“A new day of questioning,” he continues. “Today you will cooperate, or everything Harvey does to you”—he walks to the glass wall and taps a feed that shows Emma slouched in her cell—“will also be done to her. Understood?”
I can’t look at him. If I do, I’ll break down or start cursing him, and I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that I’m in pain. And broken. And hate him with every fiber of my being.
He moves back to his chair and rolls up the sleeves of his shirt—my old shirt, one an Expat lent me when I first arrived in Pike. His left forearm is still without burn scars, and the fact that he hasn’t been marked to match me yet is the only thing that keeps me sane. Otherwise, I feel like I’m staring at myself. It’s like I held the very gun that killed Blaine.
“Let’s start with the Harbinger,” he says. “Where is it being printed?”
“I honestly don’t know.”
“And I honestly don’t believe you. Maldoon?” He motions for Harvey, who selects a knife.
Even with the knowledge that what’s done to me will be done to Emma, I wait until the blade is resting against my pinky—a threat of removal—before I give in. I want the moment I fold to look convincing.
“Wait,” I gasp out. “I can’t help with the paper, I swear it, but there’s a Rebel spy in Taem who works for the Order. Christie something. She helped me get the vaccine in the fall.”
“We already know about her,” Forged Me answers. “And she’s been dead for months. Cut his finger off, Maldoon.”
The blade slices skin. My heart rate jumps.
“Flynn! Nathan Flynn. He forges water ration cards for Taem citizens. I heard some Rebels talking about him once.”
“Dead, too. Executed years ago.” He squints at me. “You know where his son is?”
“I didn’t know he had a son.”
“Samuel, according to our records.”
“Never heard of him.”
“Then none of this is useful to me.” He motions for Harvey to continue and I realize that these names might not help me at all. Harvey’s eyes look heavy behind his glasses. Even if his loyalties have changed, he has to continue in order to not raise suspicions. The knife again touches my pinky. He will cut off my finger if he has to.
I give another name. Forged Me says it’s already known, so I give another. Again worthless.
“Are you toying with me?” he says, jumping from his seat and pushing Harvey aside. “Every single one of these names is old news. Give me something I don’t know. Supporters in Bone Harbor. You say you don’t know where the paper’s printed, but what about who? Who’s running it?”
“You asked for names and I’m giving them. I can’t help that I don’t have the exact ones you want.”
He grabs the chair beneath the armrests and heaves upward. I flip back, and when my head strikes the ground my jaw clamps shut on my tongue. I taste blood.
The Forgery leans down so his nose is inches from mine, our eyes locked. Before he can speak whatever threat is surely waiting on his tongue, there is a knock on the lab door. The Forgery steps away and I’m left staring at the ceiling, my limbs still bound to the chair. I hear the door open.
“Isn’t it obvious I’m busy?”
“You’ll want to see this, sir,” someone says. “Inspection team’s here a few hours early and they found something down on dock 1B. A tracking device attached to the Embassy.”
“Of course there’s a tracking device,” Forged Me snarls. “Tell them not to bother me unless—”
“Not one of our tracking devices, sir. Something else. Foreign. Slapped on to the hull like a hack job.”
“Have Tambe see to it. He’s above me.”
“He’s already down there, sir. And he asked for you specifically.”
There’s a groan from the Forgery, and then: “Maldoon! See if you can get anything useful out of him. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
The door clicks shut and Harvey rights my chair but doesn’t free me from the restraining belts. He walks out of view and then Mozart is sweeping through the room.
“So anyone listening won’t overhear,” he whispers as the melody builds.
“Who’s listening?”
“Someone is always listening.” He points at the mirrored wall. I catch Forged Me darting down a stairwell in one of the feeds. In another, a large rig is surrounded by frenzied workers. Dock 1B, I imagine.
“The image in the top row, two from the left, is just outside this room,” Harvey explains. In it, I can see two Order members standing guard in the hall. “I’m going to go on acting like I’m interrogating you—give a good yell every few minutes—but watch that screen. If you see someone approaching, let me know.”
He pulls out the pliers and goes for one of my nails. Acting is easy. It’s impossible to not flinch after what happened last time we were in this scenario. The pressure is far less intense when he pinches the pliers shut though. He doesn’t pull back, but his hand seems to shake like he wants to.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “About the interrogation and your brother and . . .” Harvey swallows. “I gave Frank Headquarters’ coordinates, Gray. I had trouble remembering certain details when I woke up, so he had me go straight to work on the Forgeries. Code, genetics—that was second nature. But when Crevice Valley’s location finally surfaced in late January, I gladly revealed it. I thought the Rebels were the enemy. I was actually angry when Frank said he was waiting for the right moment to act. And now all those families and kids—Did anyone survive?”
“I’m not sure.”
Harvey pinches the bridge of his nose like a headache’s coming on.
“You truly want to help me now?” I ask. “After yesterday I thought—”
“Yesterday,” he says, “changed everything. What you said about my work and how I hoped a victim of the Laicos Project might one day be thankful for it . . . I vaguely remembered saying that. Felt like it was years ago, but I knew the words were mine once you repeated them, even if some voice in the back of my head was telling me to ignore you. Then you mentioned Clipper.”