“How did that guy get smallpox?” Kiran demands.
“We don’t know,” says Mrs. Vanders. “He certainly never broke into any lab in Atlanta. The Panzavecchias believe he was infected with a strain they kept in their lab in New York, which means that someone got access to a part of that lab no one but they and a few particular people with CIA connections should have had access to. Which suggests a traitor.”
“Okay,” says Kiran. “Why did the guy get smallpox?”
“We don’t know that either,” says Mrs. Vanders. “But we think it’s likely he was infected as a message to the United States from some other state.”
“What’s the message?” Kiran asks.
“‘We know what you’re doing,’” says Mrs. Vanders. “‘We can get in anywhere. We’re one step ahead of you, you can’t protect yourself, and by the way, thanks for inventing all this nifty smallpox.’”
“Okay, that’s terrifying,” says Kiran. “But why infect the guy with some random strain? Why not the new, successful strain?”
“Two reasons,” says Mrs. Vanders. “One, the strain they chose was one unlikely to create an epidemic. It’s a message, not an act of war, you understand? The man suspected almost immediately what disease he had. He was able to quarantine himself. He called the hospital, sent them pictures of his mouth and skin, and told them his made-up CDC story, so that only vaccinated health workers would be sent to care for him. Two, the Panzavecchias’ new strain wasn’t available, because once they realized what they had, they got scared. They brought it, and all their notes about it, home, where they could control who had access to it. Which leads us to the terrible thing.”
“Home!” cries Kiran. “Oh god. Oh god! Please tell me Baby Leo doesn’t have smallpox!”
“Of course he doesn’t have smallpox,” says Mrs. Vanders. “What do you think they did, left vials of it in his crib? Baby Leo has chicken pox.”
“How do you know?”
“Because one of the cousins who attended Grace’s eighth birthday party two weeks ago had chicken pox. Don’t worry about Baby Leo. Espions Sans Frontières has engaged a doctor to care for him personally.”
“Philip Okada,” Jane says flatly.
“Philip Okada?” Kiran says. “Philip Okada is a spy?”
“He’s a doctor,” says Mrs. Vanders, “and a British asset who’s helping us out. Not a spy. You need to stop throwing these words around. In our circles, spy is a rather derogatory term.”
“Well, forgive me for the gap in my education. You’re the one who could’ve taught me the vocabulary. What’s the terrible thing that happened?”
“It relates to Grace,” says Mrs. Vanders.
“Grace?” says Kiran. “Obviously she doesn’t have smallpox or she wouldn’t be in this house.”
“Will you get it out of your head that someone has smallpox?” says Mrs. Vanders.
“You’ve made it clear that anyone could!” Kiran fires back. “We all could tomorrow!”
“Oh, everything could happen tomorrow!” says Mrs. Vanders. “If you can’t cope with all the awful things that are always on the verge of happening, then this isn’t the work for you!”
“Whoever said it was?” says Kiran. “Fucking hell, Vanny!”
Mrs. Vanders glares at Kiran with her hallmark enigmatic aggression. Kiran glares back. Jane has no idea where everyone’s getting all this energy.
“Grace doesn’t have smallpox,” says Mrs. Vanders. “Her problem is that she’s a natural-born snoop with an extraordinary affinity for mnemonic devices.”
“Are you going to tell me that Grace found the notes on the weaponized smallpox and now she could make up a batch from memory?”
Mrs. Vanders looks practically pleased. “Very good, Kiran,” she says. “Though she couldn’t, in fact, create it herself. The notes are ciphered and contain formulas and instructions she couldn’t understand. But it’s possible she could tell key parts to someone, and maybe that person could figure out how to make sense of it.”
“And somehow, people know she got into the notes,” Kiran says, “and now they want the information in Grace’s head.”
“Yes. She might not understand the information she’s memorized, but she’s plenty smart enough to sense when her parents are worried and lying to her, which makes her angry, so she snoops and disobeys as a kind of leverage. When her parents forbade her to talk about it, she wouldn’t stop screaming about it, even when there were ominous-looking strangers in her house. And by this point, the research director was infected and Victoria and Giuseppe were terrified. They began withholding the details of their discovery from everyone, even the CIA people who began showing up at their front door. They destroyed their digital notes, with Ivy’s help. They burned their paper notes and destroyed the living strain. They told the CIA they had no intention of sharing the details of the discovery with anyone, ever, because it was no longer possible to know whom to trust.”
“And now they’re blacklisted by the CIA?” says Kiran. “Considered non-compliant? Rogue assets?”
Mrs. Vanders is pleased again. Jane is kind of starting to hate her. Where is the pleasure in all of this awfulness? “Essentially,” says Mrs. Vanders, “yes. The CIA is furious. They’ve decided to force Victoria and Giuseppe to hand over their research, and treat them as threats if they don’t comply. And in the meantime, other states have also taken an interest.”
“In Victoria and Giuseppe, and in Grace,” Kiran says.
“At this point,” says Mrs. Vanders, “it’s impossible to know how many people or states they need to be hidden from. Only that they need to be hidden, and that Grace, being a child, is in particular danger.”
“I think the lesson here is that when someone offers you a job creating new and exciting strains of smallpox, say no,” says Kiran.
“Very funny,” says Mrs. Vanders.
“Was I joking?” says Kiran. “Why’d they try to rob a bank?”
“So we could plant the Mafia story,” says Mrs. Vanders. “If you take someone with an Italian name, have them break the law, then make them disappear, then add the words Sicilian Mafia, everyone loves to talk about it, but no one digs very deep into where they went or why. It’s not fair to Italians, but it’s effective.”
“That’s ridiculous. The police must dig deeper than that.”
“We have a couple friends in the police,” says Mrs. Vanders, “and a couple friends in the press. Most importantly, we have a couple friends in the Sicilian Mafia.”
“That’s so nice,” Kiran says. “How I wish Ravi could hear all this. He’d get such a warm, fuzzy feeling about his Vanny.”
“Ravi couldn’t handle this,” Mrs. Vanders says, “as I think you know.”
“He really has no idea?” says Kiran. “Nor does Octavian? Truly nothing?”
“Not Octavian, not Ravi, not your mother,” says Mrs. Vanders. “You’re the only Thrash who’s ever had the slightest inkling, Kiran. This is all yours.”
“That’s an interesting choice of words.”
“Have you ever had anything that’s all yours, Kiran?”
Kiran considers Mrs. Vanders. Then she flicks her eyes nastily to Patrick. He makes his mouth hard and insolent.
“Good thing I caught Patrick in the act,” Kiran says.
“That forced our hand,” says Mrs. Vanders, “but we monitor the dumbwaiter with cameras. We know if the path is clear. I wouldn’t have let it happen if I hadn’t been willing to risk the consequences. Have you worked out why?”
Another of those silences sits in the space between Kiran and Mrs. Vanders. Finally, Kiran crosses her arms. “What else do you do?”
“A lot of things,” says Mrs. Vanders crisply. “This house is a neutral meeting place, during galas usually, for opposing sides. We give representation referrals to agents and operatives under prosecution. Also, Mr. Vanders is a psychologist. The man you saw in the dumbwaiter had just completed a session.”
“Spy therapy?” says Kiran incredulously.
“Stop saying ‘spy,’” says Mrs. Vanders. “Surely you can see that there might be a need. Our clients have very high-pressure jobs.”