“You were there when these four CIA agents died, but you got away. If you claim to have a connection to the specimen Scio, a much closer connection than any other human can claim, how were you able to escape the specimens ‘unnamed stratocrats,’ AG-ETI-047, AG-ETI-048, AG-ETI-049, and AG-ETI-050, and four trained CIA operatives were not?”

Shock mutated to horror. She was being accused of being in league with Obelus. That it had been her connection to Ampersand that had spared her, not the simple truth that she had run from the car crash as fast as her legs could carry her. “I wasn’t deliberately spared,” she said, her voice wavering like a flag in a violent storm. “I ran away.”

“You ran, and they didn’t.” Julian’s accusation was laced with cyanide.

He wasn’t just implying that she had been spared because of Ampersand. He was accusing her of being complicit in their deaths. “The people in the car behind us were injured, I think. Vincent was injured. I just got out of the car and ran as fast as I could.”

“What prompted you to run so immediately?”

“I knew what Obelus was capable of,” she blurted. “I knew he wouldn’t bother with a human if they weren’t in his way.”

“How did you know what Obelus was capable of?”

She could never have imagined that this man, this cosseted career politician, could sound so dangerous. You need to shut up, plead the Fifth, you idiot, shut up shut up shut up!

“Because I saw it. At NORAD.”

“So you are telling the committee that in the early morning of October 7, 2007, you knowingly left these people, one of whom you knew personally, to die at the hands of an alien with superhuman physical abilities, because you already knew what it was capable of doing?”

She called forth an answer—Just say, “No, it’s not true”—but nothing came. All she could do was shake her head in the negative.

“You consider Jude Atheatos your ‘friend.’ Your family member. Tell me, for the record, do you know where Jude Atheatos is now?”

She finally swallowed, but it felt like swallowing chalk. “No.”

Julian eyed her like he was firing up to volley another round. Then he shot a glance at his watch. “My time is up,” he said. “I have no further questions.”

The instant she was allowed to move, she stood up, her legs not even shaky; the desire to flee was too strong. She eyed a staffer whom she had spoken to three days ago, one of Cohen’s camp, and made a straight line toward her, ignoring the look the woman was giving her, a look of almost betrayal. “Please,” she said. “I’m having a panic attack. Can you take me someplace private?”

The look of betrayal ebbed, and the woman nodded. “Follow me.”