Dean stares at me. “How do you know about this?”
“I … broke into the Facility. I had to do it, Dean—I had to know if you were connected to the Montauk Project like my grandfather always suspected.”
He presses his fingers to his temple. “I knew you were trouble,” he mumbles.
Wes makes a small sound under his breath and I turn to glare at him. He raises an eyebrow.
I turn back to Dean. “I’m not trouble,” I insist. “I’m here because of Peter.”
“My son,” Dean breathes. For the first time since I entered the room, he doesn’t look like he’s about to lose it. “Tell me about him. What kind of man is he?”
I close my eyes, picturing my grandfather. “He’s kind and he’s funny. He married young, but he always says it’s because he found the love of his life, and why would he wait around to be with her forever? And he had a son, my dad. They have a hardware store in Montauk. Grandpa always helps me with my homework, even when I can tell he doesn’t want to. He makes the best lasagna. And he always has a million things in his pockets.”
Dean chuckles. “That sounds like him.”
“He’s the most important person in my life.” My voice cracks and I blink as tears gather behind my eyes.
Wes steps forward and rests his hand on my shoulder. I reach up and touch his wrist gently. His hand tightens on mine before he lets go. I straighten and look back at Dean. He’s lighting a cigarette, though his eyes are wet.
“Grandpa spent his whole life searching for you,” I say. “He’s always looked for you. When I came to nineteen forty-four I knew I had to give him a chance at a life with his father again. So please take my warning seriously.”
He watches me for a moment and then nods gravely. “I will.”
Relief is like a warm blanket. I haven’t failed my grandfather. I haven’t failed the Bentleys.
Dean stands and takes a drag of his cigarette. Smoke fans out through the small space. His eyes are thoughtful as he watches how Wes stands protectively behind me.
“Who is he?” he asks, pointing his cigarette at Wes. “Did he come with you?”
“No, but—” I step forward. “There’s something else I need to tell you.”
“I don’t think I like the sound of this.” He goes to sit on the edge of the desk, then motions at me to continue. “All right, out with it.”
“The Recruitment Initiative isn’t what you think it is.”
“I created the Recruitment Initiative. I know what it is. We find volunteer soldiers and civilians to travel in Tesla’s Machine. We’re perfecting the science, and we’re sending people on missions to try to change certain historical events.”
“That’s not all.” I tell him about the kidnapped children, about the torture and the brainwashing. I watch his face get darker and darker and I breathe a little easier—he didn’t know.
He stands straight, his cigarette abandoned. “You’re saying that the RI eventually starts … using children?”
I nod. “They learn that children travel more easily, and so they start kidnapping them for training. It’s already happening, Dean.”
“No.” He shakes his head. “I won’t believe that’s true. I can’t believe that the program would be used like that. We’re trying to build something good here. We’re trying to learn more about the TMs so we can protect—maybe even save—our world. Dr. Faust and General Lewis wouldn’t condone that. Faust was Tesla’s protégée. They created the TM together. Faust has devoted himself completely to the Project since Tesla died last year. And General Lewis is a good man, a good soldier. We’re doing good work here.”
His voice gets firmer as he speaks, and I know he’s convinced himself that he’s right, that I must be wrong about what the Project becomes.
“I saw the children,” I say desperately. “I’ve seen what they’re doing to those lost kids already.”
Dean’s eyes narrow. “Show me.”
Walking through the halls of the Facility with Dean is an entirely different experience. He has an air of authority that I know means he’s important down here, and the guards stand aside for us as we pass. Even if our presence arouses suspicions, Dean doesn’t seem to care. He wants us to show him the children. Now.
Luckily Wes knows his way around the Facility enough to remember where the room is. I’m already lost as we move through white hallway after white hallway. We walk for a minute when Dean says, “This is the scientists’ wing. I don’t come here often.” The way he says it makes me think he’s starting to believe that something isn’t right.
Wes stops in front of an unmarked door. Dean glances at me once before pushing it open. It leads to a small room. The three of us step inside.
We walk into a high, narrow observation area. It has one long glass wall that’s angled toward the ceiling; the only light comes in through the window. The rest of the space is empty and dark.
The window looks down onto an open room. Dean approaches it slowly, almost fearfully. I follow him, but Wes stays near the back wall. Just like the other day, the space is filled with tiny bodies. Dean is silent as he stares down at the gaunt, broken faces.
Suddenly he runs to the door and rips it open. “Guards!” he shouts. A man in a black uniform appears in the hallway. “Get the doctor and the general. Now.”
The guard dashes down the hall. I step back until I’m standing next to Wes. His hands are clenched into fists at his side, and I know that being in this room, so close to those children, is killing him. I brush my hand against his, and his fingers unfold, wrapping around mine.
Dean paces the room. Every once in a while he looks at me and shakes his head, like he can’t believe what’s happening. I gaze at him with sympathy, but I don’t know
