Desert Dark (23 page)

“A bug could be anywhere, right?” Nadia asked. “I know the school has security cameras outside all the buildings, but you don't think our bedrooms are wired, do you?”

“No. It would be a serious violation of civil rights, especially since you are minors.” Sensei gestured to the second wall, opposite the door. “This cabinet houses equipment for dead drops. Have you learned about dead drops in class?”

“Yes, in fact—” She wasn't sure she should tell him about her dead drop. The waiter had said not to tell
anyone
.

“ ‘In fact' what?”

I better not
. “We learned about them weeks ago.”

He held up a small tin. “A magnetic box can be attached to a park bench or under a car.” He showed her a can of shaving cream with a false bottom, a pair of hollowed chopsticks, even a glass eye with a pocket to conceal a message. “You have your passport?”

Nadia reached behind her back to pull the passport from the waistband of her
Gi
.

I bet he'd be able to confirm that Jack was supposed to retrieve my dead drop
.

Sensei selected a thin, foot-long stick from the cabinet. He flipped a switch and a blue glow filled the room.

Why is that still bothering me?

Sensei held the light over the pages. “A customs official uses this wand to identify counterfeit passports. The light detects security threads in the paper, which are sensitive to ultra-violet radiation.”

“Excellent,” Nadia said.
It just seems strange Jack allowed himself to be seen by Alan. Why didn't he come back later—after everyone
was asleep? Sensei won't mind if I ask. He won't give me a bad report
. “May I ask you a question?”

“You just did. Nadia-san, I believe you know my policy on questions. I will tell you if there is something you need to know.” He turned away.

On the other hand, it isn't fair to put him in that position. Making him choose between me and the rules
. Nadia chewed on her lip.
No, asking him wouldn't be right
.

“This bookshelf contains training manuals from all major branches of clandestine service, past and present: CIA, KGB, MI6 and so on.”

Nadia set her passport on the bookshelf. She was thumbing through the
Flaps and Seals
section of the CIA training manual, which indicated the best methods for opening an envelope undetected, when Sensei continued.

“In this cabinet we have fingerprinting equipment and lock-picking kits.”

Nadia let the book flop shut and slipped it back on its shelf.

He held up a jar that looked like clear rubber cement. “This is liquid latex.” He used the brush inside to spread a thin layer on the back of her hand. It dried immediately.

“Shake my hand.” He returned the jar to the shelf. “Hold still,” he said, and slowly peeled the second skin from the back of her hand. He held it up to the light. “Now you have my thumbprint.”

“Very cool!” Nadia said, reaching for the latex print.

He put it on the shelf, closing the cabinet.

Sensei turned to the remaining wall. “This area contains special, close-range weapons.”

“More weapons? You're kidding—you have an entire room full of guns, knives, swords and baseball bats.”

“I do not have baseball bats, and I never joke about weapons.” He pressed the door, revealing a large box filled with two-inch-high ugly, metal guns. Nadia might not have been a very good shot, but she'd learned to appreciate the beauty of a finely crafted firearm.

Sensei continued, “These are modeled after CIA deer guns. They are single-use—one shot—designed to allow an agent to kill his enemy in order to retrieve his enemy's gun. They were created during the Vietnam War. To be accurate they require a close range. The short barrel produces an extreme concussion. Ideally, a weapon like this would be used out-of-doors to minimize hearing loss.”

“We won't use these, will we?”

“Not in school; except to train, of course. If you become a field agent you will use similar equipment. Some students will work inside the Agency's Black-Ops Division as computer analysts or linguistics specialists. Others will take cover jobs, perhaps in a foreign embassy. Only the best of you will have the opportunity to serve as field agents. Nadia-san, I believe you will be that good.”

Her face warmed at his continued praise.

“Remember, though, close-range weapons require a
specific
kind of agent.”

“I don't understand.”

“Self-defense is one thing, but assassination is entirely another. When completing elimination orders, it is easier to shoot someone with a sniper's rifle from hundreds of yards away than to look into their eyes as they die. It becomes very personal.”

Could I really kill another human being because someone ordered me to?
Nadia readily accepted the career path offered at Desert Mountain Academy—so far she loved it. But her thoughts lingered only on the positive: world travel, exotic missions. . . . She deliberately avoided contemplating the negatives: deep cover, no contact with her family, capture, murder. Those ideas overwhelmed her. She chose to believe she'd be so well trained by the time she had a mission that her actions would be second nature.

Sensei continued, “This weapon is discreet and convenient: a poisoned pen. Click out the needle and stab.” He offered her the pen. She reached for it, but he didn't release his grip. Nadia looked into his eyes as they stood holding the pen. “Hit the jugular for a kill shot.” The tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood up and she shivered. She felt his eyes on her as she examined the pen.

“This final shelf contains code books: advanced cipher translations, one-time pads and the like. And that concludes our tour.”

They returned to the lobby. “We took longer than I anticipated. You may relax before your evening meal.”

“Thank you.” Nadia bowed.

“
Arigato
.” He returned her bow. Just as she was sliding the shoji closed he called out, “Nadia-san!”

She opened the screens. “Yes?”

He held out his hand. “Do not forget your earrings.”

Damon had been alone in his room for thirty-eight straight hours, ever since his conversation with Nadia. He'd successfully buried his guilt for months, then one hour with her and his conscience arrived for an extended visit.

For six years Damon had helped raise his little brother. But when Gabriel's life depended on him, Damon had dropped the ball. Afterward, his mom had sat on the edge of Gabriel's unmade bed. Not hearing, not seeing, growing paler and more emaciated by the day. She'd refused to look at Damon, and he'd known why. Her eyes had burned with accusation:
This is your fault. This never should've happened
.

And deep down, he knew. Gabriel's death was his fault.

Damon groaned out loud. It was now well into Friday morning, and he desperately needed air. When he was sure Nadia was at the dojo, he grabbed his rucksack and a change of clothes and headed out the back gate to start his “camping trip.”

He hiked north, knowing any vehicles moving in and out of school would be from the south. The brisk walk helped; exercise always cleared his head, and the sun warmed his tensed shoulders. He'd screwed up, talking to Nadia like that. Exposed too much of himself, telling her things he'd never told anyone. But when he thought about her—those green eyes, the messy ponytail, her
open smile . . . Something about her caught him off-guard. A vulnerability she didn't share with anyone else.

In any case, whatever this connection between them, it had to stop. It left Damon feeling uneasy. Physically distancing himself from her seemed his only viable option. He paused to dig a water bottle out of his pack.

I don't understand why she's wasting her time on Jack. She could do so much better
. Jack's insecurities were a dead giveaway of his inherent weakness. His reaction at the Fall Formal when Damon had asked Nadia to dance spoke volumes. And Damon had no tolerance for a weak leader.

He reached the highway and stuck out his thumb. He thought about ways to break them up. With Jack's lack of confidence, Damon could easily plant the idea that Nadia had someone on the side. Or maybe hide a love note from Jack to another girl. As far as Damon was concerned, he'd be doing her a favor.

There wasn't much in the way of traffic. About an hour passed before an eighteen-wheeler pulled over, the air-brakes screeching and hissing. Damon broke into a sweat at the sound. He pressed his water bottle to the back of his neck.

“Hitchhiking's not safe, son,” the trucker said as Damon climbed into the cab.

“Oh, it's cool.” Damon flashed a smile. “I'm a trained assassin.”

The man chuckled. “Where you headed?”

“Phoenix,” Damon said. “The Holiday Inn.”

Having made his decision, Damon returned to campus early Sunday evening. He waited at the back gate, watching his classmates filter in. Nadia sat alone on the patio outside the dining room. He had to work to stay hidden; she kept looking in his direction, almost as though she sensed him there. When Jack crossed the lawn toward their dorm, Damon started back to his room.

They reached the lobby together. “Hey, man,” Damon said, pulling open the door. “You have a good break?”

“Yeah, it was fine. Did you and Nadia hang out?”

“I had a great holiday. Thanks for asking.”

“Sorry. How was your weekend?”

“Outstanding.”

“Oh yeah? Did you keep an eye on my girl?” Jack asked.

He cleared his throat and averted his gaze. “You know, I really didn't see her.” Jack looked toward the door as more students entered the lobby. Damon rolled his eyes.
Your girl. Give me a break
.

Jack turned back to Damon. “There were like, eight students on campus. How could you not see her?”

“I know, it's weird, right?” Damon laughed. “I hardly believe it myself. I was here the whole time.”

“Not even at dinner?”

“Nope.” Damon turned toward his hallway. “Must've just missed her.”

Damon hated to skip his evening meal, but he couldn't risk running into Jack and Nadia at the same time. Not right now, when everyone would be talking about their weekend. In any case, he had work to do.

Fifteen minutes after the dining hall opened, Damon headed to the girls' dorm. He had a limited window. He needed to be in and out before Casey finished eating. He strode to the front desk. If anyone asked, he was leaving a note for Niyuri.

His breath was easy, his heart rate slow. Compared to what he'd been through back in Baltimore, this was an afternoon at Camden Yards.

A proactive move, really. A preemptive strike.

A glance down both wings satisfied Damon he was alone, so he made his way to Nadia's door. With steady hands he prepped his kit. It didn't take but a second or two to pick the lock and slip inside.

Nadia's classmates returned en masse on Sunday afternoon. She waited on the patio, one eye on the front gate watching for Jack and Jennifer, the other on the back gate looking for Damon.

After about two hours sitting in the same hard chair, trying to casually scan the perimeter every few seconds, Nadia got disgusted with herself.
You'll see them when you see them, loser
.

She met up with Alan in her dorm, of all places. She was walking in while he was leaving the lobby.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, apprehensive of the answer.

Alan's face blushed. “I—uh—Libby.”

Nadia nodded.
Liar
. “Did you find her?”

“She is not here yet. See you.”

Nadia stepped out of the way to avoid being trampled during his hasty departure.

Libby arrived an hour later with a suitcase full of new clothes. She'd gotten highlights and a matching mani-pedi, but Nadia noticed dark circles under her eyes. Jet-lag wasn't kind to Libby.

“You don't mind if I tack these on the wall, do you?” Libby asked, as she hung her Thanksgiving Day pictures by the door.

“Of course not.” Nadia's reply was unenthusiastic.
Wish I'd gone home
. “Did you have a good trip?”

“Oh, honey. It was amazing.” Libby talked as she put away her clothes. “Momma and I spent all day Friday at a spa. I had the best facial—and the massage! Honestly, it was just . . . amazing. Then she treated me to a prickly pear moisturizing body treatment—”

“You went all the way to Georgia for a spa treatment using desert plants?”

Libby turned to face Nadia, a smile plastered on her face. “I
know
. Isn't that
funny
? Course, in Savannah prickly pear is an imported exotic. Anyway, that's enough about me. How was your holiday?”

“It was fine.” Nadia looked away. She briefly considered sharing Damon's story, but it didn't feel right. If he wanted to tell Libby, he would. She crossed the room to Libby's side, pretending to admire the pictures. “Looks like you had a blast.”

“Yes, ma'am, I did.”

Nadia studied the photos on the wall. “Hmm.”

“What is it?”

“Nothing.” She glanced back at Libby.
That's strange
. Her eyes returned to the pictures.

Libby's hair looks three inches longer today than it was on Thanksgiving
.

Jack was psyched to be back at school. Thanksgiving hadn't been the warm celebration he'd anticipated. His brothers hadn't come home and his sister spent her weekend skiing with friends. Jack's mother insisted he visit his father. Dr. Felkin was on call, and in the two hours they were together he received seven phone calls. Between life-saving conversations, he managed to give Jack a lecture on the virtues of pursuing a medical career.