Dreams of the Golden Age

EIGHTEEN

ANNA got home from school and sprawled on the living room sofa to do her homework. To try to do her homework, rather. So. She and Mom were going to Have a Talk. Because Mom knew about Espionage and the Trinity, and Anna knew she knew, and everything else was pretense. Anna strategized the conversation, trying to figure out what she’d say. How she’d explain why she hid her powers. In hindsight, her reasons seemed mostly stupid. She hoped her mother would understand. Of course, if Anna could ask her why she lied about the business trip first, get in a preemptive strike that way …

Or maybe they could just have a talk.

Mostly, she stayed in the living room to get away from Bethy, who kept studying her like she was a bug pinned under glass. Anna would have to come clean to her, too. And Grandma. Maybe she could get Dad to tell everyone. She threw her pencil across the room out of frustration.

Dad was in his office, Mom was still at the courthouse, so she opened up her math text and tried to focus. She wasn’t entirely successful, but that was mostly algebra’s fault. And it seemed like Mom really should have been home by now, so she checked in on her—

Shoved the book away as she stood up and went to the window, as if she could look out over the city, the streets, the tiny little figures walking on the sidewalk far below, the toy cars driving on streets, and pick out which one was her mother. Because her mother was gone. She couldn’t find her.

Anna put her hands on her temples, squeezed, as if the problem was with herself, as if she could fix herself by wishing. But no, she could find Bethy, her grandmother, her father, Teddy, Teia, everybody except Mom, and that wasn’t right. It was a giant gaping hole that filled her mind at the expense of every other thought. That mental compass needle spun wildly, its pressure gone.

She didn’t know where her mother was. How could she not know?

A sudden bout of dizziness struck, and she sat on the floor, closed her eyes. The whole building seemed to be swaying. The whole world was swaying. She didn’t know how to make it stop. She just kept thinking of Mom, every thought and every memory she had, the good feelings and bad, all wrapped up together, and sent it out into the world to find her.

But she was gone. Vanished. Anna couldn’t breathe. She didn’t know what else to do, so she yelled, “Bethy! Beth! Something’s wrong! Beth!” Screaming, almost.

Down the penthouse hallway, a bedroom door slammed open and Bethy came running to the living room. “Geez, Anna, why’re you freaking out?”

But she stopped, and her eyes went wide when she saw Anna curled up on the floor, arms around her head, gasping for breath that wouldn’t come.

“Anna. Anna, what’s wrong?” She sat on the floor, very close, but her hands were clasped together and she wouldn’t touch her sister.

“Mom’s gone, she’s gone,” Anna said, choking, trying to catch her hyperventilating breath.

Her father was coming home, riding up the elevator because he’d felt her panic. He’d know what to do.

“She’s just out, she had a court thing, didn’t she?” Bethy said.

“No, this is different, she’s gone, I can’t find her. Don’t you understand, I can’t find her!”

“Did she have another business trip and we just missed it?”

“I’d know where she was. If she was out of town, I’d know it, if she was here, I’d know, if she was at City Hall, I’d know. But I can’t find her.”

She’s dead, came an unbidden thought. The worst thought of all. She didn’t know what would happen if someone she loved, someone she could track over the whole world just by thinking of them, died. Would they vanish from awareness—just like this?

Bethy said quietly, “Anna, you’re being really scary.”

Anna should have told her about her power a long time ago. She couldn’t think of how to explain it now.

The door to the foyer opened and their father strode in, looking as shocked as Anna felt. But calm, somehow. Still in control.

“Anna, what’s wrong?” he asked, kneeling beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder. The touch weighed on her, anchoring her.

Bethy launched in. “Daddy, she’s freaking out, I don’t know what’s wrong—”

“Shh,” Arthur said to her, quietly and firmly. “Anna?”

“I can’t find Mom. Mom’s gone.” She started crying, because the implications were too much for her to bear. Mom couldn’t be gone, she just couldn’t.

Arthur put his hand to his head, and his gaze turned inward. Anna managed a sigh and scrubbed tears from her face. He was a million times more powerful than she was; he’d find her.

But the seconds ticked on. Then minutes. Arthur stood, went to the window to look out over the city, just as Anna had. He held hands to both temples now and winced with concentration.

Bethy was staring at Anna. Her expression was neutral. Maybe even calm, like the expressionless calm their father often wore.

“What’s your power?” Bethy asked finally. “What can you do?”

“I find people. That’s all.”

“But you can’t find Mom.” Anna nodded. She waited for Bethy to yell at her, to be angry at her for keeping the secret. They should have an argument, if things were normal. But Bethy just nodded, decisive. “Dad’ll find her.”

He was still thinking, concentrating. He muttered, “Celia, bloody hell, where have you gone?”

“Have you called her?” Bethy said. “Have you tried her phone?”

“I’m better than a phone,” Arthur murmured, staring out the window as if he could find her by sight.

Anna’s gut wrenched. “Dad, she’s not … she’s still alive, isn’t she? If she wasn’t, I would have felt that. You would have felt it. She wouldn’t just disappear, would she? If she, if she was…” She couldn’t say the word.

He didn’t answer.

A terrible future spun out before her. A life flashing before her eyes, but surely not the right one. If Mom was really gone: no more arguments, no more checking up on her, the office desk empty forever, and what would happen to the company, what would happen to Dad, and what was she supposed to do next? She imagined wandering the condo, searching for a mother who would never be there again.

In the meantime, Bethy got out her phone. “Some of us aren’t telepathic,” she muttered, punching speed dial. Then she waited, and waited. “She’s not answering.” She tried another number. “Hey, Tom? It’s Bethy. Were you supposed to pick up Mom at the courthouse like, now? Um, yeah, he’s here … Dad, Tom wants to talk to you.”

Dad took the phone and listened for a moment. “And you can’t find her anywhere? All right. No, come on back, I’ll take care of it. Thank you.” He clicked off the phone and handed it back to Bethy. “He was about to call me. He was supposed to meet her after bringing you home, but she didn’t show up.”

Her father looked lost, with a stark stare, his muscles gone slack. If that empty spot in her awareness was nerve-racking for her, how much worse for him? Her parents had been inside each other’s minds for decades. In a sudden panic—a different one from the first, this one immediate and localized, and one she could do something about—she scrambled to her feet and went to him, holding his arm.

“Dad? Are you okay?”

He took a shuddering breath and nodded. Returning her grip, he shifted so that one arm was around her and the other reached for Bethy, until they were all pressed together in a clumsy embrace.

“Oh, my darling girls,” he murmured. “We’ll manage. Somehow, we’ll manage, I promise.” His love and anxiety pounded outward, a wave that almost made Anna sit, knocked down by the power of it.

Bethy said, “Daddy, what’s wrong?” That question, still at the front of it all.

When Anna looked up, waiting for his answer, he’d changed. She recognized his new expression from old pictures, from newspaper clippings from the days of the Olympiad: determined, glaring, ice-cold. He was frightening, but somehow the intensity calmed her. He promised they would manage, and so they would.

After giving them both rough squeezes, he left them behind to march down the hallway. “Come. We’ll find her.”

Anna looked at Bethy, who was looking back, and she expected that Bethy’s numb and wondering expression was mirrored on her own face. Together, they rushed after their father.

The penthouse was made up of the open living areas—living room, formal dining room, spacious kitchen and eating area. From that, off a primary hallway, were her mother’s office, the master bedroom, a suite that belonged to Suzanne, and down a secondary hallway came a series of guest rooms, bathrooms, a library, and walk-in closets for storage. Bethy and Anna’s rooms were here, along with a dozen rooms that Anna didn’t look inside more than a couple of times a year. At the very end of this secondary hallway stood a wood door with a keypad lock. They caught up with Arthur here, and he was punching a code into the keypad.

“The combination is your grandfather’s birthday,” Arthur said. “Do you know what that is?”

Anna’s heart was racing. This was the door to the old Olympiad secure command room. Her parents always told her the place had been dismantled and sealed off. That there was nothing behind the door but an empty room. But here they were.

Bethy gave the date. Anna was chagrined that she didn’t know it.

“Good,” Arthur said. “Let’s go in, then.”

The lock clicked, and the door slid open, gliding smoothly on its tracks. Operating perfectly, though it supposedly hadn’t been used in more than a decade.

The place had a dusty, stale smell to it, like Anna imagined a museum vault or an ancient tomb might smell. An emergency light over the door cast a pale white glow that didn’t extend more than a stride out, but Arthur went to a control panel on the wall nearby and pushed buttons. A whirr and a hum sounded as dormant power lines and circuits came back to life. A bank of lights came on, revealing the extent of the room in all its sleek, stainless-steel glory, hard lines and gray shadow. Along the right-hand wall were cabinets and cupboards, presumably containing the gadgets, devices, and artifacts that the Olympiad had used or acquired. On the opposite wall were the computer banks, multiple giant screens above keyboards and control panels, instruments of arcane purpose.

In the middle of the room was a metal conference table surrounded by a half dozen chairs. This was where it all happened, all those years ago.

Bethy went to the table, ran her hand along the surface, and looked back at Anna. “It isn’t dusty,” she said.

Arthur was at the computer bank, pressing buttons, watching screens flare on, displaying text and status messages.

“Your mother kept it all functional, all upgraded and ready to go. Just in case.”

“Just in case of what?” Anna asked.

Arthur glanced over his shoulder at her. “Just in case we needed it.”

A ventilation fan started up, and the stale air dissipated. The computer fans were humming, and status lights flashed green. Arthur lifted a phone handset from its cradle.

“Captain Paulson, this is Dr. Mentis. That’s right, you heard me. Celia’s missing … I’m certain.” He covered the mouthpiece and said to Anna, “Where did you last sense her? Where’s the last location you can confirm?”

This was surreal. This was a dream. It was crazy. A piece of history coming to life, something out of an old story. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. She shook her head to try to focus. “The courthouse. About half an hour ago. She should have been on the way home, but when I checked she was just gone.”

“Do you have any cameras at the courthouse, Captain? Would you mind sharing the feeds? I’ve activated the old system. I believe Celia gave you the codes.” The smile Arthur wore was thin and predatory. He was on the hunt. “Yes, I do think it’s that serious. Let’s just find her, then we can learn what’s really going on.”

“Serious, what do you mean serious?” Bethy said, voice sharp. Anna thought she should comfort her. Put her arm around her sister, like her father had. Be a grown-up for once. She was also pretty sure Bethy would just shove her away. But Bethy looked so scared.

He pressed a few more keys, and the images on the peripheral screens flipped to show street scenes downtown: traffic and security cameras around the courthouse.

“We’ll have to back up to about an hour ago and track forward,” Arthur murmured. The scenes on the images sped up, people scurrying down the sidewalk like insects, cars zipping in and out of frame, doors to the building swinging open and closed, over and over. They watched, all of them intent on one hoped-for figure, the middle-aged woman with short red hair, wearing the slick business suit. She didn’t appear, yet.

Maybe Mom was asleep. But no, Anna could find her when she was sleeping. So maybe unconscious—in an emergency room somewhere? Should they call hospitals?

Dad wouldn’t be acting like this if he thought it was that simple.

“Dad,” Anna said, tentative. This was thinking out loud, but if she did it out loud maybe she wouldn’t scare herself. “Have you ever heard anyone talk about the Executive?”

He turned from the screens. “The Executive? In what sense?”

“It’s just rumors. But I’ve heard a few people talking about a villain—a new archvillain, like the Destructor, but different. This one is manipulating things behind the scenes, working in secret, but through official channels.”

“And nobody knows who he is, of course. Shadowy, powerful,” he said.

“Right. It’s just that I was thinking, if … if you were a villain, and you wanted to take over the city using political channels, corporate channels, stuff like that, what would you do?”

“I would target Celia.”

“Do you think somebody might have taken her?” Anna winced, because she didn’t want it to be true, she wanted the idea to be crazy. But Arthur didn’t tell her she was crazy.

“Somebody powerful enough to be able to keep me from looking for her. It’s possible.”

Bethy was hugging herself, looking up at the screens. Then she lunged forward, pointing. “There! There she is!”

Arthur went to the control panel to stop the footage, rewind it, play it back. He spoke into the handset he’d held aside. “Captain, we’ve found her, on the corner security camera.”

Alone, their mother left the courthouse looking tired but pleased, smiling with a flash in her eyes. The hearing must have gone well. She ducked into the coffee shop on the corner, also something she’d do. They waited; Anna held her breath, like this was some kind of thriller, and the bad guy was about to strike.

Coffee in hand, Celia left the shop and continued down the street and off the screen. Anna almost screamed.

“You’ve picked her up?” Arthur said to the phone, and the image shifted. The angle from the new camera was high, looking across an intersection. Traffic camera. And there she was, approaching the intersection—until two people in dark coats and sunglasses joined her, walking on either side. They’d ducked out from a doorway, making their approach look natural—just two people who wanted a word with her. But one of them stuck something into her shoulder, through her jacket, and then a car pulled up to the curb. Before Celia could react, they’d guided her into the backseat.

Then she was gone.

“You saw that, Mark?”

Anna wished she could hear Paulson’s answer. She had to wait as they made some kind of plan. The next step was obvious: figure out who the people were and identify their car. As nondescript as they all were, there had to be some kind of identifying marks, and some kind of database they could check against. License plate, mug shots, something. They could follow the car, but traffic and security cameras could do only so much once you got out of the downtown area. The police could do this, they had the resources. Now that Paulson knew something was wrong, he could handle it.

But it might be too late. Anna wanted to find Celia now.

Bethy was glaring at her. “You couldn’t tell me? All this was going on and you couldn’t say anything? Not even a little? I kept asking if you had powers—”

“It was for your own good,” Anna said lamely. “To protect you.”

Bethy blew out a disgusted sigh.

“I’m sorry,” Anna pleaded. “I was wrong, I’m sorry.”

“No you’re not,” she muttered.

“All right, Captain. Thank you … No, I don’t think I can promise that, but I will let you know when something happens.” Arthur ended the call, dialed up a new one, while Anna and Bethy watched, entranced. “Suzanne, it’s Arthur. Would you be able to come home now?” A pause, listening. “Yes, it’s trouble. The old kind, I think. Celia appears to have been kidnapped … Yes, I know, that’s what I thought. All right, then. See you soon.” He turned to face his daughters, and Anna couldn’t tell if he really was that supremely confident, or if he was just putting on a good face for them. He was keeping his emotions under iron-fast control—he didn’t radiate anything. Not self-assurance, not fear. Just a solid, wall-like implacability. “Don’t worry, girls. We’ll find her. We’ll bring her home safely.”

“How do you know?” Bethy said, glaring and petulant.

“Because we always do,” Arthur said.