The Cipher (24 page)

Ben wondered if Erin had gotten close enough to Smiles for it to mess with her mind, too—or even closer.

He watched her pull herself back to the group. “Did I tell you guys he called me a skirt?” She narrowed her eyes at Zach. “A
skirt
? Where did that come from? A 1940s movie?”

Ben's mom chuckled in the background.

They all turned, happy to have her join in. But then she rose and kissed their heads in succession: Zach, Erin, Uncle Jim, and Ben. “I'm just getting a little chilly. I'll be downstairs.”

Ben knew what that meant: She was going into her room for the night, probably not coming out again. He caught up to her halfway to the stairs and gave her a hug.

“Thank you,” she said into his ear, and he knew that something frozen in her had melted just a little. “Thank you, my baby.”

“Time to live, right, Mom?”

“Time to live,” she said, and went downstairs.

One by one they left the widow's walk. First Zach went home, then Uncle Jim went downstairs, and then it was just Ben and Erin.

“So what are you going to do with your money?” Erin said.

Uncle Jim was getting a quarter of the money—Erin and Zach were getting paid out of that. Ben was getting the rest, but as far as he was concerned it was all his mom's. “Who knows,” he said. “Are you going to, like, celebrate tonight?”

Erin sighed and lay back on the widow's walk. “I don't know. It was so draining, you know?” Ben did. “I might just go to bed. That'll be my big celebration.”

Ben didn't know if he should ask, but Erin was the only one he could pose the question to. “You think you're going to miss him?”

Erin didn't answer. Maybe she thought he was stupid and loud and obnoxious at first, like Ben had. Maybe he won her over. Maybe at some point she stopped holding her nose and laughed at one of his jokes, if only on the inside. Maybe she thought it was unfair what happened to people in this world—even the ones who were supposed to deserve what they had coming. Maybe she considered him her best friend.

“You were great, Ben,” was all Erin said. “You were really great.”

“You, too,” he said. She walked away and down the stairs.

And then Ben was alone on the roof.

He sat there for a long time, wondering what Smiles would think when he found out why they'd done it.

223

SMILES WAS ON
his fifteenth call to Melanie's cell phone in the last two hours. She had to answer one of these times.

He held the phone to his ear as he raced up the stairwell at the Pemberton. His knees were stiff from the drive back from Squam Lake, most of which he'd done at over ninety miles an hour. He'd gotten three different calls on his way back, and each time he'd deflated at the sight of the 510 number on his caller ID. His mother. She was the last thing he could handle right now. Smiles rejected them and drove even faster. And now, finally, Melanie was picking up.

“Hello?”

“Mel!” He stopped in the stairwell, catching his breath against the cinder-block wall. Talking to Melanie was his only chance at getting any answers.

“Smiles, what's going on? You can't keep calling.”

“I know I know I know. I'm sorry, don't hang up.” He collected himself and tried to do his best impression of a person who was not currently going out of his mind. “I just had to talk to you.”

“Okay, but I had to step out of English to take this. Are you okay?”

“Sure, right.” Smiles was walking to his apartment now. Across the hall, the door to Ben's was open. Two members of the Pemberton maintenance crew were putting a fresh coat of paint on the apartment, which was otherwise completely empty.

“Oh, God.”

“What?”

“You know that kid in my building? Ben?”

“Yeah—your friend, right?”

“I'm starting to think he just stole my trust fund money.” Smiles entered his apartment, checked his fish (still alive), and dropped onto his sofa.

“He what? How?”

“It's, like, kind of complicated. But listen. I'm really sorry I wasn't calling you back this weekend. I listened to your voice mails, though, and right now I really need to know everything you know about that Andrei guy who killed himself.”

“Okay, but why?”

“Because I think Ben is his son.”

“His
son
? Whoa. I have no idea about that, but Tarasov was a Russian spy who stole research from your dad at Harvard. It's really sad.”

Russian spy? Stolen research?
“Who's Tarasov?”

“Andrei Tarasov. The guy you're asking about. Are you okay?”

“Oh, yeah, I just thought his last name was something else.”

“Well, he changed it so he could sneak back into the States after he got deported.”

“Naturally,” Smiles said.

“I didn't learn that until yesterday. Turns out he caused your dad a lot of trouble—like, a whole lot. I actually spent my entire weekend thinking about that guy, 'cause I knew he had something to do with that letter from your mom.”

“The letter from my mom is about
Andrei Tarasov
?” The letter would have the answers, then. But it was gone, destroyed . . .

“Well, I'm not really positive any—”

“Hold on, didn't you say there was a guy at Northeastern who knew about the letter?”

“I'm not sure what he knows, actually.”

“Didn't you meet him or something?”

“I was going to. Today. But then my dad came to the lake and—”

Smiles was already out the door. “Do you know where his office is?”

227

MELANIE PRESSED HER
back to the wall and slumped to the floor, landing hard on her butt.

His trust fund . . . stolen?

The bell rang and the classroom doors swung open. Melanie watched from kneesock level as her classmates washed to the exits in a faceless parade of Kingsley uniforms. Three minutes later only the stragglers remained, the rush of sound thinned down to individual voices.

Melanie remained against the wall, trying to let go of the strange news she'd just heard from Smiles.

Andrei Tarasov had a son?

“Melanie? Are you okay?” Her English teacher, Mr. Hardy, was calling down the hallway. “You left your books.”

It took Melanie a moment to find her voice. “Yes, thank you.” She rushed into the classroom and grabbed up her book bag so Mr. Hardy could lock up.

“Cross-country practice today?” he said as she breezed out the door.

“Off to it now.”

But who was she kidding? Melanie couldn't let it go—she was heading straight to Northeastern.

229

IN NINE MINUTES,
Smiles was supposed to meet the agents at the Prudential Center to get Ben back. But instead of being there, he was in a dusty corner of some academic building at Northeastern, talking to a small wizard. That's what the guy looked like, anyway, with his shrunken frame and mane of white hair. He actually looked pretty much the same as in the picture Melanie had left on the nightstand, which made it easy to spot him as Smiles ran down the hallway.

From his doorway, Smiles had spewed out a frantic explanation for his presence before Professor Worth cut him off and insisted he have a seat. The water cooler behind his desk burped as the professor drew water from it. He passed a small Styrofoam cup to Smiles, now sitting on a couch that had probably gone in and out of style a few times since the 1950s.

The professor stood by while Smiles downed the water.

“I can see him in you.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your father.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Just go slowly and tell me why you're here,” Professor Worth said, refilling the water for Smiles and then taking a seat behind the desk.

“Okay, well, let me start with this.” Smiles had brought the critical items with him. He pulled out the algorithm and the thumb drive from his pockets.

“Do you know anything about codes, sir?”

The professor laughed a phlegmy laugh. Pretty soon the guy was doubled over. His wrinkled arm raised in a thumbs-up gesture and he returned upright, red-faced but smiling. “Don't mind that. Standard operating procedure,” he said. “Go on, please.”

“Uh, codes?”

“Right right right. If you'll allow an old man to be immodest, I know an awful lot about codes.”

Sounded like a yes. Smiles passed over the page from Ben's notebook. “Could you possibly tell me what that is?”

Professor Worth looked at it for about a second. “I most assuredly can. This, young man, is a bunch of gibberish.”

“Gibberish? Somebody told me it was an algorithm to, uh, fast-factor the, uh . . .”

“The product of two primes?”

“Right.”

“Oh, wouldn't that be marvelous!” Professor Worth was beaming. “But no. That particular mystery eludes us still. This is just a random string of math-looking symbols. As I say, gibberish.”

“It was supposed to be on this drive, too,” Smiles said, almost embarrassed to have him try it.

“Let us see,” Professor Worth said, and placed the thumb drive in his computer. He clicked around for a while and swiveled back to Smiles. “Would you like to hazard a guess?”

“Gibberish?”

“Got it in one.”

Smiles still couldn't wrap his mind around it. He had been right there when they tested the algorithm. He had seen it work . . .

You didn't see anything. You heard Ben read back a bunch of random numbers. Then you gave them to the agent, who was in on it, too
.

It didn't matter that he was going to be late to the Prudential Center, because no one was going to be there. There was never any threat to Alyce Systems, because Ben hadn't discovered anything. All he'd done was find a sucker, and then stolen $7 million from him.

It hurt, but it also gave him clarity. Ben wasn't simply a thief; he was the son of Andrei Eltsin. Smiles had to find out the truth about that man if he was ever going to have any peace. “You knew my dad, sir?”

“Very well. We worked at Harvard together, on projects of some not insignificant import.”

Another convoluted yes. “Something happened to me this weekend, sir. This might sound strange, but did you know Rose, too? Rose Carlisle?”

Professor Worth tipped back in his chair. “I did. And I'll confess, I'm afraid of what your next question is going to be.”

“Did she tell you anything about a man named—”

“Andrei?”

“Yeah.”

“My dear boy.” Professor Worth hacked into his fist, and Smiles feared the rambling soliloquy sure to follow. “Before you tread any further into these murky waters, I would ask you—”

“Professor, I have to thank you for talking to me, and the water, and everything. But I really need to know what my mom—Rose—told you about that guy.”

“Yes, I understand. You're a determined young man. And you have a right to ask your questions, however troubling the answers may be.” Professor Worth cleared his throat. “Rose knew of me from my work with your father at Harvard. Years ago, she came to me with a notebook.”

“A notebook?” Smiles remembered the strange thing his dad had told him: that there would be a “package” along with the letter from his mom.
Not a regular gift
, he had said.
It's a notebook
. The letter might be gone, but maybe this notebook still existed somewhere. Maybe it had answers.

“Yes,” Professor Worth said. “A notebook. She wanted me to look at it, and I did.”

“Why? What was in it?”

Professor Worth shook his head. “I'm sorry, I can't. If you really want to know, you'll have to get that from the person who came here with Ms. Carlisle.”

Smiles waited. Professor Worth swallowed.

“It was your mother, dear boy. Alice Taft, once Alice Smylie.”

“My mother?”

Professor Worth eased back in his chair. “Yes. She's been trying to get you on the phone today, hasn't she?”

“How did you . . . ?”

“We've been in contact, you see. As you no doubt know, on Saturday I got a call from Marshall Hunt's daughter, a terribly nice-sounding young lady. And, well, I knew then that these old matters had resurrected themselves. So your mother and I have been talking, and frankly your visit here is not entirely unexpected. I'm rather of a mind that it would be far better for you to leave the matter be.”

It's better left alone
, Smiles could hear his mom saying.

“I can see, though, that you want to get your information,” Professor Worth continued, “and your mother is willing to provide it.”

“That'd be a change,” Smiles said.

“Yes, I understand you had a rather unpleasant meeting at the conference?”

“That's one way to put it.”

“You should know, son, that life has been extremely unfair to your mother. Much less fair than it has been to you. Believe me when I say she only wants the best for you.”

Smiles didn't want to hear it. If she really wanted the best for him, she could have helped him out at Fox Creek. She could have stuck around until his third birthday.

“So does she have this notebook?” Smiles said.

“She's getting it right now, as it happens. And she told me that if you came poking around here, I should send you over.”

“Over where?”

“To the bank, son. To the safe deposit box where it's been sitting for years.”