“How are you, my chickens?” she asked.

“Oh, we’re plucking right along,” George said brightly. “How about you?”

“Doing fine,” Norma said.

“Don’t have a Get Out of Jail Free card on you, by any chance?”

Norma gave him a cruise-control smile and went back through the swinging door that presumably led to the kitchen.

“Why do I bother?” George said. “My best lines are wasted in here. Wasted, I tell you.”

He reached for the stack of menus in the center of the table and handed them around. At the top was the day’s date. Below that was STARTERS (buffalo wings or tomato bisque), ENTREES (bison burger or American chop suey), and FINISHERS (apple pie à la mode or something called Magic Custard Cake). Half a dozen soft drinks were listed.

“You can get milk, but they don’t bother putting it on the menu,” Kalisha said. “Most kids don’t want it unless they have cereal for breakfast.”

“Is the food really good?” Luke asked. The prosaic nature of the question—as if they were maybe at a Sandals resort where the meals were included—brought back his sense of unreality and dislocation.

“Yes,” Iris said. “Sometimes they weigh us. I’ve put on four pounds.”

“Fattening us up for the kill,” Nicky said. “Like Hansel and Gretel.”

“On Friday nights and Sunday noons there are buffets,” Kalisha said. “All you can eat.”

“Like Hansel and fucking Gretel,” Nicky repeated. He made a half-turn, looking up at a camera in the corner. “Come on back, Norma. I think we’re ready.”

She returned at once, which only increased Luke’s sense of unreality. But when his wings and chop suey came, he ate heartily. He was in a strange place, he was afraid for himself and terrified about what might have happened to his parents, but he was also twelve.

A growing boy.

6

They must have been watching, whoever they were, because Luke had barely finished the last bite of his custard cake before a woman dressed in another of those pink quasi-uniforms appeared at his side. GLADYS, her name badge said. “Luke? Come with me, please.”

He looked at the other four. Kalisha and Iris wouldn’t meet his gaze. Nicky was looking at Gladys, arms once more folded across his chest and wearing a faint smile. “Why don’t you come back later, honey? Like around Christmas. I’ll kick you under the mistletoe.”

She paid no attention. “Luke? Please?”

George was the only one looking directly at him, and what Luke saw on his face made him think of what he’d said before they came in from the playground: Pick your battles. He got up. “See you guys later. I guess.”

Kalisha mouthed soundless words at him: Shots for dots.

Gladys was small and pretty, but for all Luke knew, she was a black belt who could throw him over her shoulder if he gave her any trouble. Even if she wasn’t, they were watching, and he had no doubt reinforcements would show up in a hurry. There was something else, as well, and it was powerful. He had been raised to be polite and obey his elders. Even in this situation, those were hard habits to break.

Gladys led him past the bank of windows Nicky had mentioned. Luke looked out and yes, there was another building out there. He could barely see it through the screening trees, but it was there, all right. Back Half.

He looked over his shoulder before leaving the caff, hoping for some reassurance—a wave, or even a smile from Kalisha would do. There was no wave, and no one was smiling. They were looking at him the way they had in the playground, when he had asked if their parents were alive. Maybe they didn’t know about that, not for sure, but they knew where he was going now. Whatever it was, they had already been through it.

7

“Gosh, what a pretty day, huh?” Gladys said as she led him along the cinderblock corridor and past his room. The corridor continued down another wing—more doors, more rooms—but they turned left, into an annex that appeared to be your basic elevator lobby.

Luke, ordinarily quite good at make-nice conversation, said nothing. He was pretty sure it was what Nicky would do in this situation.

“The bugs, though . . . ooh!” She waved away invisible insects, and laughed. “You’ll want to wear plenty of bug-dope, at least until July.”

“When the dragonflies hatch out.”

“Yes! Exactly!” She trilled a laugh.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.” She waggled her eyebrows, as to say don’t spoil the surprise.

The elevator doors opened. Two men in blue shirts and pants got off. One was JOE, the other HADAD. They both carried iPads.

“Hi, guys,” Gladys said brightly.

“Hey, girl,” Hadad said. “How’s it going?”

“Fine,” Gladys chirped.

“How about you, Luke?” Joe asked. “Adjusting okay?”

Luke said nothing.

“Silent treatment, huh?” Hadad was grinning. “That’s okay for now. Later, maybe not so much. Here’s the thing, Luke—treat us right and we’ll treat you right.”

“Go along to get along,” Joe added. “Words of wisdom. See you later, Gladys?”

“You bet. You owe me a drink.”

“If you say so.”

The men went on their way. Gladys escorted Luke into the elevator. There were no numbers and no buttons. She said, “B,” then produced a card from her pants pocket and waved it at a sensor. The doors shut. The car descended, but not far.

“B,” crooned a soft female voice from overhead. “This is B.”

Gladys waved her card again. The doors opened on a wide hall lit with translucent ceiling panels. Soft music played, what Luke thought of as supermarket music. A few people were moving about, some pushing trolleys with equipment on them, one carrying a wire basket that might have contained blood samples. The doors were marked with numbers, each prefixed with the letter B.

A big operation, Nicky had said. A compound. That had to be right, because if there was an underground B-Level, it stood to reason there must be a C-Level. Maybe even a D and E. You’d say it almost had to be a government installation, Luke thought, but how could they keep an operation this big a secret? Not only is it illegal and unconstitutional, it involves kidnapping children.

They passed an open door, and inside Luke saw what appeared to be a break room. There were tables and vending machines (no sign reading PLEASE DRINK RESPONSIBLY, though). Three people were sitting at one of the tables, a man and two women. They were dressed in regular clothes, jeans and button-up shirts, and drinking coffee. One of the women, the blondish one, seemed familiar. At first he didn’t know why, then he thought of a voice saying Sure, whatever you want. It was the last thing he remembered before waking up here.

“You,” he said, and pointed at her. “It was you.”

The woman said nothing, and her face said nothing. But she looked at him. She was still looking when Gladys closed the door.

“She was the one,” Luke said. “I know she was.”

“Just a little further,” Gladys said. “It won’t take long, then you can go back to your room. You’d probably like to rest. First days can be exhausting.”

“Did you hear me? She was the one who came into my room. She sprayed something in my face.”

No answer, just the smile again. Luke found it a little creepier each time Gladys flashed it.

They reached a door marked B-31. “Behave and you’ll get five tokens,” she said. She reached into her other pocket and brought out a handful of metal circles that looked like quarters, only with an embossed triangle on either side. “See? Got them right here.”

She knocked a knuckle on the door. The blue-clad man who opened it was TONY. He was tall and blond, handsome except for one slightly squinted eye. Luke thought he looked like a villain in a James Bond movie, maybe the suave ski instructor who turned out to be an assassin.

“Hey, pretty lady.” He kissed Gladys on the cheek. “And you’ve got Luke. Hi, Luke.” He stuck out his hand. Luke, channeling Nicky Wilholm, didn’t shake it. Tony laughed as though this were a particularly good joke. “Come in, come in.”

The invitation was just for him, it seemed. Gladys gave him a little push on the shoulder and closed the door. What Luke saw in the middle of the room was alarming. It looked like a dentist’s chair. Except he’d never seen one that had straps on the arms.

“Sit down, champ,” Tony said. Not sport, Luke thought, but close.

Tony went to a counter, opened a drawer beneath, and rummaged in it. He was whistling. When he turned around, he had something that looked like a small soldering gun in one hand. He seemed surprised to see Luke still standing inside the door. Tony grinned. “Sit down, I said.”

“What are you going to do with that? Tattoo me?” He thought of Jews getting numbers tattooed on their arms when they entered the camps at Auschwitz and Bergen-Belsen. That should have been a totally ridiculous idea, but . . .