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around with those guys. We’d be in a Federal prison faster than you could say Jack Robinson. Let it go. For all our sakes.”

How Drew wished he recorded their conversation. “You are supposed to defend the station no matter what news is aired. It’s our job to tell the truth.”

“Noted.”

If he couldn’t convince Hobbs, he’d have to convince someone else. Otherwise, the death threat would become his reality.

“I’m sending my emails and pictures to alternative media outlets and major news outlets.”

“Your pictures won’t go far. They won’t air. The story’s too complicated and far-fetched.”

“We’ll see.”

“Fine. It’s your funeral.”

Drew hung up and tried to rub the stress off his face. He turned, smiling at his mom.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“I’m your son, Mom. Drew Avera.”

She observed him for a moment. “You’re pale.”

“Yes, I’m very stressed, Mom. I just got a bad phone ca—”

“My son used to play guns with his friends in the forest behind our house. He was such a spirited young man. I remember one time when he broke our window and blamed it on the girl down the street. I wasn’t there, so I didn’t see him break the window, but when he blamed the poor, poor girl, you know what I said?”

“Yes, I know.”

“I told my son that the girl had moved away more than a week ago.”

“And I still went with the story. Didn’t I?”

“She didn’t do it. My son did.”

“Why do you always talk about your son’s childhood?”

“It’s something all parents share.”

Drew rubbed her shoulder. “What do you all share?”

She patted his hand. “No matter how old my boy gets, he’s always my baby. That’s how we moms see our kids. Your mom probably sees you the same way as I see my boy.”

“Do you remember anything else about your boy?”

“He carried a camera around everywhere he went, and took pictures.”

“Yes, he did.”

“How old are you?”

“I’m twenty-two.”

“I bet my son is around your age. Do you know him?”

“I do.”

“I bet he’s out there with his camera.”

“He is.”

She smiled. “Tell him to visit once in a while. Tell him to bring his camera. Tell him his ma wants to know what he’s been up to. It’s been so long. I bet he’s still spinning tall tales and impossible yarns.”

“I will.”

A bell rang and she glanced behind her. “The door is opening.”

“You don’t have to go inside whenever the door opens.”

She fussed. “Oh, yes I do. How will I get inside when the door closes?”

“You can simply open and close the door yourself. You see, someone’s just leaving.”

She wiggled her finger at the door. “No! It’s closing. Get the door!”

Drew exhaled sharply. “Okay, Mom.”

“It’s closed.”

He walked a few feet to the door and opened it. He gestured for her to walk through the entrance. “You see? You have access to Tanner Springs Assisted Living Center at any time. If you can’t get inside for some reason, then you can press the handy little doorbell and someone will come and let you in.”

“Aren’t you a gentleman? You have to teach my husband sometime. Where is Sir, anyway?” She shuffled through the doorway.

Sir, his father, had been out of the picture since Drew had been two years old. He was either dead or living a second life with a new family. Sir was an odd name and for years, Drew hunted for a “Sir Avera,” but could never find him. “I’ll tell him, Mom.”

“Can you show me to my room?”

“Of course.”

“That’s a boy.”

Drew showed his mother to her room. Today he’d be emailing the news world. World News Network wasn’t going to get their way, neither was GSA.

He placed his hand in his pocket as he walked out of the assisted living center and pulled out his confirmation plane ticket, eyeing it for the fifth time since he’d printed it out earlier in the day.

Departing Charlotte Douglas International Airport. Arriving Dallas Fort Worth International Airport. Date, June 4th.

In a couple days he’d be checking out Terra Energy Corporation, which as luck would have it, was connected to the Global Safety Administration’s building.

He’d be killing two birds with one stone. If he wasn’t killed first.

20

June 2ndUnderfoot Black, Grenada

Rivkah closed her eyes and held her breath. A man in a white doctor’s coat, wearing a mask and holding a spray canister, frothed her face. Her damaged skin, scarred from burns, tickled at first, then the burn set in. She thought her epidermis would surely be stripped from her muscles, leaving her worse off than she’d been before. She fell to the floor, screaming.

The doctor grabbed her arms. He wasn’t going to let her rub the treatment away.

“It burns,” she yelled.

“It’s reversing the damage. In a few seconds, the sensation will change.” If that was his effort to console her, he was doing a piss-poor job. The burning sensation deepened. It moved from “fire” to “acid.”

She wanted to scratch her face off. The doctor held her by the wrists, his grip firm and unrelenting. She kicked at him, aiming for the place that would hurt most, rather than do the most damage. She wasn’t trained in Muay Tai martial arts for nothing. She could ninja his ass to the damned ground.

He didn’t let go.

“It now itches...like hell. What did you do to me?”

“This will be over soon.”

She kicked again and then, in a move that defied gravity, kneed the man in the groin. “Let me go.” He about lost his breath and doubled over but managed to continue to hold on to her.

A rush of adrenaline rose. Her heart thundered up from her chest and into her throat. She didn’t know if the burning or the itching caused more pain, but she didn’t care. They were killing her. That was the plan all along. The pyramids were bogus. Just a ploy to get her to leave the house. The treatment was a joke and she was being eliminated. Did she accidentally leak confidential military information when she was in the service? If so, when?

Blood trickled down her chin and she

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