Hero (22 page)

All his senses, new and old, were telling him that something was
very
wrong.

It was as if all the noise had dropped away, the cheering, the applause, all of it.

Zach felt as if he were alone in the park all over again.

He heard a voice inside his head then, clear as day. His father’s voice. Telling him:

Then again:

“At what?” he said.

“What?” Kate said.

But Zach wasn’t talking or listening to her. He wasn’t even scanning the crowd with Secret Service eyes. His eyes had stopped roaming. They were trained on the skyline, the grand skyline on Fifth Avenue.

Again he heard his father’s voice.

“Look to the sky, Zacman.”

Zach Harriman did.

It was there, outlined against the sky, on the roof of a building, that he saw a shooter where a cop in riot gear had been before.

Zach’s eyes closed on him now, the guy crouched between two ancient turrets up there.

Zach focused not just on the black outfit he was wearing, the black ski mask, but his finger on the trigger of his rifle.

The angle was perfect, off to the side and just high enough to take the shield out of play, to give the guy a clear shot.

The gun taking dead aim at the man who’d just been introduced as the next president of the United States.

THE
shooter’s hand seemed as clear and sharp as if he were holding it up in front of Zach’s face.

Senator Kerrigan was trying to quiet the crowd, holding up his hand and saying, “Thank you. Thank you so much. My fellow New Yorkers. My fellow Americans.”

Zach heard none of it.

Just saw the sniper pulling the trigger.

No time for Zach Harriman to shout out a warning, no time to get the attention of the Secret Service. No way for him to be heard over the roar of the day.

Only time to fly.

Out of nowhere Zach was just
there,
driving his shoulder into Senator Kerrigan the way Spence had once done to him, knocking him away from the podium, sending him to the ground as the bullet intended for him blew a hole through the Kerrigan for America sign behind him.

Everything had happened at once after that. Secret Service men covered the stage, guns out, Zach using strength that must have surprised Senator Kerrigan, yelling, “Stay down!” at him loud enough to be heard over the screams from the crowd on the Great Lawn.

Another shot fired.

Then Zach was the one being blindsided.

He was sent flying to the stage, facedown, as a voice next to his ear screamed:

“Down, Zacman!”

The old man.

Out of nowhere again.

The old man’s arms were around him, pinning him down. “Always gotta watch out for the second bullet, boy.”

The two of them were surrounded by Secret Service and pulled away from the senator. Another group of Secret Service surrounded the senator, half pulling, half dragging him off the stage.

The crowd was frantic, screaming, trying to leave the area. Police shouted into blow horns, telling everyone to please remain down.

Zach noticed none of it. He had only one voice in his head. His own.

Thank you, Dad,
the voice was saying.

 

They were safely back in the tent now. Zach, his mom and Kate were seated at one of the tables, his mom still shaking from the assassination attempt, asking Zach every fifteen seconds or so if he was really all right.

“I’m fine, Mom. Really,” Zach said.

“I still don’t understand who that old man is,” Zach’s mom said. “Or where he came from.”

Zach wondered where to begin, how exactly to explain. Fortunately, he was spared when his mom’s cell phone rang. She yanked it out of her pocket and smiled when she looked at her caller ID. She said, “Unknown caller indeed.” Then she answered it, nodded and said, “He’s right here.”

She handed Zach the phone. “Somebody wants to talk to you.”

Zach took the phone and said, “Hey.”

“Zach, it’s Bob Kerrigan. I want to thank you for saving my life.”

Not knowing what else to say, Zach said, “You’re welcome. Sir.”

“The Secret Service got the shooter. We’re all safe for now, thanks to you.”

Zach wondered just how safe that was.

The senator said, “I’m going to be a little busy the rest of the day, but I plan to stop by later and thank you in person. And maybe you can explain to me how the heck you did what you did.”

“I did what anybody would have done,” Zach said.

“No, son, it isn’t what anybody would have done,” the senator said. “Your father, maybe. And you. But not anybody.”

He said good-bye and Zach handed the phone back to his mom. “Let’s go home,” she said.

“In a minute, Mom.”

He was looking past her now, to where Mr. Herbert was about to slip through an opening in the tent as though no one could see him.

“I’ve got to thank somebody, too,” Zach said.

For the second time, Zach followed Mr. Herbert. The old man moved slowly, heading for a small cluster of trees behind the Great Lawn. He eased himself down to sit at the base of a tree, seemingly inch by inch until he could no longer stop the momentum and he dropped the remaining distance. He closed his eyes. He looked older to Zach than ever. Ancient.

And tired.

Zach closed the remaining distance and stood over him. Mr. Herbert, his eyes still closed, smiled. “Took you long enough,” he said.

It was then that Zach noticed the blood on the old man’s hands. And the widening circle of red beneath the leather jacket he always wore.

“You’re hurt!” Zach said. “Let me call somebody!”

He started to turn, but the old man held a firm hand on his leg.

“Like I told you,” he said. “Always watch out for the second bullet.” He swallowed, his breath sounding heavy. “Turned out this one had my name on it.”

“You need a doctor,” Zach said. “Let me go get my mom, she’s got her phone.”

The old man put a finger to his lips.

“Hush, boy,” he said, then patted the ground next to him, motioning for Zach to sit.

“Let me die in peace,” he said. “With my grandson next to me.”

YOUR
—your grandson? . . .” Zach knew he was stammering.

The old man hadn’t moved, his right hand resting on his knee, his left hand clutching his stomach.

“Hush,” he said again. “And listen.”

Zach started to say something, but the old man held up his hand, shaking, as if it took all the strength he had left.

“Your father died before his time,” he said. “I thought I could save him, too, went halfway around the world trying. But they tricked me into thinking it was
that
plane, the one with him and Vlad the Bad on it. Once it landed in London, I thought he was safe. But it was the plane after that. His.” He coughed, a bad sound. “The one taking him home.”

He began coughing harder, as if there was no way for him to stop.

This is crazy,
Zach thought.
My grandfather. I can’t lose someone else.

The old man peered into Zach’s eyes and seemed to read his mind.

“Don’t worry, boy. I long ago outlived my time. Lived a lot longer than I deserve.”

“But my dad . . . my dad was an orphan.”

“In a way he was. That’s what everyone needed to think. It was the only way I could keep him safe. If they’d ever known I had a son, they would have used that against me. Or taken him. Even later, when he was older, they never knew he was mine. Maybe because he had real character to go with his powers. They couldn’t turn him as easily as they’d turned me when I was young.”

Zach felt like he was falling.

“Your father was my one true thing,” the old man said. “The one who was going to do enough good to make up for all the bad I did. It’s why I couldn’t let them near him.”

“One hero at a time, that’s what my Uncle John told me,” Zach said.

“Yes, Zacman, he was at least right about that, there’s been a long line of us. A long line of heroes. At least until I came along. The black sheep of the family. The one who only cared about being wanted for his powers. The one who thought he could play both sides. Which made me no better than the dark side in the end.”

“The mischief maker.”

“Your Uncle John never knew
who
I was. But he knew
what
I was.”

“And Dad never knew?”

He shook his head and that triggered another coughing fit, the weak sound of it piercing Zach’s heart. Time was growing short. “No, he never knew what a bum his old man was. I watched over him from a distance at first as Tom went from group home to group home. But your father couldn’t be held in one spot, as though, even then, he knew the world needed him. Myself, I was getting into too much trouble. I knew my time as a hero was about to end, so I took in my only son. I never told him who I was. But I told him about the magic. I showed him his destiny, just as mine was stripped away. It was too late for me.” He took in a labored breath. “For your father, it was only the beginning. Just like it is for you. The secret’s out now, boy. You won’t be able to hide from it. The Bads will try to turn you to their side. If you turn them down, they’ll try to kill you. It’s that simple. Be true to your heart, boy. Being on the side of good can mean a lonely life. But not as lonely as giving in.”

“My dad,” Zach said. “He would have wanted to know. If I were him, I would have wanted to know.”

In a voice Zach had to lean closer to hear, the old man said, “He would have been ashamed.”

He grabbed Zach’s shirt and pulled him closer. In a whisper, he said, “But never of you, Zacman. Your father would have been proud today.”

His fingers released Zach’s shirt.

“Very proud,” he said with a smile.

Then his eyes closed one last time. For good.

ZACH
slipped past the security guard and the doorman like a gust of wind. He entered the elevator and pressed the button for the fifth floor, just like all the other times in his life he’d come here.

Except it wasn’t like all the other times.

“Zachary!” Uncle John said with a big smile when he opened the door. “The hero of the day!”

“That’s me,” Zach said.

He walked into a living room that had always felt as much like home as his own.

“I owe you an apology,” Uncle John said. “You were more than ready for today, weren’t you?”

“He’s dead,” Zach said.

Uncle John’s face turned serious. “Who’s dead?”

“Mr. Herbert.”

Uncle John glanced out the window, then back at Zach. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“Are you?” Zach asked. “Really?”

Uncle John inhaled deeply, then let out the breath slowly.

“No,” he said. “The crazy old man had it coming.”

“How can you say that?”

“Zachary, you’re much better off without him. I tried telling you once already—this isn’t your fight.”

And that’s when Zach knew for sure.

The last time he ever saw his dad, that evening he went to the movies with Kate. When he’d been too busy to watch the Knicks game with his dad. He’d walked in on the tail end of a phone conversation. His dad’s words that evening echoed now in his head. “The ones who tell you not to fight are the ones you should fear the most.”

“It was you,” Zach said.

“What was me?”

“On the phone that night with my dad. The night before he left and never came back. It was you telling him to stay home and not to fight.”

Uncle John sighed.

“Yes. I wanted him safe.”

“Did you?” Zach said. “Aren’t you the guy who told me that the best liars use the truth to make their lies more real?”

There was that roar inside Zach now, one he was starting to know all too well. So much running through him. He gave his head a shake, trying to quiet his brain, knowing he had to focus.

“No,” he said.

“No . . . what, Zachary?”

“No, you didn’t want him safe. No one knew my dad like you. No one. You said so. You knew he’d ignore your advice. You wanted him to.”

Uncle John reached out a hand. “Zachary . . .”

“Stop! You may not have been the one who brought down his plane. But you as good as murdered him yourself. Same as you allowed those shots to be fired today.”

Nothing. No denial this time, or even an attempt. Just dead, empty eyes, no longer able to meet Zach’s.

“You
allowed
my dad to be killed. Why?”

Uncle John’s face was tight as he answered. “Because he stopped listening, that’s why. Not just to me . . . to anyone. He thought he knew it all, could do it all himself. Then he decided the role of a hero was no longer enough. He had to have more. The White House. Sure, it was just vice president for now. But after? What then? Your dad wanted to run this country.”

“So what?” Zach said. “He would have been a great president.”

“A president is a leader, Zachary. Your father was a one-man show. A man who was rapidly making a lot of enemies. You can’t act like that and expect to become leader of the free world.”

“So you stood by and let them kill him.”

Uncle John paused a beat. Now he was the one who looked ancient, tired. “You don’t understand,” he said. Then: “This was larger than me. Larger than one man.”

Zach looked out the window. Looked at Central Park, the trees and grass that for years had felt like his own backyard. Now everything felt foreign, cold.

“And what about today?” Zach said. “What about Senator Kerrigan?”

“I had nothing to do with that,” Uncle John said. “You have to believe me.”

Zach didn’t.