Mallory sounded slightly irritated at being left out.

“Neither of you got a copy of this?” I asked.

She shrugged. “I know I didn’t.”

“I haven’t even looked at mine yet,” Jameson said, getting up to pull his carry-on out of the closet. He knelt down to unzip the side pouch. Once he’d pulled out the stack of comic books, he didn’t waste any time leafing through them. “Nope, I didn’t get it either. You’d think that if it was a warning, he’d have specifically mentioned it and given us each a copy.”

“Okay,” Mallory said, “Let’s talk this through.” And suddenly I was reminded of the old Mallory, the one I’d first noticed in Science class sophomore year. Pretty and smart. The one with her hand raised because she thought she knew the answer and wasn’t afraid to be wrong. “Mr. Specter wrote the book. Kevin did the illustrations. Is it possible Kevin hasn’t looked at it recently and didn’t realize the similarities between us and the characters?”

“No.” Jameson shook his head. “He has to know. What would you do if a friend died and you came across something like this, a project you worked on together? You’d read it, right? You’d pour yourself a drink and read it in memory of your friend.”

“Unless it’s too painful to read,” Mallory suggested.

“No,” Jameson shot back. “Too painful, that’s a chick thing to say. A guy would read it, right Russ?”

I had to give it to him. When Jameson was right, he was really right. I said, “Kevin would have read it before he gave it to me. Without a doubt.”

“So he read it,” Mallory said. “Without a doubt.” She gave me an amused smile. “Did he give it to you as a warning or just for fun?”

I pulled the sticky note off the pillow. “I thought you might like it,” I read.

“Fairly generic sentiment,” Jameson said. “So that doesn’t help. But let’s assume he did want to issue a warning and to Russ only. Is that because he thinks we’re inconsequential? Weak links? Or, does he think we can’t be trusted?”

“I don’t think Kevin is that deep of a thinker,” Mallory said. “He probably just figured Russ would share it with us.”

Jameson nodded, but I wasn’t entirely convinced. I said, “But how did he know I would even read it? I could have gone the whole time and never even looked at it.”

“He knew you would,” Mallory said. “Because you’re that kind of guy.”

Sadly, she was right. I was the kind of guy who would read the comic book. If I’d thought about it, I would have read it on the flight over. “In the story, the commander turns out to be a woman dressed as a man,” I said. “And the Nadia character dies. Mover! levitates the missile out of the way.” Jameson smiled at the reference. “And there are explosions and bedlam and the villain escapes. It ends badly.”

“I’d say it ends well,” Jameson said. “At the end, the president and the president’s daughter are safe and they figure out the identity of the leader of the Associates. All of our objectives are covered.”

“I’m sure the part where they give Persuasa and Mover! awards for heroism is covered in the next book in the series,” Mallory said. She and Jameson high-fived each other.

“I think you’re missing the point,” I said. “Ideally we don’t want to have to save anyone. Ideally there shouldn’t even be an explosion. We have an opportunity to prevent all this from happening.”

“You’re assuming things will happen the way they do in the story,” Jameson pointed out. “But they couldn’t possibly. For one, Nadia never leaves her house. Secondly, the PG and the Secret Service are anticipating problems, so there’s no way a missile could be smuggled into the Bash.”

“And believe me, I’d never wear a green dress like that,” Mallory said, shuddering at the thought of actually wearing her comic book character’s gown. “It’s the color of cat vomit.”

“I bet you could make it work,” Jameson said to her. “You’d look good in anything.”

“Thanks.”

“So what do we do with this?” I held the comic book up in the air, like I was a 1920s newsboy. “I’m thinking we should give it to one of the Praetorian Guard officials.” I liked the idea of getting the higher ups involved. Let them tighten the rein on security. We had enough to do.

Mallory left Jameson’s side and came to sit next to me. She put her hand on my neck and gave it a squeeze, then worked her fingers over the muscles. I felt my shoulders drop in relief. “This has really got you worried, I can tell.”

“It should have all of us worried,” I said. “If this comic book is right, we’re going to a formal event that’s going to turn deadly. We can’t ignore something like that.”

“I agree,” Mallory said. “I’m meeting with one of the top PG guys tonight. He’s prepping me to meet the vice president. If you want, I can give it to him and let him take it from there.”

I knew she wasn’t an official massage therapist, but she really had a knack for loosening up muscles. The tension melted away. “Yeah, that would be good,” I said. “Make sure you say that Samuel Specter had the power to see the future and that the events in the story really might happen. Tell them they need to beef up security and be extra careful who they let in the door.”

“I will.”

“And tell them to call Nadia and warn her.”

“Yes. Got it.”

“You have to really emphasize it or they’ll think it’s just a kid’s comic book.”

“I will. I Promise.”

For the tiniest, briefest moment, I doubted her, but it went by in a flash. Mallory had promised and her word was good enough for me.

Russ

After dinner, Mallory and her chaperone Rosie left to go to a briefing about Vice President Montalbo. Presumably, the more she knew about him, the easier it would be to get her hands on him and apply her mind control magic. Mallory had changed clothes and was now wearing a sundress she’d gotten when she and Jameson went shopping that afternoon. She also had a pair of large sunglasses perched atop her head, even though we were hundreds of feet underground without a real sunbeam in sight. As they got up to go, I reminded Mallory about the comic book and she patted the side of her bag. “Don’t worry about it, Russ. I’ve got it right here.”

Jameson’s chore for the evening was to take another dance lesson. Frankly, I gave him credit for trying but I thought it was pretty much hopeless. His long legs were way too spastic to ever keep in time to the music, but another lesson couldn’t hurt. Maybe this new dance teacher wouldn’t hit him with a fan and he’d be able to relax a little. With any luck he’d improve enough not to step on Mallory’s feet the night of the Bash.

As for me and Carly, we were summoned back to the hospital for another healing session with President Bernstein. Dr. Wentworth came to escort us and we followed along just like before. On the subway, she filled us in.

“This evening while you’re out, your things are being moved from the hotel to luxury suites. You’re not going to be sharing rooms anymore. It’s a security measure. Each of you will have your own space from now on. We’re supplying you with formal clothes for the Black Tie Bash. You’ll be fitted and coached on what will be expected of you.”

“Me too?” Carly asked.

“Yes, you'll be getting your own suite too.” Dr. Wentworth said.

“No, I mean what about my formal wear?” Carly asked. "I didn't bring anything appropriate.” She didn't own anything appropriate, is what she meant. How many people have something in their closet they could wear to a Presidential Bash? Prom clothes maybe, but Carly was way too old for prom and she never was the prom type in the first place.

“That won’t be necessary for you.”

“What do you mean it's not necessary? Didn’t you hear me? I said I didn’t bring anything I could wear to a formal event.”

“Which is fine because you won't be attending the Bash.”

“Wait a minute.” Carly said, her voice rising. The other passengers in the subway glanced over to see who was causing a ruckus. “What do you mean I won't be attending the Bash? The deal was that I go wherever Russ goes.”

“No, the deal was that you're lucky to even be here at all. You're a chaperone. Chaperoning the trip. That doesn't give you carte blanche to go anywhere you want and you’re certainly not going to be attending the Bash.”

Carly lowered her voice. “I was under the impression I would be going.”

“Your impression was incorrect.” Dr. Wentworth said. The loudspeaker announced the next stop. “That would be us.” She stood up and walked briskly to the door, motioning to me and Carly to join her.

Carly wasn’t going to leave it at that. “I don’t think you understand. I need to be at the Bash. I can’t let Russ go alone.”

The doors slid open and Dr. Wentworth stepped out full speed ahead. “Come along,” she said without turning around.

“Did you hear me?” Carly said, tapping her on the shoulder. “If I don’t go, Russ doesn’t go.”

This got Dr. Wentworth’s attention. She stopped, and we practically ran into her. “Now you listen to me,” she said curtly. “This isn’t a negotiation and it isn’t personal. Not everyone is going to the Bash. I’m not going, none of the other chaperones are going. This is a Praetorian Guard mission.” She leaned her head in and lowered her voice. “We’re already taking a risk by involving teenagers with superpowers. We don’t need overly emotional family members there to screw things up. And don’t tell me you’re not overly emotional.” She jabbed a finger in Carly’s direction. “Because clearly you are.” The three of us were standing in the middle of a pedestrian path and oncoming walkers had to go around us. We were the clog in the pipe.

Carly folded her arms. “If I don’t go, Russ doesn’t go. And that’s final.”

Dr. Wentworth sighed. “Well let’s put that to the test, shall we?” She turned her attention to me. “Russ, if your sister is not allowed to go to the Bash, do you still want to go?”

“Absolutely. I’m going no matter what.”

Carly glared at me, but Dr. Wentworth looked vindicated. There was no way I could have made both of them happy, so I had to choose for myself.

“Okay, then,” Dr. Wentworth said. “The subject is officially closed.”

Now that the subject was officially closed, Carly didn’t seem to have any more to say but in one small sign of rebellion she snapped her gum every ten yards or so.

At the hospital we followed the same route as earlier in the day, walking hallway after hallway, going through multiple doors and up an elevator. The
Authorized Personnel Only
signs were everywhere and we ignored all of them since we were apparently authorized. The guard at the first set of doors nodded when they saw Dr. Wentworth’s laminated card. From there she entered numbers into a punch pad in the elevator. When we exited the elevator we faced what I knew would be the last locked door. Once again, she lined her eyes up in front of a recognition scanner. When a woman’s voice said, “Maxine Wentworth, welcome. Please state today’s password,” I knew what the password would be.

“Russ Becker,” Dr. Wentworth said making each syllable clear and distinct. And then we were through.

Having been there once, everything was now familiar. I knew the corridor and could have found the president’s room myself, but I let Dr. Wentworth take the lead. When we arrived at the room Dr. Karke stood alongside President Bernstein’s bed but he wasn’t the only one in attendance. Sitting in a chair on the other side, holding his wife’s hand, was Mr. Bernstein, the first gentleman of the United States. Dr. Karke said, “Oh here they are now,” as if they’d known we were on our way.