No Time to Die (24 page)

It didn't take long for Theo to find her on top of the rock pile. He was huffing like a marathoner on his final stretch as he climbed up to greet her, his feet finding the familiar footholds even in the dark.

“Pretty sure I just ran my fastest mile ever,” he announced, plopping down next to her on the uneven stone.

“Great,” she muttered, hugging her knees to her chest and looking away. But inside she couldn't deny her happiness that he had come after her. Had she, on some level, run away for this very purpose?

The moon glowed brightly enough for her to see the outline of his face. His frown was a mixture of annoyance and concern.

“So you gonna tell me what that was about? Everyone is totally confused.”

A flush of shame crept into her face. She was glad he couldn't see it. “I'm sorry,” she snapped. “I just needed to think, okay?”

“Whoa, chill out. No one's angry. Just worried.”

“I'm
fine
.”

He edged closer so that their shoulders were touching. “I don't think you are.”

Part of her wanted to scoot away, tell him to treat her like the capable adult she wanted to be, not a helpless little girl. But she liked the warmth of his body next to hers, the thrill of their forearms grazing against each other. She leaned her head on him.

“I've never been away from my family on my birthday before.”

“Do you want to go home?”

“No. I mean, yes and no.” She sighed. “It's not like going home would solve my problems anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

“Everything just feels so messed up. My parents think I was kidnapped. My body is my worst freaking enemy. My grandfather is getting older every second and . . .” Before she could stop it, her worst fear wormed its way out of her mouth. “I don't know if your mom is going to be able to do anything about it in time.”

The thought of losing Gramps—of that possibility being real—made fresh tears sting her eyes.

“But she found that weird mutation already, right? Isn't that a good sign?”

“I don't know,” she mumbled, sniffling. “I hope so.”

“Hey, look at me,” he commanded, turning her chin toward him. The whites of his eyes and his teeth shone in the moonlight, but the rest of his face was shrouded in darkness. His fingers felt icy and she realized they were both shivering.

“What?”

“You've done as much as you could humanly do. I mean, seriously. Taking off on your own to join a secret society, running from the police, having a seizure, surrendering your DNA, all to help the person you love. Who else can say they did that much for anyone, ever?”

“But I'd do anything for him.”

“I know. And that's why I like you.”

Before she could react to such a bombshell, his lips were on hers. She didn't know what to do—had never kissed anyone—so she puckered her mouth and stayed still, both thrilled and a bit grossed out when their saliva mixed. A second later it was over. He pulled away and looked at her with a sheepish grin. A cold breeze swept by, chilling the wet spot on her lips.

She wasn't sure how to react. Wasn't this exactly what she wanted? What she had been fantasizing about before falling asleep at night? So why did she feel so anxious?

“What's wrong?” he asked, a hint of alarm in his voice.

“Nothing.” She ran her fingers through her hair. “I don't know.”

“Sorry, I didn't mean to—”

“It's not that. It's just . . . How can you be into me
?
” she blurted. “I mean, isn't this crazy? I'm like fourteen or twenty-one, who the hell knows—and you're eighteen, and next year, you'll be nineteen, and one day you'll be twenty-five and then thirty and then forty. How can we ever be together?”

“Aren't you thinking a bit far ahead?”

“No!” she shouted, choking up. “How can I ever be with anyone? I'm going to spend my whole life alone! I'm always going to be some weird half-child freak.”

“I don't care how old you are.”

“Well, I do!”

She was sobbing now, her face in her hands, past the point of embarrassment. He reached for her, but she stiffened. “No. We can't.”

“But everything's going to turn out fine. My mom is probably the smartest person here. She's going to figure this out. You won't be stuck like this forever.”

Easy for you to say,
she thought, standing up. What would happen to her in five, ten, twenty years, if Natalie didn't get anywhere? What would happen to Gramps?

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“Back. To find your mom.”

 

 

The lab section of the circle reminded Zoe of an ant farm, with all the underground tunnels and pathways leading to different rooms. With no windows, it was disorienting to find her way around, but she made it down the three flights to the floor devoted to the aging team. Natalie's lab was in a corner, its door partly open.

As Zoe had guessed, she was inside, clad in a white coat and hunched over a microscope, turning its knob back and forth.

“Hi,” she announced, not even bothering to keep the desperation out of her voice. The reassurance she needed couldn't come from Theo, Galileo, Gramps, or her parents. It could only come from one person.

Natalie whirled around on her stool with a look of surprise.

“Zoe! Are you okay? Theo promised he would make sure. I thought the birthday thing might not be the best idea, but—”

“It's fine,” she interrupted. “I just want to know what's going on. Did you test my parents' DNA yet?”

Natalie pushed a strand of hair behind her ears. “Well—yes. I was just checking the slide again, making sure the report got it right.”

Zoe felt her heart rev up like a motor. “And?”

“Unfortunately your weird mutation showed up in both of them. Just a familial variant you must have inherited.”

“So it's not meaningful? It's not the aging gene?”

“No. I'm so sorry.”

“So what do you do now?”

“Now . . .” Natalie grimaced, avoiding her gaze. “Now we go back to square one.”

I
n dismay, Les Mahler surveyed the gaggle of reporters seated before him. The press conference was going live in sixty seconds. To his right on the podium stood Benjamin Barrow, patting his brow with a checkered handkerchief. Both were sweating under the hot bright lights in the White House briefing room. When Les caught his eye, a glance of mutual agony passed between them.

After their failure in recent weeks to find a lead from Julian Hernandez's disclosure about the secret signs, and the murder of the prison guard—which was ascribed to Galileo without a blink—the President had insisted that it was time to go public with the Network. His administration felt that Galileo was too dangerous and out of control for his actions to be kept classified.

Les knew that this move would spark a backlash of hysteria and rumors, an endless string of sensational media, and critical commentary from pundits of all stripes. Worst of all, he feared it would cause Galileo to lie low indefinitely, thwarting all attempts at detection. Surely there would be no further outrageous stunts like tricking Zoe's parents—stunts that Les could have prepared for. But he also understood that the President saw an opportunity to politicize the case, demonstrating how seriously he cracked down on bio-crimes. It was a vote grab, and Les had no choice but to go along with it.

“Live in ten, nine, eight . . .” came a voice in his earpiece. The reporters, about fifty representatives of the country's biggest news outlets, were holding out black mini recorders and getting poised to scribble on their rectangular flip pads or type on laptops. Along the back of the cramped, windowless room, a multitude of sleek black cameras were trained on him and Barrow, blinking green. The beady glowing lights reminded Les of staring into the eyes of a cat in the dark, the moment before it pounces.

“Four . . . three . . .”

He took a deep breath, ignoring the sweat pooling at his hairline. He thought of himself being broadcast onto every TV screen in America, interrupting afternoon talk shows and soap operas and weather reports. As much as he despised the reason for his spotlight, the sudden attention—and power—energized him. This debut was going to catapult him into the public eye as much as it would Galileo—but with a crucial difference: He was the hero, and everyone was going to know it.

“Two . . . one . . . And we're live!”

Shoulders down, back straight, head tall.
The hot lights from the low ceiling beat down like a dozen suns. He opened his mouth to begin.

“Good afternoon.” His voice boomed out of the room's speakers, deep and resonant. He indulged a pause as if to tell the crowd,
I set the pace. You can't rush me.
“My name is Les Mahler, and I'm the chief of the Executive Office for the Committee of Bioethics Enforcement. This is Benjamin Barrow, my second-in-command. We've called you here today to alert you to an important national security matter—one classified until now, but so grave, we've concluded the public has a right to know.”

The reporters' pens hovered above pads, their fingers above keys. They stared at him. No one made a peep. Les exchanged a look with Barrow, who gave him a grim smile, then he cleared his throat.

“Ladies and gentlemen, together with the FBI, we have been working for two years to find and uproot an illicit, well-funded criminal organization known as the Network that conducts illegal, unrestricted scientific experimentation somewhere within the U.S. As I'm sure you're aware, all human experiments in the United States must answer to my committee or face federal charges of recklessness and noncompliance. Otherwise, vulnerable subjects stand to be abused and dehumanized—hence our urgency to find the Network and dismantle it as soon as possible. The location of their headquarters is unknown. To date, they have abducted or coerced at least twenty-nine people—scientists, doctors, and critically ill patients—who have vanished into their secret ring.”

Hands shot up all over the room. Barrow was about to call on someone when Les pulled the mic closer. It was imperative that he show who was in control.

“The most recent abduction,” he said, “was Zoe Kincaid, the little girl who was recently discovered to have stopped aging. As you know, she was kidnapped from her home in Manhattan on June 18 and has vanished
.
We didn't release it then, but all along we've known that the Network is responsible. We think that her strange condition primed her as the perfect target for exploitation.”

A few gasps were heard as the reporters copied down his words.

“Our top priority,” Les went on, “is to root out the man we believe is the leader. He calls himself Galileo and communicates responsibility for the Network's abductions by mailing a certain postcard of the solar system to my office. For further details, please see the picture in the press release.

“Like any convincing cult leader, he has managed to recruit a number of susceptible Americans whose homes the Network uses as safe houses. It's possible, though we're not sure, that these members communicate their sympathies by painting a certain sign on their mailboxes—a picture of the sun.”

Les slowed down his next words. “It is of the utmost importance that the public be on the alert for these signs and report anyone with suspected involvement. An 800 hotline is now up and running 24/7. No charges will be brought against those who have been suckered into participating, as long as they give us their full cooperation.”

“Please,” Benjamin Barrow chimed in, “we urge everyone who has any information to come forward. Your fellow citizens' lives are on the line.”

“We will now take questions,” Les announced.

A cacophony of competing voices broke out. He and Barrow took turns answering as best they could.

“Have any bodies been found?”

“Yes. Two. But we're not at liberty to disclose further details, due to the ongoing investigations.”

“What does the leader look like?”

“If we knew that, so would you.”

“How many members are there?”

“Unclear.”

“
What's their motivation?”

“Maybe financial, selling whatever half-baked drugs they develop on the black market. We can only speculate.”

“Where does their funding come from?”

“Venture capitalists? Overseas donors? Again, speculation.”

Then came the comment that stung Les to the core, from the mouth of a crotchety female reporter who was known for her pointed criticism of every administration since Reagan.

“If this President had any brains, he'd fire all you goddamn bureaucrats and put a real leader in charge. Mr. Mahler, tell us
one
thing you've accomplished since you started this manhunt.”

Les narrowed his eyes.
If only you knew,
he thought. The other reporters ceased shouting. Everyone was awaiting his response. Would he chastise her? Be diplomatic? Divert with sarcasm?

Before he could get his thoughts together, a scornful voice to his right spoke into the microphone. “That would be
Dr.
Mahler. And with his double PhDs, FDA and FBI experience, I assure you the committee could have no stronger leader.
Next
.”

Les stared at Benjamin Barrow in surprise. It was true that their rivalry had cooled since their trip to Ohio, but he hadn't expected anything like loyalty to take its place—especially not such a public display.

The rest of the press conference was short. They answered several more questions, thanked everyone for coming, and hurried into the back room away from the glare of lights and judgment.

Les thanked him as soon as they stepped out of sight.

“No problem,” he replied. “We need the country to know we're a united front. Public image rule one, never appear to lack confidence.”

But do you?
Les wondered. Then he thought of the rule. “Of course. Doubt is weakness.”

“That's right. Now we just have to follow through.”

Somehow, somewhere, they had to show Galileo what it meant to mess with the U.S. government on its own turf.

Before their credibility expired with a scandalized public.

Before Zoe Kincaid's DNA reached any scientists hell-bent on creating a superspecies out of the human race.

Before his own impatience dangerously spiraled.

From the worried look on Barrow's face, Les could tell what he was thinking. They desperately needed a new lead. And fast.