by Sonja Stone
After the morning workout, Damon Moore took a five-minute shower and booked up the hill to the Navajo Building. As usual, he arrived to an empty dining room. A few years ago he might’ve wandered in at the last minute like the rest of his classmates, oblivious to his surroundings, one of the herd, but no more. A hard lesson learned.
He didn’t mind being early—especially when it involved food. His father used to joke that Damon would sell his soul to Satan for a good steak. And showing up first meant Damon could observe his environment without the distraction of other people.
He selected a generous assortment from the buffet, and then took his regular seat, back against the wall at the corner table. Immediately, he noticed the change in position. Damon lifted the tablecloth: vacuum tracks in the carpet. Housekeeping had rearranged the furniture to clean. He stood, moved the table four inches to the right, sat back down and continued his surveillance. The security camera over the door had malfunctioned; it remained motionless, and normally by this time it would’ve swept the room twice. Everything else seemed copacetic. Satisfied, he eyed his plate, piled high with scrambled eggs, bacon and waffles smothered in fruit compote.
Training himself to notice every detail hadn’t been easy. If he’d bothered to learn these observational skills earlier, his whole life would be different. His father’s sudden heart attack, for example. There had probably been signs: sallow skin, labored breathing.
Initially, the heightened attention had worn him out; his senses had been constantly on alert, his eyes scanning, watching everyone, everything, waiting for something terrible to happen. But rather than suffer through chronic anxiety, Damon had systematically retrained his brain. So now when something seemed off, he didn’t panic: he looked for explanations.
He devoured his eggs and returned to the buffet for another glass of orange juice. Nadia was making her way down the line. Damon watched her for a second, considering. Don’t even think about it. Teammates are definitely off-limits. He touched her shoulder, matched her smile. “I’m at the same table as last night. Need a hand?”
“No thanks, I’m good.”
Back in his seat, his incessant hunger slightly abated, he relaxed a bit. As far as he could tell, he was the only student at Desert Mountain who’d ever gone to bed hungry. Alan rarely cleaned his plate, and Libby threw out more food than she ate. He stood as Nadia approached.
“Assigned seats?” she asked, carefully setting her overstuffed plate on the table.
“Not officially, but this one’s mine. I like to peruse the room as I eat. Makes me feel like royalty.”
“Consider it sacred.” She took the chair across from his, her back to the room. The worst seat at the table, and one he would accept only at gunpoint. “That buffet is amazing. I’m used to Lucky Charms and a banana.”
Damon laughed. “I know. I’ve easily gained fifteen pounds since June.” Bottomless bowls of pasta, made-to-order omelets, seconds on sandwiches. If Sensei’s workouts weren’t so intense, he probably would’ve packed on an extra thirty by now.
“Well, it must be muscle weight, because I don’t see an ounce of fat.” She took a swig of her cranberry juice. It looked too clear. She must’ve watered it down. “You’re from Baltimore, right?”
“I am. Libby briefed you?”
Nadia smiled. “Just names and locations.”
“You feeling okay? Your blood sugar high?”
She paused, her fork midair, and stared at him. “It’s not high, but I can’t eat sugar in the morning. It makes me feel sick. How’d you know that?”
“Your plate,” he lied. “All protein. You were kidding about the Lucky Charms, right?”
Nadia glanced at her breakfast then back at him. “You’re really observant.”
“Not really. My mom’s a reference librarian, so I hear about everything from managing diabetes to the aerodynamic qualities of titanium.”
He and his mom hadn’t shared many meals together. She worked most nights, picking up extra shifts to pay off the hospital bills. Afternoons and evenings, Damon had kept busy. Quiet time unsettled him, so he joined after-school clubs and took classes through Baltimore’s Parks and Recreations Program. He joined the debate team, rowed crew, learned to paint. He took up chess, tried boxing, joined the drama club. He attended free lectures at the local universities. One regrettable semester he tried his hand at the violin. Whatever occupied his mind.
Wednesday afternoons, however, had been sacred. At four sharp, Damon would arrive at his branch of Baltimore County’s Public Library, where his father used to take him every week for story hour. Continuing the tradition in his own way, he’d greet the director, say hi to the kids, then browse the shelves. A fast reader with myriad interests, he spent his leisure time discovering new theories, honing new skills, exploring new worlds.
At least, he used to. Until everything changed.
Damon tried the fruit compote. It tasted like strawberry jam. He polished off his bacon as Alan approached, fresh from the shower, hair soaked, looking like he’d just taken a swim. Poor kid never remembered to brush his hair. Probably too busy sharpening his tongue.
“I see we have another voracious eater,” Alan said, eyeballing Nadia’s plate.
“Hey, I earned this,” she answered. “That workout was tough.”
“We are not training to be Sumo wrestlers. You may want to slow down.”
“Did he just call me fat?” Nadia asked Damon.
“It’s entirely possible.”
Behind Alan came Jennifer, the flirty blonde from Noah’s team, and her roommate, Niyuri. Jennifer was the kind of girl who wanted all the guys to notice her, a trait Damon found particularly unattractive. His eyes glanced off Jennifer’s as he met her roommate’s smile. But Niyuri might be just what I’m looking for.
He studied her carefully as the pair moved toward their table. Five-four, one-ten, with cinnamon skin and long black hair. Her chin came to a soft point, shaping her face into a heart. It made her look happy all the time. He liked that about her.
Damon stood as Libby joined the table, then quietly turned his attention back to Niyuri. She was fluent in both Japanese and Italian. Her comments in class leaned more toward the abstract and philosophical. Some mistook her as flighty, but Damon didn’t think so. She just thought a lot. Her fork slipped from her napkin roll and fell to the carpet. She leaned forward to catch it and bumped her head on the table.
“Ow,” she said softly, rubbing her forehead.
Damon swiped Alan’s napkin roll as he sidestepped his roommate.
“Hey,” Alan protested.
He knelt beside Niyuri’s chair. “Are you all right?” he asked, handing her Alan’s unrolled silverware. He touched the red mark on her forehead.
“Just careless.” A pink hue colored her cheeks as his hand brushed against her. “I was hoping no one saw that.”
He feigned confusion. “Saw what?”
She grinned. “Thanks.”
Yeah, he decided. She’ll do just fine.
14
NADIA
MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 12
When Professor Sherman dimmed the lights to show her psychology class a movie, Nadia felt immediate relief. She’d been a little worried about catching up, but a movie? A monkey could follow along.
Twenty minutes later, however, her confidence had vanished.
“That was the President’s exit interview,” Dr. Sherman said as she raised the lights. “What did everyone think?” Hands popped up. “Jennifer?”
“He’s obviously lying.”
“How can you tell?”
“He’s looking up and to the right, rather than down to the left, which indicates he’s inventing a truth rather than remembering a past event,” Jennifer said.
“Nice try, but that’s a myth. Who else? Damon?”
“He exhibited a cluster of deceptive behaviors. He pulled his earlobe, repeated the interviewer’s questions and offered irrelevant details. The truth is simple; when
folks lie, they talk too much.”
In Virginia, Nadia’s first class had been Literature and Composition, reading Thoreau. Apparently at her new school she would learn to be a human lie detector.
“Excellent, I’m pleased you read your assignment. And what was the other big tell in his nonverbal communication? Anyone?” Dr. Sherman raised her shoulders. “The shrugging—pay attention, people. These are skills you will need.”
In her next class, Computer Science and Information Systems, they discussed basic hacking techniques. Their homework assignment was to circumvent the security system of a fictional network and download the database.
“Isn’t that illegal?” Nadia asked Libby.
“Sure, but it’s not a real network. Good skill to have though, don’t you think?”
In math, they learned tricks to help memorize long series of numbers. “When do you think he’ll teach us how to open a Swiss bank account?” Nadia joked.
“We covered that on day two. I’ll give you my notes.”
Chemistry turned out to be a lot more fun at spy school than public school. The class mixed common drugstore ingredients to create a stable explosive that required a high velocity strike to detonate. Their professor demonstrated the smoky explosion with a rubber bullet on the front lawn.
Political science, taught by the dullest man in the world, dragged on for a decade. Professor Hayden towered above his class as he paced the aisles. He discussed ad nauseam recruiting methods used by al-Qaida, Boko Haram and ISIS. “Our nation, founded on religious freedom, will never be safe from terrorist activity.”
A brutal hour later, the students convened in the dining hall for lunch. Nadia and Libby reached the table before the boys. I can’t believe it’s only one o’clock. I feel like I’ve been here a month.
As they settled in, Libby placed her hand on Nadia’s arm. “I can’t tell you how excited I am to have you as my roommate. I have a really good feeling about this year.”
“Me too.” Nadia smiled.
“It’s tough when roommates don’t click.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. I’ve been in boarding schools my whole life, so I’ve had my share of strange girls. The sleepwalker who ended up everywhere. The hippie who shaved her head the first of every month, which I wouldn’t have minded, but she saved her hair in a shoebox under the bed. I try not to judge, but that was odd.” Libby shuddered. “One girl stole from me. I caught her in the act and she still denied it. Can you imagine?”
A pang of guilt struck Nadia. Did she see me reading Drew’s diary? Should I tell her? If I confess, maybe she’ll think I have a shred of integrity. But if she doesn’t know, I should probably keep it to myself.
“I mean, did she honestly think I’d believe she had the exact same pair of earrings my daddy gave me for my thirteenth birthday?”
No, she definitely knows. Why else would she randomly offer that she had a good feeling about us? She’s testing me.
“They were custom made!”
Nadia winced. For Pete’s sake; it’s like living with the telltale heart.
“You okay?”
Nadia cleared her throat. “I have something to tell you.”
“What is it?”
“I feel awful about it.”
“What?” Libby’s eyes were wide.
Nadia paused. “I found Drew’s diary.”
Libby drew in her breath. “Did you read it?”
“A little.”
“You read a dead girl’s diary?” Alan yelled. Nadia hadn’t seen him standing behind her.
The dining room fell silent. All eyes turned toward Alan. His mouth hung open as he stood gaping at Nadia. Her face was on fire. Beads of sweat collected on her upper lip. She stared furiously at him. The dead silence turned to whispers as groups of students huddled together, pointing at her as they gossiped.
Damon stepped between Nadia and the rest of the room, blocking her with his body. He turned to a neighboring table. “Can we help you with something?” he asked, loud enough for the room to hear. He waited until people looked away to take his seat. Then, quietly to Nadia, “You read her diary?”
Nadia nodded. She looked at the table, then back up at Damon. “But in my defense, I didn’t know what it was. I mean, I knew it was a diary, but it could have been there for years, right? There were no names.” She turned quickly to Libby. “Obviously, I knew it wasn’t yours. It was wedged under my bed. I would never read your diary.”
“She did not write about us?” Alan asked. “I am mildly insulted.”
“I’m not sure; I couldn’t tell. She used code names or something.” Nadia snuck a glance at her roommate.
“Why would she do that?” asked Libby.
“Perhaps to safeguard against disrespectful roommates who might, hmm, what might they do?” Alan shot Nadia a contemptuous look. “Oh, right. Read her diary.”
“You be nice,” Libby said to Alan. “I’m sure Nadia had no idea it was Drew’s diary.”
“What kind of code names?” Damon asked.
“Made up names. Like Oso, whoever that is.”
Alan rolled his eyes. “Oso is Spanish for bear, Einstein.”
Nadia narrowed her eyes at Alan. “Name-calling? Really?” She turned to Libby. “I swear I didn’t know what it was. And I only read the last entry. I’m so sorry. I promise you, I am trustworthy. Most of the time.”
Damon laughed. “Don’t sweat it, girl. There’s nothing wrong with a little moral flexibility. That’s probably why you were recruited. So what did it say?”
“Absolutely not,” Nadia said to Damon. “It’s bad enough I read it. I’m not going to gossip about it.”
“Did you give it to Jack?” Alan asked.
Nadia shook her head. “I don’t know him.”
“He’s our team leader.” Libby searched the room. “I swear he was here a second ago, but now I don’t see him.”
“I’ll give it to Ms. McGill and she can send it to Drew’s parents.”
“You should really give it to Jack,” Alan said.
“Do you remember the date of the last entry?” Damon asked.
“September Seven.”
“No way!” Alan said. “This is the day she, you know—”
“Drove her car into the side of a mountain?” Damon finished. “Did she have like a premonition or something?”
Nadia didn’t answer. She pursed her lips and looked down at the table. Truthfully, she was dying to share what she’d read. But even I have limits to how low I’ll go. And Libby’s expression made it clear she didn’t approve.
“Was it at least interesting?” Damon pressed.
Nadia leaned forward and whispered, “Big time.”
“You have to tell us,” Alan said.
“It’s out of the question.”
“Then why did you even bring it up?” Alan glared at her.
“I thought I was having a private conversation with my roommate,” Nadia said.
“Good for you, Nadia.” Libby faced the boys. “You two ought’a be ashamed of yourselves. It’s none of anyone’s business.”
15
AGENT NUMBER 77365
MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 12
Early Monday evening, just after sunset, the student snuck down to the parking lot beyond Hopi Hall. He would rather leave campus entirely but this was where he kept his cell phone, hidden in the bushes along the wall. And this location, on the far side of school, was as private as any.
He pulled his hood over his head and dialed an off-campus number.
“Hello?” answered a tired voice.
“We have a huge problem,” the student said.
“This better be good. What is it?”
“The dead girl left a diary.”
Long pause. “What did you say?”
“She kept a diary,” the student answered. He glanced over his shoulder.
“Did you read it?”
“No. But someone else did.”
“W
ho?”
“Nadia Riley.”
“The new girl?” the older man asked.
“Yeah.”
“How do you know?”
“I overheard her at lunch.”
“Did Drew write about our meeting?”
“Maybe. I know she saw us. She might have heard everything we said. She promised me she kept quiet, but it never occurred to me to ask about a diary.”
“This is a disaster. Can you get the diary?”
“I followed Nadia all afternoon. She gave it to the Dean’s assistant. For whatever reason, Ms. McGill took the book directly to the kitchen incinerator. She never even opened it.”
“What did you expect her to do? Keeping a diary is against school policy. All sensitive documents are destroyed. You have to take care of this Nadia situation immediately. She could ruin everything we’ve been working toward—years of training down the tubes,” the older man said.
“I know. And another thing—Drew wrote in code.”
“What code?”
“I told you: Nadia is the only one who read it. But if she figures it out, my position will be revealed.”
“From what I hear about her, it’s very likely she’ll figure it out. And if Nadia realizes what’s going on, revealing your position will be the least of your problems. Do you have any idea what will happen if you’re found guilty of treason?”
The student’s heart beat faster. “Maybe I should call Agent Roberts.”
“You have no business calling him. You have a question, you come to me. Do you understand the basic principle of a chain-of-command?”
“I just thought—”
“We don’t pay you to think. We pay you to act.” The older man paused. “Do you know why I never address you by name?”
“Yes, of course. In case someone is listening.”
“That’s only partly correct. As a double, you are required to compartmentalize everything that happens to you. Separate this life from your other life. If the real you wants A, this you requests B. You must think differently, act differently, speak differently. Split your personality. Do you understand?”
“As a matter of fact, no. I was chosen for this role because of my intellect and personality, not in spite of it.”