Boy Nobody

by Allen Zadoff

  I head south a few blocks and enter Carl Schurz Park at a corner, appearing among the police officers there. I match my energy to theirs. I am an undercover working the south side of the park, one of several scattered through the area.

  I pass through a group of officers. A sergeant nods to me.

  The nod.

  I nod back and keep going.

  The park has been cordoned off, but I only need to puncture the outer layer of the cordon and get to the inside. It’s the inherent weakness of the cordon strategy. If you are outside, you are presumed dangerous. But once you’re inside, it’s assumed that you’ve been granted access by those on the outer edges.

  So I aim toward the center, and I keep going.

  By the time I make it through the second cordon, my shirt is neatly tucked in, my wallet is in my pocket where it belongs, and I am moving like a teenager who’s out of his league. I look in awe at the dignitaries entering Gracie. I lick my fingers and use them to try to make my hair look neat.

  I’m close enough now to hear the clink of glasses and people’s voices inside the mansion.

  I am almost inside.

  Almost.

  “Stop,” the voice says.

  Behind me. The Pro from the mayor’s apartment.

  He’s outside the mansion doing a recon lap when he stumbles on me.

  Bad luck on my part. Good training on his.

  “Phew. Somebody I recognize.” I say it like I’m happy to see him.

  “Your invitation,” he says. “I need it.”

  “They took it at the front gate.”

  “No, they didn’t. You have to show it at every entry point.”

  I glance toward the front door of Gracie. Sure enough, they’re checking invitations one final time.

  “You caught me,” I say.

  I notice his earpiece and attached microphone. A tap at his collar, and security will swarm us. But he doesn’t tap. Not yet.

  “I caught you what?” he says.

  “Maybe I should have said you caught Sam. Sneaking me in.”

  He nods, listening.

  “How often do you get to shake hands with a prime minister, right?” I say. “She told me to meet her outside and she’d bring me in.”

  I’m quite sure the PM’s visit is secret. That’s why I mention him. How would I know he was here unless I’d been invited by Sam?

  I see him considering.

  “If she’s meeting you, where is she?” he says.

  “That’s what I’m wondering right now.”

  “Me, too,” he says.

  He reaches toward his collar—

  “When Sam comes, I hope she brings toilet paper with her,” I say.

  “Toilet paper?” he says.

  “Because I’m shitting my pants right now.”

  He laughs. He puts his hand down without calling for backup.

  “You’re a funny guy,” he says. “Come on. I’ll take you inside.”

  I follow him into Gracie Mansion.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

  WE PASS THROUGH A GRAND FOYER CROWDED WITH DIGNITARIES.

  Some I recognize from the news, some I do not. Politicians, businessmen, diplomats.

  Members of the Jewish community and representatives from the Arab League. Some foreign accents, Israeli and Arabic both. Some may disagree with this prime minister’s approach, but it’s hard to fault his passion on the issue of peace.

  The Pro leads me into the blue-walled Wagner Wing ballroom. It’s not a huge crowd—maybe fifty people standing in clumps, waiting.

  “Do you see Sam?” I say.

  He stands next to me scanning the room. She’s not here.

  Something comes over his earpiece. He holds his hand to his ear, listening.

  He scowls.

  “Behave yourself,” he says to me. “I’ve got work.”

  And he leaves me alone.

  The energy in the room changes, excitement rippling through the crowd. Suddenly the prime minister enters through a side door with the mayor at his side. The room bursts into applause.

  The prime minister grins, greeting people and shaking hands as he works the crowd.

  The mayor is a more familiar face and not nearly as exciting to the room. People pass by him with firm handshakes and smiles on their way to the prime minister.

  I scan the space, looking for Sam, but I don’t see her.

  I move toward the mayor.

  I’m running variables in my head.

  First is the idea that Mother is wrong. The mayor is the guilty party. His blog is more or less proof of this.

  Maybe if I complete my original assignment, I can prove it to her.

  Security is reduced around the mayor. He is not a visiting dignitary, so he’s not watched as closely. I can do it here, in front of the entire crowd. Do it silently. Do it in a handshake, then fade away as the circles constrict around him.

  Ten steps from the mayor.

  Sam comes into the room. I notice her from the corner of my eye, passing through a side hallway into the ballroom.

  We see each other at the same time.

  Her eyes widen in surprise—

  And then she turns and rushes out of the room.

  “I didn’t know Sam invited you,” the mayor says.

  He’s seen me from across the room and come over.

  “She got me on the list,” I say. “I was just coming over to say congratulations.”

  He hesitates. How would I know what’s going on unless Sam had really invited me?

  “It’s not congratulations yet,” he says. “I’m still mayor until the end of the year.”

  “And then special envoy?”

  “We’re talking about it, Ben. Still talk at this point.”

  “Forgive me, but that seems very different from the work you’ve been doing.”

  “Ah, but it’s a thrilling time in Israel. The prime minister is determined to find a lasting peace with his neighbors. He feels it’s time, and our government couldn’t agree more. The world has changed; the Arab Spring has created new possibilities for everyone. We have a rare opportunity to make a difference together. That’s a mission I’d like to be a part of.”

  But if that’s the case, why would the mayor leak security plans for this event? Leak them to whom?

  “Sir, the things we discussed at dinner the other night. I was hoping to talk to you further—”

  “About Sam.”

  “I’m worried about her. I understand if now is not a good time.”

  “Nonsense. This is important. Let’s step away for a moment, Ben.”

  CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE

  THE MAYOR TAKES ME INTO A SMALL RECEPTION ROOM.

  I scan the corners for security cameras. I see two of them. No way of knowing what kind of lens is in the cameras. A fish-eye that scans the entire room but distorts it, or wide angles that photograph a slice.

  If it’s the latter, I can move the mayor into a blind zone along the wall. There will be evidence that I was with him in the room, but no evidence of what happened here.

  Not if I do this right. I take the pen from my pocket and slide it up the sleeve by my wrist.

  “Can I offer you something?” the mayor says.

  He’s moving to the blind zone himself, a liquor cabinet along the side wall.

  “A bourbon. Neat,” I say.

  He laughs.

  “How about a Diet Coke instead?”

  “That works, too.”

  I walk over and join him at the cabinet.

  “Tell me about Sam,” he says.

  “I talked to her this morning,” I say. “She’s a mess.”

  He sighs. He pulls the cigarette case from his breast pocket, glances around to make sure we’re alone. Then he cracks the window and lights up.

  “She doesn’t want to go back to Israel, does she?” he says.

  “Your wife’s accident. It’s got a lot of bad memories for her.”

  “The accident. Yes.”
r />   I read the tension in his forehead.

  “It wasn’t an accident, was it?”

  “Sam told you,” he says.

  Sam didn’t tell me anything, but I nod.

  “She told me as much as she was comfortable with,” I say.

  “I fear we made a mistake keeping it a secret, but you understand, it was a decision at the highest level. Post–9/11. Two wars in progress at the time. The Middle East was a powder keg. Add the wife of a popular American politician being killed in a bombing attack. Who knows what might have happened.”

  A terror attack. That’s how Sam’s mother really died.

  “We suffered quietly,” the mayor says. “We mourned quietly. It seemed like the right choice at the time. But I’m afraid it was too much to ask of Sam. She changed after that.”

  You changed, too, I think.

  The mayor is working for someone now, passing secrets through his blog. Maybe he’s motivated by vengeance. Maybe other reasons.

  The motivation doesn’t matter. Only the facts do.

  All the questions, all the risks, and I’m back to where I started.

  The mayor. My original assignment.

  My time is up.

  I’ve decided. I will kill the mayor, and I will deal with the consequences after.

  I will deal with Mother.

  I let the pen slide into my hand. I turn the cap to weaponize it.

  A text chimes on my phone.

  I glance at it.

  It’s Howard with another 911.

  I hesitate.

  “Do you need a moment?” the mayor says.

  I stare at the 911 message.

  “I’m sorry, sir.”

  “Do what you need to do, and then I want to talk about how we can help Sam.”

  I walk to the other side of the room, through the path of the cameras. Twice now through the path.

  I keep eyes on the mayor as I dial Howard. He answers, his voice high and tense.

  “Another photo just went up on the mayor’s blog,” Howard says.

  “That’s impossible,” I say.

  “Thirty seconds ago.”

  I cover my mouth and whisper into the phone.

  “I’m with the mayor. He couldn’t have posted anything.”

  “It’s not a document this time. There’s a picture embedded in the photo.”

  “A picture of what, Howard?”

  “Of you. On the street at night.”

  The picture Sam took of me.

  I turn to the mayor.

  “Who posts to your blog?” I say.

  “That’s a strange question,” he says.

  “It’s important, sir.”

  “I write the posts. But Sam’s in charge of the blog. She takes care of everything for me.”

  The leaked documents on the blog. They’re not coming from the mayor.

  They’re coming from Sam.

  I turn my back and press the phone to my lips. “Close everything down, Howard. Cover your tracks.”

  I shut off the phone, return the pen to safe mode.

  “We have to find Sam,” I say to the mayor. “It’s an emergency.”

  Suddenly an explosion rumbles through the mansion, shaking the floor under our feet. The power goes out, accompanied by shouts from the ballroom.

  The doors burst open, and the mayor’s security detail rushes in with guns drawn.

  “Freeze!” It’s the Pro from the mayor’s apartment. He’s looking straight at me.

  The other security people run at the mayor, surrounding him.

  “What’s happening?” the mayor says.

  “There’s an emergency. We have to go. Now,” one of them says.

  They start to hustle the mayor out of the room. The Pro’s got a Glock trained on my chest. The big one, forty-five cal. Thirteen rounds in the magazine, one in the chamber.

  I may not use guns, but I respect them. Especially when they’re pointed at me.

  I don’t move.

  “Get the mayor out of here,” the Pro says to the security team.

  He keeps the gun on me.

  The mayor stops in midstride. He’s nearly knocked over by his own security men.

  “That’s Ben!” he shouts over the urgings of his security men. “He’s with me.”

  The Pro blinks twice, deciding what to do.

  I project surprise. I project fear.

  Anything that might keep him from pulling the trigger.

  The Pro makes his choice. He lowers his pistol.

  Then he rushes toward me, grabs me by the arm, and groups me with the mayor, bringing me inside the safety of the security cordon.

  “Let’s move!” the Pro shouts, and his team hustles us out of the room.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY

  THE SCENT OF EXPLOSIVES FILLS THE HALLWAY.

  The emergency lights flicker red as we move in a group through the smoke-filled halls of Gracie. There is confusion all around us, various security teams struggling to bring order to chaos as they evacuate the guests.

  “Where is my daughter?” the mayor says.

  “Working on finding her, sir,” the Pro says. “In the meantime we’re taking you and the prime minister to the safe room.”

  He shouts at the security detail, and they lead us deeper into the mansion, down a passageway to a secure staircase. The Pro types in a code, the door opens, and he guides us down the stairs and into a basement hallway.

  I’m moving with the security team, letting them carry me along, but I’m thinking about the mayor’s blog and the emergency-response protocols that were revealed there. Somebody knows every move we’re making. Not just us. The prime minister as well.

  Two key players. But which one is the target?

  Loud voices speaking Hebrew in front of us.

  We turn the corner and two Israeli agents are shouting into radios. They are down at the end of the hall, barely distinguishable in the red haze.

  “Friendlies!” the Pro shouts. “We have the mayor with us.”

  The Israelis wave to us, signaling that the hallway is clear.

  The mayor and I are shepherded forward, surrounded by the security team.

  “Where is the prime minister?” an Israeli asks the Pro.

  “I haven’t seen him,” the Pro says.

  “Be careful,” the Israeli says. “We don’t know what’s happening here.”

  The men nod to one another, and the Pro urges our group forward.

  We head down the hall until we approach another corner. There’s a subtle shift in the lighting, a momentary shadow caused by someone passing in front of a distant light source.

  The security people don’t see it, but I do.

  They rush forward, and I pretend to stumble. There’s a domino effect as our group slows down around me. The Pro quickly scoops me up and gets me back on my feet.

  It doesn’t take more than a second. Just enough to slow our forward momentum so we don’t run around the corner.

  Into what’s waiting.

  Two men with ski masks wearing new nylon jackets like the Gap guys on the subway.

  But the ski masks have pistols.

  They turn toward us. The mayor is in front of me, blocking the shot. The masked men take aim, but they don’t fire.

  They don’t want to hit the mayor.

  I shift to the left, and their weapons follow me.

  Our security guys do not hesitate. They open fire, instantly mowing the two men down.

  The Pro glances at me. He senses something is off, but he’s not sure what it is.

  I can see he wants to ask me, but how is he going to interrogate a frightened kid in the middle of a firefight?

  “Keep moving!” he says to the group.

  “Stay close, Ben,” the mayor says.

  Suddenly a secondary explosion rocks the building. The sound is distant and muffled, originating somewhere below us.

  The explosions are coming from the basement. That’s where I need to be.

&nbs
p; The hall goes black as the explosion knocks out the red emergency lighting. The Pro leads our group forward, the pace slowed to a crawl because of the smoke and darkness.

  I use the confusion to slip away from the mayor. He’s in good hands with the Pro, and he’ll be safer without me around.

  I double back down the hallway to the bodies of the masked men sprawled on the ground.

  I check the first one. He’s dead.

  The second one groans. He’s all but gone, bleeding from half a dozen critical wounds.

  I roll him over, pull up his mask.

  He coughs blood, his eyes distant. His lips are moving.

  I lean down and put my ear near his face.

  He’s praying. In Hebrew.

  These are Israelis—that’s what I think now. But they are not the Israeli security team with the prime minister. They are a different team, men who are working with the Presence.

  I’m starting to put this together. It’s the Presence who has been reading the blog, the Presence who needed the security plans to Gracie. It’s he and his men who have been following me.

  I have a good idea who he is. And where I might find him.

  I follow the thickening smoke toward the basement.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE

  EMPTY DUFFEL BAGS ARE STREWN AROUND A UTILITY ROOM IN THE BASEMENT.

  I’ve found the staging area for the attack, but there are no people here. I check surrounding doors, looking for the point of entry into Gracie, but I don’t find anything.

  It could mean I missed it, or it could mean they were let in by someone with access.

  Someone like Sam.

  The Presence is close now. I can sense him. I use the darkness and smoke to make my way through the basement hallway. I creep forward until I hear voices up ahead, arguing.

  I peek into the room. A custodial office and changing area.

  Men in shiny nylon jackets, all of them in masks, all of them speaking Hebrew.

  The Presence is here.

  He’s standing across the room wearing a mask, but I recognize his posture immediately.

  He shouts at the other men, and they nod the way soldiers do when they’re taking orders.