Well, this is what happens when good people try to do something. Abducted and tied up, awaiting some unknown fate.

  Thanks, Al…

  The ZAP sound pierced the darkness again, and they heard a faint scream, and sobbing.

  That had been going on since they’d arrived.

  SoJo shivered. “Why can’t they leave that poor bastard alone?”

  “We don’t know they’re torturing him.”

  “Of course they torturing him. What else they doing? Giving him a deep tissue massage with 220 volts?”

  Could it be Bert?

  It didn’t sound like him. But the noises were too far away to know for sure.

  If anything had happened to Bert…

  He was right. We should have left the damn manhole alone.

  “I knew this was gonna happen.” SoJo sighed big. “I don’t truck with no conspiracy theories. Moon landing was real. Earth ain’t flat. Vaccinations are vital. Chemtrails are harmless. But secret government agencies that grab you and torture you without due process? That ain’t a conspiracy. That shit is real. And we stepped in it, hard. Black site, no Miranda rights, no phone call. We are if you see kay screwed.”

  “We’ll get out of this, SoJo.”

  “I’ll crack under torture. I’ll tell them every damn thing I ever did. Ever committed a crime? I stole a six pack of beer from a 7-11 when I was fourteen. I flashed my titties at a Jay-Z concert. I claimed my vibrator as a business expense on my taxes. I speed all the goddamn time, I think the last time I went the speed limit is when I passed my driver’s test. What else they want to know? I’ll tell them.”

  As hard as Weejy fell for Bert, she’d never found instant friendship with someone as quickly as she had with Sojourner. SoJo felt like the sister she’d never had.

  But my sister needs to learn not to say every damn thing that pops into her head, because it’s freaking me out.

  “Please calm down.”

  “I cheated on my SATs. Teacher wasn’t paying attention, copied off the guy next to me. Got an 815. Nation average is 1050. Dude I cheated off of was a goddamn idiot. But I’m the bigger idiot for cheating off an idiot. I once took five bucks from my ma’s wallet and spent it all on grape gum. My tongue was purple for a week, and I think it gave me diabetes.”

  “SoJo, you need to chill.”

  Another ZAP. Another wailing plea for mercy.

  “If they shock me in my lady parts, I swear I don’t know what I’ll do,” SoJo moaned. “I think I’ll bite off my own tongue and try to choke to death on it.”

  “Please. You’re getting me even more scared.”

  “I will tell those fools anything they want to hear. I’ll make shit up. I’ll betray everybody and everything I love. You see those spy movies where the hero says they’ll never be broken? I can one-hundo-percent be broken. You won’t even need to touch me. Just look at me hard, and I’ll blab. I’ll blab long and loud.”

  “Have you ever been in love?” SoJo asked, desperate to change the subject.

  “Huh?”

  “Love. Have you ever loved someone?”

  “Not a lot. Maybe ten or eleven times. Twelve if you count seventh grade. Ginger kid named Charlie. Skin white as mayonnaise, used to pick his ears all the time. I had it bad for that boy. Pubes like carrot peels. Why you bring this up? Bert?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He’s a cutie. Not sexy in a classic way, like Dwayne Johnson. But cute. Like a doughy Jeff Goldblum. Plus, he’s Albert frickin’ Einstein.”

  “I like Bert because he’s Bert. Not because of his donor.”

  And if anything has happened to him…

  “I hear you. You dig those rom-com meet-cute guys who are all sweet and shit. I like my guys to be strong. And assertive. And hung.”

  “I’ve only been with two men,” Weejy admitted.

  “Shut the front door! Seriously?! Only two?! I had two last month! And it was a slow month. You got some curves. Why don’t you throw around that coochie?”

  “I dunno. I guess I have standards.”

  “That’s your problem. Catching dick ain’t about standards. It’s about scratching an itch. Or more like filling a void. And then filling it again and again and again.”

  SoJo laughed at her own joke.

  Weejy despaired.

  “A week ago, I found out I was a clone of Sacagawea. One of the bravest women to ever live. I’ve never done anything brave, SoJo. Never taken any chances. I didn’t even cross the street by myself until I was in junior high.”

  “I gave my first handjob in junior high.”

  Weejy frowned in her hood. “I still haven’t given anyone a handjob.”

  “Seriously? In my school, handies were like texting. Everyone did it. Like some sort of hormone-induced addiction.”

  “Again, standards.”

  “You keep saying standards like it’s a source of pride for you. I don’t think that’s the case.”

  “Maybe you’re right.”

  “And now you’re worried you’re gonna be tortured to death and you never lived your life to the fullest.”

  “Pretty much,” Weejy admitted.

  “Damn. Sucks to be you.”

  “You’re not helping.”

  “You ain’t helping me, neither. We’re both freaked out and useless. But, damn, at least I got laid last month.”

  Noises. Something metal… a heavy door opening?

  Then footsteps, heavy breathing. A sound of jingling keys, and another, nearer door opening.

  “Who are they?” A man’s voice. Weak.

  Not Bert. Thank God it’s not Bert.

  “They’re like you.” A harder, rougher male voice. East coast accent. “Poked their noses where they shouldn’t have.”

  “Poked our noses where we shouldn’t have? Seriously?”

  SoJo had spent five minutes whimpering at how scared she was, and now she wants to piss off the bad guy? WTF, girl?

  “SoJo,” Weejy whispered under her breath. “Be quiet.”

  “This guy’s talking like he’s a Scooby Doo villain. Let me up, asshole, I’ll poke you in your goddamn nose so hard—”

  Weejy sensed movement in front of her a moment before her hood was removed. The sudden burst of light was painful, and she winced until her eyes adjusted.

  They were in what seemed to be a jail. Yellow incandescent lights above in enclosed fixtures, concrete floor and walls, a stainless steel toilet without a seat in the corner, a matching sink, metal bars with a hinged door, swung open by the men who’d entered.

  Standing before Weejy was a squat, ugly brute. Balding, with a wide, flat nose, dark eyes set into a broad, doughy face. He wore a tanned leather apron that stank like old meat.

  That’s the guy who pinched my armpit. As big as he is smelly.

  Behind him, on his knees, a blond man, sparse hair and a hipster beard, looking terrified, his clothes torn and filthy, his feet bare.

  “Which one of you was talking?”

  “Who the hell are you?”

  The squat man stared at SoJo, narrowing his mean eyes. “You’ve got a big mouth.”

  “And you got a big ass nose. That nose is so big, I bet you can smell the future.”

  The man lashed out, backhanding SoJo so hard it knocked the woman onto her side.

  “Tork! Leave them alone!”

  Tork? One of The Nine…

  The blond man sprang from his knees and charged, and Tork slapped him across the room. He sprawled onto the cell room floor, facedown, spitting blood onto the concrete.

  Tork turned on Weejy. “You got anything more to say?”

  Weejy shook her head, trying not to cry.

  Tork left the cell, locked the barred door behind him and pocketed the keys in the front of his apron. He walked down a dimly lit industrial hallway that seemed more like a factory than a secret underground facility. Stopping at a steel door, he turned the latch, went through, and slammed it shut.

  “SoJo? You okay?”

  SoJo got back up into a sitting position. “Son of a bitch knocked a molar loose. I can wiggle it with my tongue.”

  “Don’t prod it,” the blond man offered. “It’ll reset itself.”

  “Who are you?” Weejy narrowed her eyes at the newcomer. “A dentist?”

  “I’m a scientist. My name is Charles.”

  “Well, thanks for sticking up for me, Charles. I’m SoJo. That’s Weejy. You doing alright?”

  Charles wiped away the blood coating his chin. “Been better. Are you both tied up?”

  “Tight,” SoJo wiggled her shoulders. “My hands fell asleep. Are your hands okay, Charles? I like a man who’s good with his hands.”

  Was SoJo actually flirting? In this situation?

  “Let me see if I can help.”

  Charles stood up, washed his hands in the sink, then knelt next to SoJo.

  “My hair look okay?” SoJo asked as he reached behind her.

  “It’s, uh, fine.”

  “Been wearing that hood. Humidity makes my afro frizzy.”

  “It looks good. Like Pam Grier.”

  SoJo laughed, looking at Weejy. “Blond boy just compared me to Pam Grier. I can dig that jive, brutha.”

  “Where are we, Charles?” Weejy preferred answers to banter.

  “Underground, in the Chihuahuan Desert.”

  “Who has us?”

  “I’m not sure. I’ve only seen a few people, but it seems like some military operation.”

  “Was that you, screaming earlier?”

  Charles glanced away. “Sorry. The pain wand hurts so bad. And Tork gets off on hurting people.”

  “Pain wand? WTF is a pain wand?”

  “Hope you don’t ever find out.”

  Weejy prodded him. “Tell us everything you know.”

  “Everything? I’m a geneticist. I used to work for a lab called BioloGen, then I bounced around for a few years and wound up teaching at NYU.”

  “You single?” SoJo asked.

  “Um, yes.”

  “Queer?” SoJo followed up.

  “No. Are, um, you single?”

  “No one is ever going to tie this girl down.” SoJo winked. “Not without a safeword.”

  How can she be so cool right now? I’m ready to start screaming.

  “You’re tied down right now,” Weejy joked, trying to sound in control.

  “Not for long. Charles is on top of it. How’s that knot going, Charles?”

  “Almost got it. There.”

  SoJo’s hands came free, and she gave Charles a friendly hug. “Thank you very much, kind sir.”

  “Uh, of course. Let me help your friend.”

  Charles moved on to Weejy, and SoJo stood and drank some water from the sink. “I need a little private time, if you’d avert your eyes.”

  “Private time?” Charles turned and saw SoJo begin to sit on the toilet. He quickly averted his eyes.

  I could never be that bold.

  It took all of my guts to invite Bert into the bedroom the other day, and I chickened out and couldn’t make a move on him.

  I’m not even sure I know how to make a move.

  “So how’d you wind up in this shithole?” SoJo sounded completely at ease while she peed.

  “I… um… it’s really a crazy story. Either of you religious?”

  “You came here looking for religion?” Weejy asked, trying not to look at SoJo.

  “No. I don’t follow any sort of organized religion. But I’m a believer. Heaven and hell. God and the devil. I think there are higher powers, influencing us, tempting us, that kind of thing.”

  “I thought you were a scientist.”

  “I know, right? Science is about facts. Spirituality is about faith, which is belief in the absence of facts. But the ancient battle between good and evil is as real as mixing hydrogen and oxygen to make water.”

  Charles finally finished with the knot, and Weejy’s hands were free.

  “Thanks.”

  She rubbed her sore wrists, and SoJo flushed and pulled up her pants. Weejy eyed the toilet.

  I think I can hold out a little longer.

  Charles sat on the floor, leaning against the wall and stretching out his legs.

  “What’s that on your foot?” SoJo asked.

  “Tattoo.” Charles crossed his legs to look at his sole. “Had it since I was a baby.”

  “You see that, Weejy?”

  Weejy shot her an intense shut up stare. “Yeah. Never saw anything like that before.”

  Weejy knew a lot about negotiation. Being bilingual, she often translated English for the elders in the Shoshone-Bannock Tribes, and Northern Pauite for the Bureau of Indian Affairs. To get ahead in any deal, the key was to ask questions, listen closely, and state demands. Volunteering extra information never led anywhere good.

  “My parents told me I had it when they adopted me,” Charles said. “A number 61. Weird, huh?”

  A 61? I thought The List only went up to 20.

  “Do you know what it means?” Weejy gently prodded.

  “That’s the thing. I don’t. When I was teaching, I got this weird email. Someone who said they knew what the number was.”

  SoJo looked at Weejy and mouthed, Bert?

  Weejy made a face and mouthed back, be quiet!

  SoJo gave Weejy a dismissive wave and asked, “Who was it from?”

  “A guy named Ziggy. He told me to come to New Mexico, and he’d explain everything. So I did. I met him, and another man named Nick, at a restaurant in Bakersbad. Ziggy is a shrink. Nick is some kind of inventor.”

  Weejy had a pretty good idea who Nick’s and Ziggy’s donors were. “Go on.”

  “They asked me all of these questions about my life. I mean, about everything. What age was I potty trained, how I felt about my mother, did I ever meet anyone else with a number, did I know anything about how I got adopted, what were my dreams like, when was the first time I had sex—”

  “I was sixteen,” SoJo blurted out. “Could have done it sooner, but I wanted to wait until I was mature enough. How old were you, Charles?”

  “Uh, nineteen. Freshman year of college.”

  “Was she cute?”

  “Yeah. She was my lab partner. Her roommate had a bottle of sour apple schnapps, and after midterms we all got kind of drunk, and—”

  “So did they tell you about your number?” Weejy interrupted.

  “No. That’s the thing. After giving me a complete psych review for three hours, they told me they were wrong about me, and gave me some cash to cover my travel expenses. Then they left.”

  “What happened next?”

  “I thought they were lying to me. Some of their questions were just plain weird. They knew something. So I tracked them.”

  “How?” Weejy and SoJo asked at the same time.

  “When they drove me back to the airport, I tucked my cell phone under their car seat. After they left, I tracked my phone with my laptop. Then I rented a car and drove out to the middle of the desert.”

  “Did you find the manhole cover?” SoJo asked.

  “The what?”

  “SoJo, maybe it will be easier for Charles if only one of us asks the questions.”

  SoJo rolled her eyes.

  “I didn’t find a manhole cover. I was driving through the desert, off-road, trying to find the signal. There was nothing, far as I could see. Then a black SUV approached me. They had guns. Put a hood on my head, brought me here.”

  “How long ago was that?”

  “I’m not sure. I’ve slept three times. They’ve given me six meals. Two or three days ago, maybe?”

  “And they haven’t told you why they grabbed you?”

  “They don’t tell me anything. They just stick me with that awful pain wand and ask me the same questions over and over. Why did you follow us? What do you know? Who else have I told about coming here? Did I find my mother sexually attractive?”

  “They ask that?” Weejy asked.

  “Ziggy does. A lot.”

  Ziggy. Made sense.

  “So do you?” asked SoJo.

  “Yuck. Gross. I know I’m adopted, but she’s my mom.”

  “You started this story talking about religion…” Weejy prompted.

  “Yes. Right. I know this will sound crazy, but I feel like a higher power brought me to this place.”

  “You said it was a guy named Ziggy,” SoJo said.

  “Maybe Ziggy is part of it. But I really believe I’m meant to be here. That I’m serving a purpose.”

  “You think Jesus brought you here to beat you up?” SoJo asked.

  “I think I’m part of something much bigger than me. I don’t know how else to explain it.”

  He uncrossed his legs, and Weejy stared at the tatt on his dirty feet. It wasn’t actually a 61. Upside down, it was a 19.

  Charles Darwin. We’re talking to a clone of Charles Darwin.

  Weejy squinted at the man’s hairline, seeing the start of male pattern baldness. All the famous photos and portraits of Darwin were of a bald guy, often with a Santa Claus beard. This man was still too young for that, but the resemblance was certainly there.

  “So what about you guys? What’s your story?”

  SoJo began to say something, and Weejy quickly talked over her. “We were in the wrong place at the wrong time. That’s our story, and that’s all we know.”

  ZIGGY

  Area 57 – The Control Room

  “We were in the wrong place at the wrong time. That’s our story, and that’s all we know.”

  Ziggy stared at the monitor, at the image of the woman who just spoke. The camera hidden in the lighting fixture was at an odd angle, looking down on the trio, but Ziggy could still see that Weejy was fit and attractive.

  She’s also more insecure than the other woman, SoJo.

  SoJo, also fit and attractive, seemed more frightened.

  Decisions, decisions…

  Ziggy stroked his goatee between his thumb and index finger, a gesture he believed made him look smart.

  Project Esbat holds many secrets. Do these women know the point of this facility? Do they know what’s going on here?

  Do they know who we are?

  Ziggy reviewed the surveillance footage too many times to count. The man who’d been with them had escaped, with that irritating fellow who’d been spying on them for weeks.