As soon as the congressman stepped out, a piercing alarm resounded. The doors to the elevator began to swiftly shut, and Quincy stumbled through.

“Good God!” Flip said, covering up his ears.

“Go!” Quincy said, ushering him down the hall to the first door.

“You sure as hell never mentioned that you were told civilians were being kept down here!” Flip yelled. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“Use your badge!” Quincy pointed as they arrived at the first door. The keypad flashed like an angry migraine, the sound hurting almost as much.

The congressman fumbled with the card and pressed it against the light. It immediately switched to green, and the alarm ceased.

“I bet we don’t have much time now,” Quincy said. “I bet we have company real soon. We should have swiped it at the elevator again. Some kind of final clearance system.”

“Clearance to what? I am fed up at this point—”

“I’m stepping inside. So you check your email, Flip. On the way down, I sent you a link to a Stella Roseworth’s website. She’s a journalist and the daughter of your old sparring partner, Senator Roseworth. She just posted a full report on this agency that includes some documentation of what they do. Looks like her dad did some digging before he died, based on what his wife discovered.”

“His wife? You mean Lynn Roseworth? This isn’t this alien crap again, is it?” Flip shook his head. “Jesus, Quincy. Is this all because you got caught up with those alien-obsessed nut jobs that kidnapped Roseworth’s grandson?”

“He’s not kidnapped. He’s here. With a little girl.”

“Roseworth’s grandson is down here? Isn’t he supposed to be missing? And a little girl?”

Yes. A little girl. The same one he wanted to ditch by the side of the road just a few days ago. A girl who clung to him in the back of a SUV after they narrowly escaped an explosion. A girl who held his hand while they ran through the blackness of an underground tunnel. A girl who slept on his shoulder while they drifted down a river in the dark, looking desperately for a place to find food and shelter. A girl who beamed with happiness after he bought her a cheap dress, and delighted in even worse pajamas, asking him to tuck her in. A girl he couldn’t stop thinking about as he was forced back to Los Angeles—the fear on her face as he was dragged out of the room.

When he found out she was somewhere inside a government warehouse, he whispered it over and over, tapping his finger on the armrest of the chair on the plane.

I’m coming. I’m coming. I’m coming.

Quincy hurriedly opened the door and exhaled.