“Oh, farther than that,” says Aragon. “With Proactive Citizenry completely torpedoed, and organ printers on the horizon, everything changes. If you make it through today, you and Miss Ward will be your own constellations out there. And you’ll be amazed how many friends in high places you’ll suddenly have.”

“I don’t want those kinds of friends.”

“Yes, you do, because there are still plenty of haters calling for your head. But the parasites can protect you from the carnivores.”

It’s too much to take in. He can feel it deep in his skull, as if the various lobes of his healing brain are trying to reject one another. “Who are you?”

“Like I said, I’m just your run-of-the-mill field officer with the FBI. But like everyone else, I aspire to bigger things.”

“You’re my first parasite.”

Aragon gives him that annoying wink again. “Now you’re catching on.”

They hit some choppy air, and Connor glances out of a window to see that the ground has disappeared beneath a blanket of clouds.

Aragon checks his watch. “It’s nine a.m. where we’re going. We should get there by eleven.”

“Where are we going?”

Aragon doesn’t answer him right away. The fear that Connor sensed in him begins to rise to the surface. He wouldn’t be surprised if the man began to sweat. “I don’t know if you’re aware, but the Arápache, along with every other Chancefolk tribe are prepared to declare war. Riots have broken out over unwinding in every major city. We’re on the verge of something that could make the Heartland War look like a domestic spat.”

“So where are we going?” Connor asks again.

Aragon takes a deep breath and removes Connor’s handcuffs. “You’re paying a visit to an old friend.”

80 • Risa

She awakes in Connor’s arms and for a moment she thinks things are as they should be . . . until her focus clears, and she sees where she is and remembers what happened. They’ve been caught, and yet Connor’s arm is around her. He smiles when he sees she’s awake. What could he possibly have to smile about?

“Almost there,” says the man sitting across from them. The man who captured them. “Have a look.”

She turns slowly, knowing the tranqs will make her suffer if she turns too fast, and peers out of the window.

The first thing she sees is the unmistakable white spire of the Washington Monument. She had thought they were in a plane, but the speed and trajectory of their approach is more like that of a helicopter—yet she doesn’t hear the pulse of rotor blades. As they get closer, she realizes something isn’t right. The grassy lawn of the National Mall, which extends east to the Capitol, and west to the Lincoln Memorial, should be green or, at worst, yellow this time of year. Instead it’s filled with color and movement, like snow on an old-fashioned tube TV. It takes a few moments for her to realize that there are people crowding the two-mile-long park. Thousands upon thousands of people!

“Hayden’s rally,” Connor tells her.

“Hayden?” she says, still unable to stretch her mind around the entire National Mall. “Our Hayden?”

Connor introduces her to Agent Aragon, whose hand she is not quite ready to shake, and quickly explains what’s going on, but it’s too much for Risa to hold on to so soon after coming out of sedation. Connor shows her a letter. At first she thinks it’s the same letter he was carrying around in Sonia’s shop—but it can’t be. She looks a little closer and sees that it’s stamped with an official-looking seal.

“The announcement will be made at noon,” Aragon says. “But these people need to hear it now, and they need to hear it from both of you.”

“Wait—what announcement?” Then she turns to Connor. “You’re going to let this guy tell you what to say?”

“Don’t worry, I already know what to say, with or without him,” Connor tells her.

They veer around the Washington Monument, getting a little too close for Risa’s comfort, then descend toward the far end of the crowded park, just short of the Capitol building.

Risa still feels a beat behind. “How can we land with all those people in the way?”

“Don’t worry,” Aragon says. “When a Whisper-Bomber comes down on you, you move.”

As they descend, the scene becomes clearer. The crowd is tightly packed. Riot police are everywhere, shoulder to shoulder, waiting for the first sign of violence—and in a crowd this big, this fired up, it’s bound to happen.

“My God, this isn’t a rally,” Risa says. “It’s a powder keg.”

“Which is why you’re here,” says Aragon. “To make everyone play nice.”

Risa catches sight of a shirt that reads in bold letters WHERE ARE THEY? And it’s not just one shirt—there are hundreds of them, and other sentiments just like it speckled throughout the crowd. Risa’s mind begins to reel when she realizes who the shirts are talking about.

“There’s a growing rumor that the Juvenile Authority has both of you buried in unmarked graves,” Aragon says. “You’ve got to show people that it’s not true before they decide it’s time to take vengeance.”

“Looks like they’ll have to get new shirts,” says Connor.

When the door is opened, it becomes clear how they were able to land. Their vertical descent has dropped them right into the Capitol reflecting pool. Beyond the edge of the pool, the crowd tries to peer in to see who has just arrived. Connor gets up first, then turns to Aragon, who hasn’t moved from his seat. “Aren’t you coming?”