Tunnel Vision (16 page)

Part of me wants to stay and watch. But this is not TV. I do what I’m told, shut myself in the mausoleum, and sit down to wait.

My hands clasp together with nothing to do. I wish I was the one out there facing the danger, like in
Call of Duty
. But much as I hate to admit it, probably not a good idea with real guns, a real bad guy.

He’s back in about ten minutes. “No one there.”

“He
was
. I didn’t imagine it, I swear.”

“Oh, I believe you. I’ll check surveillance too, and we’ll get an ID from that.” He tucks his gun away, half-smiles. “Since I still have cameras up.”

All right. I suppose the surveillance could actually be useful.

“Now. Let’s get you back to school—you’ll be fine in the cafeteria with all those kids—and then I’ve got some phone calls to make.”

To Liesel. She isn’t going to like this at all. And if she decides it’s too much of a threat, and I’m not safe out here … she could pull the plug.

Jesus.

Eric sets a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’re not going to give up that easily. Yes, they were supposed to be long gone. We fed them misinformation, that your tests were useless, and supposedly they lost interest. I don’t know why he’s here now. But we’ll find out what we’re dealing with, and we’ll handle it.”

God, I hope so. Just seeing that man’s face—I haven’t felt like that much of a bull’s-eye since that first day. We walk down the path and out the gate, down the street. Eric stays a step ahead of me, keeping an eye in all directions. I look over my shoulder, just in case he’s behind us, following. Watching. No one there.

But he was. And it’s worse when I know why.

17

“Is it Over?” by Thievery Corporation

I lunge for the ball, but it bounces past the end of my racket and slams into the wall behind me.

“Lukin!” Coach Brammer bellows. “Get your head in the game.”

“Yes, Coach,” I mumble. I pull another ball out of my pocket, serve it to Diego, and rock back and forth on my toes.

Be ready. Be focused.

Tryouts are
sucking
.

It probably would help if I’d slept last night, instead of staring at the ceiling imagining (a) strange people abducting me or (b) Liesel’s people
taking me in
for my safety. About 3:00 a.m. I thought I heard someone outside my window. I jumped up, grabbed one of my rackets as a weapon, and stood there for twenty minutes, listening. My heart beating like a fucking rabbit’s. There was no sleep after that.

Diego’s slice is easy, and I hit it back, aiming for the left corner. “Out!” Diego yells. Coach shakes his head and moves on to the next court. Damn it.

Diego’s serve. We move to our places. I watch the ball fly toward me in a perfect curve. I return it neatly, making him run the other way. My body
knows
how to do this, where the ball will land, where I need to be. If I can just shut off my brain.

“Well done, Ed,” Coach says, two courts down. “Impressive.”

I sneak a look: Eric is flying all over the court like a streak, hitting balls back with ease. I hate him. How can he do that, with everything else going on?

I miss another shot, and growl to myself.

This is your real life, Jake. Focus.

But is it? I’m not sure anymore.

*   *   *

When I get home Myk is setting the table, and Mom and Ana are talking in the kitchen. They sound like friends, laughing. The whole place smells like beef stew. It’s one of my favorites.

I wonder if I can just skip it and go straight to bed, catch up on that sleep.

Probably not. At the very least, I have to find out if there’s word from Liesel, any news, decisions. I drop my keys in the bowl.

“Hey,” Mom says, poking her head out of the kitchen. “How’d tryouts go?”

I grunt. “I still have two days to do better.”

“Oh.” She frowns. “You okay? You look … tired.”

Ana appears behind Mom, antennae up. Mom
and
handler once-overs. I don’t know which is worse.

I shrug at both of them. “Couldn’t sleep last night.”

Mom gets the little line in her forehead. “Go wash your hands, please. Dinner in five.”

Dinner. I can eat, after all. I stuff myself with stew and homemade bread, and stay quiet. Surprisingly, Ana starts in with the talking.

“Tell me,” she says, her accent thicker than usual. “Where does the name Lukin come from?”

I stop chewing. She knows perfectly well where Lukin comes from. She probably knows more about Dedushka than Mom does, after this past weekend.

“Oh,” Mom says. “It’s Russian. My husband’s father and mother came here from the Soviet Union, before he was born.”

“From Moscow,” Myk chips in shyly. “I’d like to go there sometime.”

I imagine trying to protect Myk in Moscow.

“Really,” Ana says. “Russian. So exotic! I thought it was hard to leave Russia then. Did they … what is the word. Defect?”

What is the word?
What is she doing?

“You know, I’m not sure,” Mom says. “We never talked about it. Grigory’s a bit of an odd one, and Milena died before I met John.”

There’s a silence. Everybody digs in again, and I unwind a little. I guess she’s pumping for more info about Dedushka. Can’t blame her too much. But it’s okay. Mom hasn’t said anything they don’t know. She probably doesn’t
know
anything they don’t know.

“John,” Ana says. “I’m sorry, but that was your husband?”

Mom swallows, then nods. “Yes. He died two years ago. But it’s okay to talk about him.” She glances at Myk and me tentatively, like she’s telling us instead of Ana. “It’s been a long time.”

I pick up my spoon and keep my eyes down, focused on the stew.

“That is good, yes. It helps to talk of the person, sometimes.” Ana pauses. “How did he die?”

“
Enough,
” I say, an edge in my voice. They all turn to me, startled.

“No, Jake, it’s okay,” Mom says. “In a plane crash,” she says to Ana. I can hear her trying to keep it even, and I want to step in and stop her. She doesn’t have to say this. She doesn’t have to tell them this. It’s on the record, anyway. They know it. “In the mountains, in Colorado. The plane crashed into a mountain, in a storm.” Her voice cracks. “It was terrible.”

I’m there again. High up in the mountains, the small group huddled around the memorial marker they’d put up against the cliff. Everyone except us and Dedushka dressed in air force blue. The cold, bitter tang of the air, the taste of salt on my lips. Myk pressed up close against me, dry eyed, still. And then afterward, the three of us doing Glue against the marker, our hands shaking.

The sense of emptiness. Betrayal. How could he do this to us?

Ana’s eyes are on me. I meet them, unflinching.
Enough
.

“Ah,” she says quietly. It’s another moment before she turns to Mom. “I am so sorry.”

Mom waves it away. She clears her throat, excuses herself, and comes back with a glass of red wine. Myk’s hair falls across her face, a curtain of black.

We eat. Nobody says anything for a long time.

Then Mom pushes aside her plate, pulls her wine glass to her. Her fingers curl around it, like she’s hugging it. “I have a peculiar story to tell. Guess what happened to me today?”

“What?” Myk asks.

“I thought I saw some men following me.”

My gaze shoots straight to Ana’s.

“What do you mean?” I ask. “Who was following you?”

“Well. It’s probably silly. But I was on my walk at lunch—and suddenly I just felt … watched.” She laughs a little. “You know what I mean? Like eyes on your back?”

I don’t answer. I know what she means.

“So I got tricky and I hid around a corner, then turned back to look. And there
was
someone there. Two men, in navy suits. They went right past me, but they did look like they were searching for someone.” She gulps the last of her wine and looks around the table, like she wants us to laugh it off. “I went back to work another way. I know, it sounds ridiculous. I sound like your Grandpa. But it was just one of those feelings. I felt so
sure
.”

“That is weird, Mom.” My face feels as heavy as concrete. I strain to smile. “But I’m sure it’s fine. It’s probably nothing.”

I toss a glance at Ana.
Help me.

“I agree,” she says carefully. “Probably just Washington suits, yes? There are men everywhere in Washington in suits. Maybe lost, looking for the right building.”

Mom sighs, taps at her glass. It rings, a high musical note. “You’re probably right.”

Myk doesn’t say anything, her gaze on Mom. Evaluating.

“I … I think I’m done,” I say. “Ana, can I help you clear?”

We both stand. I grab some silverware and plates and walk, as deliberately as I can, to the kitchen. Ana’s behind me.

“Stay calm,” she says in my ear, as soon as we’re out of sight. “We do not know yet what it is.”

I spin. “Stay calm?” I repeat, hoarse. “It’s my mother. Someone’s after my mother. What is going
on
?”

She brings her face close to mine, her voice lower. “They could have been ours. It could have been nothing. It could be her imagination.”

“But it wasn’t, was it?” My throat feels raw. “She’s in danger. And the man today…” I clench my jaw. “I have to talk to Liesel. This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“Jake.” She squeezes my shoulders hard. “I need you to go to your room and try to calm down. I will speak with Dr. Miller and we will work this out. If there is a threat, we
will
protect them. And you. I promise you.”

I suck in, out, through my mouth, nod. Go down the hall to my room and sit in my chair, trying not to panic.

We have to keep the two of them safe. No matter what else happens. That’s the
only
thing that’s important.

Out of the corner of my eye I see the tiny shape of a surveillance camera, back in place in my bookcase, pointed at me.

I leave it there.

*   *   *

Ana slips into my room about ten. Liesel didn’t know anything, but they’re investigating. Hopefully they’ll have answers soon. In the meantime, she promises me twice the security on all three of us. Until we figure out what’s going on, if there really is a credible threat and why it’s popped up again, Mom and Myk will have bodyguards too. Though they won’t know about it.

It makes me feel a little better. Not better enough to sleep more than a few minutes at a time, though. I lie there, useless, the thoughts whipping through my head.

I promised Dedushka I wouldn’t let this ruin their lives. I promised Dad, a long time ago, that I’d take care of them, if anything happened to him. That I’d never tell Mom about any of this.

I promised myself I’d keep them safe, no matter what.

I’m not keeping them safe. I’m endangering them. If they’re threatened, it’s because of me. Because of who I am. Because of the choices I’ve made.

At 4:00 a.m. I go to Mom’s room, to check. She’s sound asleep, tucked on her side. I look at her for a long time, her curls all wild, mouth open. At the picture of Dad on the nightstand, frozen in time in his uniform. Then I go to Myka. She has one arm over Horse tonight, her hair in a thick braid down her back. She looks soft, small. Vulnerable.

Damn it.
I curl up a fist and bang it silently on the doorframe.

“Go to bed, Jake,” Ana whispers. She stands behind me in the hall, in shorts and a T-shirt, hair loose around her shoulders. “You must get some sleep.”

I meet her eyes, glinting in the faint light. “Would you?”

She’s silent. Then she sets a warm hand on my arm, and nudges me down the hall. “No. I was up also. Shall I make some coffee? We can sit and talk.”

I consider it. But I don’t want to be inside right now. “I want to go for a walk.”

Her forehead pinches. “Now? It is dark, and freezing. It must be ten degrees out there.”

“I don’t care.”

She shakes her head. “We need to be more cautious now. It is not secure—”

“Ana.
Please
.” I whisper it loud, urgent. “I want to be outside. Just for a while.”

She thinks it over, sighs. “Dress warm. I will meet you in the kitchen.”

*   *   *

We amble down my street side by side. Another man, in a thick jacket, walks ahead of us, another a ways behind. Plenty secure, for 4:00
A.M.

I let the air fill my lungs, tingle in my nose. I’ve walked this street so many times. Dad and I used to do it, just the two of us, to talk. The past two years Myk and I would walk it sometimes, to talk about Dad or life without upsetting Mom. In the day, though, or maybe the evening. At this hour it’s so quiet, dark. We move from streetlight to streetlight, the spaces between—only pockets of shadow.

Ana doesn’t speak, gloved hands in her coat, respecting my silence.

When we get to the end of the street where we usually turn, I stop. Stare at my feet.

“I don’t know what to do,” I say, low.

“Do?”

I look at her, so composed. Reassuring. “If there’s a threat you can’t control. Do I stop? Do I give in and go somewhere secure, to keep them safe, like Liesel wanted me to before?”

I’m shaky with cold. With fear.

It’s giving up … everything. I don’t know if I could do it, even if I decide I should.

“I’m eighteen…” I swallow. “How can I—”

Ana folds me in her arms, squeezes. I didn’t expect it, but I hug her back. She’s warm.

Girls, too. I’d be giving up girls, wouldn’t I? Rachel … just when it was starting.… Oh, God.

Ana pulls back. “Do not decide anything yet. There is still a chance it will be okay. That it is nothing, or we can contain it.”

I nod slowly. I wish I knew what kind of chance we’re talking about. On a Magic 8 ball, would it be
Outlook good
or
Better not tell you now
?

“But if it’s bad. I will have to decide, won’t I? It’ll come to that.”

She runs a hand down my arm lightly. “It may come to that, Jake. It may not even be a decision you get to make.”