Desert Dark (26 page)

An hour before dinner, Jack met up with her on the front lawn and waited while she assembled the targets. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

Dean Wolfe's faith in him had faltered and the enemy spy might know he was tailing her, but neither was an excuse for letting anxiety take the stronghold. Much of his career in clandestine services would involve deceit, impending danger, the unknown. He couldn't even handle the stress of working from campus—a relatively safe and controlled environment.
I'll never be able to function undercover. I'm a wreck
. Nadia didn't seem the least bit uncomfortable. She concealed her feelings like a pro. He hated that she was constantly one step ahead. Outwitting him at every turn.
She's so much better than me
.

She turned to him and smiled. “I put them close together so we can talk while we shoot.”

“Talk about what?”

“Nothing in particular. I just meant talk, like hang out.”

He followed Nadia across the lawn. They took a few shots, each landing close to center. Jack stood to Nadia's left, and as they fired he watched her back. Her posture was impeccable.
Why does it have to be her?

“You're not bad,” Nadia said, turning to look at him.

“I was thinking the same thing about you.”

They continued for a few more minutes, Nadia apparently concentrating on the task at hand and Jack focused only on Nadia. When he could no longer take the silence, he asked, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” She dropped her arms and looked at the ground. “Something happened the other day to me and Libby. I guess I'm a little distracted. But I don't want to talk about it right now.”

“Are you sure? You can talk to me about anything.”

Nadia smiled. “I know. But I need to think about something else for a while.”

“You'll let me know if you change your mind?”

Nadia nodded and resumed fire.

On Wednesday morning an angry column of clouds rolled over the mountains. By mid-afternoon Phoenix had disappeared under a slate-colored blanket. Nadia and her classmates hurried across campus, heads down, jackets clutched tight. By dinnertime the line between earth and sky was indiscernible.

“Hurry up,” Nadia called to Libby through the bathroom door.

“I'm going as fast as I can,” Libby answered pleasantly.

Nadia slouched at her desk, scowling, arms crossed. She spent half her life waiting around because Libby refused to leave the room without looking perfect. Nadia groaned out loud. She was so miserable she couldn't stand herself.
Stop taking it out on Libby
. She shoved her hands in her jacket pockets; on the left side, she discovered a note. One of the guys must have slipped it in when they were practicing brush-passes, but she didn't remember wearing her jacket before tonight. She unfolded the paper to reveal a coded message.

She sat up and pulled out a fresh piece of notebook paper. Nadia examined the cipher, jotted down a few possibilities for a key code, then scratched them out. She wrote a couple notes, another possible solution, and then it came to her. She translated the numbers and sat back, staring at the message.
Ah, it's backwards
. She flipped the letters around.

Nadia penciled a line between
t
and
i
, and
s
and
w
. Carefully, she tore the paper between
g
and
b
and rearranged the slips. She rewrote the message on a fresh page:
boy scout is watching
.

“Definitely Alan,” she muttered aloud.

“I'm ready,” Libby said as she emerged from the bathroom. She'd freshened her makeup and brushed her blond hair over her shoulders.

“You look really nice,” Nadia said, feeling less hateful.
Who knew cracking a code could cheer me up?

“Well that's good, because no one cares what's on the inside, right?”

Nadia smiled. “Hey, did you get hair extensions over Thanksgiving?”

“'Course not. Attach someone else's DNA to my body? The very idea. Why do you ask?”

Nadia pointed to the photographs on the wall. “Your hair looks much shorter in the pictures.”

Libby spun around to look at the wall. “Oh
that
. Right. I had a thingie in my hair—you know. It goes around back and kind of puffs up the rear.” Libby turned back toward Nadia and pushed on the back of her hair. “See? Makes my hair look shorter in the front. You know the thing, right?” Nadia shook her head. “No? Hmm. Must be a Southern thing. Whatcha got there?” Libby nodded at Nadia's hand.

“Oh. It was in my pocket.” Nadia held the note out for Libby.

“Boy scout is watching? What does that mean?”

“I have no idea. I don't always get Alan's jokes.”

“I know what you mean. You ready? I could eat a horse.”

A few minutes later, the girls met Alan and Damon at their usual table. Before sitting, Nadia tossed the note onto Alan's plate. “I found this in my jacket. I don't get it.”

“Do you mind? I am trying to eat.” He plucked the paper off his dinner.

“What's it supposed to mean?” Nadia asked.

Alan read the note. “I have no idea; it is not mine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Am I sure? Of course I'm sure. I think I would remember writing a cryptic message and hiding it in your coat. Anyway, code is not my thing.”

Her chest tightened. “Damon?”

“Sorry, baby girl. I can't help you,” he answered. “I am a lot of things, but a boy scout isn't one of them.”

“So no one knows anything about this?” Her voice wavered.

“What's the big deal?” Damon asked.

“Nothing,” she mumbled. If her friends didn't deliver the message, who did? Maybe it was a warning. Someone trying to tell her she was suspected as the double agent. But the note, buried in her jacket pocket, might've stayed hidden for months. If someone wanted her to find it, they should've put it in a more conspicuous location.

A terrifying thought jumped to her head. Her mouth watered as a wave of nausea flooded her stomach.

“Are you all right?” Libby asked. “You don't look so good.”

“I feel sick,” Nadia whispered. She dropped her head between her knees. Her breath came quick and shallow. Her heart pounded against her temples as blood rushed to her face.

Maybe it wasn't a warning.

Maybe it was a setup.

The next morning, after a restless, sleepless night, Nadia forced herself out of bed. Tension twisted her muscles into steel cables. The anxiety in her chest pressed against her ribs, squeezed at her heart. She couldn't shake the feeling she was being set up. Thoughts of the note, her missing knife, the phone call, the wiretap—maybe even the Gila monster—snaked in and out of her consciousness.

Am I in danger? Is that why Sensei insisted I continue training?
No, if his concerns were more than fleeting thoughts, he'd take proactive measures to protect her. Of course he wanted her well trained—she was joining the CIA's Black-Ops Division.

During her morning run, exhausted from lack of sleep, Nadia mentally evaluated her friends. Libby had infinite access to Nadia's things. But Nadia had access to Libby as well.
If she was up to something, I'd know. Wouldn't I?
Libby's behavior had been a little unusual lately; more obsessive cleaning, talking too fast. Nothing alarming, but enough that Nadia had noticed.

During the dead drop exercises in October, Damon had demonstrated his proficiency at sleight-of-hand. In fact, he was good at everything spy-related: the way he could read people at superhuman speed, his quick mind, his surveillance skills.
But can I blame him? He believes ignoring one tiny detail got his brother killed
. To Damon, the power of observation meant life or death.
Plus, he really shared himself with me
. No, she and Damon had a definite connection. If he was going to frame someone, it wouldn't be her.

Alan was hiding something. Something big. She could feel it. Every time the two of them got past superficial layers of conversation, he clammed up.
But he couldn't engineer such a complex scheme
. His poker face was nonexistent.

Nadia considered confiding in Jack. She trusted him—for the most part. But he was her team leader. He would be required to report anything she said to Dean Wolfe. What if this was all part of an elaborate training exercise? If she couldn't handle the pressure she'd be cut from the program immediately.

At least it was Thursday, which meant a light class load and only a few weeks until winter break. Thinking about the holidays on the way back to her dorm reminded her: she'd left her passport in the covert-ops room over the weekend. She trekked back to the dojo and, after enduring a lengthy lecture on caring for her valuable belongings, collected her ID and returned to her room to get changed.

After breakfast, Nadia and Libby walked to Diplomacy. Nadia sank into her chair and opened her bag. “Oh no. I don't believe it!” She slammed back in her seat. “I left my stupid paper on my desk.”

“You know, honey, I don't mean to pour salt in the wound, but it just takes a second to file your things away.”

Nadia glanced at the clock. “Do you think I have time to get it?”

“Hurry up. I'll tell Dr. Moran why you're late.”

Nadia sprinted across the lawn, through the lobby of her dorm and down the hall, key in hand. She unlocked the door and charged to her desk to grab the paper. As she turned back toward the hall, movement caught her eye. A shadow behind the door. Nadia drew a sharp breath.

Without thinking, she lunged toward her nightstand and grabbed the stun gun. Her voice shook as she said, “I have a weapon. Come out slowly. Hands over your head.”

Stillness settled on the room. Nadia crept toward the hall. When she got close enough, using all her strength, she side-kicked the door.

A gasp as the door slammed into a body.

“All right!” he called. “Put down your weapon.”

She knew the voice.

Jack slunk out from behind the door.

Her heart beat furiously. “You scared me to death! What are you doing here?” She lowered the gun as relief eased through her body.

“I came by to drop off a note.”

“Why didn't you leave it at the front desk?” She felt like an idiot, assaulting her boyfriend like a cage fighter.
Overreact much?

“I wanted to put it on your pillow. To surprise you.” He was breathing fast. She must've startled him, too.

She shook her head. “You risked getting expelled to leave me a note?”

“Nadia, I . . . I'm in love with you. I had to tell you—I couldn't wait any longer.”

The urgency in his voice flattered her. She opened her mouth, then closed it. Smiled at him. Finally, “I don't know what to say.”

Like a chameleon, his face changed. “That's why I'm here.” His forehead relaxed, his eyes softened and he returned her smile. He moved toward her, reaching for her hands. “To tell you I love you.”

Earlier Thursday morning, just after sunrise, the student left school through the back gate. Slipping off the trail that time of day was no easy task, but his options were limited. He hiked about a mile from campus and pulled out his cell.

His contact answered, “Yes.”

“Where do we stand since Thanksgiving? What happened with the ticket?”

“It wasn't enough. This has dragged on far longer than necessary. It's time for the elimination,” the older man said.

“Wait. I think that would be a mistake.”

“You don't get paid to think. You get paid to act.”

“Yeah, you mentioned that a time or two. But if we kill her, the CIA will be forced to investigate. We will draw
more
attention, not less.”

“Listen, if she disappears, all suspicions about a traitor go with her. We'll plant evidence in her room; the CIA gets their double and everyone's happy. We'll make it look like her own people betrayed her.”

The student glanced over his shoulder. “If we are planting evidence, we should keep her alive. Let the CIA question her. She knows nothing about us.”

“It's a lot easier to frame a corpse. Anyway, the hit's been ordered. This comes from higher up.”

“Why her? Maybe it can be someone else.”

The man snorted. “Like who?”

“Maybe a guy? I never have access to the girls.”

“We aren't interested in switching horses midstream.”

“Well,” the student stammered. “I need help. I can't do it on my own.”

“Why can't you do it? Did you get too attached?”

“No,” he said.
Yes
, he thought.
I cannot kill her. I refuse
.

“Do you remember what we did for you?”

“You know what?” the student asked. “You caused this mess—begging me to meet you in the middle of the night because you were unable to complete a simple dead drop, killing Drew after she saw us, then
talking
about it. I have no choice but to call Phoenix.”

“Do not go over my head on this or you will regret it,” the older man warned.

“Who do you think this is? Do you take me for an idiot? I have an insurance policy of my own, you know.”

“I'm not sure I understand what you're saying.”

“Let me speak slowly so you can follow along: I have every telephone conversation—including this one—on tape. I have documents, orders, fingerprints, photographs. I am the Library of freaking Congress. Do what you need to do, but know this: You take me down, I will drag all of you down with me. So save your threats for someone else.” He ended the call and sat in the dirt.

The situation had spun out of control. Someone had to go down for this. Sure, he cared for Nadia—more than he should, but not so much he was willing to spend the rest of his life in jail convicted of treason. And if the CIA got called in, anything could happen.
But killing her makes no sense
.