by Sonja Stone
Just before lunch, Simon, completely oblivious to Alan’s anguish, burst through their bedroom door, grabbed Alan, and swung him around, then kissed each cheek.
Alan scowled. “Why are you so happy?”
“I knew we were destined to be lifelong mates, and your brilliance confirms my razor-sharp intuition,” Simon said. “Initially, I was thoroughly annoyed at your inattention to detail, but as it happens, I believe you’ve done it!”
“What have I done?”
“Did you hear the news about Jack? He got caught playing an illicit game of tranq-tag, and he’s refusing to name his cohorts.”
“Aside from the fact that you clearly relish in others’ misery, why does this news delight you?”
“Good one, mate.” Simon sat on his bed and opened his laptop. “Our commandeered drone flew overhead on the exact night that Jack so spectacularly violated the rules. Either someone up there adores me, or I’m the luckiest bloke on earth. Can you imagine? I wasn’t going to bother watching the bloody video, and then this!”
“I still do not understand your glee.”
“Ha, glee.” Simon chuckled. “If I can identify his compadres, his brothers-in-arms, I’ll have something to trade with Shepard.”
Alan’s heart began to race. “What do you mean, a trade with Shepard?”
Simon scooted over on his bed and tapped the recently vacated spot. “Come on, then, let’s see what we’ve got.” He pulled up the video and pressed play.
Alan sank down next to him, praying to see nothing more than a coyote. To his horror, the drone had captured the entire assault, which, inexplicably, starred one Nadia Riley.
“What is she doing there?” Simon asked.
Alan, unable to avert his eyes, watched the scene unfold.
Nadia stood by the back wall as Jack approached. He grabbed her arm; she threw him to the ground.
Then she shot him. Twice.
At that point, Simon laughed out loud. “Oh, this is better than I could’ve imagined.” He played it again.
“Why did she shoot him?” Alan asked.
“Because my guardian angel is a very hard worker.”
“I do not know what that means.”
“Doesn’t matter. I’ve got business to attend to, so if you’ll excuse me.” He elbowed Alan off the bed. “Now that I have something to trade, I’m going straight to Shepard.”
“No, you cannot do that,” Alan said, his voice panicky. “Why would you do that? We will both be expelled.” What he meant was, If Saba finds out you were involved, he may kill you.
“Worth it, mate. Totally worth it.” Simon grinned.
“Do you dislike Nadia? Is that why you are turning her in?” Alan thought he might be hyperventilating, but Simon failed to notice.
“Nadia’s lovely! It’s only that Shepard has something I need.” He held up his laptop. “So I’ll make a trade.”
“A trade for what?” To conserve energy and maximize lung capacity, Alan rested on the edge of his bed.
Simon smiled. “For Jericho.”
He stuck his head between his knees. “What is Jericho?”
“Not what, mate, who. Jericho’s my father.” Before Alan could respond, someone knocked on the door. “S’open,” Simon called.
Noah stuck his head inside. “Alan, Professor Katz just called the hall phone. He wants to see you in his office immediately.”
Alan took a shaky breath as he sat up. “Right now?”
“That’s what ‘immediately’ means,” Noah said, and ducked back out the door.
“Simon, I beg you,” Alan said. “Do nothing until I return.” His roommate did not answer. “Please, Simon. Promise me.”
Simon rolled his eyes. “Till you get back? All right, I can agree to that.”
Relief flooded Alan’s body. “Thank you.”
“But then you’ll owe me one.”
“Yes, fine.” Alan scowled as he moved toward the door. “Once again, I will owe you one. Provided I live through the next half hour.”
Alan trudged down the hall and through the lobby of his dorm. He dragged his feet across the lawn, the desperate dread growing inside him like a cancer, making simple movement difficult.
He entered the junior classroom building and headed toward Saba’s office. His pace slowed considerably as he drew closer. He froze when he heard Saba’s voice through the closed door.
“When will we send a team to retrieve our little bird? We all owe Nightingale a debt of gratitude.”
Alan listened for a response, but none came. Saba must be on the phone. He waited a few more minutes to be certain the call had ended. Finally, unable to stall further, he knocked.
“Enter,” Saba called.
“You requested me?” Alan asked, his voice wavering. He sat across from his grandfather in the cramped, windowless office. The room smelled of garlic. Remnants of Saba’s dinner lay wounded in the trash can: wilted lettuce, scraps of beef. Alan’s attention drifted to the world map tacked to the wall.
Saba rocked back and forth in his desk chair. “Something unusual has happened.”
Alan forced his eyebrows to rise. “Oh?”
“It seems one of Mossad’s drones flew over campus in the middle of the night. An agent contacted me to see if I needed more information and assistance. Imagine his surprise when I knew nothing of the mission.”
Alan opened his mouth, closed it, then tried again. He stammered, then managed to say, “That is unusual.”
“Indeed,” Saba said. “Alan.” He stopped rocking and leaned across the desk. “We both know I did not task this drone.”
“No?” Alan could manage no other words. Speaking was difficult without oxygen in the lungs.
“No.” Saba paused for an excruciatingly long beat. “Perhaps you will now explain why you hacked my credentials and infiltrated my account?”
Alan felt the prickly heat rising from his chest to his neck. A second later his face began to burn. His scalp itched, and he slipped his hands under his thighs to avoid scratching.
He could come clean right now, tell Saba that Simon had discovered his presence on campus. Tell Saba that Nadia had shot Jack. This information would interest Saba very much, as he seemed to have an affinity for Nadia that Alan did not understand.
Alan frowned. It might also incriminate her. He did not yet have enough information to ascertain her motives for shooting Jack, an action that Alan did not find entirely objectionable.
Somewhere beneath the anxiety, he felt a small flicker of anger. If Saba had not come here, none of this would have happened. He was the one who put Alan at risk. Alan took a deep breath and slowly exhaled.
It was time to choose a side: Saba or Nadia. Mossad or the CIA.
Alan dropped his eyes to the desktop. “I do not know anything about it.”
A horrific silence followed. Alan had lied and Saba knew it. The people standing outside the building probably knew it. He kept his eyes cast down and thought about prime numbers.
“Alan, you understand nothing is more important than family, correct?” Saba did not appear to actually want an answer, so Alan remained mute. Saba continued. “Second only to family is country. You are American, but your country is Israel. I will ask again: what do you know about the rerouted drone?”
“Nothing,” Alan said.
After what seemed like an hour of silence, Saba said, “This is disappointing news. Thank you for coming. You are dismissed.”
* * *
—
He could not feel his legs as he waded from the building. They grew so weak that he had to stop when he reached the dining hall. Unable to continue, he slumped against the exterior wall and slid onto the ground. His head dropped to his knees, and he concentrated on not dying.
Some time later, hours maybe, Libby approached. “Are you okay? What are you doing out here?” She knelt beside him. Alan raised his head and she gasped. “You’re white as a sheet. Come inside—lemme get you some juice.”
“Is it your blood sugar?” She handed him a small glass of orange juice.
He shook his head.
“Well, what then?” Her brows pulled together as she leaned closer and touched his forehead. “Simon,” he whispered.
“What did he do?”
Alan did not immediately answer. Breathing still presented difficulties. This unfortunate event made clear to him that he would never work as a field agent. Not that anyone had ever thought he would. Finally, he said, “He found out about Saba. That he is Mossad.”
Libby sat back. “Oh no. How? What happened?”
“He blackmailed me. He made me do something and Saba found out and he just confronted me and I lied to him—but of course he knows I lied, because I am quite possibly the world’s worst liar.” Alan leaned his head against his open palms.
Libby remained silent for a moment. “You lied to Saba?”
“Yes.” His head pounded, the ache thumping with his heartbeat as the blood pulsed through his temples.
“Alan,” she said.
He looked up. “What?”
“Just now you lied to Saba?”
Alan squinted at Libby. “Yes, just now. Are you not listening?” She was not the most intelligent girl he knew, but these questions were pedestrian even by her standards. “But you are missing the point—”
“Where is he?”
Uh-oh. “Hmm?”
“Your saba,” she said firmly. “Where is he?”
Alan slammed his head down on the table. In his mind’s eye, the intricate web unraveled. Black threads that had been securely woven together now untangled, and as they did, they wrapped themselves around him, binding him in a smothering cocoon.
He sighed. Another lie was futile. “Professor Katz.”
Nadia’s eyes fluttered open. In the darkened room, the air felt cold and deathly still. She sat up to check the clock on Damon’s nightstand. When she couldn’t find the time, she realized the power had gone out. Damon lay beside her, lightly shivering. He slept on his side, curled up, facing her, one hand pressed against his forehead like a little kid. His eyelashes, long and black, brushed against his cheeks like whispers.
He looked deceptively innocent.
She pulled the blanket higher around his neck, then lay back down and closed her eyes. A second later they opened again. What was she missing?
Damon had to relinquish his incriminating files to Agent Roberts, at which time Roberts would release Damon’s mom. But if it was such a simple exchange, why did Damon need Nadia at all? Was she the best choice to serve as backup?
The mattress shook slightly as his shivering increased. Nadia slipped from the bed to search for extra covers. Inside the small closet she found an army-green wool blanket. As she dragged it out, she uncovered Damon’s backpack hidden beneath.
After gently covering him, Nadia grabbed the pack and tiptoed from the room, easing the door closed behind her. Down the hall, she searched the table with her hands until she found the flashlight.
Without taking them from his pack, she leafed through the files. The last one, an empty envelope, had the name JERICHO printed across the top. In a similar typeface right beneath her father’s code name, a string of numbers: 78655986. She was about to work on the numeric code when she noticed a cell phone in the bottom of the bag.
Nadia dug it out and set the bag aside. She powered up the phone, then swiped across the time, 0921. Of course the phone was password protected. She dragged down from the top to read the recent notifications: a single message, sent from a Phoenix area code. Exchange 2100 hours. Same location. See that the package is conscious.
She frowned. Conscious? But Roberts wanted Damon’s files.
Nadia turned her eyes to the window. Moonlight shone across the desert, exposing each ripple in the sand, casting long shadows from the saguaro and chaparral. A cold fear wrapped around her heart as the meaning of the text sank in—the exchange wasn’t for paperwork. The trade Damon had arranged with Roberts had nothing to do with his files. It had to do with the person he was taking to the meet.
To secure his mother’s freedom, Damon planned to sacrifice Nadia.
A rising anger in her chest assaulted the fear, pushed it down, tucked it away. Heat spread through her body as her blood pressure rose, her heart rate increased. Then the adrenaline kicked in—she stormed down the hall, climbed onto the bed, and punched Damon in the back.
“You lied to me,” she yelled.
“Ow—watch the stitches! What is the matter with you?”
“You’re planning to trade me for your mother—you’re taking me to Roberts to have me killed!”
“Calm down.” He pushed himself into a seated position. “I don’t know what you think you know—”
“Save it. I read your messages. This is nothing more than a hostage exchange.”
“He’s not gonna kill you. If you read my messages then you know Roberts specifically demanded that I deliver you alive.”
“Are you kidding me right now?”
“I wasn’t going to do it! I was just waiting for the right time to tell you. Roberts thinks I’m going along with his plan. He really does have only one guard. He won’t expect me to double-cross him—not when my mother’s life is on the line. I’ll pretend to hand you over, but you’ll be armed. We’ll get the drop on him.”
Rage welled out from the anger. She felt it in her hands—envisioned wrapping them around Damon’s throat, watching as his veins popped, his eyes bulged. “You lied to me this whole time.” Afraid she might further assault him, Nadia scrambled to her feet. “I’m leaving.” She flicked the light switch, then remembered the generator had died.
“Okay, just stop.” He climbed out of bed and moved toward her. “You have to know I’d never do anything to hurt you.” He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her forehead. She tried to push him back. “Nadia, I love you.”
“Get off me.” Nadia shoved him away. “How stupid do you think I am? I don’t believe a single word that comes out of your mouth.”
“Hang on a second. I know you’re angry.” Damon reached for her again. She smacked his hand as he said, “But this is a good thing. I’m glad you found out. I didn’t know how to tell you without creating panic, and now you know. We can move forward with a plan.”
“You completely manipulated me.” Nadia felt around on the floor for a pair of socks. She pulled them on and searched for her sneakers.
“I would like to point out that I helped you. By destroying the DNA database, you have eliminated a significant risk to both yourself and your father. So, you’re welcome.”
“That was completely self-serving. Don’t pretend it had anything to do with protecting me. Any benefit to my family was incidental.” She dropped to her hands and knees to feel under the bed. “Where are my shoes? Get me a light!”
“I don’t know. If you could just calm down—”
“Calm down?” She glared at him. “Let’s recap. You drugged me, kidnapped me, forced me to break-and-enter, convinced me to destroy CIA property, made me shoot someone, insinuated threats against my parents—”
“Okay, but some of that was for you.”
“You’re insane. Like, literally insane.” Nadia pressed her palms against her temples and turned away. “Why am I even talking to you?”
“And let’s be honest,” he said. “You can’t tell me that shooting Jack wasn’t just a little bit fun.”
“I don’t even know what to say to you right now. I am so angry.” She pushed past him into the hallway, still searching for her shoes.
Damon followed close behind. He opened a kitchen cabinet and removed a hurricane lamp, then set the lantern on the table and lit the wick. “Listen, I still need your help to get my mother back. If we work together, I know we can come up with a solid plan—something we’re both comfortable with. If I show up without you, Roberts will
kill her.”
She found her sneakers under the dining table. Dropping to the floor, she shoved them onto her feet and roughly tied the laces. “You absolutely betrayed me—again. You’re on your own.”
“I had no choice,” he said.
“We always have a choice! That’s all we have.”
“You think you have choices? We’re all pawns, Nadia, every one of us. Me, Alan, Libby, and especially you. Even more than you know.”
“What are you talking about?”
He hesitated.
“You said ‘even more than I know.’ So what is it?” When he didn’t answer, Nadia stood and leaned over her bench seat. She grabbed the empty envelope with her father’s code name from Damon’s backpack and held it up. “What does this code mean?”
He swallowed and snatched the envelope. “Nothing. It doesn’t mean anything. It has nothing to do with you. Or your father.”
“Liar,” she mumbled, pushing past him. She stepped into the kitchen to get a bottled water for the road, turning her back on him.
His steely fingers closed around her bicep. “I can’t let you leave. I need you, Nadia. He will kill my mother.”
A steak knife sat to the left of the sink. Nadia grabbed the knife and swung around, slicing at his torso. Damon dodged her attack and snatched his Glock from the top of the refrigerator, taking aim at her chest.
Just as quickly, he raised his hands in surrender, pointing the muzzle toward the ceiling. “I’m sorry—that was reflex. I’m putting the gun down.” He eased his weapon onto the table. “Please, put down the knife before you get hurt.”
“No.” She took a step back and bumped into the kitchen sink.
Damon inched toward her. “Put it down, seriously. I put down my gun, right?”
“Stay back,” she warned, her arm extended.
In one smooth motion Damon grabbed her wrist and twisted, pressing his fingers into the tendons that gave strength to her hand. The knife fell from her grip as she cried out in pain. He turned her body away from his and placed her in a chokehold.