Leave us alone, or the other two will be next.
Happiness and fear fought a war within me. Andrew was dead. Madison and Peyton were alive. But what of Lin?
I left that night, and I went deep underground. Off the grid. I never stopped researching the Citium, but I did it in a passive way now. I kept a folder on every known Citium cell, and year after year, I gathered more and more information. Several cells had survived the purge, and one of them was responsible for the slaughter. But I didn’t know which.
I had gained one thing from Andrew’s death: a last name. And with that single clue I discovered that Lin was alive in America. I debated for weeks whether to contact her, but finally decided against it. I followed her career at Stanford. I celebrated when Peyton was accepted to medical school. I cut out Madison’s wedding announcement. And years later, I saw my children for the first time in twenty years: on YouTube. I watched videos of Peyton, sometimes for hours. She had grown into a fine woman, a wonderful doctor, with her mother’s passion for her work. She reminded me so much of Andrew; I wondered if his death had influenced her career path.
I longed to reach out to her and Madison and Lin, but I knew it might put their lives at risk. Those years after 1991 were like prison for me. I dreaded the future. I saw the life I could have had slip away. I never got to be the father I wanted to be for my children, or a husband to Lin. My life was torture, but I held on to hope, and I prepared for a day when I could stop the Citium. Or, in the worst case, when they would find me—or force me to act.
Unfortunately, the worst case has indeed come to pass. As I write these words, our opportunity to stop them is slipping away.
Stop them. Don’t give up. Use everything you know, take nothing for granted, and trust no one.
Desmond watched the words hit Peyton like punches in a boxing ring. She took them, her teeth gritted, for as long as she could—but eventually even this strong-willed woman he had met in Palo Alto twenty years ago reeled under the weight of her emotions. She had seen her EIS team killed, had discovered she was infected with a deadly virus—and now she had learned that the Citium had destroyed her life and killed her brother—and that her parents had once been members of the group… It was too much for any person to take, no matter how strong.
A tear ran down Peyton’s cheek. Then another. He pulled her into his arms. Her body heaved as she cried. He had never seen her cry so hard, even that day in California, when he had driven away pulling the Airstream trailer. He held her tight and made a promise to himself: he would save her life, and right the wrongs that had been done to her. He would do it, because in some way, he was responsible for what was happening.
And because he loved her. He couldn’t say the words back then, and he didn’t dare say them now, but at this moment, for the first time in his life, he knew them to be true. He loved her more than anything. He had loved her for a very long time.
He was so absorbed in holding her that he didn’t hear the footsteps on the porch.
Chapter 83
The door to the cottage flew open before Desmond could rise. The man moved quickly, closing the distance to the couch, a handgun pointed at Desmond. His eyes studied the back of Peyton’s head, which rested on Desmond’s shoulder.
She turned and froze, her eyes wide.
“Dad.”
Peyton stood and threw her arms around her father, either unaware of or unconcerned about the gun in his hand. She hugged him with a force that made his eyes bulge. He was tall, with short white hair neatly combed over. His face was rugged, a few days’ beard on cheeks that were red from the wind that swept the island. He was fighting back tears as Peyton held him.
But the events of this last week had confirmed to Desmond the wisdom of the advice in the pages on the table: Trust no one. With the blanket still covering his hands, he reached for his handgun.
William raised his own weapon.
“Don’t, Desmond.”
Peyton released her father, looking from him to Desmond.
“Hey, we’re all on the same team here.”
William’s eyes never left Desmond. “We’ll see about that. Take the gun, Peyton. Hand it to me.”
Standing between the two men, Peyton hesitated. She reached over, threw the quilt off Desmond, and slid the gun out of his shoulder holster. She kept her body in front of his, shielding him, turned, and held out her free hand to her father, just inches from his gun.
“You too, Dad.”
He scrutinized her, then seemed to read the There’s no negotiation look Desmond had come to know so well. He smiled just a little as he handed her the gun.
“You’ve been watching us,” Desmond said.
William moved out of the way of the windows and put his back against the stone wall. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“You.”
“I don’t follow.”
“I’ve been investigating the Citium for over thirty years—since the purge. I’m the only one with any chance of stopping them. And now, on the eve of the Looking Glass, they can’t afford to leave me alive. It makes sense to me that they would send someone to kill me. Someone with a great story. Someone who could leverage perhaps the only thing in this world that could make it possible for anyone to get close to me.” He looked at Peyton, indicating that she was that leverage—implying that Desmond had used her to get to him.
“I’m not here to kill you,” Desmond said. “Just the opposite. I want to help you. To stop them. More than anything.” His tone grew skeptical. “But I’m not the one who needs to explain. In ’91, they sent you that box. They knew exactly where you were. Why didn’t they just take you out?”
“I’ve thought about that a lot over the last twenty-five years.”
“And?”