The Countdown (The Taking #3)(72)

Griffin got up from her table and joined us, keeping as far from her dad as possible. “So we are up to something?” she asked, more interested now than she had been before.

My temporary bout of amnesia magically forgotten, I nodded. “We are . . . or at least we will be. And we don’t have a lot of time.” I winked at my dad. “So here’s the deal. I wasn’t totally faking it; I honestly don’t remember everything about where I was that whole time. There’s a serious blank spot for me. But what I do know, is this place is definitely not on the up-and-up. What do you know about them?” I glanced at Agent Truman, who ignored Griffin’s cold shoulder routine. “If you thought there might be a war coming, why’d you decide to bring us here? Why not try to mobilize your own people? Call up the Daylighters instead?”

“Because I know my guys. War isn’t exactly something our government shies away from, even if it’s unwinnable. And they’d never consider you and me allies. First thing they would’ve done is round up everyone with a hint of alien DNA and held us hostage, or used us as leverage. If you’ve read your history books, you saw what happened during World War Two . . . the internment camps. The Japs didn’t fare so well on US soil.” He scowled, looking more human than I’d seen since I met him. “From what I knew of the ISA, these guys’re hippie scientists mostly. Do-gooders who want to hug it out with ET. At least that’s how we’ve always pegged them.”

“We, meaning the NSA?”

“We, meaning everyone, far as I know. I’ve never heard otherwise. In government circles they’re considered well funded but harmless. I met Dr. Clarke years ago at a conference, when she was giving a talk on Jerry Ehman.” When I just stared at him blankly he clarified, “The guy from SETI who intercepted what was thought to be the very first deep space radio signal.” He chuckled. “’Course we all knew it was bullshit. We’d been communicating with the little green bastards for years, but at the time Ehman’s little message went public it was big news. Ask your dad. He can tell you.” He glanced at my dad. “Ben? Wanna share how you know Clarke?”

I stared at my dad. “What’s he saying? You knew her. Like before we got here?”

My dad shifted on his feet, suddenly uncomfortable. “I . . .” He cleared his throat and ran his hand through his hair, something he’d already done several times. “Aw, hell.” He sighed irritably.

“Maybe you two’d like a minute alone?” Agent Truman goaded my dad.

Pulling a tight smile at the agent, my dad reached for my arm.

When we were as alone as we could get inside the cramped four walls, he cleared his throat. “He’s right. Much as I hate to admit it, I need to talk to you, and what I need to say is better left between us.”

I hated the way my dad was stretching this out, avoiding eye contact. The way he kept rubbing the thick bristles on his jaw, because I knew it was a nervous habit, and him doing that was making me nervous too.

“Dad. Just say it.”

“Kyra,” he started. “I should’ve told you this a long time ago.”

I nodded, but the sour taste in the back of my mouth warned me I wouldn’t like this, and I considered faking another crying jag just to make him stop . . . before he said something he couldn’t take back.

But he was already in it; the words were already out there: “It was my fault you were taken in the first place.”

And once you said something like that, there was definitely no going back.

“You . . . what?” I fumbled. “Your fault? What does that even mean? That’s ridiculous. It was no one’s fault. I was in the wrong place, at the wrong time. It was dumb luck. That’s all.”

But he was shaking his head, and telling me, “No. No, Kyr, you got it all wrong.” He reached up and scratched his beard again. “It should have been me. You should never have been taken at all.”

I raised my hand, and my voice, to shut him up. “Stop it. Stop right now. I get that you feel guilty, and it must suck to have your daughter carried away by aliens, but all this bad heart crap and trying to take the blame is just . . . We’re wasting time.” I whirled to go, but my dad grabbed me.

He was stern in a way he’d never been before. “Goddammit, Kyra, I’m not messing around here. Now stop being such a baby, and listen to me, will ya?”

This time I didn’t have to force thoughts of stolen memories to make myself cry. I blinked hard, and now I was the one avoiding eye contact. He gave me a curt nod and let go of me. “Good. Okay then.” He started talking, and I kept my eyes glued to his feet. But I listened hard. “Remember when you were little and you used to ask if you could go to the office with me? When they’d have Take Our Daughters to Work Day, and your friends would tag along with their folks? You always asked, and I always made excuses—meetings, appointments. Hell, three years in a row I pretended to have the flu just to get out of it.” Something heavy settled in my gut.

“The thing was, I couldn’t. Bring you, that is. You knew I worked with computers, but what you didn’t know was that I worked for the ISA.”

My eyes shot up to his.

“It’s true,” he admitted. “I gave them almost twenty years. Most’a my adult life. They recruited me right out of college, and I worked out of their Woodinville facilities. Nothing near as intense as this . . .” He spread his arms to indicate this place, and then he dropped them, shrugging halfheartedly. “But definitely not small potatoes either. My security clearance was pretty limited, but I knew they had other operations all over the country.” He chuckled ruefully. “Hell, all over the globe.”