Children of the Underground (24 page)

Thirty-six

We spent two days together here at the Jersey shore before Michael left for Istanbul. Michael wanted to show me all of his and your father's old stomping grounds. He wanted to show me the exact spot where he'd saved your father's life. In all of Michael's stories, I felt the weighty absence of a third character. Michael told the stories as if Jared never existed. After two days, Michael left for New York. I still haven't figured out what I'm supposed to do.

* * *

The Internet café
and checked my e-mail at least eight times in the first two days after Michael left. Michael and I created new e-mail accounts. We were the only people in the world who knew those e-mail addresses. Each time I logged on, my in-box was empty. It was supposed to be empty. We agreed to use the e-mail addresses only in cases of emergencies and so Michael could tell me when he was coming home. I wasn't supposed to get a message for three weeks. The first time I logged on, I logged into my old e-mail address too—the one that I used before I met your father. I hadn't logged into that account in over a year and a half. I was curious. I had more than ten thousand unopened e-mails and a message telling me that my account was over capacity. I thought for a second about looking at the names of the people who sent me e-mails and at the subject lines of the messages. I didn't. Nothing I saw there was going to help me. I logged out and haven't logged back into that account since.

I'm still at the Jersey shore. I decided to stay after Michael left. Your father loved it here. Being here makes me feel closer to him. I've gone to the southern tip of the island a few times and looked out over the water. Your father fought for his life in that water, killing in order to survive. I used to not understand. Now, staring out into the turbulent, dark water, I only hope that I can be as strong as your father was. I listen to the crash of the waves and I imagine that he's whispering to me beneath the ocean's roar. The problem is that I can never understand what he's trying to say.

I can't keep checking an e-mail address for a message that I know isn't going to come. I can't sit here and wait for ghosts to whisper secrets to me. I need to figure things out for myself. Michael won't be back for three weeks. I can't afford to waste that time.

* * *

Exercise program. I've
been running on the beach. It's different from running on pavement. It works different muscles. I've been going for long swims in the ocean. I've been doing push-ups, sit-ups, pull-ups, everything I know how to do to get stronger. Michael was right. My job is to be stronger tomorrow than I was yesterday. I can feel myself getting stronger. Still, I know that I can do more.

* * *

Jared's voice out
of my head. I always knew that I was going to hear it again if we made it this far. For some reason, I expected it to be different. I expected killing your father to change him. He sounded the same. He still sounded like a man without any doubts. I hated him for how he sounded almost as much as I hated him for what he did. At the same time, I wish I could sound like that. To be free of doubts is to be unstoppable.

* * *

Out what I
need to do. It's been more than a week since Michael left. I packed up my duffel bag again, shoving my whole life into that bag. I have a few changes of clothes, your father's journal, this journal, and my baby-development book. I have the unopened pack of cigarettes that I've been carrying around since Michael made me quit. I have my knife and my gun. Finally, I have the postcard that Michael found in Dorothy's pocket. Before I left, I went back to the southern tip of the island one more time. I let your father whisper to me again. I still couldn't understand what he was saying. Then I said good-bye.

Dear Maria,

Every picture is a picture of a picture

Of a picture of a picture of a scene.

Every memory is a memory of a memory

Of a memory of a memory of a dream.

On the sixth day, you can find your reward under a rock in the creek in the park.

Postcard over and
over again on the train to D.C. Michael had received a series of postcards. I had one postcard. Only one. Even so, Dorothy had made a promise. I had no doubt that she would have kept it if she were alive. She wasn't. I had no intention of going to Rock Creek Park. I wasn't going to walk in there and stand around, waiting for someone to come to me, someone who might not even be there. I'd been doing enough standing and waiting. I remember that first night when I made contact with Michael. I remember standing there in the darkness, not moving even when someone pointed a gun at me. I remember waiting for Michael to come to me. Even in the face of the death, I stood there and waited. Not anymore. You deserve better. Lucky for me, while trying to decipher Michael's postcards as we drove up from Florida to Washington, D.C., I had basically memorized them. I knew where they would be tomorrow and the next day and the day after that. I wasn't going to wait for them to come to me. I was going to go to them.

Thirty-seven

It's Tuesday night. I'm staying at a hotel in Crystal City in Arlington, Virginia. It's cheaper than anything that I could find in Washington, D.C. It's a quick walk over the bridge into Georgetown. From there, I can walk to Foggy Bottom and catch the metro to anywhere. The Einstein Memorial is only a short walk from the bridge too. I spent this morning there, scoping it out. It took a couple hours to sweep the area. The statue is in an elm-and-holly grove south of the Academy of Sciences. The statue is surrounded by trees on three sides. The fourth side opens up onto Constitution Avenue. In the statue, Einstein is sitting on a set of steps with a paper full of mathematical formulas in his lap. If you touch the statue, you can feel how the stone has been worn away by years of children sitting on Einstein's lap. On the ground by the statue's feet is a map of the planets and the stars. Legend is that if you stand in front of the statue and whisper to it, it will whisper back to you. I didn't dare try.

I came back to Virginia in the afternoon. I wanted to buy more ammunition for my gun. After all, what good is having the gun if you don't have enough bullets?

The hotel has a business center. After spending an hour and a half at the hotel gym, I went in and logged onto a computer to check for an e-mail from Michael. My in-box was empty. I thought about sending Michael a quick message, asking him if he was okay, if everything was going as planned, to tell him that I missed him. I didn't. I wonder if Michael is doing the same thing on his end, checking his e-mail every day to see if I've written to him. I wonder if he is disappointed every time he opens his e-mail and sees that I hadn't.

* * *

Early. I didn't
know how early Clara's men would arrive, but I wanted to get to the statue before them. I couldn't imagine that they would get there too early. They wouldn't want to be the first people there. They wouldn't want to do anything that made them stand out. I remembered Malcolm X Park. They came out of nowhere, first the ones that grabbed Michael and then the ones that grabbed me. If I got there first, I might be able to see them come in. I had to be sure it was them. I simply had to do everything right. I had to avoid mistakes. I had one chance. If I blew it, things would get very dangerous very quickly.

I packed my backpack. I put the gun in the outside pocket, where it would be easy to reach. I tucked the knife into the waistband of my pants, with the handle hidden beneath my shirt, the way Michael taught me. The knife already saved my life once. I felt more comfortable with it pressed against my thigh now than I felt without it. I put two bottles of water in my bag, along with an apple and a couple of granola bars that I'd picked up the day before. I threw in the old, unopened packet of cigarettes that had somehow become my personal rabbit's foot. Finally, I threw in the journals. That was enough.

The sun wasn't up yet when I walked out of the hotel but the sky was already turning a lighter shade of blue. The sun was up somewhere and its light was catching up to me. I walked out through Crystal City toward the bridge to Georgetown. I decided to walk the whole way. I wanted to loosen up my muscles. The sky grew lighter as I walked. A mist was rising up off the Potomac as I crossed the bridge. I felt for a moment like I was walking through a fog into another world. I crossed the bridge and took a right-hand turn toward the neighborhood of Foggy Bottom.

I didn't head straight for the statue or the trees behind the statue, where I planned on making my stakeout. I knew not to do that. I'd learned. Instead, I looped around the area. As I circled, I looked for anything that might be suspicious. When that loop was finished and I felt that everything was safe, I made a smaller loop inside the first. I rechecked everything that I had checked the day before. No mistakes. I made four smaller, concentric loops before I closed in on the statue. By the time I was finished, the dawn had turned to morning and the sun hung low in the sky. I could see people walking along the river across the street, but no one had come to visit the Einstein statue yet. I did one pass by the statue, gliding my hand over Einstein's lap, feeling the effects of all those happy children. Maybe one day I can take you there. Maybe one day I can sit you on Einstein's lap, and you can whisper to him and he'll whisper back to you.

I didn't linger at the statue. I had to get to my hiding place before any visitors arrived. I needed to be able to watch the people come and go without being seen. The mistake I'd made when Michael and I were kidnapped in Malcolm X Park was that I'd kept my head down, looking for something that didn't exist. That's the purpose of the riddles. The riddles distract you so that they can monitor you. I had been looking for clues, and Michael had been looking at me. Neither of us was watching what we should have been watching. I wouldn't make that mistake again.

I slipped into the trees. I knew exactly where I wanted to go. It was a small spot nuzzled among three trees. The trees wouldn't hide me completely but they would provide enough cover so that Clara's men wouldn't be able to get a good look at me. From a distance, I imagined I appeared to be a regular college girl enjoying the weather, relaxing with a book. They would have to get a lot closer to me to realize that I wasn't a college girl, that I wasn't enjoying the weather, and that I wasn't relaxing. I wasn't going to let that happen.

I settled down on the small incline, high enough to have a clear view of the statue and the area around it. I could see people come and go. I would see anyone who came looking for clues to unanswerable riddles. More importantly, I would see the people watching those people.

It was another hour before the statue had its first visitors, two slightly overweight parents and their two children, a boy and a girl. The girl was older and wore glasses. She ran up to the statue and began reading the equations carved onto Einstein's lap. The boy stopped at the map of the night sky on the ground and jumped from one star to the next, crossing universes in giant leaps. The father took pictures. After about fifteen minutes, they walked on. After that family, no one came for another half an hour. I looked at my watch. It was ten o'clock. If they were going to come, Clara's men would come soon. Even if they didn't want to be the first visitors, they wouldn't be so late that they'd risk losing a convert. Another family came and went. I ate one of the granola bars and drank some water. After the second family left, the visitors came in steadier streams. I marked each visitor on the pages of this journal. By eleven o'clock, twenty-seven people had come and gone. None stayed very long. The day was getting hotter and brighter. I hadn't seen any stragglers. I didn't see anyone watching anyone else.

By noon, forty-five people had come and gone. At twenty minutes after noon, another group came. It appeared to be two families, one young couple and one loner. I looked at the loner's face. I thought I recognized him from somewhere but I wasn't sure where. I tried to remember the faces of the people that I'd seen at the compound when they kidnapped me, but that wasn't it. Then it hit me. He'd already been there. He'd come in an earlier group, at around eleven o'clock. I watched him. He stood there, staring at the statue for a few minutes. Then he walked on. He'd done the same thing that last time. I studied the man's face. I saw him again a little more than a half hour later. He wasn't the only one. All in all, I determined that three different people were making repeated trips to the statue and moving on without talking to anyone.

I knew that there had to be a fourth person with them. It took four of them—two pairs—to kidnap me and Michael. It made sense to work that way. It was a classic buddy system. I kept watching, unsure of how or when to make a move. I couldn't do anything until I saw the fourth. Until then, making a move would be too risky.

At close to three o'clock in the afternoon, the first man came again. More than eighty people had come to visit the statue. This guy had already come at least five times. I was missing something. I stood up and walked away from the trees that were protecting me. I had to get closer to see what I was missing. I watched the man walk up to the statue. Carefully, I walked in close enough to see the expression on his face, close enough to see everything he saw. He stood in front of the statue for two or three minutes, but he barely looked at it. Instead he stared down at his feet. He moved his right foot over the map carved into the stone beneath him, tapping it as if drawing a picture with his toe. Then he lifted his head and looked directly at me. I froze. I thought I'd blown it. Then I realized that he wasn't looking at me. He was looking at something behind me. I had an urge to turn around to see what he was looking at, but I fought it. They would have noticed me and—and what? Run? I didn't want to risk it. Instead, I walked away, heading toward another clump of trees. When I thought I had gotten far enough away, I turned and looked back. Someone was standing at the top of the hill. I watched. The man at the top of the hill nodded to the man at the statue. Then they both disappeared simultaneously.

I repositioned myself. I had been concentrating so hard on what was in front of me that I missed the man standing behind me. I found another tree to hide behind where I could watch both the statue and the top of the hill. Twenty minutes later, another of the repeat visitors walked up to the statue. It was his sixth visit. I looked up at the top of the hill. The man there reappeared at almost the same time. Repeating the pattern, the man near the statue made a few seemingly random taps on the ground with his toe before walking away. They were signals. Everything was coordinated nearly down to the minute. I should have assumed as much. These people weren't amateurs. They wouldn't survive if they were. I couldn't be sure what the messages were about but I wasn't about to wait to find out that they were about me.

I waited until the man on the hill disappeared again. Then I walked out from under the cover of the trees. I quickly made my way up toward the top of the hill. I found a spot not more than fifteen feet from the place where I'd seen the fourth man appear and I hid again. I unzipped the outside pocket of my backpack.

Eight minutes after I got to my new hiding spot, the man reappeared again. He stood at the top of the hill for five minutes. I watched as he nodded toward the statue. Then the man on the hill turned around and started walking away. He wasn't alone this time. I followed him. I carried my backpack at my side, my hand jammed in the outside pocket. I walked carefully, aware that I was following someone who had no choice but to spend his life paranoid that someone was following him. I don't think he ever would have guessed that the person following him was me.

I made up some of the distance between us with each step. He was taller than me, at least five-foot-ten, so I had to make almost two steps for each one of his to catch up to him. I wanted to see where he was walking before I gave myself away. He walked up to the street behind the Academy of Sciences and took a left toward Twenty-third Street. He looked at his watch as he walked. Everything was coordinated. I wondered how much time he had before he was supposed to be back to his post on the hill. The street wasn't crowded, but we weren't alone. The strangers gave me cover—I could hide among them—but they were also potential witnesses to be wary of when I pulled out my gun.

I was only a few feet from him when we neared Twenty-third Street. He hadn't turned around, hadn't looked back or even glanced behind him. It made me nervous. I saw him reach into his pocket. My stomach knotted up and I squeezed the handle of my gun. I watched his hand. He pulled a set of car keys from his pocket. He was walking back to a car. It was a fortunate fact—fortunate for me, not for him.

I closed to only a step or two behind him. He still didn't look back. He was in too much of a hurry to look back. For some reason, he hadn't given himself enough time get to the car and back to the top of the hill without rushing. Whatever the reason, he wasn't as aware of his surroundings as he should have been. Nobody's perfect. He walked around the back of the sedan to the driver's-side door. I was right behind him, walking silently.

I could see only two other people on the streets by the time he opened his car door. They had kidnapped me in front of a park full of people and no one reacted. I had to take the chance that the two people on the street weren't heroes. Few people are. It's hard to be a hero, and it's not because people aren't brave. Many are. They're simply not taught how to be heroes. They lack the instincts and reaction time. He turned toward the car. He leaned down and grabbed the door handle. I was only four feet away from him. As he turned, he noticed me for the first time.

He knew right away that something was wrong. He simply didn't know what it was yet. In his world, so much could go wrong. I could have been one of any of a long list of potential enemies. I'm sure that he didn't even know that I was a member of that list. “Can I help you?” he muttered to me. I could hear the fear in his voice. I wasn't used to having people fear me. In one quick, practiced motion I pulled the gun out of the front pocket of my backpack and then slung the backpack back over my shoulder. The man looked down at the gun and froze.

“Unlock the doors,” I ordered. The man leaned down with the key toward the car door. Every movement made me nervous. “With the button on your key chain,” I said. “Unlock them with that.” I was holding the gun low, trying to hide it from the rest of the world. I didn't have a lot of time. The others at the statue would realize something was amiss in less than ten minutes.

The man clicked the button on his car keys twice. I heard the doors unlock. I opened the back door, still pointing the gun at the man. “If you want the car, you can have the car,” he said. His voice was calmer now. I hadn't shot him yet. Most of the people on his list of enemies would have shot him by now.