Authors: Susan Adrian
Tunnel Vision (35 page)
“Very well,” he says. “You can go see the girl—”
“Rachel.”
“Rachel,” he repeats. “And then we need to evacuate with everyone else. In the chopper we can discuss what to do.”
In the chopper?
Those words seal it for me. He’s just like them. Like Liesel and Eric and Ana and the rest. Now that I’m exposed, in his hands, there will be no discussion. He already has it planned out, and as soon as I set foot in that chopper my fate’s decided. On to another bunker. Forced to tunnel over and over for their purposes. Worse, he’ll probably use me to try to make more like me. Make himself like me. And then I can really never be free; no one can. He—they—probably want Dedushka too.
Rachel and I have to get out of here before any of that happens.
He takes me to a barracks-type room a few doors down, all set up with a twin bed and a dresser and all. There’s a lock on the door—from the outside. The overhead fluorescents are off, but there’s a desk lamp on the nightstand, glowing yellow. Rachel’s sprawled out on the bed, asleep.
As soon as I’m through the door I turn, shut it in his face.
I hope they don’t lock us in. But it wouldn’t be for too long anyway if we’re evacuating.
“Rachel,” I whisper. She looks so peaceful, I hate to wake her. But we may not have this chance again. Still I stand there for a second, looking. Her hair spilling across her neck, her eyelashes dark against her cheeks. The tiny smudge where the knife cut her.
I sit on the edge of the bed, touch her arm. “Rachel. Wake up.”
She bolts upright, startling us both. She stares at me in confusion.
“It’s okay. It’s me. You’re all right.” I touch her arm again, to soothe her.
She surprises me by throwing her arms around me, hugging tightly.
“You’re okay,” she murmurs, her mouth against my neck. “I didn’t know.”
I hug back, with all my attention, for a minute. Then I make myself pull away.
“We have to get out of here,” I whisper, heads close. “It’s my dad—but he’s one of them. They’re going to try to put us on a helicopter. But we can’t get on. If we do, that’s it. We’re done.”
She thinks for a minute. “Distraction?” She rubs her fingers over my chin, rough with stubble. “You know I can act.”
“Good call. Can you run?”
She leans her forehead against mine, like we were before. “First place, four hundred meters.”
I thread my hands in her hair. It’s come out from the braid, thick and wavy. “Distract, then run,” I whisper. “It’s all we’ve got.”
The door opens. “We don’t have time for that,” Dad says, bland. “It’s time to go.”
We stay together a moment longer, share one more meaningful look. Then I kiss her on the cheek, on that tiny scratch, and we go.
Dad lets us use the bathrooms, and then we follow him down a maze of hallways that look remarkably like the ones in Montauk. Enough to give me shivers. Rachel notices, takes my hand. She squeezes it, then winks up at me.
Smart. We can signal each other that way, when it’s time to run.
Dad turns to check on us, glances at our linked hands. His face stays blank. But he drops back, walking next to us instead of in front. There’s just enough room in the hallway. He has to make room whenever other people—all scurrying around preparing for evacuation—pass by. A few glance at us curiously. I wonder how much I do look like him, now.
“Jake,” he says quietly. He stops, faces me square. “I didn’t want any of this to happen. You know that, right?”
Rachel’s finger traces my thumb gently. Giving me enough support to ask my questions.
“How do you know Liesel, Dad? And … Gareth Smith?”
He flinches. Looks over his shoulder. Then he lowers his voice. “We all worked together. A joint project. Pentagon, DARPA, CIA, a couple other agencies. Liesel and Gareth were junior scientists working with me. Exploring paranormal abilities, their use in intelligence gathering. Counterintelligence. Dr. Miller continued my work, after I … left.”
“And Smith became a … what? A black-market dealer in people?”
He leans in. “We cannot allow him anywhere near you again, Jake. Liesel will stop when the general tells her to. He won’t. He scents blood in the water—more money—and he won’t let it go, if he can get to you.” He starts walking again, and we have no choice but to move with him. “We’ll be exposed, for a little while. But once we’re in a new base, we should be all right. You should be safe.”
I don’t answer that. I squeeze Rachel’s hand, and she squeezes back. If all goes well, we’ll have to brave the risk of Smith on our own. Dedushka will help. I’ll tunnel to him as soon as we’re clear of Dad.
Sounds simple enough when I say it to myself.
We go up one set of stairs, then another. Then down a hall and up five more flights.
Dad stops in front of stairs below a heavy metal door, says into a radio that we’re ready. He waits for an all-clear. Then he climbs the stairs, pushes it up and open. We follow, first Rachel, then me.
I’m outside again.
It’s night, which I didn’t expect for some reason. I’ve lost so much time lately I had no idea. But it’s the desert in July. It’s probably better for all these people to travel at night. It’s a lucky break for us too.
Dad looks back, then leads us across a long stretch of hard-packed dirt. The chopper is on a pad about half a mile away, the engines already running, deafening. There isn’t anyone else around. But I scan the landscape, and my heart sinks. I don’t see how we can make it. It’s nothing but flat scrub in every direction, not even a road. There’s nowhere to hide. Yeah, it’s dark, but we’d have to get a fair distance away before that would help. Especially with their chopper. Dad could call people on his radio and be after us in seconds.
Still, we have to try. I stop about halfway to the chopper. Dad stops too, eyebrows up, already suspicious. Time for distraction. I squeeze Rachel’s hand.
She swings a small bottle out of her pocket with the other hand, and sprays something right into Dad’s eyes, then kicks away his radio, off into the darkness.
He screams and falls to his knees, clawing at his face. I stand there for a second, totally deer-in-the-headlights. That’s Dad. She just hurt
Dad,
so we could escape from him.
“Come
on
!” Rachel cries.
I force myself to turn away, and we run.
* * *
We trot evenly through the dark. It’s only a half moon tonight, but there’s a ridiculous number of stars, so it’s easy enough to see, to avoid holes. It’s cool, though I know it won’t be once the sun comes up.
We’re over a mile away, and no sign of anyone after us yet. Or anything around us. But I thought I saw a light, so we’re heading that direction. We need to put some distance behind us and then I can tunnel to Dedushka, figure out how to meet up with him.
I glance at Rachel, jogging next to me. “What was that? That you shot at him?”
“Drain cleaner,” she pants. “It was under the sink in the bathroom.” She stops for a second, hands on her knees. “He’ll be okay. You just flush it out, and it’ll be fine. I thought maybe distraction wouldn’t be enough.”
I picture Dad writhing on the ground, take a deep breath. “It was perfect. Ruthless, but perfect. We wouldn’t have gotten away without it.”
She smiles small, and we keep running.
I know about ruthless, after all. She just learned quicker. What would it have been like if she’d been with me the whole time?
“Your mom must be worried about you,” I say. “They might have Amber alerts out and everything.”
She makes a face. “Probably not. Mom is—strange. She’ll probably tell them I ran away.” She laughs. “Wait, I guess I did.”
The light’s getting closer. I see the shape of an oil well. It’s not working, but there’s a single light shining from a trailer on the lot. I wonder what they’re up to.
It doesn’t matter to us. What matters is there’s an oldish gray truck parked near the trailer, right there for the taking. I point at it, and Rachel nods. She was with Dedushka when he stole a car.
It’s too easy. I slip in, mess with the wires, and start it up, not as fast as Dedushka but fast enough. A guy runs out of the trailer after us, but by that time we’re on the road. It turns into a main road, curves around northwest. Eventually there’s a sign that confirms what I was hoping. We’re heading toward Roswell.
* * *
We stop near a place called Artesia, in the fields on the outside of town. It’s still dark, so nobody’s around yet. Rachel switches behind the wheel—in case we have to leave in a hurry—and I sit in the passenger seat, focus. Tunnel out loud.
Dedushka. I reach toward him, toward all I know about him. That smell of tobacco and fish, his laugh when he tells old Russian jokes. His hands, calloused from fishing, from working.
His knees are not meant for this.
I’m in.
He kneels, in the dark, on damp grass, his hands up high. South Park Cemetery, Roswell, New Mexico. There’s a gun to his head.
“I’m going to keep asking until you tell me where he is,” growls a voice.
Dedushka looks up, back. Eric stands over him, his face twisted like I’ve seen it in hallucinations. “I have told you. He was taken,” Dedushka says, mildly.
“I know he was ‘taken,’” Eric spits. “By John Lukin, who appears to be alive, yay for everyone. Except we’re not supposed to even look for Jake now. We’re supposed to leave him alone. And I will
not
settle for that.” He touches the back of his head, gingerly. “I need to see him.”
“I am not in contact with Yakob,” Dedushka says. His arms start to tremble, holding them up like this. He cannot take it long.
“Bullshit.” Eric yells. He sounds completely unhinged. “I’ll kill you if he doesn’t come meet me.”
He looks down into Dedushka’s eyes, and I swear he’s looking at me. That he senses me, somehow.
I come out of it, my whole body shaking. “Dedushka,” I whisper.
Rachel starts the truck. “We’ll get there in time. We’ll get to him.”
We have to.
Rachel drives fast—we get there in just over half an hour. We fumble a little on where the cemetery is, with no phones or GPS, and I don’t want to ask. It’s not great to ask for directions when you’re driving a stolen car. Eventually we find a sign, and make it to the gates. Two stone pillars, with fancy wrought iron gates between them, swung open.
It’s 5:30 according to the bank clock we drove by. It must be almost dawn.
“Stop here,” I say.
She pulls over next to the gates, stops. Frowns. “I’m not waiting here.”
I lay my hand over hers. Her skin is cool, and she’s shivering a little. “You have to. I already have to worry about Dedushka. I can’t risk having both of you there. Eric seems insane.”
“But I can
help,
” she says. “I can’t just sit here and—” She sighs. Turns her hand over, under mine. “And worry.”
“I’ll be all right. But I have to get to Dedushka.”
She grits her teeth. “Okay,” she whispers.
“Keep the truck ready. In case we need to run. And you—take off if it goes wrong, okay?”
We share one last, long look—she covers her mouth with her hand, but she nods quick—and then I slip out the door.
I jog down a long, straight driveway lined with trees. Really long, nothing on either side but dirt fields. There’s no sign of the sun yet, but the sky is starting to lighten, the dark less dense.
I’m starting to wish I’d had Rachel drive me this far, when I finally get to the graves. This is a huge cemetery.
I think of cataloging all these graves, telling their stories like I used to. Like Oak Grove Cemetery in Virginia. The days with Pete, then Eric. It seems like a lifetime ago.
I suddenly recognize the trees, the area, from my tunnel to Dedushka, down the second side road. I see a car. Then I spot them, a ways back from the path. Dedushka’s sitting on a bench under a tree. Eric stands behind him, twitching, holding a gun to Dedushka’s head.
I run, at first. As I get closer I slow to a walk, careful.
“Doesn’t this bring back fond memories, mate?” Eric shouts. “You and me, together?”
I step forward. Dedushka watches, solemn. “Put the gun down, Eric,” I say.
He snorts, his eyes wild. “Oh, now you’re going to tell me when to use my gun? I’m the one in charge here. I’m the agent. You—you’re just a rogue asset.”
I keep walking slow. Put my hands up. “Not anymore.”
His face hardens. “Right. I’m not an agent anymore, because of you. They’re probably going to fire me. And you think you’re free. You found your daddy and now you can do whatever you want.”
I meet Dedushka’s eyes. He probably has an idea how untrue that is.
His beard moves very slightly with his breath. “Go,” he mouths. “Walk away.”
I shake my head.
“Stop!” Eric says. “That’s close enough.”
I stop ten feet away. Not close enough to do anything useful. “What do you want?”
Eric rubs at the back of his neck. “I
want
you to undo what you did. But I’ll take an even trade. You for the old man. It’s very generous, since they really want you both. And this time—you’re not going to pull any of your crap. Not going to
use
me.” His lips curl. “I liked you, you know. I didn’t have to do the tennis thing. I was trying to make it easier for you.”
“You worked to keep me a prisoner and a slave,” I answer, cold. “Easier is not enough.”
“And you made me look like a traitor!” he shouts. “You got me shot. You made me lose my job.”
We stare at each other.
“Tunnel through one of those gravestones,” he says. “I want you to make yourself weak, and sick. Then I’ll leave the old man here, and you’ll come with me.”
“I can’t do that.”
“You can’t?” His voice goes higher, and he shoves the gun hard against Dedushka’s head, into his thick white hair. “You want me to blow his head off, right here in front of you?”