Ralphs slid the box of tissues toward me, waiting as I dabbed my eyes and wiped my nose, got my emotions under control again.
“Are you okay?” she asked, in a tone that seemed too gentle coming from her. It was almost apologetic.
I took a deep breath and nodded. “Do they know yet if there were any survivors?”
Ralphs shook her head. “I’m sorry. No word on that yet. Did you know others there?”
As I shook my head, I heard DeWitt sniff and I turned to look at her, saw her wiping away a tear, and I remembered she knew the national vice president and the regional chair. I put my hand on hers and gave it a squeeze.
“I’m sorry,” I said softly, and she nodded in reply.
Ralphs let out a sad sigh. “Look, I know this is hard right now. For both of you. Do you want to take a break?”
DeWitt seemed to re-solidify back into her usual self. “I’m okay.” She turned to me. “Jimi? Do you need a break?”
More than anything, I thought. But I shook my head. “He told me his name,” I said. “Or at least a name that he was using.”
Ralphs had started writing, but at this, she stopped. “Who did?”
“The one in charge.”
“He did?” she said, surprised, looking at her notes, as if she couldn’t believe this hadn’t come up already. “What is it?”
“Cronos.”
She stared at me intently for half a second, then she hit a button on the Holocon box and said, “Tell the boss we’ve got something in here.”
SIX
Within seconds, the room was filled with several other agents, including one named Agent Griffin who came armed with a huge tablet and a stylus. She drilled me for information about what I had seen, every detail about the van, the people in it, the masks they wore, everything. I didn’t remember all that much at first, but she prompted and cajoled me: What were the seats made out of? What did the dome light look like? Did you see the handles on the doors? What kind of bumper? What kind of fabric were the masks? What was his voice like? I was surprised at how many details came back to me, and I wondered how much of it was memory and how much was imagination. But every detail went into the sketches she was creating, and she seemed pleased with the progress.
DeWitt stayed next to me but didn’t say a word.
Ralphs retreated, leaning against the wall, letting her colleagues do their jobs. But when the van on the screen began to take shape, she stepped forward to get a better look.
“Ford,” she said. “Late-model Econoline DVX.”
Griffin tapped the stylus onto the upper right corner of the screen, and a keyboard appeared. She typed with one hand and an image of a truck appeared, three-dimensional, floating in front of a white background. With her stylus, she grabbed one of the fenders and moved the vehicle around, rotating it so I could see all the angles. Then she looked up at me. “Does that look like it?”
“I think so,” I said. “But I can’t really say for sure.”
I wondered again about memory versus imagination, but Ralphs seemed sure of herself as she snapped her fingers and pointed at two of the other agents. “Get that picture and description out there,” she said. “Now.”
They both bolted for the door and a new agent stepped in to whisper something in Ralphs’s ear.
She nodded, her face solemn, and turned to the remaining agents. “Please clear the room,” she said, and they filed out, so it was just Ralphs, DeWitt, and me.
Ralphs sat in the chair to my left and put a hand on my wrist. I knew that meant there was bad news, but before I could predict it, she said, “We got official word. I’m afraid there were no survivors from the blast.”
DeWitt stiffened and put a hand on my other wrist.
“I’m sorry,” Ralphs said softly. “For both of you.”
We sat quietly while DeWitt and I got ourselves together. Ralphs didn’t try to rush us, which was nice of her. After a minute, I said, “Okay, what now?”
Ralphs cleared her throat, once again all business as she resumed questioning me, mostly asking over and over, but in slightly different ways, what exactly Cronos had said to me. Each time she jotted down notes, but as time went on, she jotted less and less frequently, until finally, she put down her pen and rubbed her eyes.
“Are we done?” I asked. My brain felt wrung out, like a sponge. I stifled a yawn.
Ralphs nodded. “For now we are. I’d like to follow up with you again in the next day or so.” She collected her things and stood.
I nodded back, relieved. DeWitt and I stood, as well. “So who is he?” I asked. “Cronos, I mean. Do you know him?”
“No, I don’t,” she said, her face hardening as she moved to the door. “But I look forward to meeting him. According to our intelligence, he’s the head of CLAD. We’ve busted several CLAD cells in Connecticut, Boston, Baltimore, and DC, which we hope puts a sizeable dent in what we believe is a relatively small organization. But none of them will talk, and we haven’t been able to get close to this…Cronos person.” She thought for a moment, then added, “I don’t know what your plans are for tomorrow, but you might want to stay away from those protests. I don’t expect the convention will be cancelled, even after what just happened. Things could get a lot uglier.”
Ralphs led us out of the interview room and into the hallway, where Rex and my mom were waiting, looking agitated.
I smiled at the sight of them, incredibly glad to see each of them and amused at the thought of them sitting there together. They both shot to their feet when they saw me, Rex towering over my mom, making her look tiny.
DeWitt glanced at her watch, and for an instant her face was suffused with stress. “I’ve got to go,” she said close to my ear. “You did great in there, Jimi. Why don’t you take a few days off, okay? With everything that’s happened, the news about Myra and Davey…the office is going to be…” She paused for a moment, collecting herself. “Anyway, you’ve just been through a lot and I think it would be good if you took some time to process it. I have to take some depositions in DC on Monday anyway, so I won’t even be in the office until Wednesday. But call if you need me. I’ll be checking in for messages. Take care of yourself, okay? And stay out of trouble.”
Before I could reply, she had turned and said hello to Mom and Rex as she hurried past them toward the elevators.
I bear-hugged Mom first, because I knew she’d feel hurt otherwise, but I locked eyes with Rex and held them the whole time.
“Oh, Jimi,” Mom said. “I was so worried.”
“I’m okay, Mom,” I whispered. “I’m fine.”
Rex managed an impressive imitation of patience as he waited for my mom to let me go.
I pulled away from her before she was quite done—I got the feeling that otherwise she would have just kept holding on. My eyes were still on Rex’s, right up until we kissed and I closed them, absorbing the comfort and relief from his arms as they wrapped around me. I pulled him tight and pressed myself against the mass of his body.
“You okay?” he said into my hair.
“I’m fine,” I said. “Really.” My eyes watered as I said it, though, as thoughts and images of the bombing came back to me.