I shot up in my seat, and Paul looked at me sharply. “What is it?”
“R-River of Lethe,” I stammered, my mind already racing. Its waters surrounded the cave of the God of Sleep, and a single drop of it was known to cause anywhere from disorientation to permanent amnesia.
Paul jerked the steering wheel to the side, and I knew he was thinking along the same lines I did as the car made an abrupt 180-degree turn, and we started heading back the way we came. I reached for my phone to update Dike and the others, and things kept adding up with every second that passed.
The reason why everyone’s answers was exactly the same...
The reason why every word they spoke seemed true...
The reason why no one had even blinked at Paul’s sheer good looks...
“Do you think Amanda could’ve done it?”
“She could have been the one to administer the potion,” Paul said, “but I doubt she had the ability to brew it. Lethe is a powerful but complex substance. You need to configure its molecular properties if you want an individual to forget something specific.”
“Then she has an accomplice. That’s what you’re saying, aren’t you?”
“Not just any accomplice,” Paul said darkly, “but someone who’s either working in one of the agencies or has connections to it. And whoever it is, the person’s likely our anonymous shooter as well.”
I rubbed the sides of my temple, thinking that the web of deceit surrounding Zeus’ condition just kept getting complicated. With every thread we were able to untangle, a dozen more seemed to knot itself together. Would we ever manage to unravel this before the thunder god rose from his slumber?
Chapter Eleven
IT WAS HALF PAST THREEin the morning by the time the agents in lab coats finished analyzing the blood samples they had taken from the sirens, and the result confirmed our suspicions: minimal traces of Lethe found, enough to cause a minor memory block.
“What exactly do you mean by minor?” Dike asked the NSA agent who had brought us the results.
“The potion’s configuration is based on a specific set of triggers.” The poor guy was nearly babbling, visibly rattled as he was by the Daughter of Justice’s harsh scowl. “Anything related to those triggers has been permanently deleted. Everything else remains the same.”
I frowned, thinking that didn’t sound minor at all. “Is it possible to get around these triggers by asking a certain type of question?” Maybe if I described Amanda in such a way without mentioning her name...
“That could work—-” It was Tamara who spoke up. “But only if the trigger isn’t time-based. For all we know, the potion could’ve been configured to delete all trigger-related memories from the moment Amanda concocted her plans against Zeus.”
Gaea bewitched, but she was just so good at bursting people’s bubbles!
“It doesn’t matter,” Paul said finally. “There’s nothing to lose by questioning again.”
“You’re right, of course.” This time, Tamara was quick to back down.
For their second round of questioning, the sirens had been marshaled into the CSI’s interrogation room, and one glance at their enraged expressions through the two-way mirror had me realizing it was as Monica had said: sirens did not appreciate being dragged out of their beds.
Dike, Agent Gries, and several other high-level CIA agents entered the room to question the sirens. Paul stood beside me, his expression unreadable as he watched the proceedings. “Do you want to have your turn?”
I shook my head. “I’m sure the agents inside are more than enough. They have more interrogation experience than I do.”
“Experience isn’t everything,” Paul said gently. “We all bring something unique to the table, and it rarely has anything to do with experience or expertise.”
“Take out expertise and experience, and doesn’t that just leave luck?”
One corner of Paul’s lips lifted up in a half-smile, and he added solemnly, “Don’t forget humor.” He started to say something else, but the audible vibration of his phone interrupted him, and Paul took it out of his pocket with a frown.
“Good news?” I asked hopefully.
“Afraid not.” Paul looked up. “Zeus has started to stir.”
INTERPOL AGENTS HADgathered outside the gates of Mt. Olympus, one of Iris’ field reporters broadcasted live over theradio, and human allies with top government positions from all over the world had now been informed of Zeus’ condition.
If the thunder god was to wake on the wrong side of the bed, the world was ready to face his wrath – for better or for worse.
