Annum Guard: Blackout Part 26

I smile at him. "h.e.l.lo, Colton. I think it's time you and I had a little chat, don't you?"

Another m.u.f.fled choke.

"Oh, sorry," I say. "Would you like me to get that for you?" I bend down, slip my hands behind his neck, and loosen the gag so that it slides down his chin.

"You have no idea what you're playing with," he spits.

I take a step back. "I know exactly what I'm playing with, Colton. Or should I say, who. And I also know that you've stolen three members of my team and one of its leaders, and I would like them back." I swallow the lump in my throat. I need to keep my voice flat and distant. Colton has to know how much losing Abe is affecting me-but I can't let him see it.

"I've stolen more than that," he says with a coy smile.

I clench my fists. "Start talking, Colton. Where are they? What did you do with them?"

"You'd like to know, wouldn't you?"

I squat down in front of him so that we're eye level. "Colton," I say in the calmest voice I can muster, "we can either do this the easy way or the hard way." And then there's a jolt to my system as I realize Alpha said almost these exact words to me the first time I met him, when he had me knocked out, strapped down, and implanted with a tracker. I push Alpha from my mind. "I think you and I would both prefer the former."

He winks at me. "Is this the part when you tell me you studied enhanced interrogation techniques or some other c.r.a.p that's meant to scare me?"

I did, in fact, study such interrogation techniques. But I don't need to use them. Because I have something more effective.

I stand. "I'll tell you what I do have. This." I finger the Annum watch hanging from my neck. "And I'll tell you what you don't have." I pull his watch from my pocket and dangle it in front of his face.

His smug look is still there, but for the first time I see a hint of fear behind it.

"I'd like that back, please," he says.

"I bet you would. But we're not bargaining over that right now. No, first you're going to answer some of my questions."

"I don't know where they took your boyfriend."

"Really now?"

"Nope," he says.

"That's disappointing." I shake my head. "Let's try another then. How long has your dad been running Eagle Industries?"

"Never heard of it."

"Okay, Colton. Hard way it is." I put the gag back in his mouth and tie it so tightly it's straining at the corners. Then I turn the day k.n.o.b of my Annum watch forward one click. "Why don't you think about things for a little while?" I shut the face.

I lurch toward the ceiling but only for a moment. Then I'm standing in the same spot. Colton is right where I left him, but he's slumped over, still tied to the railing. The gag is in place, but I can see the frayed edges where he tried to chew it away. There's a strong odor of urine, and I wrinkle my nose. He's asleep. I nudge him awake with my toe.

It takes him a second to stir. Then he looks right at me, and he pulls and strains against the bindings. I hold my breath as I get close enough to untie the gag.

"I could kill you," Colton gasps. His voice is raspy.

"I did offer you the easy way, and you turned me down."

"Water," he says. Then he says it again, louder. Like he's trying to shout but can't.

"It's still early, Colton. No one is around to hear you. And I will get you some water. But first you have to answer one of my questions. So either tell me where my team is or tell me about your father's connection to Eagle. One simple answer, Colton, and I'll get you what you want."

Colton's eyes roll back and he shuts them. I'm feeling more than a twinge of guilt. I'm feeling full-on regret and revulsion by causing such anguish. But I don't have any real choices here.

"Come on, Colton," I nudge.

He opens his eyes. "They're being detained."

"Who is? My team?"

He nods.

They're not dead. Abe is alive! "Where?"

"I answered your question."

"No, you didn't. Where is my team being held?"

Colton's head drops forward. He snaps it back up. "Dorchester. A private house."

"And when are they being held? What year?"

"No, I answered your question. Your question was where, not when. Give me some water."

I stare at him. He's totally defeated. And I do know that I am playing with fire. Colton is connected to highly important people. And there's also the fact that he's a human being, and he's suffering.

I tie the gag back in his mouth, and he whimpers and thrashes. "I'll be right back," I say. "I promised you water."

I slip out into the early Boston morning. The sun is just starting to think about rising. Water. Where am I going to find water? Then I see a wooden bucket sitting on a stoop a few doors down, outside the milliner's shop, and I grab it and walk toward the river.

I know you'd be stupid to drink from the Charles River in the present day. It's filthy and polluted, but I don't know when that started. It had to be okay at one point, right? And it's not like there's a 7-Eleven down the block where I can pick up a bottle. I dunk the bucket under the water, then carry it back to Colton. I slip the gag down once more.

"Open up," I say. He does. He doesn't hesitate, doesn't ask where I got it. The water spills over his face and into his mouth. He gasps for it, but after a second, I right the bucket.

"You want another sip, you give me another answer. When are they being held?"

"1832."

I do some quick math and realize that every hour they're there equals a day and a half in the present. A day and a half. Orange has been gone for more than a week. I close my eyes. That's . . . No. That can't be right.

I calculate it again and come to the same conclusion.

Orange has lost at least 250 days. More than eight months.

And Zeta.

He's been gone for two months. That's . . . almost six years. They're trapped in their tunnels, and we can meet them only at the end. I choke. "You're killing them! You're making sure they can never return to the present."

"Water. I answered you."

I raise the bucket to his lips and allow him another sip. He slurps it down like a dying man. Which I suppose is a fairly accurate description.

Six years. Yellow and Indigo won't have their dad back for six years, and that's a.s.suming I find him now. And it's going to take Orange eight months to travel through the wormhole back to the present. It's June now. I won't see him until next February at the earliest. Indigo has been gone for only three days, but that's three and a half months. I've lost Abe only for a day and a half so far, but every second is ticking. Dual projection only works when you're traveling back in time; you can't do it to get to the present.

I need Abe back. I need them all back.

Ariel was right. He was so freaking right. Time is a dangerous and deadly game. It is not something to be messed with.

"Give me an exact date and an exact address, Colton."

And now Colton hesitates. He knows we've reached our first stalemate. I desperately need this information. He desperately needs to withhold it. But I have the upper hand.

I tap the bucket. "Tell me the exact date and address, and I'll let you have a three-second sip."

Colton looks at me with exhausted, red eyes. I don't have time to dwell on the ethics of this right now. Every second counts. Every click of the second hand on my watch d.a.m.ns four people I care about.

"The date and address," I repeat.

"May 2, 1832. Three hundred forty Seaver."

I memorize this before tipping the bucket over Colton's lips. I count to three, then lower it. And then Colton and I continue our dance. He tells me my teammates aren't being mistreated, which I want to believe, but there's a feeling deep inside telling me that it's probably not the whole truth. He claims he doesn't know how much Eagle has made off the scheme, which I believe. Colton doesn't strike me as a guy who'd have any idea what to do with a balance sheet. Then he tells me he has no idea what his father has to do with the Lincoln a.s.sa.s.sination, which I'm sure is a flat-out lie, but we can circle back to that one.

"Who is D. Callaway?"

His nose scrunches. "What?"

"D. Callaway. Back on Marlborough Street. Your dad saved her from the Strangler." I pause. This makes me uncomfortable. Somehow, acknowledging that act out loud is making Joe seem human. Like a normal person with a complex set of emotions, not the single-focused mastermind behind Eagle that I want him to be. "Who is she? Your dad's mother?"

Colton shakes his head. "His mother's sister. My great aunt Dorothy." Colton's voice catches, and he turns away.

I try a different approach.

"Tell me why, Colton. Why did your dad start Eagle?"

"My father is not a bad guy, Iris." He says my name with pure derision.

"Really? Because I'm pretty sure that murdering two presidents guarantees you a seat at the table in h.e.l.l reserved for the VIPs."

"You don't know what you're talking about. You literally have no idea how far off base you are."

"So tell me. Why did your dad start Eagle?"

The grin disappears off his face, like he's just realized he's saying too much. "No clue."

"You're such a bad liar." I take a moment to think. There's only one reason that's popping into my mind-the most obvious answer there is. I pick up the bucket and hold it in front of Colton's face. "Money. It's that simple, isn't it? That's where all that oil money came from, right?"

Colton stares at the bucket, and his lips part in antic.i.p.ation. I tip the bucket and let the smallest splash touch his tongue before I yank it away, to remind him we're still talking.

Colton pulls his head back. "If that's what you want to think." A half-laugh escapes his lips. "But it's true that political aspirations aren't cheap."

I drop the bucket to my side. "Wait-your mom knows?"

He stops laughing. He yanks his hands forward, but the bindings hold. "No, she doesn't know. And she can't ever know. That's rule number one."

"But she's spearheading the entire drive to bring down Eagle."

Colton clucks his tongue. "Life can be pretty ironic sometimes, huh?"

Caroline Caldwell is spending all this time-all this effort-trying to bring down her husband, whose stolen oil money is the only thing funding her political career. Talk about a snake eating its own tail. "Your dad had Marie Quail put at Annum Guard, didn't he? To make sure we didn't dig too deeply. And then . . . you." I think about my meeting with the vice president a few weeks ago. How she told me that keeping Colton in Boston was Joe's idea. And there's only one federal agency headquartered in Boston . . .

Colton just shrugs.

"Tell me about the missions you guys have been on."

"You know all of them," Colton says. The water is helping him recover. The color is returning to his face.

"The mission when you nabbed Orange, the one where you nabbed Indigo, the one on the train, the Strangler mission. What else?"

"That's all of them."

"What else?"

"I told you that's all of them!" His voice is coming back. "More water!"

"No. We're done with the water until you tell me everything. Then you can drink the whole d.a.m.ned bucket."

"That's not what you said earlier! You said a sip for every question and I've answered-"

"Well, the rules have changed. You answer all my questions, you get the bucket. Now tell me about the other missions!"

"I already told you!"

"Tell me about the Cuban Missile Crisis."

I see the fear flash in his eyes. Cuba is big. Cuba is important.

"We haven't gone on that one yet," he says. "Because you haven't gone on that one yet."

"You know something about the Cuban mission." It's not a question because it doesn't need to be. Colton's body language is giving everything away. I tap his foot with mine. It's not an outright kick but there's enough force to be threatening. "Tell me."

"Our mission was to stop you before you ever got to DC. Is. Is to stop you before you get there. You can't get to DC."

"Why?"

Colton doesn't answer, but it's obvious. "Your dad's there, isn't he? Or at least there's some solid proof that Joe Caldwell equals Eagle Industries. That's what's there."

Again, he doesn't answer, so I know I've hit the nail on the head. I need to get to DC in October of 1962. I need to see the evidence for myself. That's the only way to end this thing.