He is right. In the last ten minutes, I’ve been unforgivably sloppy. I may have lied with my words, but my every reaction was that of someone who has dealt with this kind of thing before.
Only two kinds of people act the way I do: criminals and the law. If I confess to the former, there is no way I can get them to trust me. And I need them to trust me. That’s the only way any of us are going to escape this alive.
“I’m with law enforcement,” I say.
“You’re a cop?” Eames says the last word with suchdistaste that I know I’ve made a mistake. I should’ve just confessed to being a felon.
“Federal law enforcement,” I amend.
Piper frowns. “You’re lying,” she says. “FBI agents have to be twenty-five years old.”
I gape at her. “Aren’t you, like, nine? How do you know that?”
“I’m ten,” she says with restrained dignity. “And I know because I read a lot of true crime books.”
I look at Eames. “Seriously?”
“It’s true,” he says with the long suffering of an older sibling.
“There are more appropriate books for kids,” I say.
“Iknow,” he says.
“Whatever happened to those books about crime-solving horses?” I ask. “Foal Patrol? ‘All shall hear the hoofbeats of justice’?”
Piper wrinkles her nose. “Those are for kids.”
“Hey, I loved those books,” I say, vaguely offended. “And they’re way more age-appropriate.”
“I keep trying to buy her kid books,” says Eames defensively. “She just won’t read them.”
“You’re not an FBI agent,” says Piper. “You’re too young, even if you sound old right now.”
“Well,” I say. “You’re right, I’m not an agent. I’m an intern.” I swallow. Might as well give them a little more truth. “With ISD.”
“ISD?” asks Eames, his frown deepening.
“The Identity Security Division,” I say. “That’s how I know this stuff.”
ISD doesn’t have the reputation of the other alphabet agencies. It’s not romantic like the CIA, infamous like the FBI, or shadowy as the NSA. To most people, ISD is regarded much like the FTC: a government branch that exists, serves a purpose, but no one is clamoring to join it.
Prefect explained the rules of ISD when I was in physical therapy and recovering from the car crash.We try to avoid being noticed. As long as people believe that their identities are safe, we have completed our mission.
And how do we do that?I asked.
By solving problems creatively.
“And before you ask,” I continue, “I have no idea who that woman is. Or why she killed the security guy. I’m not even on a job right now.”
“If you’re with ISD,” says Eames slowly, as though he is putting his thoughts together, “then you can call someone, right?”
“Not if the building has all the cell signals jammed,” I answer. “Internet’s out, too.” A thought occurs to me. “Do you have a landline in your apartment? We could use that to call out.”
Eames lowers the knife. Finally, I seem to have won a degree of trust. “Who has a landline these days?”
I pace back and forth, teeth digging into my lower lip. Because I know exactly who has a landline.
My stubbornly technophobic grandmother.
