I Am Number Four: The Lost Files: Last Defense(17)

I glance at Briggs, who nods to me in a way I think is supposed to be reassuring. Then I sigh and walk into the room.

“Someone will send for you later,” Richards continues. “Get some sleep. It’s going to be a long day.”

Then the door is shut and I’m left alone. I half expect him to lock me in before leaving, but he doesn’t. At least, not that I hear.

I wash my face in the tiny bathroom once I realize that the combination of grime and several days’ worth of stubble have me looking like a vagrant. It’s only when the water in the sink turns pink that I realize I’ve got splotches of blood on my hands. From bandaging Briggs or checking on Lujan. Maybe it’s even my own—there’s a cut on the side of my head and dried blood in my hair. I take out my phone. Whatever Adam did to it, he’s a genius: I’m getting a signal, despite what Richards said. I’m about to walk back into the main room and dial my son when I stop, glancing around. Given how secretive everyone’s being, I’m sure I’m not supposed to have contact with the outside world, and this place is probably bugged. I can’t lose my phone, so I stay in the bathroom, closing the door and turning on the faucet and shower, trying to hide my voice as much as I can.

I try Sam, but there’s no answer. Again. I beat my fist against the sink, causing the mirror in front of me to shake.

I dial another number. This time someone picks up.

“Hello?”

“It’s Malcolm,” I say. “Hope I didn’t wake you.”

“I don’t sleep much,” Noto says.

“Glad to hear you made it out of that mess.”

“Likewise. We have a few injured men, but they’ll live. It’ll take more than the small scouting party they sent to wipe us out. But the Mogs will be back.”

“Probably,” I say. “Though I’m not sure Ashwood is high on their priority list right now.”

“Doesn’t matter. We’re packing up everything we can from the archives and heading to a safe house. Orders from high up. The brass thinks Ashwood is too hot right now. I have to say, I agree.” He pauses. When he starts talking again, he’s a little quieter. “We haven’t heard from Walker, but now that the Mogs know we’re here, we can’t sit around waiting for another attack. Don’t worry. We’re, uh, trying to take the guard birds with us. Where are you? Are you safe?”

I glance around at the sterile bathroom walls. Steam from the shower is starting to fill the room. I’m suddenly feeling claustrophobic

“You know,” I say quietly, “I have no idea.”





CHAPTER NINE

SOMEONE KNOCKS LOUDLY ON THE DOOR, WAKING me up. I stumble out of bed, where I’d fallen asleep in all my clothes, on top of the blankets. My mind is hazy, and a glance at my watch tells me I’ve only been in the room for a couple of hours.

Richards is on the other side of the door. He gives me a once-over.

“You’ve got five minutes to pull yourself together,” he says. “You’ve been summoned to the war room.”

“Summoned?” I ask, trying to focus and make sense of this. I look at my rumpled clothes. I’m not sure when the last time I showered was. If anyone’s going to take me seriously, I might need to make myself a little more presentable.

“Five minutes,” he repeats.

I close the door and find a white button-down shirt in the closet that’s a little too big and tuck it into my pants, then brush my teeth, clean my glasses, and try to pat down my hair, which is springing out in every direction. I’m just getting my shoes on when there’s another knock at the door. Gamera buzzes in the air beside me, but I shake my head, holding a hand up to him. He’s saved my life already, and I don’t want to risk him being exposed in front of whoever it is I’m meeting. Eventually someone’s sure to notice that I’ve always got a bug crawling on me.

In the hallway, Richards hands me a Styrofoam cup of coffee.

“It’s black,” he says.

“That’s how I take it.”

“Good man.”

He turns on his heel and starts down the hall.

“You’re sure you can trust the people you’ve gathered here? MogPro—the aliens’ human supporters—ran deep. The vice president, the—”

“The administration went through widespread upheaval yesterday when everything went to hell. A veritable FBI hit squad ordered by your friend Agent Walker took care of most of what you referred to as ‘MogPro.’ They’re in custody now. Those who escaped are in hiding. The men and women here have either been vetted or, in some cases, brought out of retirement to serve. Still, we’re keeping a close eye on everyone.”

My room is definitely bugged.

“Is that part of why we’re so isolated? Do the other people here not know where we are either?”

“Let us decide who we can and can’t trust,” he says as we pass by a series of doors that cause me to wonder how many people, exactly, are down here. “Remember that you’ve been brought here as a special adviser but that your advice should only be given when solicited. Whatever decisions are made here are final and for the greater good of the country—and above all else, they’re classified. Sharing any information you hear with unauthorized persons will be considered an act of treason.”