Desert Dark

by Sonja Stone

  He whispers in Alan’s ear, “When this is all over, you remember how I took care of you.”

  “What are you talking about?” Alan asks.

  A few days ago, Damon discovered Alan’s big secret. After hearing about the hit on Nadia, he’d suggested Alan as the fall guy instead. It wasn’t personal, just convenient, what with them living together and all.

  But Hayden had laughed at him. “Do you know who his grandfather is?”

  “How would I know that?”

  “He’s Mossad.”

  “Mossad? As in Israeli intelligence?”

  “Yeah. We don’t touch your roommate.”

  “That can’t be right. If his grandfather is Mossad, how did Alan get into a CIA training school?”

  “His grandfather’s cover is deep.”

  “So how do you know about him?”

  “Agent Roberts was the CIA liaison to Mossad while he was with the Agency. They met once, about thirty years ago.”

  “No kidding. Does Alan know?”

  “I’m sure he does.”

  Damon couldn’t believe Alan had kept it from him. He also wondered how deep and dangerous Alan’s grandfather must be that no one in the CIA had record of him—or his association with their new trainee. It probably meant his grandfather was Kidon, an elite faction of Mossad whose sole responsibility was making people disappear. After learning the truth, Damon had to admit Hayden made a good point. He wasn’t about to take out the grandson of an Israeli assassin.

  Now, in the darkening cave, Damon pulls Alan closer. “You just remember how I had your back.”

  “Yeah, whatever,” Alan mumbles. “I will be sure to send you a thank-you note.”

  “No thanks necessary. You and me—we’re like brothers.”

  Time feels endless as Damon lies unmoving on the cold ground. Jack leaves; Nadia’s breathing deepens. He forces himself to wait another hour, and then another. Finally, he untangles himself from Libby and Alan.

  Nadia’s asleep against the wall. Seeing her like this, her face relaxed, eyes closed, reminds him of the solo when he found her camp. He’d liked moving through the desert at night, with the animals out. The land pulsed and breathed, unlike the day, when everything hid from the sun. In a strange way, the desert reminded him of Baltimore. His Baltimore—the city at night. It’s a whole different town after dark.

  He’d had no trouble finding her site. He knew she’d get out of the van right after him. And she’d left a trail like an elephant: crushed topsoil, broken plants. After he found her, he’d sat under a tree and watched her sleep. She’d looked so peaceful. Never in his life had he felt the way she’d looked. He’d erased his tracks and left long before sunrise, but he’d gotten what he went for. He took her knife, in case he ever needed it. Her prints were all over the handle. Damon could’ve used it a hundred times to frame her. Dipped the blade in blood, hidden it somewhere on campus. She would’ve been gone in a heartbeat. He never could bring himself to do it.

  He shakes his head. This past week, ever since hearing about the hit, he’s been shadowing her, trying to keep her out of harm’s way. Turns out, being close to him was the biggest threat to her life.

  He tells himself that forming an attachment right now isn’t an option. But something about this girl gets to him. He never felt this way about Niyuri. Of course, that wasn’t the plan. Niyuri was cover.

  He holds his breath and tries to slip through the entrance. Nadia grabs the cuff of his pants.

  “Where are you going?” she whispers, squinting at him.

  “I gotta take a leak. Head on inside. You keep Alan warm and I’ll take a shift at the door,” Damon says. He smoothes the hair away from her face. His hand rests on her cheek. He wants to lean down and kiss the top of her head.

  “Thanks.” She nods and gently squeezes his hand.

  “Nadia?”

  “Yeah?”

  He hesitates. “Nothing. Get some sleep.”

  Damon waits for her to crawl inside before he begins scaling the rock. He moves slowly and steadily up the canyon, choosing each handhold with care. The low rumble of thunder rolls off the walls as he climbs, reverberating against the rock. The cool air smells like rain.

  Leaving like this, alone, in the middle of the night—it’s what he trained for. Funny how that worked out. The guys who taught him might have been a little too thorough. He suspects they’ll regret teaching him to disappear.

  When he reaches the top, he hoists himself over the ledge. He drops to his knees, exhausted. With no time to spare, Damon takes several deep breaths before heading toward the lights of Phoenix.

  67

  NADIA

  MONDAY, DECEMBER 12

  6:15 AM

  Whispers. Cold air wraps around her skin. The ground, colder still, pushes through her clothes. Where am I?

  “Saba.”

  Nadia opens her eyes. She holds her breath, listening for the intruder.

  “Khawan,” he whispers. It’s Alan.

  Nadia exhales and pushes herself to a sitting position. She rubs her eyes.

  “Saba, they found out.” He’s talking in his sleep. “About me.”

  Nadia leans toward Alan’s lips. His words are barely audible. “I am a traitor.”

  Her mouth opens as she stares into Alan’s troubled face. It’s been him all along.

  She stands, carefully, and draws her gun. She circles Alan, her back toward the entrance. Libby lies beside him—if Nadia is forced to fire, she’ll hit her best friend. Why did his colleagues shoot at him? She shakes her head. Not him—they were shooting at me.

  “Hey!” She kicks his shoulder.

  “Ow! What are you doing?” Then he sees the gun. “What is the matter with you? Put that down before you shoot me in the face.”

  Libby sits up beside Alan and yawns. “Why are you pointing a gun at us?”

  “These aren’t tranqs. I’m loaded with live rounds,” Nadia tells Alan.

  “Why are you carrying bullets?” Libby asks.

  “Because I knew we had a traitor.” Nadia’s eyes stay on Alan. “Libby, go outside and get Damon.”

  “Take the gun off of me,” Alan says.

  Libby moves slowly. “Nadia, what’s going on?”

  “Get out, Libby.”

  “All right, I’m going. You just take it easy, okay? I don’t know what this is, but I’m sure we can work it out.” She backs toward the entrance. “Why don’t we all take a nice, deep—”

  “Get out!” Nadia yells. Libby leaves the cave. “What have you done?” she asks Alan.

  “What have I done? You are the one pointing a gun!”

  “You were talking in your sleep. You said you were a traitor. You confessed.”

  “What? This is complete bull—”

  “I heard you!”

  “Take it easy.” Alan holds his hands in front of his body. “What exactly did I say?”

  “You said, I am a traitor! No ambiguity. Who is Saba?”

  “Saba is my grandfather.”

  “More information.” Nadia straightens her arms, sighting the gun between his eyes.

  “Honey, I’m coming in, okay?” Libby says.

  “Where’s Damon?” Nadia asks over her shoulder.

  “I don’t know. He’s not out here. Can I please come in?”

  “Fine; stay behind me.” Then, to Alan, “Saba. Go.”

  “It is what I call him. You call yours giddo, right?”

  “You confessed to being a traitor, Alan. I heard you.”

  “I just—I have not been completely honest about my family.” His eyes plead with her. “But if I tell you, I will be kicked out of school.”

  “If you don’t tell me, I’ll probably shoot you now.”

  “Nadia, for the love of God, please stop pointing that gun at him.”

  “My saba—my grandfather—he is in our line of work. In Israel. I swear to you, I am not a traitor.”

  Nadia narrows her eyes. “You’re telling
me that your grandfather is Mossad, and no one at Desert Mountain knows about it?”

  “No one anywhere knows. He has changed his identity so many times I do not even know his real name. Well, this is a slight exaggeration. But no one can possibly connect us. I mean, unless they have worked with him or know him personally or something.” His eyes stay on her gun.

  “Why did you say you were a traitor?”

  “Because of him! He is Mossad; I wish to be CIA. Before my training at Desert Mountain commenced, he gave me his blessing—with the caveat I keep him informed of world events discussed by the CIA as they relate to the Middle East. The United States is not good about sharing with her allies, unless she gets something in return. Though I am not certain why he cares what happens in the CIA. He is constantly telling me how much better Mossad performs. He said I could choose, but I—”

  “Alan!”

  “Right. At first, I agreed. I love him very much, and I did not see the harm. We all want the same thing—a safe world in which to live. But I no longer feel comfortable with our arrangement. It makes me feel . . .”

  “Like a traitor?” Nadia asks.

  “Uneasy. I do not wish to quietly report to Mossad. If I cannot liaise openly, I will tell him our deal is finished. I swear.”

  Nadia lowers her voice. “Do you understand what you’ve done? You’ve committed treason.”

  “No! I have told him nothing! But if anyone finds out, I will be expelled.”

  “If anyone finds out, you’ll be sent to Guantanamo Bay!”

  “I have done nothing wrong! And I really like it here—I like you all. I mean, I did not at first; I found you very annoying, but now I know you a little better—”

  “Shut up,” Nadia orders. “Let me think.” Is he telling the truth? This explains why he always looks nervous when our conversations get personal. What about coming to my room? Seeing the dead drop? Just bad timing? “Why were you in my dorm after Thanksgiving break?”

  “What?”

  “You said you wanted to see if Libby was home yet, but you were lying.”

  Alan wipes roughly at his eyes and says, “I do not want to tell you.”

  “Tell me anyway.”

  “You are not a very nice girl.”

  “Noted. Now answer the question.”

  Alan digs into his pocket.

  “Easy,” Nadia says, following his movement with her gun. He throws her a folded note. The edges are worn; it looks like he’s been carrying it for a while.

  She pushes the note toward Libby with her foot. “Do you mind?”

  Libby unfolds the paper and reads aloud, “Perhaps you would be interested in joining me for a meal downtown.”

  Alan glares at Nadia. “Please disregard my inquiry. It is no longer relevant. I planned to leave it at the front desk after the holiday, but then I saw you coming and I lost my nerve.”

  “And you just happen to have it with you?”

  “I have been carrying it around for weeks, trying to work up the courage to give it to you.”

  “What are you, like twelve years old? Why would you leave a note when you could’ve just said it to my face?”

  “I did say it to your face. After the dance. That did not work out so well. Anyway, consider my offer retracted. Further investigation has revealed your personality to be a bit grating.”

  She watches him carefully. Anyone else and I wouldn’t buy this story. But Alan? It does make sense. “You don’t sound like an American.”

  “I was not born here. I learned Arabic, Hebrew and French, all while learning English. I get confused with my languages—not my loyalty. I am every bit as American as you, Nadia.”

  The color is gone from his cheeks. Sweat collects on his forehead. If he were lying, his face would be bright red. Nadia lowers her gun. He can’t lie.

  “Thank God,” Libby says quietly.

  Wait a minute—he can’t lie. How the hell did he get past Cameron? Nadia raises her gun. “How did you pass the polygraph?”

  Alan sways a little. “I—I—”

  “I thought you couldn’t lie,” she says.

  “I have no baseline!”

  “What?”

  “No baseline—Dr. Cameron asks questions to establish a baseline—I fail those questions, so all of my answers look the same.”

  “The baseline question is your name. Stop trying my patience and give me all the information!”

  “My name is not Alan!”

  Nadia and Libby exchange a glance. “Continue,” Nadia says.

  “It is not my given name.” His voice is weary. “It is the first question Dr. Cameron asks, and my face reddens, and my heart races, and my blood pressure soars. Because Alan is not my name. I was named for my Saba’s father. My given name is Aryeh.”

  “What’s that now?” Libby asks.

  “Yes, I know. It sounds like I have phlegm in my throat. When I was young, my teachers could not pronounce the name and I would have to correct them. The other children made fun of me. They would hawk loogies on the playground and then say, ‘Oh, someone is calling you.’ I went home crying every day. My mother felt sad for me. The next fall, I transferred to a new school. She enrolled me as Alan. But it is a lie, and it makes me feel guilty. Like I am turning my back on my heritage. Recall how your mother felt after 9/11.”

  Nadia had mentioned it once, one night while she and Alan had been studying. For years after the attack, her mom stopped telling people she was Middle Eastern. She’d been afraid for her family’s safety. But she’d also felt bad about her silence, like she was betraying her ancestors.

  Nadia studies him. His eyes are wide. His body slumps, but his arms and legs are open, away from his torso—honest, revealing body language. His face is dreadfully pale.

  She tucks her gun into her waistband.

  Libby breathes a heavy sigh and rushes to Alan. “Hand me that water,” she orders Nadia. She holds the bottle for Alan to drink. “So you believe him?”

  Nadia nods.

  “Then apologize,” Libby demands. “You could’a killed him.”

  “For the record, I lied. I don’t have bullets. I have tranqs.”

  “That was not an apology,” Libby says.

  “I’m sorry I pointed my gun at you.”

  “What about thinking he’s a traitor? Shame on you.”

  “No, I’m not sorry for that,” Nadia says. “Someone shot at us.”

  “If I was the traitor, why would they be shooting at me?”

  “Maybe they don’t like working with you, either.” Nadia smiles.

  “Not the time, honey,” Libby says.

  Alan leans against Libby for support. The fight weakened him. He licks his lips. “I think it was Jack. He is the only one who was not there.”

  “It wasn’t Jack.” Nadia crouches next to Alan and wipes the cold sweat from his face. Now that she’s cleared him, she feels guilty for kicking him awake.

  “How do you know? Because he is your boyfriend and you do not want it to be him?”

  “I’m relieved to see your wound hasn’t affected your sharp tongue. I already checked his gun. It was my first thought too.” She moves toward the mouth of the cave.

  “You cannot tell Jack,” Alan calls after her. “Nadia, promise me. Please!”

  Nadia looks back. Libby holds Alan’s weight against her body and strokes his hair. She shakes her head almost imperceptibly.

  Just what I need—another secret. “I won’t say anything. Yet.”

  Alan opens his mouth, probably to protest.

  “That’s the best I can do right now.” Am I the only one in the world with nothing to hide?

  Jack finally staggers into view as the sky lightens. Nadia considers apologizing for checking his gun, but she’s still mad. After everything he did to me—all the lies. And he’s offended I don’t trust him?

  He throws his arms around her before she can stop him. “You were right to suspect me, and to check my gun. I’m sorry for my reaction. I
would’ve done the same thing. That’s a good way to keep yourself alive, and I’m really proud of you.”

  This isn’t what she expects to hear, but she likes the compliment. At the same time, she’s annoyed with herself for wanting his praise.

  “But you need to know,” Jack lifts her chin to look in her eyes. “I would never do anything to hurt you.”

  She actually believes him. He risked his future with the CIA to tell her the truth about Wolfe’s ongoing suspicions. Everything that’s important to him—he risked it all. To help her. She smiles a little.

  Libby emerges from the cave with Alan draped over her shoulder. “Is Damon with you?”

  Jack shakes his head. “I haven’t seen him since I left you guys.”

  “He got up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom and take a shift,” Nadia says. “Do you think he hiked out for help?”

  “I think he would’ve told someone.” Libby’s knees give a little under Alan’s weight; she eases him onto a rock.

  Jack kneels to check Alan’s wound. “We’ll give Damon half an hour, but that’s it. We were due back last night and Alan needs a doctor before his leg gets infected.”

  Nadia looks toward the sky as a hawk swoops into the canyon. She’s trapped in a red-rock coffin, and straight up is the only way out.

  68

  JACK

  MONDAY, DECEMBER 12

  7:31 AM

  Jack waits for forty-five minutes, constantly scanning the rocky walls for movement, a color aberration, any sign of the enemy sniper.

  Damon doesn’t return.

  Nadia joins him, sitting as far away as possible on his rock. “What happened? Do you think he’s in trouble? I mean, like captured or something?”

  He shakes his head. “I don’t know.” They sit in silence for a few minutes before Jack asks, “Did you hear what he called me in the van?”

  Nadia nods. “Boy scout.” Her face pales.

  “I think it might be him.”

  “It kind of looks that way.”

  “I can’t figure out why he took off. He didn’t really blow his cover,” he says.