Bait and Switch Page 19

  “Busy with what?” Leo asked.

  Moore didn’t look surprised by the belligerent question. “I figure you won’t trust me until I prove my intentions. If you care to follow me, I think we can arrange a demonstration.”

  Jack exchanged a look with Leo. They’d come this far on faith; it was time they saw something a little more concrete. They followed Moore through a maze of corridors peopled by operatives looking busy and intent, until they came to another steel door. This one was also protected by a keypad that required a six-digit code and a thumb scan before the door swung open.

  The far wall of the room was a huge flat screen displaying a pattern of continually shifting maps. In front of the wall sat at least a dozen agents, each almost surrounded by three computer monitors. Apart from the tap tap tap of fingers flying rapidly over keyboards, the room was silent.

  Moore gestured, and Jack and Leo split up, both stepping behind one of the operators. It didn’t take Jack more than thirty seconds to figure out that the man he was watching was working on the section on the top right corner of the huge screen. Every time the image changed onscreen, the images on his three monitors changed in synch.

  “You know what’s happening here, of course,” Moore said.

  Jack glanced to his right to find Moore watching him closely. “You’re working an intercept.”

  “That’s right,” Moore said. “We’re making a run at the Center’s computer system.”

  “It’s impossible to crack,” Leo said, coming to stand on Jack’s left side.

  Moore smiled smugly. “Difficult maybe. But hardly impossible. We’re already behind the main firewall.”

  Jack studied the screen for a minute. A red line was racing furiously across the electronic globe, bouncing from country to country, seemingly pursued by an equally frantic green line. “You’re behind the firewall, but they’ve spotted the attack. They’re closing down all your options and chasing your signal.”

  Moore’s smile turned cold. “But they’re too late. We’ve already got what we want. Watch.”

  Jack raised his head, just as one side of the screen went blank. For a moment he thought the cyber attack had failed, until a series of images began to click rapidly onto the screen, stacking up on top of each other like a deck of cards. Although too quick to take in, he registered pages of notes and startling glimpses of recognizable faces.

  At three-second intervals, with pages appearing on the screen with astonishing speed, an agent would shout “Out” and sit back in his seat, hands falling off the keyboard and into his lap. At exactly the same time, a section on the vast wall of screens went blank, until the last of the agents made the call and all that was left were two stalled lines, beeping in electronic rhythm, and a single image of Jack’s guardian.

  “Well, John Sebastian Palmer,” Moore spoke into the profound silence. “This is your life.”

  BY THE time they returned to the meeting room, pristinely tidy again, there were two neatly piled stacks of paper on the table. His skin prickling with a mixture of anticipation and foreboding, Jack sat down, pulled one of the stacks toward him, and started skimming through the pages. Laid out in clinical reports, photographs, statistical charts, and analytical statements was the story of his life at the Center.

  Leo cleared his throat, and Jack raised his head, judging by the worried expression on Leo’s face that he looked as stunned as he felt. Jack glanced at the other stack of papers and realized it was another copy of his Center file.

  “I don’t have to read it,” Leo said softly.

  Jack flinched, unable to hide his gut-wrenching dread at the thought of exposing his whole life to anybody, even his most intimate friend.

  “I’ll wait outside,” Leo said.

  He started to walk past, but Jack reached out and grabbed his arm.

  “Stay.” The word was little more than a harsh croak. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I want you to know. I’ve kept too many secrets from you.”

  Leo held his gaze for a long moment and then nodded once. He walked around the table and sat in a chair opposite Jack. When he didn’t make any move to reach for the second stack of papers, Jack slowly pushed the pile toward him.

  “Welcome to my life.” Their fingers touched as Leo reached out, and then Jack withdrew and began to read.

  It was all here, every detail of the thirteen years he’d spent locked up at the Center, with multiple reports for each assignment he’d worked outside its walls: every psych evaluation, every milestone he’d achieved, every training schedule. Detailed reports from his handlers and instructors sat alongside handwritten personal observations, a meticulous record of corrective action and punishment, copious notes on his physical and mental health. His every waking moment was documented and cataloged and filed away.

  He learned the full names of each of his handlers: Judith Hansen and Guy Young, who had supervised him for the first ten years of his life at the Center, and whose reports were filled with criticism of everything from perceived laziness to his inability to learn fast enough to complaints about his sullen attitude. Jack’s sense that they had only ever seen him as a soldier was borne out in their cold assessments and in the clinical lists of discipline and reprimands they had administered, each one meticulously charted and initialed.

  March 21: Failed examination: sternly scolded: JH.

  April 4: Argumentative: minor corporal punishment administered: GY

  May 7: Disrespectful attitude: free time canceled for the rest of the week: GY

  Throughout his time under their control, Jack noticed that their comments were countersigned with a different set of initials: SM.

  Sean Miller.

  Jack knew Sean had watched over him during those early years, though he’d never realized until now just how closely he had been involved. He often added his own observations: Hardworking and very bright; responds well to new situations; making significant progress in comms and complex coding. Sometimes the observations were critical of Jack’s handlers: JH too heavy-handed—Jack exhibiting signs of stress; GY pushing too hard—Jack needs to find his own pace.

  When Jack turned thirteen, the file reflected the change in his circumstance. He clearly remembered the morning he had walked into the dining room to find two unfamiliar faces at the breakfast table. Introduced as his new handlers, Evan and Sean had simply taken the place of Judith and Guy, bringing with them new rules, new training programs, and a wholly different approach. Jack struggled at first to adapt to their standards. He’d even briefly missed working with his previous handlers. Over the years they had fallen into a routine, and Jack had gradually learned how to anticipate their requirements and mitigate their disapproval.

  It hadn’t taken him long to appreciate how radically dissimilar his new team was.

  Evan and Sean demanded perfection but worked tirelessly alongside him to help him attain the goals they set. They taught through encouragement instead of punishment, they were strict but scrupulously fair, they rewarded hard work, and they treated failure as a learning experience. They enforced the rules absolutely but never went out of their way to trip Jack up or make his life more difficult.

  Evan Grant and Sean Miller had honed his skills and sharpened his abilities, and in the process they had become important to him, more than just handlers, closer than friends.

  Jack looked across the table when Leo made a strangled noise deep in his throat. His head was bent, and he was biting down on his lip, his whole body vibrating with suppressed tension. He suddenly became aware of Jack’s eyes on him and looked up.

  “I thought I understood your life. But this….” He waved the sheets clenched tightly between his fingers. “Judith Hansen and Guy Young… it’s fucking criminal!”

  Jack shrugged. “I suppose they were only doing their job—”

  “Hansen was a spiteful, evil bitch. Guy Young was a psychotic bully. If I ever come across either of them, I’ll happily throttle them with my bare hands!”

&nb
sp; Jack choked on unexpected laughter, heartened by Leo’s unconditional support. The truth was, he’d eventually grown to detest both of them, though he’d managed to bury it under layers of indifference. Flicking through page after page of notations on his early years, Jack was flooded with memories of that bleak, painful time in his life.

  He remembered the confusion of those first weeks after he’d been brought to the Center—not knowing where he was or what was expected of him. He recalled endless tedious lessons and constant tension, never coming up to the mark, no matter how much he strived to do what they wanted. In the end, Judith’s stinging sarcasm and Guy’s sneering scorn had become so commonplace he barely even registered them.

  “Why did he let them do that to you?” Leo’s voice, usually so assured, sounded utterly bewildered. Jack didn’t have to ask who he meant.

  “Because of my parents, I suppose. He probably felt betrayed by them—”

  “But you were a child! And what they did wasn’t your fault….” He trailed off, shaking his head in confusion.

  Jack didn’t know what else to say. Fortunately there was a loud knock, and a moment later, Dominic Moore’s head appeared around the door.

  “Mr. Palmer. I wonder if you’re ready to talk.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  WHEN DOMINIC Moore entered the room, Leo stood up and walked around the table, then dropped into the seat next to Jack, sitting so close that their knees touched. Jack was desperately glad to have Leo at his side, especially when Moore leaned forward in his chair and pinned Jack with a disturbingly familiar look.

  “So, Mr. Palmer—”

  “Please, don’t call me that,” Jack cut in.

  Moore inclined his head. “Very well. Though it was your father’s name too. You should learn to take pride in it.”

  “Perhaps when I know more about him,” Jack said.

  “Of course,” Moore said. “May I call you Jack?”

  Jack nodded.

  “Well, Jack. I take it you’ve looked through the Center’s file on you?”

  “Yes, sir.” Jack winced at how easily he slipped into habitual deference in the face of Moore’s obvious authority, though he noticed Moore didn’t correct him.

  “And I’m sure you noted there was nothing in the file to indicate how you arrived at the Center, nothing about your parents or your former life. In fact, nothing before your third year.”

  “I noticed.”

  “I gather you already know something about your parents?” Moore paused, waiting for Jack to speak. Leo’s leg pressed against his, a subtle warning Jack appreciated but didn’t need.

  “Why don’t you fill me in anyway?” he said. He was pretty sure he didn’t misinterpret the flare of annoyance on Moore’s face, quickly masked with a nod.

  “Your mother’s name was Eleanor Palmer. She was married to Michael Palmer, the man you know as your guardian. She fell in love with her husband’s partner, who also happened to be his younger brother, John. When Eleanor became pregnant with John’s child, the two of them fled the Center.” He stopped abruptly. “But you know all of that, don’t you?” It was a pattern that was starting to wear thin, but Moore continued without waiting for an answer. “What you probably don’t know is that we helped your parents escape.”

  “Why?” Though Leo asked the question, Moore’s gaze remained on Jack’s face when he replied.

  “John and Eleanor were talented operatives in their own right.”

  “And you wanted to exploit their talents.”

  This time Moore turned his head to look at Leo. “We offered them our protection in return for their allegiance.”

  “What were you protecting them from?” Jack asked.

  “The Center. Mostly in the form of Michael Palmer. As you can imagine, he didn’t take too kindly to his wife and brother betraying his trust. He issued a search and surveillance contract. You know what that is?”

  Jack nodded again. Leo’s fingers tightened briefly, and it was only then Jack realized he had slid a hand under the table to rest on Jack’s thigh. “It’s a nationwide search warrant. It authorizes whoever finds the target to set up surveillance.”

  “Correct. John and Ellie were highly trained operatives. They managed to stay off the radar for almost three years. But eventually one of Michael Palmer’s teams found them.”

  He flipped open a panel on the table in front of him and pressed a button, and a moment later, surveillance photos of John and Ellie appeared on a screen behind his head. He let them play out in silence, watching Jack’s face as the pictures scrolled by. Although Jack would have sworn he hadn’t reacted, Moore stopped the slide show when the photograph that had been smuggled into Jack’s room flashed onscreen.

  “This one is familiar.”

  “How do you know?” Jack asked. Moore remained silent, but Jack already knew the answer. “The server who gave me the photograph,” he breathed. “She’s one of yours.”

  “Not one of mine,” Moore corrected. “But she knew your mother. She knew how badly Ellie had been treated. She was happy to help.”

  Jack’s mouth dried as he looked at the photograph. Like the rest in the series, it had been taken with a telephoto lens and was indistinct and grainy. But it was clearly John and Eleanor Palmer. Jack felt the strangeness of the situation tug at his heart. These were his parents; the small boy in the photograph was him. Try as he might, he couldn’t remember anything about the day depicted, or any day he’d spent with John and Ellie. His earliest memory was his guardian’s gloomy office the first time he was brought to the Center, and cowering before the man who had become the only constant in his short life.

  “It’s a lot to take in.” Moore’s voice was carefully solicitous. He glanced at his watch. “Your handlers will be instigating a routine check in less than thirty minutes. I suggest we leave this now and pick up the story tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?” Jack echoed.

  “We’re not doing anything until you tell us who you are.” Leo’s voice was cool, cutting through the fog in Jack’s head. He turned and caught the look of consternation that Moore quickly suppressed. He was clearly a man who did not like to be challenged, and Jack felt a moment of panic when he realized that Dominic Moore had as much in common with his guardian as anybody he’d ever met.

  “That isn’t a useful conversation until you know more about your own circumstances.” He inclined his head. “You have the perfect cover story. You’re supposed to be protecting Freya. If she leaves school grounds, one of you is meant to stay with her. It gives you a great deal of flexibility without arousing suspicion.”

  “And what will you tell us tomorrow?” Jack asked.

  Moore smiled sadly. “Unfortunately, there’s much more of the story the Center hasn’t chosen to share with you. Including what happened when your uncle saw the surveillance photographs. Do you need a few minutes to make a decision?”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Jack saw Leo turn his head, waiting for Jack to decide. He knew Leo would support whatever he chose, and the knowledge gave him strength. “We’ll come back tomorrow,” he said.

  “Good.” Moore pressed a button on the console, and a moment later, there was a soft knock at the door and Freya came in.

  “Back to school?” she asked.

  “Thank you, Freya,” Moore said. He nodded toward the two piles of paper on the table. “I’m afraid those will have to remain here. Obviously if anybody found any of these pages in your possession, this whole thing would be over.”

  As Jack and Leo stood up and walked around the table, Moore extended his hand. Jack shook it, feeling an unease he couldn’t entirely reconcile. “Until tomorrow,” Moore said.

  Jack stumbled out blindly, barely registering where he was going but trusting that Leo would trace their steps. His head was filled to bursting with what he’d learned, and he knew he wouldn’t be getting much sleep tonight.

  The van was waiting for them outside, this time with Ryan behind the wheel. Ja
ck and Leo climbed into the back, and Freya closed the door and climbed into the passenger seat. She opened the partition between the front and back sections and half turned in her seat.

  “I guess you learned some crazy shit today,” she said.

  Jack didn’t want to have this conversation, so he shut her down with a curt nod. She shrugged and turned back around, though she kept the partition open.

  “You okay?” Leo asked softly. He was watching Jack closely.

  “I need to think about that.”

  Leo nodded and lapsed into silence. The contents of his file had dredged up so many painful memories that over the years he’d learned to bury down deep. What was unexpected was the grief that came from seeing his parents framed as targets—pursued and hounded by the Center just because they wanted a life of their own. Jack didn’t judge them for finding each other. He had never felt a moment’s warmth from his guardian; he doubted they had either. It wasn’t so difficult to imagine them turning to each other for comfort and finding something deeper, something real.

  A warm pressure landed on his back, and he glanced around to find Leo had moved closer and reached out to him. He summoned a weak smile, trying to reassure Leo, even though he felt ragged with emotion.

  When they reached the school gates, Freya glanced over at Jack. “That was probably upsetting,” she said softly, unable to meet Jack’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Jack.”

  The unexpectedness of her awkward sympathy pulled Jack out of his slump.

  “Same time tomorrow?” he said wryly.

  Freya nodded and turned away.

  “Can you make a convincing excuse for ditching school tomorrow afternoon?” Anderson asked.

  “It shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “And you won’t give anything away to your people?” he pressed.

  Jack quirked an eyebrow. “We’ve had the best training the Center offers. We can lie as convincingly as—”

  “Your uncle?” Freya put in.