Gone (6 page)

“Yes, I got your message. And I know how upset you are about the
prom.
”

Jake went silent. She could feel his confusion pouring through the phone line.
Come on, Jake. Work with me here. Figure it out…
.

“The prom?” Jake asked. “What the hell are you talking about? Forget about the prom—did you hear what I said about Chris and Skyler? About the whole Rodke—?”

“Yes, I
heard
everything you said,” she interrupted. Now she tried to pronounce each word as deliberately as possible, hoping Jake would get the picture. “I heard everything you said, and I
know,
okay? I
know
what the situation is. But you shouldn't be upset, because I know what I'm doing. I'm going to the prom with Skyler. Not you. Okay? Deal with it.”

She glanced at Skyler, who gave her an encouraging thumbs-up. What an ass.

“Gaia, why the hell are we talking about the
prom?
”
Jake's frustration was building. “We already agreed we were going to the prom.”

“Yes, we did, didn't we? Good point.” Jake paused. “What?”

“Uh-huh… Uh-huh… No, I've made my decision. I'm sorry.”

“Wait… what? Gaia, what the hell are you talking about?”

Jesus, Jake. Haven't you ever had a coded conversation before? Pick up the goddamn signals.
“Well, I just don't agree with that, Jake, that's all. I think you need to get over it.”

“Wait a minute.” Jake paused. “Gaia… Is he there right now?”

“Yes,” she groaned.
Finally. It took you long enough.
She rolled her eyes to Skyler. “Yes, Jake. You're a smart guy. And you're a good-looking guy, and I know you'll find another date. I really hope everything works out for you. And I'm sorry. But you'll be fine, and
I will be fine.
I am
fine.
Are we clear?”

“All right, Gaia, listen to me,” Jake ordered. “I'll do the talking, okay? You just answer yes or no. Are you in danger right now?”

No, this was the last thing she needed. She just wanted Jake to know that she'd gotten his message—that she that she had things under control. This conversation couldn't go on too long or Skyler would start getting suspicious again.

“Gaia?” Jake called out. “Gaia, can you hear me? Are you being held hostage? Are you in danger?”

“No.” She sighed. “Look, Jake, I don't want to talk anymore, all right? I just wanted you to know—”

“Tell us where you are. We can have people there in two minutes.”

“No.”

“
What?
Just
tell
us where you are so we can—”

“Jake,
no.
You're not
listening
to me.” She threw up her arms to Skyler with fake frustration. Though her frustration wasn't really so fake. Jake needed to understand her position here. She had to punch up the key phrases to give him the message. “You have to
listen
to me, Jake, all right? Look, I'm sick of arguing with you. We don't need to argue anymore because
I know what I'm doing.
Do you understand?
I've got it under control.
I know you're upset, but this really doesn't concern you anymore.
I don't want you involved.
I can take care of myself. I can make my own choices. And I'm going with Skyler.”

“Don't do this,” Jake insisted. “I know what you're trying to do, but don't be an idiot. Don't try to handle this whole thing alone.”

“Jake, I really have to go now, okay? So find yourself another date.”

“
No.
Do
not
hang up, Gaia. Don't—”

There was suddenly loud rustling on the other end of the line, and then there was a new voice on the
phone. A much angrier voice that Gaia did not remotely want to hear.

“Gaia, it's Oliver. What the hell are you doing? Tell me where you are
now.
”

“I have to go,” Gaia said coldly.

“Goddammit! Don't you hang up that phone!”

The look in Skyler's eyes began to shift and Gaia could see it The slightest hint of suspicion. He could hear the yelling. He could tell something was wrong. “What is Jake's problem?” he complained. “This is ridiculous. Let me talk to him.” He reached his hand for the phone.

“No,” Gaia whispered, swiping Skyler's hand away. “It's me
fine.
”

“Gaia?” Oliver barked. “Gaia, is that him? Is that that Rodke boy? Put that son of a bitch on the phone.”

“Just give me the phone,” Skyler complained. “What is wrong with that asshole? I'll take care of this.”

Gaia shoved his hand away again. “Look, this conversation is over!” Gaia shouted into the phone. “I'm hanging up.”

“Gaisa—”

She slammed her thumb down on the disconnect button just as Skyler finally managed to grab the phone from her.

“Listen to me, Jake,” Skyler hissed into the phone. “She's going with me. What's done is done, dude. Get the hell over it, all right? Hello…?
Hello?
” Skyler looked over at Gaia.

“He hung up,” she explained.

“God,
whatever.
” Skyler snorted, throwing the phone down on the couch. “Thank God you're not going with him. That kid's a freaking psycho. Was someone else on the phone, too? I thought I heard someone else.”

“Jake's dad,” Gaia replied, thinking on her feet. “He picked up, too. Now his whole family hates my guts.”

Skyler rolled his eyes. “It's just a
prom date,
people. They should get some family therapy.”

“Don't I know it,” Gaia mumbled. “Ugh, I'm just glad that's over with.” She pasted a troubled expression on her face and quickly crawled back into Skyler's arms, praying that would once again work its distractive magic. “I'm just glad you're here,” she added with as much baby-talk flavor as she could muster.

Thankfully, it seemed to work. Skyler took a relaxing breath and wrapped his arm back around Gaia's shoulders. “I'm here,” he assured her, giving her another kiss on the head. “Man, doesn't Jake have any pride? What a loser.”

The irony of that statement was almost too much to take. Jake had plenty of pride. Too much pride. Along with Oliver, and Skyler, and Chris, and just about every other man she'd ever met. This little phone call was just a microcosm of her entire experience with men. All she'd wanted to do was make contact with Jake and put his mind at ease. But what had she ended up with? All of these men shouting at her or
pawing for her phone, just dying to do battle with each other. All of these men assuming that she was utterly incapable of taking care of herself—of solving her own problems. What the hell was the matter with men? What were all the mothers and fathers of this world doing wrong with their baby boys? Because as far as Gaia could tell, money wasn't the root of all evil. Male pride was. Not that she could necessarily speak for the rest of the world. But as far as she was concerned, male pride had been decimating her life since she was six years old. And someday it would surely be the death of her. Somehow that seemed inevitable.

When she thought about all those boys now, they all seemed like such shallow, materialistic, irmiature tool.

“GET ME GENERAL COLTER ON THE line.
Now.”

“Yes, sir, and who should I say is calling, sir?”

“You tell him this is Robert Rodke. Tell him it's urgent I need him on the line
pronto.”

“Of course, sir, yes, sir, please hold.”

Chris had to stifle a giggle. He felt like he was right smack in the middle of one of those huge, crappy Michael Bay blockbusters, and he was loving every minute of it.
“Get me General Colter on the line”
It was just the kind of line Chris had always been dying to say. That and the word
pronto.
There couldn't possibly be anyone in real life who said pronto. It was almost as good as
“Get me the president!”
He could just picture those military drones on the other end of the line, rushing around to find the general based solely on Chris's demand. He could picture the general marching through some office filled with American flags and picking up the red phone. Of course, it probably wasn't red, but this was Chris's movie now, and in his movie the phone was red.

He'd gotten Colter's classified phone number right off the “classified” contract—a little less “classified” now that Chris had seen it. All he'd had to do was dial, speak, and wait. So freaking easy…

“This is Colter,” the brusque voice finally barked through the phone.

“Yes, is this General John T. Colter?”

“Speaking. Rodke…?”

“Yes,” Chris said.

“This is Robert Rodke?” The general sounded unconvinced.

“Well… no. This is Chris Rodke, actually. I just needed you to take the call. We met earlier today…?”

Dead silence on the line. Chris had expected as much, but it was only a matter of time before he'd have the general listening.

“How the hell did you get this number?” Colter asked.

“That really doesn't matter, General. What matters is the information I am about to give you.”

“Listen, boy…” Colter's western drawl seemed to grow with each dismissive word. “I don't know how you got this number, but I don't have any time for crank calls, you understand? Don't you call this number again—”

“This is no crank call, General. This is, in fact, a deadly serious call, and I suggest you listen, because once you hear what I have to say, you will be thinking very differently about the deal you are about to make with my father's company.”

“And what the hell would you know about that?”

“What would I know, General? I'd know
a lot.
A hell of a lot more than you know, that's for sure. And given that you haven't hung up yet, I know you're
going to listen. So here's a refreshing dose of
truth
for you, General…. That drug my father is trying to sell you—it's a lemon. It's damaged goods. Not only is it
not
what you signed up for, but it is something much, much worse. And I just thought you'd like to hear a few examples of—”

“Get to the goddamn point.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” Chris replied sarcastically. “The point is that the drug you are about to give to your soldiers is a complete and utter disaster. It does not work. It has
major
side effects, including uncontrollable mania, brutally violent tendencies—not to mention the fact that it seems to be one hundred percent addictive. If you make this deal, you will be making the biggest mistake of your military career. Of your life, actually.”

“This is a joke. I'm not about to take advice from some teenage kid. If you've got issues with your daddy, then you can take them elsewhere, son. Find yourself a good shrink and don't ever—”

“General, have you by chance been reading the New York papers? Do the words
Invince
or
Droogs,
or
ultraviolence
mean anything to you? Because if you'd been keeping up on your current events, then you'd know how serious this is, and you would
stop
talking to me like some idiot
child.
I am telling you, my father and my brother are trying to snow you. They just want to make the deal, no matter what the cost. But I have
been out there on the streets, General. I have seen what this stuff does to people, and unless you want an army full of stark-raving-mad trainees murdering each other on Base 9 and wreaking havoc through the entire Republic of Congo, you will shut up and listen to me.”

Colter was silent. He must not have expected Chris to be so well informed. Now he was listening.

“I figured you'd have your doubts,” Chris went on, “so I'm going to make it very easy for you. I'm going to give you a demonstration of exactly what this stuff does to people. Tonight. Nine o'clock. In the lot on the corner of West Twelfth Street and the highway. You get your people down there. I will have administered doses of the drug to a group of boys not much younger than your trainees, and you just watch how they react. You watch and see what people hyped up on this drug will do to a man, and then you tell me just how much you want to buy it. I think you'll find yourself quite enlightened about the scam my family is trying to pull on you.”

“Now, you listen to me, boy—”

“We're done here. Nine o'clock. West Twelfth and the highway. You can't possibly be stupid enough to ignore this warning. And if you are, then I promise you, it will be your loss. And the loss of all your men once they've ripped each other's throats out and shot each other to pieces. That is all.”

Click.

Chris's pulse was racing double time. The blood was rushing through his head, pounding with every heartbeat. All things considered, he thought he had handled that rather beautifully. The general would see the carnage of the Droogs, and this whole operation would go up in smoke. Which left only one remaining problem.

Once his family's operation was exposed, Chris had to be damn sure that he didn't go down with them. He was sure he could play the innocent little brother through any amount of police questioning. It was his word against his corrupt family's, and he, after all, was the good-hearted young man who had exposed them. There was still just one little fly in the ointment. One nosy little spy boy who had witnessed Chris's involvement in the whole operation. For Chris to be completely in the clear, that little problem would have to be dealt with.

So now it was time to kill two birds with one stone. Chris picked up the phone again and dialed the main number for the Village School….

“Village School, how may I help you?” Ms. Kimball's precious little schoolmarm voice was such a welcome departure from the general's testosto-speak.