by Sonja Stone
No! She dropped her bottle and ran back toward the tree. On her hands and knees she filtered through the dispersed debris. Sensei’s going to kill me. Nadia searched the far side of the tree, the path to the stream, around the water. Her knife had vanished.
Did someone steal my knife? She shook her head. I must have misplaced it. Nadia looked again, meticulously scouring every inch of ground she’d touched since removing the knife from her waistband the previous night.
I know I didn’t lose it. I put it right next to my water bottle.
The sun burned away the pleasant cool of morning. After a lengthy search, Nadia gave up. I need to get moving. Even at a fast clip, it’ll still be five, maybe six hours before I’m home. She hurried, feeling exposed in the open desert.
She took only one break, pausing for a few minutes to rest in the shade of a palo verde tree. Rubbing her thighs, she leaned against the light green bark and closed her eyes. A branch snapped and her eyes shot open. She felt someone watching her. Nadia scrambled to her feet.
It’s in my head. I’m tired. Ignore it.
She began walking again, much faster than before.
Her legs were numb from constant movement, and hunger gnawed at her stomach. The faster she hiked, the more apprehensive she grew.
Stop looking over your shoulder, she ordered. Nothing is there. It’s impossible to sneak through the desert. You’d know if someone were tailing you. But no matter what she told herself, Nadia couldn’t shake the distinct feeling that had settled over her.
She felt like prey.
37
DAMON
SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 12
Minutes after returning to campus from his solo, Damon stood in the waiting area outside Dr. Cameron’s office, debating how much trouble he’d get in if he failed to show. Demanding an interview the second he finished the survival course? Bad enough Damon hadn’t slept last night; now he had this to deal with. He took a deep breath and knocked on the door.
“Good to see you,” Dr. Cameron said. “Have a seat. How is everything?”
“I can’t complain. How about you?” Damon made his way into the interrogation room. He’d been forced to see plenty of therapists and none of them had an office as barren as this. Stripped down of all comforts.
“Classes okay? You just got back from your solo, right? Did you enjoy your time alone?”
Expressionless, Damon studied Dr. Cameron’s face. “I guess.”
“Do the survival courses challenge you?”
He glanced at his watch. “I actually have a paper due Monday. If you don’t mind, I’m a little pressed for time.”
Dr. Cameron smiled. “You don’t like coming in here, do you?”
Damon paused for a beat. “It’s nothing personal.”
“Is there anything you’d like to talk about?”
“No, Dr. Cameron. You called me.”
“How’s your roommate these days?”
Damon shrugged. “He’s fine, I guess.”
“And your other teammates?”
“Everyone’s great.”
“How is Nadia doing? Has she had any trouble catching up?”
Damon shook his head. “Not at all. In fact, she’s good at everything.”
“How so?”
He shrugged again. What part of that is unclear? He stared at Dr. Cameron. Dr. Cameron stared back, a whisper of a smile on his lips. “I don’t know. She’s smart, she’s quick. I don’t know what else to tell you.”
“What do you want to tell me?”
“Nothing.”
“Who would you say is the weak link on your team?”
Alan. “We don’t have one.”
“What about Alan?”
“Alan’s sharp.”
“Libby, then?”
“I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but I really do have a lot of work. My team is rock solid, no one does anything that concerns me, everything’s cool.”
“Why would you mention being concerned, Damon? I didn’t ask if anyone did anything that concerned you.”
Dammit. “I don’t know. A hunch, I guess.”
“That’s an interesting hunch.”
“Not really. Isn’t your job to investigate security issues on campus? I mean, look at this room. No windows, harsh lighting, one exit. A folding chair? No pictures of your family or soothing landscapes. The walls are grey cinderblock. This office is not for therapy. You ask me about Alan, Nadia, Libby. It’s no huge leap to assume you’re digging for information.”
Dr. Cameron smiled. After a moment, he said, “That’s only part of my job. I’m also here for you. For all the students. When you need to talk, or unburden yourselves.”
“Yeah, okay. But I’m just saying.”
Dr. Cameron leaned back in his chair. “Damon, I’d like to talk about your brother.”
And there it is. Damon sighed. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. “Sorry, but I don’t talk about him.”
“Do you feel responsible?”
He didn’t answer. When his dad died, he’d tried to step up, to fill that role for his brother. He’d watched his mother struggle as she clawed through her grief, fought desperately to keep their house. That morning he’d wanted to hang out with his friends. Just once, without his little brother clinging to him. “I need you to help me out,” his mother had said. That’s all he did, was help her out. He took his brother everywhere. So they went to the playground. Chips of cold April rain pelted Damon’s neck as he sat with his back to the park, pissed off, messing with his phone. Not paying attention.
“Damon?”
After his brother died his mother forced him into therapy. What a waste of time. “How do you feel?” the psychologist had asked. How do you think I feel?
“Do you think you could’ve done something differently?” Dr. Cameron asked.
Of course I could have. If I’d gotten up when he asked me to. If I hadn’t been so distracted and self-involved. If I’d paid attention, my whole life would be different. “I don’t talk about my brother. With anyone. Ever.”
“Damon, I won’t insult your intelligence by explaining survivor’s guilt, or by reassuring you that it wasn’t your fault, but it is important to talk about things that bother us. If we don’t, they can take on a life of their own.”
Damon shook his head. He’d stood at the cemetery and, for the second time, watched a box descend into the earth. This time, half the size as the last. They’d added trinkets: his brother’s blanket, his favorite book. At the last minute, Damon snatched the tiny yellow bear from the casket. His mom didn’t notice. She didn’t notice anything. It took months before she could go back to work.
Dr. Cameron remained silent. Damon waited. I’ve played this game before. First one to talk loses. Another minute passed.
“Okay. We don’t have to talk about him today.”
I win. Damon lifted his head. The Doctor’s expression was wrong. Off somehow. No furrowed brow, no sympathy. Damon knew the tell-me-about-your-dead-brother face, and this wasn’t it.
“What do you think about Nadia spending so much extra time at the dojo?”
Oh, that’s his angle. Bond over my dead brother and I’ll rat out my friends. Nice try, Doc, but this ain’t my first rodeo.
“Damon?”
’Course, the faster I give him something, the faster I’m out of here. And as long as we aren’t talking about my brother, what do I care? “I don’t know. She needed extra work. That was obvious after the first survival course. She’s got a lot of heart, though, taking the initiative, getting the help. I still don’t understand how she shot herself.” Damon snorted. “It’s almost as though . . .” He deliberately trailed off.
“ ‘As though’ what?”
He shook his head. “Nothing—it’s crazy.”
“You’re not suggesting she did it on purpose?”
“No, of course not. See what I mean? Crazy. Nobody would do that.”
Dr. Cameron pursed his
lips. He crossed his legs. His eyes didn’t leave Damon’s face.
Damon continued, “I mean, why would she? It’s not like it got her out of the solo. I’m sure that went fine, right?” Dr. Cameron didn’t speak. “Oh, is she not back yet?” Damon looked at his watch, eyebrows raised. “Wow. What is she up to?”
“Have you spent much time with Sensei?”
“Only in class.” Pause. “He’s careful with his time.”
“What do you think of him?”
“I like him. He’s very traditional. Very reserved.”
“He seems to have warmed to Nadia.”
Damon smiled. “Yeah, well. Nadia’s clever. She’s exceptionally good at cracking code, which is strange because she’s only so-so with foreign languages.”
Dr. Cameron jotted something onto his legal pad.
“And Alan is insane with the languages. He can pick them up like that.” Damon snapped his fingers. “But not so much with code.” Dr. Cameron did not write that down. Interesting.
“What do you think about Nadia having previously studied cryptography?”
He shrugged and met Dr. Cameron’s gaze. “Quite a coincidence.” Damon sat perfectly still in his chair. Don’t fidget. Don’t swallow. Don’t even blink. You’ll be out in a second.
“You think it was by design? That she somehow knew about the Academy?”
“I have no idea. I can only think of one reason to learn a skill like that.” He kept his eyes steady on the doctor. “But maybe I just lack imagination.”
Dr. Cameron paused for a moment, studying Damon. Then, finally, “Is there anything else?”
Damon looked toward the ceiling and squinted. “I don’t think so.”
“Okay.” Dr. Cameron handed Damon a booklet of shrink tests. “If you could take a few minutes and fill these out.”
Fantastic. Just what I wanted to do. Damon smiled. “I’d be happy to.”
38
NADIA
SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 12
Nadia’s pace had become nearly unsustainable when she spotted the concrete wall of Desert Mountain Academy in the distance. Overcome with relief, she slowed enough to catch her breath and regain composure. The pride she’d woken up with quickly returned, and with campus in sight, she felt like an idiot for succumbing to fear. She’d spent twenty-four hours alone in the desert! Four months ago she wouldn’t have believed it possible.
Of course, now she had another demon to face. Nadia made an effort to stop smiling. But I’m so proud of myself!
She went to the dojo to tell Sensei about her knife. She found him in the meditation room, and waited silently while he finished. When he looked up, Nadia bowed.
“Ah, Nadia-san, thank you for waiting.” He bowed on the ground before rising, then again to her when he stood. “How well did you perform?”
“Very well. I seem to travel much faster when I’m not drugged. Thank you for your help.”
“You did the work. The physical challenge was not as great as you expected,” he said.
“No, you were right. It was all in my head.”
“You have your knife for me?”
Nadia looked at her feet. “I seem to have misplaced it.”
“What?”
She forced herself to make eye contact. His lips formed a stern line. “I’m so sorry. I don’t understand how it happened. I put my knife and water bottle together when I went to sleep, and this morning my knife was gone. I didn’t notice until I saw the footprint by the stream, and by then—”
“What footprint?” Sensei’s brow creased.
“I don’t know, but it wasn’t mine. Did Jack come by to check on us?”
A look of concern flashed through his eyes. “Nadia-san, tell me exactly what happened.”
“I saw a footprint and kind of panicked. But then I remembered what you said about fear not being real, so I tried to calm myself down.” She watched Sensei’s face. “Anyway, that’s when I realized I didn’t have my knife. I searched for over an hour but never found it. And I think someone tried to erase their tracks—you know, with brush?” Maybe it was contempt on his face, and not concern. She couldn’t decide. As usual, his carefully guarded expression revealed very little. “Do you think someone might have followed me? Or that my knife was taken?”
He straightened his spine and crossed his hands behind his back. “I suspect you lost it. Perhaps you kicked it during the night.”
Nadia’s self-satisfaction evaporated as she registered his look of disappointment. She almost wished someone had been stalking her. That they’d stolen the knife. “Sensei, please forgive me.” She bowed her head. “I don’t know how this happened.”
“Dr. Cameron has requested you. See him before returning to your room.” Sensei bowed curtly and left her in the hall.
Nadia sighed as she left the dojo. So much for a hot shower and early lunch.
A few minutes later, across the lawn, she knocked on the psychiatrist’s door. “You wanted to see me?”
“How was your solo?”
Nadia settled onto the folding chair. “Better than I expected.”
“No problems?” He pulled his chair around the desk to sit in front of her.
She hesitated. “I lost my knife.”
Dr. Cameron cringed. “How did Sensei take the news?”
“Not well.”
“Sometimes they aren’t secured properly to the waistband. I’ve recommended belted knives. If the sheath is threaded through your belt, it’s impossible to lose. But the draw isn’t as smooth, and the potential for injury outweighs the benefit.”
I know I didn’t drop it. Should I tell him I think someone else was there?
Dr. Cameron handed her a steel clipboard with a packet of papers. “I need you to fill these out.”
No. I’ll either seem paranoid or it’ll look like I’m avoiding responsibility. Nadia flipped through the packet. All the psych tests, reformatted, just as Jack warned. “No problem,” she said, offering Dr. Cameron a tight smile.
An hour later on the way back to her dorm, Nadia ran into Jack.
“How did it go?” he asked.
She ran her hands over her hair. Last night she’d braided it in two long plaits that hung over her shoulders. It was a childish style, and now she regretted not taking more care. Libby probably returned looking like she’d just left a photo shoot. Nadia was covered in dirt—she hadn’t even brushed her teeth. “It was amazing!” She broke into a broad smile.
Jack laughed. “That’s awesome! You look really happy.”
“I am. I know it must seem stupid, but I was terrified.”
“No, not at all. It’s scary your first time out—especially if you’re not a camper. Good for you. I’m so glad it went well.” He reached over and touched her shoulder.
She tried, unsuccessfully, to stop grinning. “Thanks.”
“Let’s grab a bite after you get cleaned up. I’ll meet you on the patio.” He nodded toward the Navajo Building.
“Sounds good. Give me an hour?”
“I’ll save you a seat.”
“Hey, let me ask you something. Were we out there alone? I mean, do you check on us or anything?”
He shook his head. “Check on you? How do you mean?”
Nadia opened her mouth. You’ll sound completely insane. “Nothing. Never mind.”
39
JACK
SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 12
I’m in serious trouble.
He’d realized it the moment Nadia returned from the desert. Her clothes were covered in dust, her face smudged with dirt. She wore her hair in two messy braids.
She looked adorable.
Jack hated the idea that Nadia might be a traitor. His devotion to country absolutely took priority over his feelings for any one individual. But she was amazing—beautiful, intelligent, strong. The kind of girl he’d pick as a partner. He desperately wanted it to not be her.
It can’t be. She’s too transparent. Nadia was elated after her sol
o. An accomplished agent—hell, even a second-year student—wouldn’t think that was a big deal. His gut insisted it wasn’t her.
He’d considered alternate suspects. No one stood out among the junior class. Alan briefly flashed across Jack’s radar because of his multilingual upbringing, but Alan could no more be a covert agent than Jack could be a penguin.
Jack had hung out with Nadia all afternoon. After a late lunch they’d gone to the library. She studied diplomacy while he studied her. Sometimes she moved her lips a little as she read. Her facial expressions reflected her thoughts—a smile, a look of confusion. She was never neutral. If she were trained as a spy, she’d be blank. A constant poker face, no matter what went on inside.
After dinner they’d watched a movie in the student lounge. She’d fallen asleep on his shoulder. His arm had gone completely numb, but he hadn’t wanted to wake her.
Now, in the darkened documents lab at 2300 hours on a Saturday night, Jack tried to focus on his assignment. Two sets of false identities were due Monday morning and he’d barely begun. He hunched over the lab table, peering through a lighted magnifying glass at the stamped seal on a Bermudian passport. He’d fallen behind in his work and it was all Nadia’s fault.
He looked up from the eyepiece, staring mindlessly at the wall, and smiled as he pictured her curled up against him, sound asleep.
To tell the truth, she’d been under his skin since their first date. No way is she the double. And my investigation will clear her. That would be perfect: single-handedly exonerate Nadia, expose the real double and impress Dean Wolfe. Jack felt ninety-nine percent sure that Nadia was innocent.
Unless it’s an act. Could it be?
He groaned out loud. This is unacceptable. Remember why you’re here. Would you rather impress the girl—who may or may not be an enemy of the United States, or the Dean of Students? Who can without a doubt alter the course of your entire life?
Jack’s head ached from the smell of fresh ink and rubber stamps. He pinched the muscle between his thumb and index finger—a tension-relieving technique Sensei had taught his class—and forced his attention back to the purple customs seal splayed out under the magnifying glass. He needed to replicate the symbol, the variances in the ink. The right side of the image blurred from over-pressing, sharpened in the middle, and vanished toward the left, fading off the page like invisible ink. The key, Jack decided, was not to apply even pressure. A busy officer wouldn’t bother to rock the stamp back and forth onto each passport.
