I Am the Traitor

by Allen Zadoff

  I pull the baseball cap lower over my eyes.

  “Let’s get away from these screens,” I say to Howard.

  This time he listens, following me as I move back toward the housewares section.

  “Why are they saying those things about you?” Howard asks.

  “I’m wondering the same thing. Tanya said The Program had put a capture order on me, so why go public and bring the authorities into it?”

  “Maybe they’re trying to smoke you out?” Howard says.

  “It doesn’t make sense,” I say. “If my identity is public, they lose the ability to take me in secret, and they risk my getting shot or killed during capture.”

  Unless they’ve written me off completely, and they don’t care.

  I imagine Mike calling Mother, telling her that Tanya has turned because I corrupted her. Mother decides that I am a danger to The Program, a danger so great that they need me dead by any means.

  But why would Mike do that when he could have killed me himself and taken the credit? He would choose the path that benefits him the most. How would it help him for The Program to go public with my information?

  Tanya rushes through the store to find us.

  “You need to look outside right now,” she says.

  We follow her until we can see out the front windows.

  Police cars are pouring into the shopping center entrance. I note a large SWAT tactical truck already in place at the side of the Kmart. The back doors of the truck are flung open, and a dozen SWAT officers start fanning out around the perimeter of the store.

  “Are they here for us?” Tanya asks.

  “For me,” I say.

  “We were in the TV section,” Howard says. “Zach is on the news.”

  Tanya looks at me.

  “The Program burned you?”

  “They’re saying I was involved in the bombing at the JFK building.”

  “Were you?” Tanya asks.

  “I was there,” I say.

  I don’t need to tell her I was on a mission to stop the bombing. She can guess as much.

  “So there’s a SWAT team about to storm Kmart,” Tanya says.

  “I always thought shopping was boring,” Howard says.

  “Not today,” I say.

  Uniformed cops are rushing scared Kmart shoppers to the edges of the parking lot, where they crouch behind a line of squad cars parked hood to bumper. That means the SWAT team is going to storm the building, rather than playing it safe and waiting for the feds.

  “They’re only after me,” I say. “So I want you two to get out of here. Walk out like you’re scared shoppers, and let the police lead you away to safety. I don’t think The Program is here yet, which means you should have a head start.”

  “I’m not leaving without you,” Tanya says.

  “Get Howard to safety,” I say.

  “Like hell,” Howard says. “I’m not leaving, either.”

  “Listen, guys, I appreciate the sentiment, but it’s not the time to play hero. I can’t keep you safe if you stay here.”

  “You don’t have to keep me safe,” Tanya says. “I keep myself safe.”

  “Me, too,” Howard says, though it’s a lot less convincing coming from him.

  “So what’s the plan? You’re going to form a human shield?” I say.

  “Whatever you need,” Tanya says.

  He and Tanya stand together, arms crossed.

  “If you’re serious, then we’d better get to work,” I say.

  “I’ll see what I can find to help us,” Tanya says, and she disappears down an aisle.

  “What about me?” Howard says. “Where do you want me?”

  “I want you as far away from the action as possible. You can’t be fighting trained SWAT officers. They’ll be carrying weapons and wearing full body armor.”

  I’m looking for a place to put Howard during the assault. A back room or storage area. That’s when I notice a ladder in the hardware section.

  “Up,” I say to Howard.

  “What’s up?”

  “That’s where I’m going to put you.”

  I hear a whistle behind me. I turn to see Tanya standing down the end of the aisle, her arms cradling a box of road flares.

  A plan begins to come together.

  THE SMOKE DRIFTS IN WAVES, MOVING ACROSS THE STORE ON AIR-CONDITIONED CURRENTS.

  Tanya and I jog together from aisle to aisle, lighting flares and dropping them as we go.

  Howard is hidden high in the luggage section breathing through a painter’s respirator mask. He should be okay up there for at least ten minutes. If we haven’t made it out of the store by then, we will be dead or in custody, and Howard can climb down and pretend he was an innocent bystander caught in the assault.

  I pop the last of the flares and fling it across the floor. Tanya steps out of the smoke in front of me. She’s carrying a camping ax, a short black handle fronted with a sharp silver blade. She spins it in her hand.

  “Don’t be jealous. I’ve got one for you, too,” she says.

  “No bladed weapons,” I say. “I don’t want to hurt anyone if we don’t have to.”

  “They’ll have shoot-to-kill orders, Zach.”

  “They’re regular cops who are following orders, and they believe they’re confronting a terrorist. No lethal weapons unless and until we’re out of options.”

  “No lethal weapons,” she says, “But that doesn’t mean no weapons at all.”

  “No, it doesn’t.”

  “Back in a flash,” she says, and she disappears into the smoke.

  She’s back twenty seconds later with a set of titanium baseball bats.

  “How about these to get us started?” she says.

  “Perfect,” I say.

  I hear glass shattering in the back of the store.

  “They’re coming,” I say.

  “Let’s split up. I’ll take out as many as I can, then I’ll make my way back here—”

  She peers through the smoke, trying to find a sign to locate our position.

  “Housewares,” I say.

  “Great,” she says. “We can fight these guys, then pick out curtains for our new place.”

  “You are really starting to worry me,” I say, and she laughs.

  I hear the telltale roar of a flash-bang grenade from the back of the store, the effect like lightning through the smoke.

  Tanya expertly spins a bat and flips it under her arm.

  “Showtime,” she says.

  DARK FIGURES MOVE THROUGH THE SMOKE.

  A dozen SWAT team members enter through the back of the store clad in black body armor carrying HK MP5 submachine guns. They follow standard tactical procedure as they enter, threading in from a single point, then splitting into two groups to fan out around the perimeter.

  It would be an effective strategy in most situations.

  Not this one.

  The danger of standardized strategy is just that—it’s standardized. I’m very familiar with their training protocol, so I know what they’re going to do before they do it.

  Twelve team members, split six and six. Half for me, half for Tanya.

  I use the smoke as cover, and I pick them off one by one, starting at the end of the line and working my way forward. I use the baseball bat to accomplish a choke grip at the neckline, the weakest point in their body armor.

  I take out three of them before the next officer senses that something is wrong. As I approach, he whirls around and sees me coming at him through the smoke. He brings up the MP5 to fire, and I leap the last five feet, swinging the bat at the barrel of the weapon as he fires, the burst going high and shattering a row of lights across the ceiling above us.

  I track the direction of the rounds, concerned that they’re headed toward the luggage section, where Howard is hidden. When they hear the shots, SWAT guys one and two break position and scatter.

  That leaves me face-to-face with number three. He grunts and strikes out, using the butt of
the machine gun to attack. I counter with the bat, sparks flying as titanium strikes metal once, twice, then the SWAT member falls back, frustrated, dropping his grip from the machine gun and reaching for a sidearm.

  I drop the bat, jumping at him as he struggles to bring up his pistol. I grab his helmet and twist hard, the torque on his neck pulling his body down and off center where my knee is coming up to meet him. One strike to the belly to disorient him, a second to take him down, and a third to the head to knock him out.

  The smoke is dispersing at ground level now, most of it rising to the ceiling, where it is useless as cover.

  Rounds explode into the floor at my feet. I see the flash of a muzzle firing at me from ten feet away. I leap and scurry up a row of shelves into the smoke cloud. I stay high, crabbing across the shelves until I drop down on the officer from above, surprising him and quickly knocking him unconscious.

  “Stop!” a voice shouts.

  Another SWAT officer has seen me. He points his weapon at me from a few feet away, his aim true through the thinning smoke.

  I raise my arms above my head and slowly rise to standing, my eyes flitting from place to place, looking for a way out.

  “Don’t move,” he says.

  He advances toward me cautiously. Six feet away, then four, his free hand reaching for the zip ties on his belt. If he cuffs me, it’s game over.

  Just then, Tanya appears out of the smoke, snatching him from behind and quickly taking him down with an elbow to the throat. She pulls the zip ties from his belt, rolls him, then handcuffs him behind his back.

  Smart. I should have been doing that all along myself.

  I hear footsteps behind and turn to find a group of SWAT officers on top of us. They’ve realized they’re targeting professionals and they’ve wised up, massing their remaining forces for an attack. They rush in, dividing Tanya and me, attempting to overwhelm us with sheer numbers.

  I aim a low kick to the first man’s knee, and I feel the sickening snap as it gives way, knocking him down.

  Before I can reset myself, another officer grabs me from behind and pulls me back toward him, exposing my belly to the air.

  I see Tanya in the aisle across from me, taking down a guy with an expert triple kick that moves from stomach, to neck, to head.

  I fight the man behind me, flinging my head back to try and smash into his nose, but he dodges and tightens his grip. I can feel ropy muscle in his arms holding me tight against him.

  Suddenly Tanya rushes toward us, planting herself at the last moment, and directing a vicious kick at my crotch.

  I wince in expectation of the blow, but she pushes the kick forward at the last second, clearing my groin and instead kicking the balls of the guy behind me.

  He lets go with a terrible moan as the wind is forced from his lungs. He sags against my back, and I spin and take him down, finishing the job.

  The fire alarm goes off, and a moment later the sprinklers release, water pouring down on us from above.

  I turn back to Tanya.

  “Do you know how close that kick was?” I say.

  “About this close?” she says, making a small finger gesture.

  I frown.

  “Hey, it’s not personal,” she says. “I got the job done.”

  I take a moment to orient myself. Tanya and I are standing in housewares, SWAT guys splayed on the floor all around us, water raining down from the ceiling and pooling at our feet.

  “I guess everything went according to plan,” I say.

  “Are you kidding?” Tanya says. “The curtains are ruined.”

  I laugh. “Let’s find Howard and get going,” I say.

  “I’m right here!” Howard says. He comes jogging around the corner wearing a catcher’s mask and carrying a baseball bat in either hand.

  “I told you to stay in hiding,” I say.

  “One of them got too close,” he says.

  I can see dents in the metal of the bats.

  “Did you fight a SWAT officer?” I say.

  “I guess I did,” he says in disbelief.

  “Damn. Howard’s a badass,” Tanya says.

  Howard smiles.

  “We’ll celebrate later,” I say. “We’ve got about a hundred cops out for blood in the parking lot.”

  “How are we going to get past them?” Howard says.

  “Uniforms,” I say, pointing at the fallen officers. “Put them on.”

  We quickly strip three of the SWAT members, slipping their uniforms on over our clothes. I search the remaining officers until I find the lead and pull a set of keys and a cell phone from his belt.

  When I get back, I look at Tanya and Howard dressed as SWAT team members. They are believable if you don’t look too closely.

  “Now we’re going out the way they came in,” I say.

  “How can we do that?” Howard says.

  “Swagger,” I say.

  And we walk straight out the back door.

  The minute we hit pavement, a police lieutenant comes running up to me. “What’s going on in there?” he shouts. “We lost contact.”

  I cough and double over, wincing like I’ve been hurt.

  “We need more men,” I say.

  “And women,” Tanya says.

  “I’m heading back to the truck to call it in,” I say.

  “Shit, I knew we should have waited,” the lieutenant says, and he rushes off.

  I keep walking and Tanya and Howard follow me. I see the SWAT truck parked around the side of the building and we head for it.

  “We’re stealing their truck?” Howard says.

  “They don’t need it,” Tanya says. “They’re going to be at the hospital for a while.”

  I take out the keys I snagged from the lead officer. One slips easily into the lock on the back of the truck, and the doors swing open. Howard climbs in, eyeing the combat gear and equipment.

  “Awesome,” he says.

  I jog to the front and unlock the driver’s door. Tanya hoists herself inside.

  “Do you want me to drive?” she says.

  “My turn,” I say.

  She nods and climbs into the passenger seat. I light up the engine and feel it roar beneath us.

  “Have you ever driven one of these?” Tanya asks.

  “I can build one of these,” I say.

  I throw it into gear and drive slowly past about a dozen squad cars. I salute a couple of officers who are staring at us, perhaps surprised to see SWAT retreating. They return the salute, then focus back toward Kmart, not realizing the people they are looking for are making an escape right in front of them.

  COPS ARE DESCENDING ON THE AREA FROM EVERY DIRECTION.

  Tanya says, “Once they discover that we escaped, everyone in the world will be looking for us.”

  “We can’t outrun the whole world,” Howard adds.

  “I don’t think Canada’s an option anymore,” Tanya says.

  “I agree,” I say.

  “Do we have any options?” Howard asks.

  There’s silence in the SWAT truck as each of us considers the answer.

  The Program has played the ultimate trump card, destroying my anonymity and risking its own in order to guarantee that I’ll be apprehended.

  How can I defeat the biggest bully on the block?

  “It’s David versus Goliath,” Howard says. Then he sighs deeply. “I wish it were Goliath versus Goliath.”

  “That’s brilliant,” I say.

  “What’s brilliant?” Howard says.

  “You just gave me an idea.”

  I reach for my phone. There’s a secret file that I’ve carried with me, a photo of a certain business card I was given—it feels like a long time ago now.

  We’re far enough away from the Kmart that I can risk pulling over for a moment.

  “I’m going to hop out and make a call,” I say.

  “Who are you calling?” Tanya asks.

  “Goliath,” I say.

  IT RINGS FOUR TIM
ES.

  A familiar voice picks up.

  “Yes?”

  That’s all he says.

  “It’s me,” I say.

  I can sense the hesitation on the other end of the line.

  “Benjamin?” the voice asks. It’s the name he knows me by, the name I was using when we first met.

  There’s practically nothing I can say over the phone. I tell him only that I need his help and that he might be the only one in the world who can help me.

  It wouldn’t surprise me if he hung up and we never spoke to each other again. He has every reason to turn me down. I’m asking him to put his entire career—maybe even his life—on the line.

  But he doesn’t turn me down. He says two words.

  “Saratoga Springs.”

  It’s an invitation.

  IT’S EARLY EVENING BY THE TIME WE ENTER THE SARATOGA SPRINGS CITY LIMITS.

  I ditched the SWAT truck back in Pennsylvania, trading it for a black Mustang with a 5.0L V8 engine. We rumble past the historic mansions of Saratoga Springs, an affluent city where racing money comes to play.

  There’s a baseball field near our destination with a game in progress. Teenagers take the field while their parents watch from folding chairs set up along the sidelines. As we pull up, a guy hits a hard double into left field, and the crowd rises in a crescendo of cheers.

  “We drove all this way for a baseball game?” Tanya asks. “You must really love sports, huh?”

  “Seriously, what are we doing here? Tell us the secret,” Howard says.

  I stop the Mustang and watch the baseball player round second, start for third, then decide not to risk it and back up.

  I played in a baseball game like this not too long ago.

  A different mission. A different life.

  I’ve lived many lives in the last two years. I’m supposed to forget each one after it happens—absorb the lessons, then move on, blending into the next life, the next mission, forever moving forward and always remaining anonymous.

  I’ve been trained to forget, but that became impossible to do after I met Samara and her father, the mayor of New York City.