Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 133213 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133213 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
The Huisman Foundation.
“Ignore it,” Tristan ordered. “We need to talk about how to handle her going forward.”
What the hell was the Huisman Foundation doing calling him on a Saturday night? When he was supposed to be dancing with his new bride. Of course it wasn’t like he’d sent them an invite. No one at the institute would know he was getting married. He’d never talked to the man himself.
Had they figured out he didn’t belong and they were calling to tell him it was all a mistake and then this fight was a moot point?
“Aidan.” Tristan somehow made his name an order.
An order he wasn’t taking. He slid his finger across the screen, expecting to talk to someone in administration, likely about the upcoming conference. “Hello.”
“Dr. O’Donnell.” A warm voice with the hint of an accent came over the line. “My name is Emmanuel Huisman.”
The room went cold as he realized he might not have an option of a safe house anymore.
* * * *
Frustration welled in Tristan as Aidan answered his damn cell phone.
It was fucking Saturday night. Who would be calling him? His father was upstairs. His mom and sister wouldn’t bother him now, and Carys wasn’t talking to either of them, but apparently this was his punishment. Aidan would rather talk to some fucking telemarketer than talk to his best friend.
If Aidan thought he was about to leave because he wanted to discuss his Internet usage and how such and such company could save him a few bucks, he was underestimating him. He could stand here all night. It wasn’t like he had anywhere else to go.
“Hello, Dr. Huisman.”
The world seemed to slow down.
Emmanuel Huisman was calling? On what he should think was a random Saturday night? Calling a man he’d never actually met before?
Tris had his cell out in a second, sending Ian a text letting him know what was happening and to be quiet if he came down.
Aidan looked up, a shocked expression on his face.
Speaker, Tristan mouthed.
Aidan nodded, and suddenly Tristan could hear the man he was investigating.
The man he was absolutely sure wanted to burn the whole world.
“I’m sorry to call so late, but I only today became aware you’re going to be a part of our symposium,” Huisman was saying. “I’m afraid I’ve been busy lately, and I’m just getting around to acquainting myself with the residents the selection committee invited.”
He sounded so reasonable. So gracious. It was a mask.
Aidan stood there like he wasn’t sure what to do.
Tristan waved a hand, a gesture for him to talk, to be natural.
“Well, Dr. Huisman, I can’t tell you how happy I was to be invited.” Aidan sounded stilted, but they could work with it.
“Calm down,” Tristan whispered as quietly as he could. He saw the white board and realized he could communicate without Huisman realizing anyone was with Aidan. He pointed to it as he found the dry erase marker.
“My team is tasked with inviting the best and brightest to come to these meetings,” Huisman was saying. “I trust their judgment completely, but I like to make sure I know a little about our attendees, especially the new minds. I was impressed with your essay, but when I read the paper you wrote on using ultrasound as a potential alternative to some forms of surgery, I knew they’d truly found a gem.”
“It’s still surgery,” Aidan corrected. “The ultrasound alternative, that is. It still requires all the precision of a blade. In some ways more.”
Damn, but he was smart. All of his life Tristan had been considered the brains, but Aidan might revolutionize the way surgery was conducted. However, he wasn’t great at the spy game. He wrote on the board.
Act normal.
“Yes, I can see that,” Huisman replied. “I am so fascinated by your work. I wanted to call because as I said, I’m excited about your research. I can’t wait to talk to you and learn more about what you’re doing. You’re coming out on Thursday?”
He was fishing. Shit. Huisman was fishing.
The stairwell door came open, and Ian and Cooper slipped out quietly. Cooper sat on the edge of Nate’s desk, but Ian moved in close to Tris.
“That’s the plan,” he said, though he didn’t sound sure. “To come to the symposium on Thursday. It’s when it starts, right? Sorry, sir. I’m afraid I’m flustered. I didn’t expect you to call.”
This was precisely why Aidan needed to go to the safe house.
Ian ran a hand over his hair, a frustrated gesture.
“I think he’s fishing,” Tris whispered. “I think the people he sent in didn’t report back, and he wants to figure out what the fuck happened.”
Ian nodded gravely. “So do I. Which means Aidan can’t lie.”
Fuck a duck.
Ian was right. Tristan turned to the board.
You have to tell him what happened today. Be honest. He knows because he sent them in. Tell him and then explain you can no longer attend.