Willful Machines (35 page)

In the end, he'd insisted on dragging his battered body out of bed so he could help me himself.

“It's time,” he said now. “But we need to hurry. Your father's plane touched down a few minutes ago. He's on his way to the safe house.”

“I'll be quick.”

Bex gave me a shove for encouragement. “Good luck, buddy,” Ray said. I followed Trumbull down the corridor, past a nurse bent over a counter doling out pills into little cups and a frowning old man trudging behind a walker. Aside from them, the hospital still appeared mostly asleep. We came to a door flanked by two men with the usual grim faces and huge shoulders and gun-shaped bulges under their jackets. Trumbull's brothers in arms.

“I appreciate this, fellas,” he told them.

“Do you mind staying outside?” I said. “I think I should do this alone.”

“I'll be right here, sir.”

One of the guards pulled the door open. I went in. A single bed occupied the center of the room, with several tall machines standing on either side like sentinels. Heavy curtains, shut as tightly as the ones in Dr. Singh's apartment, kept out most of the gloomy daylight. Dr. Singh's eyes opened and followed me
as I crossed to the foot of the bed, but she didn't speak. Her face looked grayer than ever—like a marble sculpture of a person rather than the real thing.

“I'm sorry for bothering you,” I said. “I know you just got out of surgery a few hours ago. But this is important. Your life might depend on it.”

She released a dry, feeble wheeze—more the suggestion of a laugh than an actual laugh—as if to say that wasn't a very strong inducement to her at the moment.

“Mine too.”

Her laughter stopped. The fingers of her right hand tapped on the bedsheet, wishing for a cigarette to hold.

“I figured out who the Prime Mover is.”

Her eyebrows lifted.

“Stroud.”

“You're certain?” she croaked.

“Pretty much.”

“Why would he?—”

“I'm not sure. I don't have all the answers yet. Which is why I need your help. You told me a lot last night. Now I need to know more.”

Her fingers went
tap-tap-tap
. Now that the doctors had pulled her back from death's doorstep, I half wondered if she'd pretend her confession last night had never happened, the same way she'd done with the incident on the terrace. But then she nodded at my puck. “Would you power that thing down, please?”

“Of course.” The puck's rotors snapped inward as my hand closed around it. I opened my mouth to speak to it, but before I did, a pang went through me. What if Nico tried to message me? Then I'd just have to answer him later. “Shut down, puck.” To Dr. Singh, I said, “See? It's just me now.”

“That doesn't make this much easier.”

I sat down on a chair near her bed. “I don't hate you, Dr. Singh.”

She released another syllable of bitter laughter. “May I have a drink of water?”

A plastic cup stood on a small table next to her. I brought it to her lips. She swallowed, coughed, nodded that she'd had enough.

“So Stroud was giving the orders all along,” she said.

“Is it really that surprising?”

“I suppose not. That man always did terrify me.”

“Not half as much as he terrified me, I'd bet.”

She shook her head. “After the accident, when he invited me to teach at Inverness Prep, I thought he was doing it to show he didn't hold Ruth's death against me. But it was just the opposite. Waring must've shown him the footage I showed you. Stroud must've
despised
me.”

I set down the cup. “Please, Dr. Singh. We don't have much time. I need to ask you a few questions.”

“Go ahead. But I told you most of what I know already.”

“Why was Waring working for Stroud?”

“I'm not sure. Maybe he was being blackmailed, like me.
Maybe he was getting paid a lot of money. Or maybe he'd bought into whatever crazy plan Stroud had come up with.”

“What do you think the plan was? You told me about the Not2B. What's that?”

“Again, no idea. Any other questions?”

I slid forward in my chair. My eyes dropped to the watch on my wrist, the hands frozen at 9:19. Next to the watch, on the back of my hand, “Th1neEverm0re” had turned into a barely readable smudge. An ache went through me. “Why create Nico, Dr. Singh? Couldn't Stroud and Waring have carried out their attack with the Spiders?”

“I always figured using an actual 2B in the attack was supposed to stir up more fear in the public.”

“But why make him gay? Why make me . . .?” I bit my lip.

“I'm sorry, Lee. I don't know.”

I nodded.

“Did Nico survive?” she asked.

“I'm not sure.”

She closed her eyes.

“But he didn't betray me, Dr. Singh. He betrayed Charlotte instead. That confused me before, but now I think I understand. It was you, wasn't it? You altered Nico's personality so he wouldn't hurt me.”

“Yes. I knew Waring would find out what I'd done eventually. I knew I might even die for it. But I was past caring by then. When that Spider stormed into my room yesterday
and sliced me open, I figured my gambit must've worked. Or at least I hoped it had.”

“That was brave, what you did.”

Again she let out a bitter, wheezelike laugh. “Please. Brave would've been refusing to build Nico in the first place. Brave would've been telling someone what was happening. I was too much of a coward to take a real stand. But at least I did
something
. It wasn't easy, with Waring constantly watching over my shoulder, but I managed to sneak in small alterations here and there. Made Nico less obedient. Increased his will to live.” Her eyes flicked to me. “And his capacity for love.”

I glanced down. My finger pads had turned white and waxy where I'd touched Nico's chest cavity. I prodded the tips of my fingers with my thumbnail, feeling the needles of pain, as if to verify that Nico's heat had been real. I wished I could pull the puck out of my pocket and check it, but I forced myself not to. “We have to make them pay, Dr. Singh.”

“And how are we going to do that?”

“For a start, I need you to give me the address of that secret lab in the woods.”

“They'll probably have it cleared out and scrubbed clean by now.”

“What other leads do we have, though? We have to try.”

“Even if there's something there, who's to say I didn't just orchestrate the whole thing myself? Maybe I became unhinged after Charlotte's death, turned into a terrorist, blew up Waring's
house, and blackmailed him into helping me with the other attacks. Doesn't that story sound much more plausible? That's what everyone will think, Lee.”

“We'll figure something out. Don't worry. I'll stand by you no matter what.”

Her head dropped back on her pillow. She gazed up at the ceiling. “People will find out about everything else, too. That Ruth's death was my fault.”

I put my hand on her arm. She flinched at my touch. “We have to do this,” I said. “I think you know that. You're a good person, Dr. Singh.”

“What could possibly give you that idea?”

“Nico. You made him. And not only that, he told me about the messages Charlotte sent him. How they filled him with hope. You wrote those, didn't you? That hopefulness must've come from somewhere.”

She gave her head a small shake. The ghost of a smile appeared on her lips. “I never spoke to Nico directly. I couldn't. We knew he'd see me at Inverness, and we couldn't have him recognizing me from the lab. Those messages were my only way of communicating with him. It's true, I did like writing them. I liked imagining the kind of person Charlotte might've become if she'd survived. Strong. Courageous. Like you said, hopeful. But the hopefulness wasn't real. I was faking it.”

“Maybe that's okay. Maybe hope is like free will: a necessary illusion.”

“Maybe.” The smile faded again. Her eyes drifted back to the ceiling. I knew exactly where her mind had gone, because my mind had spent plenty of time there too. She was staring into a deep abyss and trying to decide whether to let herself fall into it.

“Please, Dr. Singh. The address.”

Her fingers went
tap-tap-tap
against the sheets.

Behind me, the door flew open. Two Secret Service agents swept into the room. Without a word, they made a lap around the space, checking it out. One of them spoke into his puck.

“Oh no.” I stood. “Not now.”

Dad entered next, flanked by two more agents. “Lee, what in God's name is going on here?”

H
ave you lost your mind? You're supposed to be at the safe house. Someone just tried to kill you, for God's sake!” Dark circles hung under Dad's eyes, and he hadn't changed his clothes since last night.

“How did you know I was here?”

“You thought you could keep it a secret from me? One of the agents at the safe house told me you never made it there, so I messaged Trumbull.”

“I'm sorry, sir.” Trumbull had come in with the other agents. “I had to tell him.”

“It's okay, Trumbull. Dad, just give me two minutes. This is important.”

“I'm not giving you two
seconds
.” He grabbed my arm. “We're getting out of here. Now.”

From behind me came Dr. Singh's gnarled voice. “Seventeen Hardscrabble Road.”

I wrenched my arm free of Dad's grip. “Trumbull.”

He snatched his puck out of the air. “Ray, I need you to send a SWAT team to seventeen Hardscrabble Road ASAP.”

“What the hell is this?” Dad shouted. “I'm the goddamn president of the United States! I want some answers now!”

His agents eased forward, ready to snap into action.

“And what about Stroud?” I asked Dr. Singh. “We must have something on him.”

She shook her head.

“Stroud?” Dad said. “What do you mean, ‘have something on him'?”

Breathing hard, I turned to him. “I can trust you, Dad, can't I?”

“Why would you ask me something like that?”

“Just say yes. Please. I know I've been a pain in your ass, but you wouldn't do anything to hurt me, would you?”

“Of course not. What are you talking about?”

With that vertical line in his forehead, and his lips pressed together so tight they'd turned white, he looked more than ever like he feared I was some unhinged school shooter. I made my voice as steady as I could. “That attack last night. It wasn't Charlotte. It was Stroud.”

He squinted. “
That's
what this is all about?”

“It probably sounds insane.”

“Who's putting these ideas in your head?” He jabbed his finger at Dr. Singh. “Is it you?”

“No, Dad, it's not her. I figured this out myself.”

“How?”

“It's a long story.”

He pulled off his glasses and wiped his hand down his face. “I don't believe this. Look, we're not doing this here, Lee.”

“I'm not leaving.”

“Is that so?” He gave his agents a nod. Two of them had me by the arms a split second later.

“Dad, what the hell?”

Trumbull stepped forward. “Sir, with all due respect—”

Dad's eyes snapped to him. “Sorry, Trumbull, did you want some help out too?”

“Don't do this, Dad, please!” The agents hauled me to the door, my shoes bumping and dragging along the linoleum. I wrestled against them, but their arms didn't seem to give any more than the Spiders' had. Over my shoulder I shouted, “Do you know anything about the Not2B?”

One of the agents flung the door open.

“Wait,” Dad said.

My escorts stopped. In front of me, the door swung shut again. I glanced back at Dad.

He swallowed. “Where did you hear that word?”

Dr. Singh spoke up. “I overheard Paul Waring talking about it last week.”

“Paul Waring's dead.”

“No, he's not, Dad. He's been organizing the attacks too.”

For a few seconds everybody in the room seemed to stop breathing.

“Would you wait for me outside, gentlemen?” Dad said. “You too, Trumbull.”

The hands gripping my arms released their hold. The men melted from the room, leaving just the three of us: Dr. Singh, Dad, and me. Dad eased himself into a chair next to the window.

“I'm listening,” he said.

I pulled my chair over, sat down across from him, and tried to figure out where to begin. “Did you notice the 2B standing by the fireplace in Stroud's office last night?”

He nodded, his eyes on the linoleum floor.

“You probably didn't recognize him. Remember the boy who stopped by my room when you were there?”

“Nico.”

“That's right. Dr. Singh built him. Waring forced her. Then they sent him to Inverness with instructions to make contact with me. To become my friend.”