The Indigo Thief (28 page)

Phoenix hadn’t wanted to wait.

In Maui, we drove along the ocean highways (mostly because there were fewer police officers there) instead of taking the Tubes. The ocean broke along the cliffs and shoreline, its water dull and gray, complemented by the angry clouds above.

Mila slept in the front seat. She’d said her head still hurt from the airbag earlier. That, and she didn’t want to talk about the conversation with the commissioner. She didn’t want to acknowledge her past at all. I asked Phoenix what happened exactly, but he shook his head and said, “She’ll tell you in time, kid.”

I sort of resented the fact he called me kid. I was fifteen years old, for god’s sake—an adult for all Federal intents and purposes. Had I been vaccinated, I could’ve voted in the fall elections. Instead, I sat there with brown eyes like a child, praying the Indigo pills Phoenix had given me those first few days were still working.

When at last we reached the end of the highway, we had no choice but to merge onto the Atlantic Northwestern Tube. It was much quieter than the Pacific Southwestern, with only three lanes for cars and one track for the subway. Phoenix told me the Tubes that went to the Suburban Islands were really only busy during rush hour, when commuters used them, and that, unlike Maui, border patrol was essentially nonexistent. Sure enough, the man at the station waved us through with a smile. He didn’t even stop us to check out our registration.

“Strange that security’s so lax here,” I said.

Phoenix shrugged. “I guess they figure they’ve got nothing worth attacking. Better to put the troops near the big cities.”

“Did you hear what the commissioner said? About Mila being on the news?”

“Yeah, I remember him saying something along those lines. It can’t be helped, I’m afraid. The girl they caught was probably a criminal anyway. I hope they execute her—for
her
sake. Torture would be far worse.”

I couldn’t believe what he was saying. How nonchalantly he spoke. I felt sick to my stomach, and a lump formed in my throat. “Torture?” I croaked.

“Oh, yeah,” he said. “If the Feds catch us, we’d better pray for death. It may seem like a fair trial on TV, but off-screen… you can be sure they’ll pull us apart piece by piece, the way a megalodon maims its meals before it eats them. They’d marinate us in our own suffering like a steak in vinegar.”

I thought of Charlie’s bald head and sunken eyes. I imagined the Feds pulling her apart—using the chopsticks from her bun to cut her into pieces until all that was left were her bright blue eyes.
The girl was probably a criminal anyway.
Phoenix didn’t have an ounce of compassion for human life. Death rolled off his shoulders like rain.

“We’re here,” he said. We sat outside a small two-story house with blue shuttered windows. It was identical to the other houses in its row, a clone, right down to its manicured lawn and rosebush to the right of the driveway. Phoenix tapped Mila’s arm to wake her.

“But Sarah,” she mumbled, wiping sleep from her eyes.

“Who’s Sarah?” I asked, but they’d already climbed out of the car.

Phoenix rapped his knuckles against the white wooden door. “Let yourself in,” called a woman’s husky voice. It was familiar. I’d heard it before. In my past life—where I hadn’t been an enemy of the people, a Lost Boy.

Mila turned the knob, and the three of us entered a living room. A woman sat on a green leather couch, fanning herself with a red paper fan in one hand as she eyed the cuticles on the other. “You can shut it behind you,” she said, without looking up.

Phoenix slammed the door. “Neevlor’s dead.”

The fan fell from the woman’s wrist. I saw a burning bird flash across its side as it dropped.

It was the woman from the Tube—the one I’d spoken to the day it cracked. The one who’d told me not to get vaccinated. She laid her head down on her knees. “This is wrong,” she muttered. “This is all so wrong.”

Phoenix sat next to her on the couch. “Nice to you see you too, Gwendolyn.”

“Who’s the kid?” she said without lifting her head.

“This is Kai.”

I offered her my hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

She ignored it. “Pleasure’s all mine.” She ran her hands through her graying hair.

“Don’t doubt it,” said Mila, through gritted teeth.

Gwendolyn looked at her, and her eyes watered below her graying hair. Mila moved to the opposite end of the room. I picked up the fan and handed it back to Gwendolyn.

“Thanks,” she said. Her eyes met mine for the first time. A look of recognition flashed across her face. “I—I know you,” she said. “You were on the Pacific Northwestern Tube the day it cracked. I
thought
it was your face they showed on the wanted posters. I saw your friend’s face, too. She’s been on the news. Her head’s shaved and her chopsticks are gone, but she’s still quite pretty. They got it wrong, didn’t they?”

I shrugged. “Sorta,” I said. “For me at least, I guess the crimes listed on the posters are starting to be accurate.”

Gwendolyn shook her head. “They’re not accurate at all. You haven’t done anything wrong—”

“He’s done a few things,” said Phoenix.

Gwendolyn ignored him. “And the girl,” she continued. “
She
didn’t do anything. The press isn’t even using her real name. They’re saying she’s Mila.” She turned to Mila. “They’re saying she’s you.”

Mila crossed her arms. “How’s that
my
problem?” Her words stung, and my blood boiled.

Phoenix stepped toward me. “You
knew
the girl they showed on TV? And you didn’t
tell
me? You acted like she was a stranger!”

“I’m sure there’s more than a few things you haven’t told me,” I said.

He shook his head. “You have no idea what you’re saying, kid. You don’t have any idea what and who you’re dealing with.”

“Really?” I said. “Because I think I’m starting to see things pretty clearly.”

Gwendolyn moved between us. “My appointment is tomorrow afternoon,” she said. She smoothed the wrinkles in her cream-colored dress. “Dr. Howey confirmed it this morning.”

Phoenix backed away, but he kept his stare focused on me. “Excellent,” he said. “Everything’s in order then.”

Gwendolyn nodded. “Car’s in the garage. You can keep the keys when we’re done. Everything else is going to the state. They’ll liquidate half the assets and give the rest to charity.”

“Ah,” said Mila, “the conscience clocks in right at the end.”

Gwendolyn pursed her lips and headed toward the kitchen. “I’m not proud of what I’ve done,” she said, wiping dust from the kitchen table, “but I’m doing my best to make amends.”

Mila’s eyes were hard. “It’s not enough. It will never be enough.”

“Stop it, Meels,” said Phoenix, grabbing her arm. “She’s doing the best she can.”

“Not all of us can be as brave as Harper,” Gwendolyn called from the kitchen. She sliced onions at the sink and stared out the back window.

Phoenix joined her. “You’ve been brave enough, Gwendolyn.”

I followed them into the kitchen, and saw that the table was already set for lunch. Three floral placemats were laid out in perfect symmetry.

Gwendolyn sniffed back tears. I wondered if it was the onions or Dr. Neevlor’s death. Probably a bit of both.

“You’ll have to excuse me,” she said to me. “I didn’t know a third person was coming. Placemats are in the cabinet to the left, top shelf.”

We ate lunch in silence.

“Good carrots,” I finally muttered.

Gwendolyn smiled faintly. “They’re from my garden.”

I twisted the veggies on my fork. “You don’t say?”

The main course was chili. Mila needled her bowl with a spoon, never lifting her gaze from its depths. I don’t think she could look at Gwendolyn without getting mad. I wondered what had happened between the two, what Gwendolyn had done to evoke Mila’s wrath. I sipped another spoonful of the stew. It was the same shade as Neevlor’s blood. I was trying hard not to think about it.

“Spicy,” I said.

“It’s the onions.” Gwendolyn’s eyes watered again as she stared at Mila. “Gives it that extra kick.”

Mila pushed out her chair and stood. “Well, this is bullshit.”

“The onions?” I asked.

She waved at the table. “This whole thing—this lunch.
Everything
. This whole stupid plan.”

“
Meels
,” hissed Phoenix. He pushed her back into her seat. “What do you think you’re doing?”

She stood again and ran from the kitchen. “I’m going to lie down. I’ll see you all in the morning.”

I glanced at a clock on the wall. It was two p.m.

“Well,” said Phoenix. It was followed by silence.

I pushed the stew around with my spoon. “What’s for dessert?” I asked finally.

“Peach cobbler,” said Gwendolyn. I pictured Kindred feeling a silent stab in her chest and dropping a bowl of blueberries on the floor. Peach could’ve killed her.

“Wonderful,” said Phoenix, his eyes wandering to where Mila had stood. “That sounds really nice.”

“Yes.” Gwendolyn nodded. “Did you see I still have my fan?”

Phoenix smiled. “I’m surprised it made it out of the Tube with you. I thought it’d be lost in the commotion. The bombs threw us for a loop.”

Her eyes were glassy with nostalgia. “We had our fair share of commotion at the Ministry, too. You don’t get to be Director of the Lottery without a hearty dose of catastrophe.”

“And a hearty dose of Indigo,” muttered Phoenix. I wondered if he was thinking about the Indigo Report—the virus they’d managed to manufacture in the samples.

Gwendolyn passed out cobbler, but I felt sick to my stomach again and couldn’t finish it. I resigned myself to pushing it around my plate.

Gwendolyn smiled at me from across the table. I felt bad for her, and for the fact that she lived entirely alone. No family and no friends, it seemed. I wondered how she’d become the Caravan’s ally, and how she’d met Phoenix.

“How, uh, how did you know Dr. Neevlor?” I asked. I’d only known Neevlor briefly, but the name still felt thick and not quite right on my tongue. I kept wanting to call her Madam Revleon. It was strange how quickly you got attached to a name. “Did you work at the same Ministry together?”

Gwendolyn shook her head and sipped from her glass of water, patting the corners of her pink lips with a napkin afterward. “Harper and I were neighbors for years. We used to ride the subway on the Tube together. She worked for R&D, and I worked for Health. Different Ministries, but they were only an island apart.”

“So she lived in the house next door?”

Gwendolyn nodded.

“Was that before she moved to the Morier Mansion?”

Phoenix pursed his lips and stared at Gwendolyn, watching her with burning eyes. Had he coached her on what to tell me? What was he worried Gwendolyn might say?

She was too busy watching me spoon the cobbler to notice his stare. “Harper lived next to me for twelve years, but that was before she started her investigation… Before she wrote the Indigo Report and tried to get it published. Then everything changed.” Her eyes got watery again—the way they’d been when she’d stared at Mila. “They started trying to kill her.”

“Who did?” I asked. “The Feds?”

She nodded.

“And you helped her get away,” I finished. “She came to you for help, and you helped her get to Newla. That’s where you met Phoenix and the Lost Boys. How you became connected to the Caravan.”

It was all falling into place. Everything was making sense. Gwendolyn helped Neevlor escape from the Suburban Islands to Newla. Once there, they ran into Phoenix, who’d already staked out the mansion. He’d offered to help hide Neevlor, with the Caravan’s support, in exchange for the Indigo Report.

He’d been looking for a way to start a war, and the contents of the Indigo Report gave him just what he needed. Taught him how to contaminate the vaccine with a virus.

“You helped Neevlor get to Newla,” I said again.

The secrets were falling into place. Phoenix couldn’t hide the truth forever.

Gwendolyn, however, shook her head. “I didn’t help Dr. Neevlor at all.” She took a deep breath. “I told her to go to hell.”

Hackner inhaled a final puff from his cigar before he patted Margaret’s arm—time for her to go. They’d been lying in his red satin sheets for nearly five whole minutes. It was about all he could stand of the woman once the deed was done.

Her red hair matched the sheets and was sprawled about her head like a wicker basket. “Already?” she asked.

“Yes, yes.” He patted her bum to push her out of the bed. “You really are wonderful, darling—and take that as a compliment, because there are two girls I see regularly who I don’t say that to. But, you see, there’s a nation I must run. A great one—the greatest in the entire world. She is my lady, and I her lad.”

Margaret kissed his cheek and slid back into her black velvet dress. “God, I love that you’re so patriotic, baby. I shouldn’t be so selfish. You’re too good a man for me to keep you all to myself.”

He waved off her compliment; the patriotic bullshit always got to them. “Don’t be silly, Marjorie—Margaret, definitely Margaret,” he said. She was too infatuated to notice the slip. “You really are quite wonderful.” He slid to the bed’s edge and buttoned his pants. “Same time next Tuesday?” She nodded. “And, please, try to be gentle with the door this time on your way out—no need to slam it, darling. It’s old wood.”

Hackner tightened his tie before pushing open the mahogany doors between his room and the chancellor’s chambers. How long he had dreamt of the chambers being his before he’d actually earned their keys. And they belonged to him now—the keys and the chambers. His rightful jurisdiction as the Federation’s chancellor.

“Hackner!” Miranda’s shrill voice called from the ConSynth. He laughed bitterly. The chambers would never be his. They had and always would belong to her.

“Hackner!” she called again.

“Yes, Miranda?” He pushed the door shut behind him. The others didn’t know—couldn’t know—of her existence. It was better for everyone that way. Sometimes, he wished even
he
didn’t know. Wished he still thought the government belonged to the people of the state rather than to her.