Desert Dark

by Sonja Stone

  18

  NADIA

  TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 13

  Tuesday morning after exercises, Nadia and her team ate breakfast as the sun rose higher. The light glinted off the city below, burning through the hazy cloud that settled on the valley.

  “Do you want to hear something annoying?” Alan asked.

  “Why wouldn’t we?” Libby answered.

  “I called my parents last night and the phone kept clicking. And I noticed a distinct pause between everything I said and everything they said.”

  “The phones are tapped,” Damon said.

  “What?” Nadia asked.

  “Phones are tapped. That’s the delay. Everything you say is prescreened. If the operator doesn’t like it, your folks don’t hear it.”

  “Good to know,” Nadia said.

  “How do you know?” Alan asked. It sounded more like an accusation than a question. Nadia noticed Alan tended to stay on the defensive.

  “What else could it be? It’s a basic security measure.”

  “What’s on today’s agenda?” Nadia asked.

  “Diplomacy with Dr. Moran, followed by Phys Ed with Sensei. We get a light load on Tuesdays and Thursdays. If I had to guess, I’d say we’re doing archery in gym class.” Damon nodded toward the lawn, to the line of targets arranged at the bottom of the hill.

  “How do you know so much about everything?” Alan demanded.

  “First of all, I’m looking right at the targets. Secondly, they went over all this in orientation. You were sitting right next to me.”

  “Don’t feel bad,” Libby told Alan. “I don’t remember that, either.”

  “Certainly you are not comparing your intellect and recall to—”

  “Hey, guys.” Jack interrupted Alan as he stepped onto the patio. He pulled a chair next to Nadia’s. His clean smell surrounded her. “I need to speak to Nadia for a minute.”

  “Off we go, then,” Alan muttered, as the team gathered their dishes.

  “I’ll see you back at the room,” Libby said, collecting Nadia’s plate.

  “Thanks.” Nadia adjusted her ponytail. I just finished working out, I’m all sweaty and exhausted, and he sits right next to me. Add that to yesterday’s fabulous first impression—she’d been so flustered when they met she made a complete fool of herself, answering all his questions with one word: fine, fine, good, fine. He took her to the language lab in the library, a glass room lined with laptops and headphones. She completely ignored his instructions as he pulled up the Arabic program, and instead spent her time watching his beautiful hands fly over the keyboard.

  “How was your workout?” Jack asked.

  “Good,” Nadia said. You’re doing it again. Speak in complete sentences, loser.

  Jack continued, apparently oblivious to her embarrassment, “So, I meant to ask: how’d it go at the shrink’s office?”

  Shocking, nerve-wracking, unsettling. “Fine, I guess. I don’t know what he was doing, so I’m not entirely sure.”

  “Basic fact-finding. Are you a US citizen, do your parents work for the government or any foreign agencies, are you patriotic, do you respect authority, you know,” he winked at her, “the basics.”

  Who winks? But he looked adorable when he did it, his eye crinkling at the corner. Nadia tried not to smile. “Right. The basics. What’s with that test?”

  “The booklet? You’ll take that a few times every semester. They mix it up a little—reword the questions, test us when we’re tired after a long drill, ask them orally. On and on.”

  “Why?”

  “The more often they administer the test, the less likely it is we can deceive them. If they question us when we’re fatigued, we don’t have the energy to fabricate a lie, or even remember what we said last time. It’s best to be honest. Inconsistencies are a huge red flag.”

  “Some of those questions were bizarre. I get, ‘do you hear voices,’ but what about, ‘is your stool black and tarry?’ What is that?” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. Oh my God. Please tell me I did not just ask the beautiful boy about fecal matter.

  “Good question. Black stools can indicate either stomach ulcers, which may mean an anxiety disorder, or an overindulgence of alcohol. Both diagnoses are problematic to our line of work. Asking a direct question like ‘are you an alcoholic’ would be too easy.”

  “I haven’t heard back from Dr. Cameron. Does that mean I passed? I’m in?”

  “You’re not out.”

  “Getting a straight answer around here is impossible.”

  “We’re all basically kept on a need-to-know basis.” He placed his hand over hers and her stomach jumped. “Remember, this is a covert training facility. Your parents don’t even know the truth.”

  She tried to focus on his words instead of the fact that he was holding her hand. “Yeah, I don’t understand why our parents can’t know.”

  “For one thing, by not advertising our curriculum, we lessen the risk of enemy organizations infiltrating the school.”

  “What about the kids who leave? Do you really think they don’t say anything to their friends back home?”

  Jack glanced at the empty tables around them. “Only team leaders are supposed to know this, but before a student is dismissed he’s required to spend a week in a deprogramming session.”

  “Hmm. And now we’re conspirators.” She studied his eyes. “That’s interesting.”

  “What?” Jack looked confused.

  “You told me something I wasn’t supposed to know. You’ve created a bond between us; now we share a secret. What I don’t know is why you told me.”

  He laughed lightly, probably more out of politeness than humor. “That’s very good. Have you already trained somewhere?”

  “Not even close.” Nadia smiled. “My father is a criminology professor. He specializes in political assassinations and hostage situations. It’s a technique used by kidnappers to bond with potential abductees.”

  He stared at her for a moment. “I’m not a criminal.”

  “Of course not,” she said quickly. Nadia, shut up.

  “And I have no plans to ransom you. If I took you, I think I’d keep you.” He smiled again, teasing her. “In any case, after a week of deprogramming, no one talks.”

  “Sounds a little threatening.” The heat of the morning pressed down on her. She wiped her forehead with the back of her arm. Was this what she wanted? A life of secrets; lying to her parents? On the other hand, how unbelievably exciting. A future filled with mystery and intrigue, and she was flattered they chose her. Nadia bit her lower lip as she realized Jack was still holding her hand. She hoped it wasn’t sweaty. “So if it’s so hush-hush, why are you telling me?”

  His smile widened as he brought his index finger to his lips. “I could get in a lot of trouble for sharing.” He leaned in, his mouth brushing against her ear as he whispered, “So please, keep it between us.”

  His closeness sent a shiver down her back. Ignore it, Nadia. Did you learn nothing from Matthew? “My lips are sealed.”

  Jack stood and pushed in his chair. “Listen, why don’t you meet me at the gate after dinner and we’ll run a few laps around campus.” He said it matter-of-factly, like who would say no to such an offer?

  Seriously? More running? Is he insane? “Sounds fun. I’ll see you then.”

  19

  DAMON

  TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 13

  Tuesday afternoon at the library, Damon made an impulsive decision. If Alan didn’t stop banging the table, Damon would be forced to snap his neck. He didn’t want to do it; he kind of liked Alan. But he needed to finish his homework.

  Damon refocused on his translation a half-second before Alan shifted his weight, once again slamming into the table. Damon violently scratched out the Chinese character he’d been writing, cracking his pencil in half. This was a library. The most sacred of spaces.

  He dropped the pencil shards and examined his palm for splinters. The light
fixture above his head hummed. A bad ballast. Maintenance would swap out the fluorescent tube and, in a day or so, they’d come back to fix the light properly. “Fantastic,” he mumbled, pulling a sliver of wood from his thumb.

  Alan glanced over. “Oh, you broke your pencil.” His knee pumped up and down.

  The AC unit kicked on, adding a dull drone. “So I did.”

  “You should try to be more careful.” Alan chewed on a cuticle as his eyes returned to the staircase. He obviously had news. And until he spilled, no one was getting anything done.

  “Hey, man. What’s up?” Damon asked.

  Alan broke into a wide grin. “I will wait until the girls arrive.”

  Damon rubbed his head. Four brutally long minutes later, Libby and Nadia came down the steps.

  They were barely at the table when Alan started in. “Did you guys hear what happened?”

  “Can you be a little more specific?” Libby asked.

  “You know Drew’s car accident?” The look of satisfaction left his face. “The reason this one is here?” He jerked his head at Nadia.

  “Come on, man.” Damon understood his roommate’s hostility toward Nadia. Alan had just established his place on the team when Drew up and died. Now he was forced to prove himself all over again. Damon felt bad for him, being so insecure, but he didn’t like bullies. “Lay off her.”

  “Thank you, Damon,” Nadia said. “And what are we studying this afternoon?”

  “I am in the middle of a story!”

  Nadia turned to Alan. “I think you’ve overestimated our interest in what you have to say. I can’t speak for everyone, but personally, I don’t give a rat’s—”

  “As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted by the girl who probably thinks habeas corpus is a city in Texas—”

  “I know what habeas corpus means.”

  Alan scowled at Nadia. “Oh yeah? Well for your information, I happen to—I have—I might—”

  “What are you saying?” she asked.

  Damon tried to suppress his smile. He liked how Nadia stood up for herself. More than he hated bullies, he hated pushovers.

  “Honestly, that’s enough,” Libby said. “I’m gonna have to take someone out behind the woodshed.”

  Libby, on the other hand, went out of her way to avoid conflict. Even when the conflict wasn’t hers. Not that she was weak, but she obviously felt uncomfortable with discord. He usually did the opposite, charging head-first into the fire. Often spraying lighter fluid on the flames just for fun.

  Libby continued, “Nadia, even though I’m sick to death of people talking about that poor girl, why don’t we hear him out?” She sighed. “It’s just easier that way. Now what’s this about the car accident?”

  “Thank you.” Alan glared at Nadia. “No accident.”

  “What are you talking about?” Damon asked.

  Alan’s agitation visibly faded as he doled out his gossip. “I overheard some teachers. Drew was shot. She was murdered.”

  “Come on,” said Damon. “None of our teachers would talk about a murdered student in front of a first year.”

  Alan looked smug. “They were speaking Arabic.”

  “No way,” said Nadia. “How would the school keep something like that secret?”

  “The senior professors are all retired CIA operatives. Do you really believe them incapable of covering up the death of one insignificant girl?” Alan answered.

  “I beg your pardon, but Drew was not insignificant,” Libby said.

  Alan scoffed. “Please. Her parents are nobodies.”

  Nadia took a deep breath and opened her mouth, undoubtedly to read him the riot act, and as much as Damon would’ve enjoyed hearing the exchange, Alan surely had more information. “That can’t be right,” Damon said. “They found her car. She drove into the side of a mountain. It was completely torched.”

  “It could have been staged,” Alan argued.

  “Why would anyone want to kill Drew?” asked Libby.

  “They did not say. But I heard the word khawan.”

  “So? What does that mean?” Damon asked. Alan was milking this for all it was worth.

  “It means traitor,” he whispered. “You know, like a double agent. Who knows what the CIA would do to a treasonous student.”

  Libby looked troubled. “At least a life sentence. Maybe the death penalty.”

  “I am thinking either she was a mole and the CIA had her killed, or it is someone else and Drew found out, and they killed her.” Alan’s excitement was obvious.

  “A girl is dead,” Damon reminded him. “Show some respect.”

  Alan raised his eyebrows and shrugged. “I did not kill her.”

  “Well then, by all means.” Damon extended his arm. “Please continue,” he said, his sarcasm wasted on his roommate.

  Alan nodded like he was accepting an apology. “Thank you.”

  “That’s completely unbelievable,” said Nadia.

  “You think I am lying?”

  “Here we go,” Damon mumbled.

  “No, Alan. If I thought you were lying I would come out and say it. I meant the story was unbelievable.”

  “Maybe it is you,” Alan said to her. “Maybe you are the double. You needed a place on campus and failed to receive an invitation based on merit, so you killed Drew to open a slot.”

  “Yeah, I’m a double agent. This whole struggling-to-catch-up thing is just a big act. Not bad, huh? But you caught me. I killed Drew. And you know what?” Nadia leaned across the table into Alan’s space. Her voice dropped an octave. “You better watch your back, because you’re next.”

  Damon laughed as Alan slammed his book shut and stomped away from the table. He shook his head. “Fifty bucks says he made that up, just to have a good story to tell.”

  “I don’t know,” said Libby. “He’s occasionally insensitive, but I don’t think he’d out-and-out lie.”

  “Occasionally?” repeated Nadia. “That’s cute.”

  Damon shrugged. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Alan was a horrific liar. Like when Damon grilled him about girls. Alan said he’d hooked up plenty of times, but Damon could tell he was lying. Alan had shifted his weight, looked away, repeated the questions. As if that weren’t enough, a minute later he turned a splotchy crimson, scratching at his neck like a cat with fleas—it looked like an allergic reaction.

  The strange thing was, it had happened another time too, when Damon asked Alan about his family. Alan said he’d lived in Jerusalem with his grandparents as a little kid because his father had been working for Doctors Without Borders. Two minutes later he was covered in hives. He claimed he’d eaten peanuts at lunch or something. But he never had any trouble with peanut butter. It didn’t add up.

  “In any case,” Damon continued, “what’s done is done. Drew’s death was tragic, but there’s nothing we can do to change it. The truth comes out when it needs to. It always does.”

  20

  NADIA

  TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 13

  On their way from the library to dinner, Nadia asked Libby, as casually as possible, “So, does Jack have a girlfriend?”

  “Not a chance, and it’s not from lack of offers. He practically has his own fan club. Sadly, his single-minded pursuit of academic excellence leaves little time for a social life.”

  I must’ve misread his signals. Her stomach sank. Of course I did, why would he be interested in me? Nadia knew she was cute, but he was on another level. Anyway, what difference does it make? That’s the last thing I need.

  She turned her attention back to Libby. “Do you like him?”

  “Like him, like him? No, he’s not my type.”

  “Greek god doesn’t do it for you?”

  Libby laughed. “Actually, no. I prefer the Scandinavian look: blue-eyed blondes. You should see his roommate, Noah. I’d tell you to go for Damon, but he’s got his eye on Niyuri—you know her from class. She’s one of Noah’s, which makes it interesting because they’re ou
r rival team this semester. She’s cute as a bug. And sweet, too.”

  “So he’s smart, then?”

  “Damon? Absolutely.”

  “No. Jack.”

  “Oh yeah. Smart as a whip. We lucked out getting him as our team leader,” she said.

  “So all our competitions are against Noah’s team? Doesn’t that create an awkward living situation for him and Jack?”

  “I believe they do it that way on purpose,” Libby said. “One more challenge to overcome.”

  “Jack asked me to meet him at the gate after dinner.”

  “Is that right?” Libby asked, her smile teasing.

  “We’re just going for a run.” Nadia wondered if Libby could tell she was nervous. “It’s no big deal.” She pulled the dining room door open.

  Alan and Damon, already at the table, were discussing the upcoming Fall Formal. “I’m taking Niyuri,” Damon announced.

  “You’re already making plans? It’s over two months away,” said Libby. “You’re such a girl!”

  “Whatever,” said Damon. “You gotta lock that down.”

  “Lock what down?” Alan frowned. “What do you mean?”

  Damon stared at him for a moment. “I asked her before someone else had a chance.”

  “Oh. Well, I am disinclined to attend. I hate dancing,” Alan said. “As you can imagine, it is not exactly my milieu.”

  “It’s mandatory,” Damon said.

  “Mandatory?” Alan asked.

  “Yeah,” answered Damon. “As in, you don’t have a choice.”

  “I know what mandatory means,” Alan snapped. “But why?”

  “It’s part of the curriculum. Here’s the deal: imagine you have a job at the Spanish embassy,” Damon began.

  “Why Spanish? Why not Israeli?” asked Alan.

  “What’s the difference?” He paused long enough to glare at Alan. “So you’re working at the embassy and there’s an event, a formal occasion. You’re on assignment, you need to meet and greet. How can you blend if you don’t know how to mingle? If you’re standing along the wall the whole night?”