Taken (Erin Bowman)

forming before my eyes. This is my chance, the opportunity I’ve been praying for.
    “They’ll let us waltz in if I bring him back,” I say. Everyone turns to stare. “It’s simple. I march Harvey back to Taem, turn him in, and create a diversion allowing us to grab the vaccine. Then we sneak back to the woods before the Order even realizes what’s happened.”
    And I grab Emma along the way , I think to myself. Exactly how, I am not sure, but at the moment, those details aren’t slowing me.
    Fallyn chortles. “Anyone can create a diversion. Why would you walking Harvey in be any more believable than someone else? What could you possibly tell them that would prevent them from shooting you both on sight?”
    “First of all, the goal of Operation Ferret was always to bring Harvey back alive, so no one will be shot on sight. And then there’s the fact that I’m a twin.”
    “Why would that matter?” she sneers.
    “Because I won’t be returning as myself. I’ll be returning as Blaine. We are identical, and in the Order’s eyes, Blaine never turned on them as I did. I can tell them I’ve been held captive since the Rebels attacked Evan’s mission team. I’ll say that you guys cut out my tracking device so I couldn’t be traced, that I pretended to change sides. I’ll say I gained your trust and then, when the opportunity presented itself, I took Harvey hostage and returned to Taem. If I tell them that story, I will be welcomed back with open arms. It will certainly get us back into Union Central, and from there, we can get the vaccine.”
    Harvey smiles, but the rest of the room is uncommonly still.
    “It might work,” Ryder admits finally. “It could go wrong a million different ways, but it’s the best chance we have. Harvey, you’re okay with this?”
    “More than okay.”
    “Well I’m not,” my father interrupts. “Gray’s not prepared for something of this magnitude.” I can see the terror in his eyes. For once he looks like a father.
    “He’s proven himself ready,” Ryder says. “And he is on the active list. Gray, are you sure you want to do this?”
    “Yes, but we’ll need a guide. Neither Harvey or I know the forest well beyond Mount Martyr.”
    “I volunteer,” my father says.
    Ryder shakes his head. “Absolutely not. It can’t be any of the captains. You are all too recognizable. It needs to be someone senior and yet someone who is not on their radar, someone who has proven themselves several times over and will not crack under pressure.” I think Ryder is calling for a volunteer, but I find his eyes already locked on the blond figure to my left.
    “I accept,” Bree says, no waver or worry in her voice.
    “Excellent,” Ryder says. “The scouting mission is off. We have bigger missions to plan.”
    We spend the next several days in the status room with forest maps and city grids spread before us. We go over various routes and infiltration plans: how to break into the research facility, when to execute the diversion, how to make our escape. My father avoids the planning altogether, cursing under his breath and swearing he wants no part in coordinating his own son’s death. Blaine seems to share his sentiments.
    There is a day where Harvey and Bree are called to planning alone and I am not needed. They talk with the captains behind closed doors and I spend my time wondering what plans must be kept from me, and why. Bree tells me later it was nothing—housekeeping items that applied to technology and transportation only—but I suspect she’s lying. She looks tired, though, taxed from the day, and I don’t press her. Instead, I rifle through various scenarios of how and when I can sneak to the prison and pull Emma from her jail cell. If they can keep details from me, I can keep details from them.
    The night before our departure, we pack our bags and go undercover. The Rebels dye Bree’s hair dark brown and put thin disks in her eyes, which turn their depths the color of wet dirt. They call the disks “contacts” and give me similar ones, so that my eyes, the one feature different from Blaine’s, appear blue.
    I am laying my old Order uniform out across my cot when Bree stops by.
    “You ready?” she asks.
    “Yes. Are you?”
    “Of course.” She looks like a different person, but her voice is the same, and the way her brow ruffles in annoyance, unmistakable.
    “You can still back out if you want,” I tell her. “I won’t take offense.”
    “No way,