A real classic.
After that they looped in Dr. Guyer, the Swiss neurologist who had installed the memory suppressor in Zero’s head in the first place (at Zero’s behest). And now after five months, many visits, innumerable scans, a lot of medications, and a few bouts of vomiting and dizziness while they got the dosage just right, they were seeing results.
And more importantly, Zero wasn’t lying. He wasn’t lying to the doctors when he said he felt great; he wasn’t lying to Maria or Alan when he said he hadn’t had an episode in two months. He wasn’t lying to himself when he said he’d be fine and he’d beat this. In fact, he felt sharper, keener somehow as of late.
Maybe that ridiculous medical alert bracelet was a good luck charm.
“Well,” said Dillard with a click of the pen. “While you still have a long road ahead of you, I don’t think I need to tell you that this is all very promising. I would even say reason to celebrate.”
“I’ll be doing plenty of that anyhow,” Zero said. “Tomorrow is my wedding.” Just the mention of it aloud made butterflies flutter in his stomach. In little more than twenty-four hours he and Maria would be exchanging vows in front of their closest friends and family.
Dillard smiled wide. “You don’t say. Well, don’t do too much celebrating. This is the part where I tell you that you shouldn’t be drinking alcohol, but… let’s just take it easy on the alcohol.”
“I will.” Zero stood, the white paper under him crinkling. “Say, Doc, you should come. Bring the wife. It’s a very small gathering, but it’ll be a good time. The more, the merrier.” And he meant it; between him and Maria they had less than a dozen people coming.
“I appreciate the thought,” said Dillard, “but I’m afraid I have a speaking engagement in Baltimore tomorrow. Best of luck, though.”
“Thanks, Doc.”
“And I will be seeing you next week?” asked Guyer through the computer. “Here in Zurich, yes?”
“Of course.” He had long promised Guyer the opportunity for another hands-on examination. But first he had to get married. And then he needed to spend a week on a beach in the Bahamas with his bride. But right after his honeymoon he’d be boarding another plane to Switzerland. He’d made a promise, and he intended to keep it.
“I’ll be there.” Zero chuckled. “Pending disaster, of course.”
CHAPTER TWO
Maria opened the basement door just a few inches and peered down the stairs. It was pitch-black down there; last year, when Sara had made it her bedroom, she’d covered the only window with thick gray fabric. Despite the morning hour no light permeated the basement, which was just how Sara wanted it.
Of course she was still asleep. If sleeping were an Olympic sport Sara would be a medalist. It didn’t help that Maria had been awoken the night before by the sound of the security code being punched in at the front door. She’d checked her phone—it was nearly three in the morning when Sara had finally come in. It had become something of a regular occurrence, at least twice a week, sometimes more.
Maria didn’t think it was drugs again. Sara was alert, looked healthy; her comebacks were as snappy and sarcastic as ever. So what was it? A few weeks prior Zero had sat his youngest daughter down and asked her to be honest with him. Sara had claimed she’d been attending a support group for women lately at the community center. She attributed the late nights to helping out some of the women who didn’t feel safe in their own homes.
But Maria was dubious about that claim. Nothing against Sara, but she couldn’t imagine that an aloof, emotionally stunted seventeen-year-old would be anyone’s ideal support person.
Still, she didn’t ask or say anything about it. As long as the girl wasn’t back on drugs and the police weren’t knocking at their door, she would keep silent. It wasn’t her place, and her and Sara’s relationship was strained enough as it was.
Because after tomorrow, Maria would be… well, she’d be Sara’s stepmother.
Jesus. She sighed as she gently closed the basement door again. The wedding is tomorrow.
Almost six months had passed since Zero had proposed to her. The wedding would be small—very small—but that was more than fine with both of them. They had planned it casually, taken their time, and now everything was done; all the preparations had been made. Save for the urge to try on her dress again and admire herself in the mirror, there was nothing more to do but keep herself busy and her mind occupied.
Because tomorrow, you’ll be Mrs. Maria Johansson.
She and Zero had already discussed it, and she wouldn’t be changing her name. She’d already done it once, legally from her birth name to the name she now carried. Mischa was a Johansson too, by virtue of the US citizenship documents that the CIA had cooked up for the girl. Not to mention the added detriment, whether imaginary or not: Maria couldn’t help but think that changing her name to Lawson might make Sara and Maya feel some kind of way, and the last thing she wanted them to think was that she was trying to be their mother. They were pretty much adults.
And besides, she didn’t need it to be any easier for anyone to connect her and Zero in more ways than they could already, considering their line of work.
Our line of work. Funny, despite being in a field that put her life in danger regularly, the seemingly paltry problems she had in her head now still gave her a flutter in the stomach.
She heard the clacking of shoes on tile and turned to see Maya enter the kitchen, dressed smartly in black slacks and a white blouse. She’d been growing out her dark hair again from the boyish pixie cut she’d maintained during her time at West Point, and it was long enough now for her to tie it up into a neat bun. She rarely wore makeup, but today she had on eyeshadow and some lightly feathered foundation that made her face more angular, mature. All in all she could have passed for mid-twenties instead of her nineteen years.
“Morning,” Maya said as she reached for the coffee pot.
“Aren’t we looking sharp this morning?” Maria noted. “Where are you off to?”
“The program,” Maya said simply as she stirred some sugar into a travel mug.
“Right. The program.” Back in March, Maya had announced that she had been allowed to “test out” of her final year at West Point—something that neither Maria nor Zero had known was possible—and had been invited to an “advanced training program” in D.C. On the one hand, it meant that she was living with them again and commuting daily, which meant they got to see a lot more of her.
On the other hand, she was extremely vague with what she was training for and what this alleged program would do for her career trajectory. Hell, neither of them could even confirm that there really was a program. They didn’t know where she went or how she spent her days. Maya liked to joke that it was “above their security clearance.”
As long as the police aren’t knocking on our door…
“Hang on a sec,” Maria said. “It’s Saturday.”
“Yeah. Just a little… extracurricular activity today,” Maya replied simply. “And they asked that we dress professionally. Speaking of, do you have a black blazer I can borrow?”