I opened my eyes wide. “No? Well, for God’s sake, don’t tell them. They’d be crushed. Thinking they’re doing the Lord’s work and all.”
Dean looked at me, I dunno, as if a hamster had just snarled at him. He tried another tack. “Max, we’re looking for a man named Jeb Batchelder. Do you have any knowledge of his whereabouts?” The agent held up a picture of Jeb, and my heart constricted. For a second I was torn: give that lying, betraying jerk up to the FBI, which would be fun, or keep my mouth shut about anything important, which would be smart.
I shook my head regretfully. “Never seen him.”
“Have you ever been to Colorado?”
I frowned. “Is that one of those square ones, in the middle?”
I saw Dean take a deep breath.
Quickly I glanced around. Angel was on the floor by the door, eating my muffin, sharing it with Total. Iggy’s and Nudge’s agents were conferring, whispering behind some papers, and Iggy and Nudge lounged in their chairs. Nudge was looking around curiously. I hoped she was memorizing escape routes. The Gasman got up, cheerfully said “Bye” to his agent, and went over to Angel.
“Max, we want to help you,” Dean said quietly. “But you’ve got to help us too. Fair is fair.”
I stared at him. That was the funniest thing I’d heard in days.
“You’re kidding, right? Please tell me you have a stronger motive for me than ‘fair is fair.’ Life isn’t fair, Dean.” My voice strengthened, and I leaned forward, closer to the agent’s impassive face. “Nothing is fair, ever. That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. I need to help you because fair is fair? Try, ‘I need you to help me so I won’t rip out your spine and beat you with it.’ I might respond to that. Maybe.”
Dean’s jaw clenched, and two pink splotches appeared on his cheeks. I got the feeling that he was more mad at himself than at me.
“Max,” he began, his voice tense, but was interrupted.
“Thank you, Dean,” said a woman’s voice. “I’ll take over from here.”
15
Dean straightened up and smoothed his expression. The new woman gave him a friendly smile and waited.
She was blond—I couldn’t tell how old. She had the sort of professional polish and attitude of a major-network news anchor. She was pretty, actually.
Dean gathered up his files, nodded at me, then went to confer with another agent. The new woman sat down across from me.
“They’re all kind of full of hot air,” she whispered behind her hand.
I was startled into a grin.
She reached her hand across the table for me to shake. “My name is Anne Walker,” she said. “And yes, I’m one of Them. I’m the one they call in when everything goes kablooey.”
“Have things gone kablooey?” I asked politely.
She gave a short laugh. “Uh, yeah,” she said in a “duh” tone of voice. “When we get a call from a hospital saying they’ve got at least two and possibly six previously unknown recombinant DNA life-forms and one of them is gravely injured, then, yes, I think we can safely say that things have gone kablooey with a capital ‘kuh.’”
“Oh,” I said. “Gee, we sound so important.”
One side of her mouth twitched. “Uh-huh. Why the surprise? Hasn’t anyone ever told you you were important?”
Jeb. The one word shocked my senses, and I went into total shutdown so I wouldn’t start bawling like the goofy recombinant life-form that I am. Jeb had made me feel important, once upon a time. He’d made me feel smart, strong, capable, special, important . . . you name it. Lately, though, he mostly made me feel blinding rage and a stomach-clenching sense of betrayal.
“Look,” I said coolly, “we’re in a tough spot here. I know it and you know it. One of my fl—brothers is hurt, and we need help. Just tell me what I have to do so we can get that help, and then we’ll be on our merry way.”
I shot a quick glance at the flock. They were sitting together, eating bagels and watching me. Gazzy cheerfully held up a bagel to show he was saving one for me.
Anne’s sympathetic look set my teeth on edge. She leaned over the table so she wouldn’t be overheard. “Max, I’m not gonna tell you a bunch of crap,” she said, surprising me again. “Like the crap you’re giving us about your parents being missionaries. We both know that isn’t true. And we both know that the FBI isn’t in the business of just helping people out because they’re so wonderful and special. This is the deal: We’ve heard about you. Rumors have been filtering into the intelligence community for years about a hidden lab producing viable recombinant life-forms.
“But it’s never been verified, and people have always dismissed it as urban-legend stuff. Needless to say, the very possibility that it could be true—well, we’ve got people assigned to finding out and cataloguing info, hearsay, or suspicion about you. You and your family.”
Wait till she found out about the Erasers.