by Karen Hayes
"Please," he says. "I can't afford to lose you. Not now."
My cheeks feel hot. Why can't he? Why 'not now'?
"I'd like you to keep this card," Adam says. "Please make sure it's on you at all times."
Reluctantly I take the card back from him and shove it in my pocket. My face is burning with shame but I can't draw myself away from him. I can't be angry with him. He doesn't need to control me in order to control me, if you know what I mean. It's in his eyes; in his voice.
This is sick. Is he a hypnotist?
I step back. Not that I want to, but the others are staring.
Then I remember Ramiro. "I've seen something you might find interesting."
"Which is?"
"When I attacked Ramiro, I got into his head somehow. I had a vision, sort of - I don't know how to explain it."
"Oh really?"
"I saw this guy from the Daily Politics Show."
"Who, Andy Hill?"
"That's right. Diana was with him. She gave him some paperwork: something to do with you and Hermetis. I read it in Ramiro's thoughts. A manila folder with a curled-up snake on the cover."
Adam's face tenses. "A curled-up snake?"
"A two-headed one, curled like a figure of eight."
"Where was it? Did you recognize the place?"
"It was dark outside. A gorgeous house overlooking the coast. Long Island?"
"Well, we can always check Andy's address. It's not brain surgery. Anything else?"
I shake my head.
"You're full of surprises, you," Adam's voice rings with new, unfamiliar notes. He seems to be proud of me.
I don't even know what to say to that so I just stand there with my hands clasped behind my back while he continues,
"I wish you hadn't seen that folder. Such a shame it had to be you."
"Why? What's so bad about it?"
"Because we need to remove the folder, don't we? And you seem to be the only person who knows the layout of his place. You know how to get to the room with the strongbox. I don't think you managed to notice the lock combination, did you?"
"No, I didn't. And even if I did, it was too long for me to remember. Do you want to say you need me to break into his house and steal the folder?"
He pauses, staring pensively over my head, then gives a reluctant nod, "I'm afraid so. Pretty soon, too. We only have a few days left until the start of the debate. We'll talk about it later. I want you to stay in for a couple of days. Just please don't stray away again, okay? I need to sort out a few things. Promise me you won't run off. Not until I'm back, anyway."
"I promise."
He nods and gives me a light tap on the shoulder. Then he swings round, wraps his long cashmere coat around himself and heads for the turnstiles. I watch him disappear into the crowd behind the glass doors.
What the hell is going on between us?
"Sarah?"
I startle. The ginger-headed Fred is standing next to me, looking deadpan serious. "Chris has come round. He's asking about you."
Chris? I was right, then! He did help me!
A complex mixture of joy and guilt floods over me. I'm scared of what I might find out. How can I even look him in the eye now?
I nod and walk toward the elevators.
We need to talk, anyway. I can explain everything. We're two responsible adults. No: we're duals. He's my guardian; I'm his carrier. We don't need words to understand each other. That's what duals do.
In any case, I don't need to tell him about the manila folder. Later, maybe. He doesn't need to know of Adam's plans nor of my role in them. I'd rather Chris didn't get involved. It's too risky.
Chris is half-sitting in his bed, leaning against the pillows. He's dressed in disposable hospital garbs.
"Where is it?" he asks the moment I walk in.
I close the door behind me and walk over to him. "What are you talking about?"
He sits up and points at the locker. "Get me my clothes, please."
He's not going anywhere in this state! "Sorry, but you need to stay in bed. Your clothes are no good to you."
He shakes his head impatiently, "I'm not going anywhere! I just have an idea. Please."
I open the locker. His jeans and jacket are hanging inside. His clean T-shirt lies neatly folded on the shelf. I scoop everything up and bring it to his bed.
Chris hurries to check his jeans pockets, then his jacket. His face clears. "It's okay."
Exhausted, he leans back onto the cushions and motions me to come closer. I perch myself on the edge of his bed and lean over him.
"I made this secret pocket," he mouths under his breath, "behind the lining. Promise me not to tell anyone about the memory stick. If they ask you, just say you don't know anything about it."
Aha, so that's what it's all about. "I didn't tell anyone. Nobody asked me. You're paranoid, you know that? Do you still think this place is bugged?"
"I may be paranoid but it doesn't mean they're not watching us," he says.
"They had plenty of opportunity to take it off you if they really wanted to," I point out.
"They couldn't. I took care of that. Besides, they had too many other things to worry about. Like the explosion and everything. It's irrelevant, anyway. The main thing is, I still have it. I'm gonna hide it now. Promise me not to tell anyone about it."
I nod and move a bit further away from him just in case. I don't like his paranoia. This head injury hasn't done him any favors.
"What happened, anyway?" he asks, frowning.
I fidget and stare blankly around me, not knowing where to begin. "Well, we put the suicide bomber inside the van which then exploded. And as you were very close to it - well, we both were - you took the hit."
"I don't mean that. What happened to you today? Just now?"
I give him a bewildered look. He watches me, cross-armed.
How did he know? He couldn't have possibly seen any of it... or could he?
I can feel my cheeks blush. "I... how can I tell you... I just ran into a few Agency men."
He frowns some more. "How did that happen?"
Now he nailed it. This was probably the stupidest thing I'd done so far. If I could have had it my way, I'd have just forgotten it without telling anyone. No such luck: it looks like I might need to repeat it over and over until everyone in Hermetis knows the story by heart.
"Emma asked me to help her," I finally say. "I didn't know, did I?"
"So you just agreed to leave the tower unsupervised," Chris says.
I don't need to ask him how he knows. "Yes. And then..." I avert my gaze, wishing the earth would swallow me whole. "She walked me into an ambush in the park. She tipped off the Agency that I'd be there."
"She did what?"
Surprised, aren't we? I bet. "You wouldn't think she was capable of something like that, would you? Apparently, she was working for the Agency for quite a while. No idea why they needed me. I'd love to know what they promised her for bringing me to them, though," I reach into my pocket for a large pack of gum and fumble with it, suppressing the desire to shove it in my mouth whole, wrappers and all. "You saved me, you know? You came round just in time," I force a smile.
Chris preserves a moody silence. His glare seems to bore a hole in me. His stubbly cheeks move as if he's grinding his teeth.
I wish he yelled at me instead. The thin needle of his fury pierces my head. It hurts so much I finally grab at my temples, screaming, "Stop it now!"
"What do you want me to stop?"
"Stop being mad at me!" I jump off the bed. "Yes, yes, I know! It's all my fault! I shouldn't have gotten us involved in the Times Square incident. Well, I'm sorry! I didn't know, did I?"
The gum pack snaps broken in my fingers. I pace the room until I come to the door; then I stare through the window at the empty corridor and the circle of light over the nurse's desk. My own reflection glares back at me, my face pale, my eyes sunken and hollow.
I know what I need to say to him. I've
been pondering over it for a while now, searching for the right words. Still, it's not easy to say it out loud.
I swing round and speak fast, throwing all doubt to the wind. "You've got to leave. The Agency wants me, not you. This isn't your game, Chris. You don't need the risk. Me, I'm different: I've got nowhere else to go. But you-"
He interrupts me. "What are you talking about? So you want me to just get up and go? Just like that? After everything that's happened?"
I don't understand him. His eyes fill with anger as if I've just offended the life out of him.
Once again, his rage floods over me, scorching me from the inside, burning a hole through my pounding head. "Chris, I-"
"Yes, you. You very nearly got yourself killed. And now you expect me to dump you and hole up in some safe haven. Who do you think I am?"
He tries to sit up. The machines around his bed erupt in anxious beeping. I try to force him down but he won't let me.
Then he grabs my hand and holds it tight, drawing me like a powerful magnet. I'm not sure if he's doing it on purpose but his pull is so strong it threatens to break my ribs. Our faces are inches away from each other.
"I'm not going anywhere now," he says, his breath burning my lips. "You can forget it. I fully intend to get to the bottom of it all. I have too many questions. I'm not leaving until I get my answers. And you must promise me to stay put. No more getting into trouble. Promise?"
"Chris, please," I gasp, trying to get out of his mental grip.
Finally he releases me and falls back onto the pillows. This little trick must have cost him a lot.
I lose my balance and very nearly drop to the floor. My legs feel weak and rubbery. I really shouldn't provoke his anger outbursts in the future.
Why is he so angry? Is it because of me? Because of what I've just told him? I don't understand him. I thought he wanted to leave, anyway?
"Promise you won't leave the building without me," he repeats. "It's too dangerous."
He leans back and closes his eyes, still clenching the memory stick in his hand. I wait patiently but he doesn't say a word. So stubborn!
A belated bout of anger floods over me. What does he think he's doing? Why won't he leave?
I lay his clothes back into the locker and quietly leave the room. So he doesn't want me to exit the building without him, does he?
I immediately think about the manila folder. Adam wants me to retrieve it ASAP. So it looks like I might have to get into more trouble, whether Chris likes it or not.
Chapter Twelve
Chris
I SPIT on my hands for a better grip and grab at a pipe wrapped in sheets of insulation. The pipe is running high under the concrete ceiling of the building's underground parking area.
The parking lot around the corner echoes with voices and the sounds of footsteps. Still, this small corridor connecting the elevators and the parking is deserted.
No cameras here, either. I walked the whole length of the corridor twice, searching for them, before embarking on what I'm about to do.
I draw one hand away from the pipe and reach into my pocket for the memory stick, then slide it as deep as I can under the insulation, burying it in its warm fluffy layers.
Then I jump down and wipe my hands.
My left knee is still aching from being caught in the van door back at Times Square. I rub it gingerly. I might need to spend some more time studying the images saved on the stick. I already discovered a very interesting little spot in the corner of one of the scans. When I ran it through an image editor, it started to resemble something shaped like a crescent moon.
No idea what it's supposed to signify, but it's there for a reason, I just feel it. Still, no matter how hard I concentrate, the idea seems to evade me.
I cropped that part of the image and saved it as a separate file to a password-protected cloud account. I might need to work on it some more to improve visibility, then run it through an image search on the Internet. You never know, something might transpire.
Actually, why can't I do it now? Should I go back to my room and try it?
I turn back to the elevators. Just as I'm about to turn the corner, I can hear the hiss of opening doors and the sound of voices.
"We need to do it nice and quiet," Greene says. You can't mistake his voice for anyone else's. "We jump them, grab the folder and disappear."
"Jump them?" another voice objects. It too sounds eerily familiar. "That doesn't sound quiet, does it?"
I know this voice. Which is more, I can sense my carrier's approach. Limping, I take a few steps toward the unlikely threesome that appears from around the corner.
There's Heaven with her stiff, jerky gait; Greene who's scurrying along on his little short legs; and Sarah with the flowing, seamless comportment of a professional ballet dancer.
"Oh," Greene says, seeing me. "Whatcha doin' here?"
"I could ask you the same question," I say.
Sarah mumbles a greeting, averting her gaze. She's never been this shy. Still, she's changed a lot in the last few days. It must be Emma's betrayal, not to even mention all the events before that, taking their toll.
Still, she's never been a blushing rose. Why now? All this is fishy to say the least.
I stop right in the middle of the corridor. "Where do you think you're going?"
The corridor is too narrow: in order to keep going, they'll have to squeeze themselves past me. That doesn't seem to baffle Heaven who just keeps going along her side of the wall. Both Greene and Sarah slow down, however.
"We've got business to take care of," Greene says. "Why? What's that got to do with you?"
"He's her guardian, don't forget," Heaven says, brushing my shoulder en passant.
I recoil. So does she - or at least so I think. It feels as if I've just stumbled into a large plastic balloon.
Then she's gone. Her level footsteps are echoing behind my back. I stare at Greene and Sarah.
"We've got to pay a visit to the joker who stole some paperwork from Adam," Greene informs me. "He wants to expose us to the Feds, I think. You don't want that to happen, do you? Neither do we. That’s why Adam asked us to do it."
"What, the three of you?" I ask.
"Well, let me check," Greene starts unbending his freckly fingers. "One, two, three... yes, I think you're right. That makes three."
He slides past me, adding,
"Apparently, all the others are too busy doing other things. Come on, Sarah, don't stall. We don't have much time. It's almost nighttime as it is. We still need to get the car ready."
Finally Sarah looks up at me. We gaze into each other's eyes.
"I'm not busy," I finally say.
"You've only just come back from the hospital," she reminds me.
"So what? I'm fine, you know that."
"You're still limping."
"That's nothing. My ribs are healed already and so is my knee... almost. I'm a guardian, don't forget," I pause, shaking my head. "I thought we were supposed to trust each other, and now what? You're going on another mission with those two without as much as a word to me?"
A few days ago she might have started yelling at me. She might have even shoved me out of her way like she did back at Times Square. That's how she used to express both her anger and her embarrassment: through aggression. Still, this Sarah is different somehow. She seemed to have grown up in the last few days.
"Sorry," the new Sarah says. "We should have told you. It's just that it's a bit urgent, or so Adam says. According to him, we're deep in shit. That's why we had to get our act together a bit quick. I knew you wouldn't let me go on my own but I didn't want you to take any more risks because of me."
"So Adam can allow you to take risks, is that what you mean?"
Now she's blushing. Her cheeks turn crimson. She's furious that I dared drag her precious Adam into it.
"Please stop it," she says. "Adam didn't want me to do it. Neither of us did. It's just that he's got nobody else to help him. All t
he stronger duals are on tour with McAllister who needs better protection now. And all the others take turns patrolling the building. Adam has reasons to believe the Agency might stage an attack or something," she makes a vague gesture. "He's very short of people at the moment. And we need to get the paperwork today because Andy Hill - the guy who has it - leaves New York tomorrow."
"So why not let Heaven and Greene do it?"
"Because I'm the only one who saw the house, through Ramiro's eyes. I saw the room and the strongbox. They can't find it without me. The papers are in a manila folder with a coiled snake on the cover."
Curiouser and curiouser. "A coiled snake? It doesn't have two heads, by any chance? You didn't tell me."
"I did tell you about the folder. I just didn't mention the snake."
Footsteps rustle behind my back. I turn round. Greene's sharp face peeks round the corner.
"Enough of your small talk. Sarah, we're ready. Let's go."
"You're not going anywhere," I snap.
His face tenses up. He steps back into the corridor. "Eh? You're a big guy, aren't you? How about you shove it up your-"
"We're going to see Adam now," I say, nodding at Sarah, "and you two can wait for us here. Once we're back, we're going, all four of us."
Greene steps in my way, rubbing his hands in peculiar short movements as if trying to make fire. "You shouldn't allow him to boss you around," he snarls. "He's not your daddy. He doesn't own you."
Some kind of force seems to radiate from him - or rather, from his hands. Sarah can feel it too, probably even more acutely than I. She steps toward me, taking place next to me as if trying to shield me with her body.
"Stop it!" she says. "Stop it now! Or would you like me to tell you to crawl on your belly and lick our shoes? That's not a problem! I can do that!"
Greene's face turns purple. His freckles are gone. With another snarl he puts his hands down. The heat he was radiating dissipates slowly into the air.
Heaven appears behind him in the corridor, frowning her disapproval.
"Let's go see Adam," I tell Sarah.
Just a couple of days ago, I'd have simply taken her by the hand and dragged her toward the elevators. Not any more, though. Somehow I can't do that to the new Sarah. It just doesn't feel right.
