We head over to our team’s bench, but neither of us sit while we watch the medics working on Rushi. Envoy Yu, who had been sitting in the stands, is obviously panicking. She tries to enter the stadium floor, but the security bots won’t grant her access until one of the refs waves her through.
I focus back on Rushi. The medics have hooked her up to an IV, and it appears they might’ve stabilized her because they’re strapping her onto a stretcher now. That’s a good sign, isn’t it? I find myself walking up to the cage to get a closer look, but then Envoy Yu steps right in front of me.
“You did this to her!” she shouts in my face.
I gape at her, not sure if she’s talking to me or someone else. But then she’s pointing straight at me. The cheery Envoy Yu that I first met is nowhere in sight now.
Malcolm tries to intervene, but she pushes him away. “Jo poisoned Rushi!”
People start booing her. Others urge her to sit down, but the damage is spreading. Murmurs ripple out through the stadium, and a strange numbness claims my body. I’m not angry; I’m completely and utterly shocked. I turn around in a slow circle, realizing that this is getting broadcasted live across the world.
Pure instinct tells me to run. Sweat beads on my face as my heart picks up speed again, like I’m about to enter another match.
Malcolm clamps a firm hand onto my arm and starts dragging me toward the elevator. “We have to get you out of here.”
Not knowing what else to do, I follow.
I can feel thousands of pairs of eyes glued to Malcolm and me as we walk onto the elevator platform and disappear underground. I wish that this thing would move faster, but it seems to insist on rumbling along.
Finally the numbness starts to fade and is soon replaced with something that feels fiery hot.
The words rip right out of me. “I didn’t poison anybody! Envoy Yu was lying out of her teeth.”
“Look, take a deep breath and—”
“She isn’t going to get away with this.” I try to reach for the elevator button to take us back up, but Malcolm stops me.
“What are you doing?”
“Giving her a piece of my mind!” Envoy Yu’s accusation echoes in my ears. Everyone heard her too. I should’ve said something right then and there, but I had stood frozen, like there was a clamp on my tongue. But it isn’t there now.
“Absolutely not. You want to cause an international incident on top of all this?”
“She’s throwing around allegations that aren’t true!”
The elevator reaches the bottom floor, and Malcolm practically pushes me out of it before I can get a hold of those buttons.
“Get a grip, Linden! You’ll only make things worse.”
I don’t know how I can sink any lower at this point. Why can’t he see that?
“Someone is trying to pin these poisonings on me!” I cry. “Lidiya accused me of tampering with the Soviet float and poisoning Lukas and Zoya. And now Envoy Yu thinks I’m to blame for Rushi. Somebody has it out for me.”
He paces a few steps, back and forth, thinking this over. “I wouldn’t go straight into a conspiracy theory.”
“You can’t wave this off like it’s a coincidence!”
He has no reply to that, so I know I’ve gotten him there, but neither does he look fully convinced.
I’m about to say that I want to talk to Senator Appleby because maybe she could do some digging, but we’re interrupted. Leon Schmid, the IC head delegate who interrogated me after Zoya collapsed, is marching down the corridor with two security guards following behind.
“We need to speak with Miss Linden,” he says to Malcolm.
Malcolm stiffens. “About what?”
“I think we all know that already,” he says before he glances at his guards. “Search Miss Linden’s locker here and then head to the dormitory. The matron can let you into her room.”
“Hold on, you’re going to search through my things?” I say, my pulse taking off.
“You can’t barge through my fighter’s personal effects. You’re standing on American soil here,” Malcolm cautions.
“And you two are here at the invitation of the Pax Games, an organization not bound by your nation’s laws,” Mr. Schmid counters, pushing his glasses up his nose. “I’ll be escorting Miss Linden right now to the conference room in hall C. As I’m sure you can tell, the IC has some questions for her.”
“You listen here, Schmid—” Malcolm points a finger in the older man’s face, and I have to wedge myself between them.
“I’ll answer his questions,” I tell Malcolm before I turn to Mr. Schmid. “Just so you know, I haven’t done anything wrong.”
Mr. Schmid gets this look on his face that says, We’ll see about that, but he gestures down the hallway. “If you’ll follow me.”
We zigzag through the underbelly of the stadium and step into a sterile-looking conference room with no windows. A ceiling fan circles lazily above our heads, making a clicking sound with every rotation, but the air still smells like cheap Viceroy cigarettes.
“How’s Rushi doing?” I ask after I’ve claimed a chair.
“She’s being taken to the hospital. The doctors there are excellent, so she will be in good hands.”
Hopefully this means that Rushi should be all right, which eases the tightness in my chest a little but not by much.
Mr. Schmid places his black notebook on the table and roots for a pen in his pocket. “To start, Envoy Yu filed a complaint against you to the IC this morning. She alleges that you cornered Zhu Rushi in your dormitory commons room yesterday.”
He must be joking. Cornered? “Rushi and I were talking about tea! Our whole conversation couldn’t have lasted more than five minutes.” My shock soon switches into fury. “And Envoy Yu is one to talk! She follows Rushi around like a shadow. It’s creepy if you ask me.”
Mr. Schmid doesn’t even bat an eye. “On top of that, we have the reports filed on you by the Soviet delegation. Consider how this looks, Miss Linden. You also had close interactions with Lukas and Zoya before they fell ill.”
I see what he’s trying to do. “The arson case was dropped and there’s no evidence that I had anything to do with Lukas’s poisoning or Zoya’s for that matter.”
His jaw clenches, but he barrels on. “Let’s get to the issue at hand. Did you have any contact with Rushi before the match today?”
I glance at the door, wondering what he’d do if I left right now. He isn’t the police and can’t arrest me. But could he pull me from the Games? Maybe. So I decide to stay put. “I bumped into her at the registrar, but that’s it.”
He scribbles this onto his paper. “Tell me what happened in detail.”
“I got behind her in line and we made small talk.”
“What kind of small talk?”
“She asked about my mother,” I huff, my frustration multiplying. “Is this really necessary? I didn’t poison anyone. I haven’t hurt anybody. Hook me up to a polygraph if you have to. I’ll do it.”
“I will make a note of that, Miss Linden, but I’m not done with my questions.”
We go back and forth like this for another forty-five minutes, until there’s a knock on the door. One of Mr. Schmid’s assistants pokes his head inside and slides him a folder, which Mr. Schmid looks over with a frown.
“We’ve finished searching your locker and your dorm. Everything there looks in order.” He sounds disappointed to be honest.
“Because I’m innocent,” I say tightly. “Are we done here?”
“For now, yes, but you should know that we’re delaying the final match by twenty-four hours so that we can investigate further.”
An alarm bell goes off in my head. “Could the Games get canceled?”
“That has yet to be decided. Now, I have another meeting to get to,” he says before pocketing his notebook.
I push my chair back and take my exit. My head is spinning. What if the IC calls off the Games entirely? There’d be no winner. No
prize money. And any sponsor who hasn’t lost interest in me yet will tuck tail and run.
I’ve spent half my life training for this sport, only to see it disintegrate in front of my eyes. I could stomach that if I’d washed out and gotten eliminated early. At least I could blame my performance on it. But that’s not what’s happening now. Someone is poisoning fighters and trying to lay it at my feet, and no one believes me.
I tear through the hallway, ignoring the locker rooms because I don’t want to spend another minute in the stadium. I can change back in the dorm, but how am I supposed to get there? Call a cab? I don’t have a single dollar bill on me.
“You all finished with Schmid?” Malcolm says, popping out from seemingly nowhere. He looks slightly out of breath, and there’s an intensity in his eyes that I only see when we’re in active training.
“He’s delaying the next match by twenty-hours for the investigation. There’s a chance the entire Games might get scratched.” I expect him to freeze in his tracks and demand to speak to Mr. Schmid right this minute, but Malcolm keeps walking toward the parking lot.
“Nothing we can do about that except wait it out,” he says, sounding distracted.
“Did you even hear me?”
Now that makes his head snap toward me. “I heard you just fine. Pick up the pace. We have to talk.”
“Talk about—”
“Not here. Get in the car first.”
What exactly is this about?
My heart is pounding again as we head to a black sedan parked out front. I move to open the back seat like I usually do, but Malcolm shakes his head.
“Sit up front. I’m driving,” he says.
This really doesn’t make sense. We usually have a chauffeur whisking us to and from the stadium.
“What’s going on?” I press, but he doesn’t say a word until we’ve driven off into the night and he pulls over onto a darkened side street a few blocks away.
Malcolm reaches into his trouser pocket and takes out a small glass vial, holding it up for me to see. It’s about the length and width of my pinky, and I can see a fine white powder inside it.
“I was able to get in your room right before Schmid’s lackeys arrived. I did a quick sweep and found this at the back of one of your drawers,” he says, anger spearing through every word. “Not a very clever hiding place, Jo.”
I stare at the vial, then at him. “Wait, you think that’s mine? I’ve never seen the thing in my life!”
“Then what was it doing in your room?”
“How am I supposed to know? I don’t even know what’s in it!” My breaths feel thick and labored. My hunch was right—someone is trying to frame me. “I didn’t poison Rushi or any of the others. You have to believe me.”
He laughs. He honestly laughs. “You can drop the act. I’m holding the evidence right here.”
“This isn’t an act!” I’m shouting now, but I don’t care. “I’ve never played dirty, and I would never stoop so low to poison an opponent. I know how this looks, but that vial isn’t mine. Somebody planted it!”
“Who, then? Security is airtight at the Pavilion.” He stares at me and waits, challenging me to come up with a response.
“I don’t know!” I throw my arms up in frustration. “There are dozens of Commies who have access to the Pavilion. Fighters. Coaches. Officials.”
“You’re saying the Reds would poison their own? Because that’s who is getting targeted. Lukas. Zoya. Rushi.” Malcolm shakes his head at me. “Fortunately for you, I had the wherewithal to search your room before the investigators got in. If not, we wouldn’t be having this pleasant conversation because you’d be in the feds’ custody.”
It’s getting harder not to cry—the emotions are building up inside me and they want out. But I manage to fend off the tears. “I didn’t do this. I’m innocent.” My voice hushes to a whisper. “You’ve got to believe me.”
Malcolm doesn’t seem to care. He’s looking at the vial. “I’ll tell you what. It’s almost admirable what you’ve done, sneaking around and picking off your opponents one by one. Anything to win, huh? You know, over the last few days, I was starting to think that I judged you too harshly, that you really are the diamond in the rough that Senator Appleby had promised.” He smirks to himself. “Just goes to show how much you’ve fooled all of us.”
Our gazes clash, and I wish he had sucker punched me instead of telling me that. Because it would’ve hurt less.
I make a grab for the vial, but Malcolm is too quick and encloses it in his fist. “What are you going to do with that? Turn it over to the IC?” I ask, desperate.
He hesitates, and I realize that he hasn’t thought this whole thing through. “If I do that now, I’ll get pulled in for confiscating evidence,” he says quietly, realizing the gravity of what he has done.
“So why did you take the vial in the first place?” I bite out. “As a little memento?”
“I did what I had to do!” he explodes. “Do you think I want to see the team eliminated? Or watch my reputation get flushed down the drain?”
“None of that will happen if you help me figure out who’s setting me up!”
He snorts at that. “Are we back to that again? Your conspiracy theory?”
It takes everything inside me to swallow my anger. He really thinks I’m capable of these crimes, doesn’t he?
I manage to hold myself together to say, “I’m no murderer and I’m no cheat. And that’s the truth.”
Then I throw open the car door and start walking.
“Linden!” Malcolm calls out after me, but I don’t turn around.
I end up at the Pavilion because there’s nowhere else for me to go. By the time I get back to my room, it’s well after ten o’clock, and my feet are sore from all the walking. But I can’t plop onto my bed and go to sleep yet, thanks to the damage that the IC has done to the place.
The investigators have left no corner unturned. My drawers are all gaping open, and my mattress has been flipped up onto the bed frame. They’ve taken all my pillows too, probably to get cut up and dissected. I can’t even find my toothbrush.
I have to bite down the urge to scream. It’s all too much. The pressure. The accusations. The vial that Malcolm discovered. I thought I’d hit rock bottom when the press discovered that my mother was Chinese and I got hit in the face with rotten rice.
I had no idea how much further I could fall.
Exhausted, I curl up on the floor. My cheek presses against the cold tiles, but I don’t care. I shut my eyes and hope for a little peace, but my mind drifts to Peter instead. He and Dad must be waiting by the phone for my call. They must be worrying themselves sick, but I can’t bring myself to get up.
I wish I could fall asleep right here, but my thoughts keep me awake. Whoever is framing me is still out there, probably rubbing their hands together, pleased, because their plan is all coming together. I wrack my mind for possible suspects. It must be someone with access to the VIP sections of the stadium, but that’s a staggering number when you count up all the fighters, coaches, and staff members, not to mention the security details and Association reps and any other cronies who got handed a badge. Or managed to steal one. There are possibly hundreds if not a thousand people in that pool. How am I supposed to narrow that down?
I’m running through that list when I finally drift off. When I wake up again, I’ve got a mean crick in my neck, but I go through the motions of getting ready for the day: asking the dorm matron for a new toothbrush and forcing down a plate of scrambled eggs and walking over to the training center because I still have the final match to prep for. The routine calms me a little, but as soon as I spot Malcolm, I start feeling anxious and angry all over again. I don’t want to rehash our conversation though, and fortunately he doesn’t even bring it up.
“Start stretching,” he says as he glugs down his standard black coffee.
I begin with lunges. The silence between Malcolm and me turns awkward, and I wish that Sam w
as here to lighten the mood. He’d crack a joke or challenge me to a duel in the pit, and even if he ended up beating me, it would be better than this.
“Any word on Sam?” I ask.
“He’s improving,” Malcolm says without elaborating. Then he has to step out for a minute to take a call, and I’m left to finish my warm-up on my own, which I don’t mind at all.
As I move into some torso twists, I wonder if Sam and Rushi are at the same hospital. Washington isn’t a big city, so there’s a good chance that they are. It makes me wonder what Sam thinks about all of this. Did he even watch the matches yesterday? I wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t, but I get the feeling that he must have. He wouldn’t have been able to keep his eyes from the action.
Malcolm approaches me upon his return, his face looking even more sour than before. “I got word about Rushi. She’s awake and recovering,” he says. “Envoy Yu is telling anyone who will listen that she thinks you’re at fault.”
I’d thought that I had gotten a good handle on my fury, but it comes roaring back. “That little piece of—”
“But Rushi’s blood tests have come back inconclusive, and the IC has no evidence that you poisoned her. It’s all she said, she said.”
“Then the Games are a go? We’ll have the final match tomorrow?”
He nods, and I’m hit with a punch of relief.
Thank God.
I still have to beat Lidiya and win, but at least I’m going to get that chance.
“Don’t go celebrating just yet,” Malcolm says, bursting my bubble of bright news. “You’ve got a cloud hanging over you. Three countries have withdrawn from the Games since yesterday. East Germany, Hungary, and Bulgaria. They’re arguing that the IC has been too slow to respond to the poisonings and that the entire ’63 Games should be forfeited.”
I cross my arms. None of those countries have fighters left, so this decision must be mostly for show, but it feels like sour grapes to me.
“At least it’s only three,” I say, trying to make light of it.
Malcolm isn’t amused. “China is heavily considering it too. They’re urging the Soviets to withdraw as well.”
The Great Destroyers Page 22