He smiled. “And who was my mother, General?” “Patricia Zannick. She—” “—and Henry Zannick adopted me at five years old. After I’d been through three sets of foster parents.” He paused. “But whose womb did I come out of?” “Mine,” Helen said. Zannick started to clap his hands. “Very good, Mother. I was beginning to believe you were never going to figure it out. Bravo.”
