Multiplayer (27 page)

His mother poured him a glass of orange juice. The news was on and a breathless anchorwoman was issuing an alert about the assassination of someone important in Pakistan. What a horrible place, Hector thought. American political parties might not always get along, but at least they weren’t killing each other.

The doorbell rang and Helen bounded down the stairs to get it. Probably Shah or one of her friends, Hector thought, but the expected giggling didn’t come. Instead, Helen’s voice held a questioning quaver as she called back to the kitchen, “Mom?”

Hector soon found himself closed in the den with his mother and the same two FBI agents who had been here before. “So Mrs. West, you don’t know anything about this?” asked the man agent. Hector knew one was Russell, the other Hanson. He couldn’t remember which was which.

“No,” growled Hector’s mother.

He turned to Hector. The woman stood behind him, adding yet another set of eyes to the ones already boring holes through him. “So you claim terrorists are using the video game,
Omega Wars
, to practice for kidnapping the President? And they killed this Chaz Martin because he found out?”

Hector nodded. “Yes, sir.” His mom was going to kill him. And destroy his game console. Then kill him again.

“Why didn’t you tell your mother?” asked the lady.

“I didn’t think she’d believe me,” Hector replied, with a glance at his mother. He winced at the look on her face.

The man sighed deeply. “We need something to believe you too, son. Do you have any proof of this? Anything at all?”

“They were having a dress rehearsal in Alanya. What more do you need?”

“How do you know it wasn’t just a multiplayer match?” the woman asked. “Did they say they were kidnapping the President? Anything like that?”

Hector shook his head. “Not exactly. But there was this guy in the game, al-Nib. He said it was too great an opportunity to let get away.”

“Target says that every time they have a sale,” his mother added curtly.

Then Hector blurted: “Chaz died in the game just before he got killed in real life! That proves –”

“Nothing,” said the man, cutting him off. He glanced up at his partner. “I think we’re finished here.” Then he looked back at Hector. “You can’t keep doing this, son. To yourself, or to us, or your mother.”

“But it’s only two weeks –”

The FBI man stopped him again. “We don’t have time to waste on tips like this. I understand you’re angry about your father.” Hector reeled and tried to interrupt, but the agent held up his hand to stop him. “Hatred of Muslims isn’t evidence of a crime. If it were, every Muslim in the country would be either in jail or deported. There’s too much of this. This has to stop.”

“But I saw it!” exclaimed Hector. “They were training! I know they were!”

“I play
Omega Wars
, too,” said the woman, trying to sound understanding. “It’s very realistic. But what you saw was nothing more than a variation of a hostage game-type. A multiplayer match. There are millions of subscribers to
Omega
and a lot of things going on. It’s almost like a real world.” She glanced up at Hector’s mother with an accusing glare. “Sometimes I wonder if children should be allowed to play.”

“My thoughts exactly,” added his mother.

“I know the difference between real and fake,” Hector countered, feeling desperate. “You have to check it out!”

“Check it out?” said Agent Russell, and stood up. “MegaSoft isn’t even an American company. So even if I believed you, there wouldn’t be anything I could do other than play the game for myself. And Special Agent Hanson tells me newbs don’t usually last very long.”

“Well, can’t you tell your boss?” said Hector. “Or call the President?”

“And tell him what? Give me something concrete and you’ll see some action. Otherwise, you’re wasting the government’s resources.”

“I’m sorry you had to come here again,” said Hector’s mother, and shot Hector a wicked look. “It won’t happen again. I promise.”

They walked to the door where the man stopped and looked at Hector. “Have you ever heard the story about the little boy who cried wolf?”

Hector nodded and stared at the floor. They didn’t believe him. They weren’t even taking him seriously.

When they had gone, Hector’s mom spun on him with rage boiling in her eyes. “Do you remember what happened to the little boy who cried wolf? Do you?” she snapped, demanding an answer.

“He got eaten because nobody believed him,” Hector growled.

“Exactly!”

“Exactly!” Hector shot back. “There
was
a wolf.
The wolf was real!
”

“There’s no wolf, Hector!” she shrieked. “No wolf. This is all in your head.”

“This is real,” Hector pleaded. “I’m not making this up. I’m not making any of it up.”

She put her hands on her hips and glared. Her face was tight as she said in a controlled voice, “We’ll talk after the funeral. You can eat your eggs cold.”

Ch. 23

The chapel on the campus of the university where Chaz’s parents taught, had a white steeple that pointed at a brilliant blue sky. Hundreds of people filled the tiny sanctuary until it seemed ready to burst. Chaz’s parents were crying. His grandparents were crying. Numb friends stood staring into space with bleary, red-rimmed eyes and swollen cheeks. Tyra was in shock. There were pictures of Chaz in his baseball uniform. Pictures of him accepting an award for winning the national science fair the year before, playing piano, waterskiing. Such a waste. The body in the coffin didn’t even look like Chaz except for the red hair cradling his head like a scarlet pillow.

Hector looked down at his pasty, motionless form lying in the casket. This was his first dead body, because when his father had been killed, only pieces were left, and they didn’t open caskets for pieces. The waxy, lifeless thing in the coffin made him queasy. It wasn’t Chaz. It was a shell. Like his father’s vanguard. All that Chaz had been, was gone.

Hector wondered what it would be like to have dead bodies strewn all over the street with blood everywhere and people screaming, and buildings and cars on fire, and shattered glass glinting in the sun. His father had seen such things. In Baghdad. In Ramadi. In Mosul. Ultimately, it was how he’d died.

As he stood by Chaz’s coffin, Hector was again struck by his role in Chaz’s death. He’d egged Mal-X into stealing his sniper rifle. He had dragged everybody to Alanya to get it back. He had talked Rada into going with him to the castle that night. It seemed meaningless compared to the life that had been snuffed out. But how could he have known the two were connected?

Sabrah and Tyra appeared beside him at the casket. Sabrah wasn’t in her Goth makeup, just a bit of eyeliner and some mascara but none of the pale white base. She was dressed in a straight black dress that clung to her willowy form, and Hector found it difficult to take his eyes off her. Tyra seemed smaller and more vulnerable, her features pinched in anguish.

“He was my best friend,” Sabrah said with a wavering voice. “When my parents split up, I went a little crazy, and he was the only one who stuck by me.” She wiped her eyes, trying to keep from smearing her mascara. Then she smiled and laughed nervously. “I guess I’m still a little crazy.”

Tyra reached out and touched a lifeless hand. “I only wish I’d known him longer. I feel so strange. There was something between us. Something… It might have been –” She swallowed hard and stroked the deep red locks. “That’s the worst part. I’ll never know.”

Tyra stayed by his side, as Sabrah pulled Hector away. “Hector, Are you okay? You look pale,” she said softly.

He almost wept at the question. The burden of what he knew, what he’d done, was too much. He couldn’t keep all this bottled up inside him. “It was my fault Chaz got killed,” he blurted.

Sabrah pulled back in surprise. “Your fault?” Then she screwed up her face. “This is the same thing you did with your dad.”

Hector nodded and bit his lip. “I need to tell you something,” he said, and led her into the hallway. They were just going out the door when they ran into Deion. Hector motioned his friend should follow and he led them both to a quiet corner. He took a deep breath and dove in. “You know how I told you guys about Operation Scimitar?”

Deion nodded. “Yeah, their invasion of Athens.”

“That’s not it at all. It has nothing to do with Athens. I went to the castle last night. I watched the big rehearsal.” He stopped, afraid to continue, afraid not to. They would think he’d lost it.

“And,” said Sabrah.

“And they’re not going to attack Athens.”

“You drug us over here to tell us that?” Deion exclaimed. “Now? Hector you really –”

“Would you just shut up Deion? For a second! Please?” Hector closed his eyes and opened them again. He could hear his words. They sounded crazy. But he had to say something. “No. It isn’t something in
Omega Wars
at all. They were…” He paused again.

“What?!” Deion and Sabrah said impatiently.

“They’re going to kidnap the President at the Alanya summit. Or kill him. I don’t know.” There. He’d said it. “They killed Chaz because they thought he found out about it.”

His friends stared. Sabrah’s mouth dropped a bit, aghast. Seconds ticked by until Deion finally narrowed his eyes and asked, “What are you talking about, man?”

So, Hector laid out his whole theory. Everything he’d seen or heard in Alanya. Deion kept shaking his head, but Sabrah believed him, at least a little. She wanted him to report it, and was disturbed when he told her the FBI wouldn’t even check it out.

“You sound like a nut job,” Deion half joked when Hector had finished. “You think the game is real.”

“This is serious,” Sabrah barked at him. “Stop fooling around.”

“It’s a game,” said Deion. “You’re making way to much out of it.”

Hector saw his mother coming their way. “Don’t say a word about this to my mom, okay! I’m already a dead man for that FBI thing.”

“I think I agree with her,” said Deion, and turned, suddenly plastering on a fake smile. “Oh, hey, Mrs. West.”

“Hello, Deion,” she said, and nodded politely to Sabrah but didn’t say anything.

“Mom,” said Hector, “this is Sabrah Moody. She was at the house the other night playing
Omega Wars
.”

Hector’s mother did a double-take. Looked at Hector in shock, then back to Sabrah. “I’m sorry, I didn’t recognize you without your –” She paused and pointed at her own face. “You look lovely.”

Deion grinned eagerly. “You’re right Hector, she is hot. The hair is awesome.”

Hector felt his face flush. “Dude!” He punched Deion in the arm. He wanted to punch him in the face. Sabrah blushed, too, and she and Hector exchanged an awkward glance.

“Well, you look very nice,” said Hector’s mom, and Sabrah smiled and thanked her. Then his mom turned back to Hector. “It’s time to go inside.”

They drifted into the sanctuary with the rest of the mourners and joined Pappous in a middle pew. He recognized Sabrah just fine, and gave her a pat on the back to comfort her on the loss of her dear friend. Hector watched them for a moment, thinking it was odd. They’d only met once, yet there seemed to be some sort of bond.

The Martins broke down too many times to count during the glowing eulogy of their son’s accomplishments and of a life cut short. Then everyone stood while pall-bearers carried the casket outside and slid it into a hearse which bore his body to the cemetery.

The day was cloudy, warm and humid as they regrouped at the graveside. Gnats buzzed through the heavy air. Three gravediggers stood nearby on a knoll, watching over where the family sat under a canopy surrounded by hundreds more crowded around. Hector shivered. When the service was finally over, the gravediggers would lower the casket and cover it with dirt and all that would be left of Chaz would be memories and a stone slab. A poor substitute for a living, breathing person.

The thought made Hector nauseous and he pushed his way out of the crowd. The last thing he wanted was to puke on Chaz’s casket. He held his stomach and staggered through the tombstones. When he looked back up, the three men were standing nearby, watching him. Not gravediggers. They were dressed casually and had no shovels. Two of them were dark skinned and the other was a white man with a thick beard, long hair, and piercing blue eyes. For an instant, their eyes met and a chill passed through Hector. Then, the men turned quickly and walked away.

The funeral and reception at the country club were solemn. Sabrah stayed at Hector’s side, avoiding their friends who sat drinking cokes and nibbling on Swedish meatballs. Instead, they wandered slowly around the tent, hearing the adults console Chaz’s parents or speak to each other in hushed tones. Hector must have heard the phrase, “Just awful,” a hundred times. An understatement, he thought to himself.

Some of them talked about the car that hit Chaz. It had been stolen from a neighboring state, and found abandoned in another part of town. Everyone was asking why it was in their neighborhood. Hector knew, but no one would believe him. No one, except Sabrah.