I stand up from the table, almost afraid to say what I’m thinking. “If there’s an explosion, we need to talk about the consequences. The aftermath. What about the soldiers and scientists who work in the Facility? They could die.”
“The greater good?” He sounds like a recruit again, his voice blank, and I know we’re both thinking of our training, hearing that phrase over and over to justify what the Project does.
“Is this one of those lines?” I curl my fingers around the back of the chair. “One of those lines, that, if we cross it, we become like them, and there’s no going back?”
“That we’re even asking that question means we’re not like them.”
“Still . . .”
“The explosion doesn’t have to be large.” He leans back in his chair. “We can’t make more than a basic pipe bomb anyway, and it will be contained within the TM chamber. There might be injuries, but you have to remember that these soldiers are grown men. They know what Faust is doing with the kids. They’re not totally innocent.”
“But what about the kids? The recruits they’ve already started to train?” I picture the room of children, their vacant stares. “They didn’t choose to be there.”
Wes frowns. “We could try to get them out beforehand.”
“We don’t want to get caught, trying to move so many people before we can get rid of the TM. It’s too much of a risk.”
“We can’t just leave the kids in there. You know what the Project will do to them.”
I do know. If the Project were ever in serious risk, they would do anything to destroy all evidence of its existence—and that includes the people, recruits, children, and anyone else who might talk.
I lean forward against the back of the chair. Wes is right—we can’t leave the kids vulnerable in there. “There has to be a way to draw attention to the Project, fast enough so the Project can’t react, so that they can’t sweep it under the rug anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
I tilt my head in Wes’s direction. “How much do the officers on the army base at Camp Hero know about the Montauk Project?”
“Not much, I don’t think. Maybe some of the generals know right now, but probably not very many.”
“That’s our leverage. If we can draw enough people’s attention to the Facility, then no one will be able to cover it up . . .”
“. . . and other people will be there to rescue the children after the bomb goes off,” Wes finishes my thought.
“But we need to figure out how to get people to notice, and not just the soldiers at Camp Hero.”
Wes stands up from the table. “What are you thinking? How would we do that?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know yet. I have to think about it. I’m just worried we don’t have enough time.”
“We’re not doing anything tonight.” He leans his side against the back of his chair so that we’re facing each other. “Tomorrow we’ll get the supplies to make the bombs, and we’ll finalize our plan. But we won’t be ready until tomorrow night at the earliest.”
I lift my hand and bite at my right thumbnail. I’ve never been a nail-biter, but I’ve also never been this anxious before. “Maybe it makes more sense to go during the day,” I say, thinking aloud. “To draw attention to ourselves.”
“The bombs will draw attention either way, but we need to make sure it’s the right attention.” His eyes sweep up my body, taking in the way I’m slumped over the chair. “Let’s talk about this tomorrow. You’re exhausted.”
I know I’m tired, but don’t feel it right now, especially not when Wes looks at me closely, and then over at the tiny bed.
“I can sleep on the floor,” he says softly.
“Wait.” I stand up fully, turning to face him. “I need to say something.”
“What is it, Lydia?”
I force myself to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry.”
He raises his brows and takes a step forward, but I put my hand up to stop him. “I blamed you for everything that happened between us, and it wasn’t right. I should have trusted you enough to know that you wouldn’t betray me like that. I’m sorry that I doubted you for so long.”
“I’m sorry I lied.” He ignores my hand and steps closer until my palm is resting on his chest. I feel his heartbeat, steady and even. “About the mission, about Twenty-two. I thought that if I could shelter you from everything, it would show you I loved you. I didn’t know how to have the kind of relationship I wanted us to have.”
I look up at him. “But you do now. I watched you with Lucas and Mary. You have friends. You have a family.”
He puts his hand over mine and I feel the heat of it spread through my fingers. “I went to the Bentleys in the first place because I knew that the minute you came back, you’d want to see them, and I wanted to be a part of your life as much as I could. Living here, waiting, taught me that I can be happy, that I have the capacity for happiness.”
I lean into him. “Of course you do, Wes. You always did.”
But he shakes his head. “I thought they stole that from me. The only time I ever felt like I might be happy was when I was with you, and you were asking me question after question, being unpredictable in a way that threw me off balance. When I . . .” His voice lowers. “When I kissed you, I felt like maybe, maybe it could be within my grasp, if I worked hard enough to get it. But even then, we had the Project at our backs, the constant fear of being torn away from each other. I was lying to you every day, and I knew I was getting sicker. There was no time for happiness.”
“But now it’s different,” I whisper. “You look so healthy. You’re not
