League of American Traitors

by Matthew Landis

  “The game?” Jasper asked.

  “You should take a crack at the World War Two girls.”

  “I think we established that’s not a good idea.”

  Sheldon stopped the rubbing.

  “Sorry,” Jasper said.

  “Low blow, but true.” Sheldon went back to his seat and his bag of Cheetos. “They can’t all be murderous spies. It’s just a matter of numbers.”

  “You should ask out Sarah Franklin,” Tucker said. He was halfway through a volume of an old-school encyclopedia—the letter E—as part of a New Year’s resolution to become a human Wikipedia. Humanpedia. “She’s nice.”

  “How would you know?” Sheldon asked.

  “Because she started making out with me last week when we were redoing that chemistry lab.”

  Jasper and Sheldon looked at each other.

  “You made out with Sarah Franklin,” Sheldon said.

  “She really sucks at chemistry.” Tucker turned the page, finger tracing the lines as he speed-read. “Which is a deal breaker for me. You can ask her out, though.”

  “Pretty sure nobody wants to get near me, Sarah Franklin included,” Jasper said. “I’m kind of a liability. And I have Byron.”

  “He does cramp your style,” Sheldon said.

  Byron prowled the shelves, eyes scanning up to the catwalk. Jasper didn’t like hanging out in the study room anymore. It felt like a graveyard. Lacy went up there sometimes to cram for a test, but mostly they hung out in the main reading room.

  “Still can’t believe Cyrus took the safe back,” Sheldon said.

  “Yeah. It sucks.” Jasper’s mopey face was pretty good by now. “The Directors pretty much ordered him to.”

  “Dude, I’m on board if you wanna dig around with what we already know. Say the word. Tuck’s in, too.”

  “I am in,” Tucker said, eyes never leaving the encyclopedia.

  Jasper stared at his chemistry notes. Lying was harder when you had to look people in the eye. “I’ve gotta move on, start to figure out what’s next….”

  The library door banged open. Nora glared at them, then walked by and clanked up the steps. They heard her rummage around in her study room and come back with a bunch of cables and power cords. She walked out without saying a word. Or looking at Jasper.

  “The tension is real, yo,” Sheldon said.

  “You have no idea.”

  “At least you’ll save money on tattoos.”

  Jasper didn’t have to fake feeling like crap this time.

  “Too soon?” Sheldon asked.

  “It’s fine. Whatever.”

  Sheldon crumpled up his Cheetos bag. He tapped Tucker on the shoulder and motioned for him to put on his headphones.

  “You still pulling right?” Sheldon asked.

  “Yeah,” Jasper said.

  “You’ve gotta relax your grip.”

  “You know, people keep saying that like the words will actually make it happen.”

  “Take it down a notch, diva,” Sheldon said. “Why don’t you let me come to your super-awesome range workouts? I’ve got two dueling tournament titles.”

  Jasper felt around for an excuse. Why hadn’t he already come up with a response for this scenario?

  “He has plenty instruction,” Byron said from across the room. Bodyguard to the rescue.

  Sheldon leaned toward Jasper. “Brody, if you’re trying to make me jealous, mission accomplished.”

  “I’m trying to stop pulling right,” Jasper said.

  “You’re really thinking about dueling, then?”

  “I don’t know.” And he didn’t. If the diary research didn’t pan out, he’d be forced to make a decision. “Trying not to think about it.”

  “This is the part where Uncle Shelly dispenses wisdom.” Sheldon picked something out of his teeth. “Don’t.”

  “I did not expect you to say that.”

  “Bro, you didn’t touch a gun until you got here. You really think your nerve is going to hold in a three-shot duel?”

  “I did okay in Charlottesville.”

  “You did amazing!” Sheldon said. “But that was a firefight. You were operating on instinct. The duel is a ritual. I was my brother’s second, so I know what it’s like. You go up to the grounds Friday night, have a five-course dinner with your opponent and their guys. You eat this huge meal and chat with them like you’re at a dinner party, staring them in the face. And the whole time, while you’re making small talk, you know only one of you is going to be standing the next day.”

  “Why are you trying so hard to talk me out of it?”

  “Because you—you’ll die for sure.”

  “Thanks for the confidence vote,” Jasper said.

  “Chairman Hickey was an epic shot, and it was a miracle he made it out of his duel alive.”

  “You could die, too, ya know.”

  “True.”

  Jasper stared at Sheldon. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “We’ve been over this.”

  “Right. You’re some soldier for the cause. But you don’t want anyone else to be….”

  “Not everybody has to be on the frontlines,” Sheldon said. “Guys have to be in the back of the platoon, too. And they’re more likely to survive. Like you.”

  Anger and guilt collided in Jasper’s gut. If, by some miracle, the diary contained something—if he actually got out of this whole mess—they’d all still be here.

  “This is so messed up,” Jasper said.

  “It’s the life we got, dude. None of us chose this.”

  “The life we got sucks.”

  They watched Tucker turn the page and start tracing the next line. Jasper tried to not picture him standing beside the coffin at Sheldon’s funeral.

  But he saw it anyway.

  And it was awful.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Jasper murdered his eyes the next week. Byron got some Tylenol from Nancy, the chubby, middle-aged nurse, but they barely put a dent in the ice pick that was poking the back of his left retina. But he kept up the pace. It was like running from Godzilla with a busted ankle—you could cry about it, but that wasn’t going to stop you from getting stepped on. You just had to suck it up and power through, even if you shredded your tendons along the way. Godzilla was coming whether you moved or not.

  Jasper had started getting up earlier, sometimes even before his alarm went off. Alice’s boring life had become his. He thought about her all day and dreamed about her at night. When Alice’s friend died of smallpox, Jasper spent two days sulking—he actually felt like he’d lost someone, too. He found her two kids increasingly annoying, always sick and whining. Or maybe Alice just complained a lot about them. And what kind of mom was she, journaling instead of parenting? And why did he even care?

  Jasper really needed to get his life back.

  One morning, he started feeling dizzy and had to lie down before he puked. Byron took him to Nancy who diagnosed him with “eye strain.” Apparently, the dry winter air and the weird fact that his eyes didn’t shut completely at night was making his condition even worse. She gave him this ointment to smear on his eyes at night to seal them shut, and a drop to use hourly during the day. There was also an eye test that showed he was far-sighted or maybe had an astigmatism.

  “What does that mean?” Jasper asked.

  “Something is wrong with your eyes,” Nancy said.

  “Right—but what?”

  “I’m not an eye doctor.”

  This was all very helpful.

  “Does he need glasses?” Byron asked.

  “He needs a full eye exam.”

  “Do you have any reading glasses he could try?”

  Nancy brought out a shoebox and Jasper put a few pairs on. Most gave him vertigo, but there was one pair with hot pink frames that actually made the words a little clearer.

  “Can I have these?” he asked.

  “Your eyes must really hurt.”

  At least the case was black.
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  Let the slaughter continue.

  Some nights he needed more time to work, so they started sneaking into the abandoned north-wing dorms. It was cold and bleak and Jasper had to wear a headlamp to see, but at least he could keep moving. Keep running from Godzilla. Plow forward until he couldn’t keep his eyes open or his hands went numb, and then he’d start the process all over again.

  During Nurse Nancy’s mandatory “eye breaks,” he’d watch the chapel and, every now and then, see a Civil War kid trickle in or out. It became a kind of a game—could he spot Nora before he had to get back to work? Most nights, the answer was no, but occasionally he’d see her scurrying along in the dark, her boots clacking on the pavement. Did she miss him? Was she still pissed? He wondered if when this was all over—whenever he got to the end of whatever this torturous quest was—she’d understand what he’d had to do. If she’d ever hear him out.

  A dime-size scar on his neck said things weren’t looking good.

  He kept watching for her anyway.

  And that’s when he started noticing.

  It didn’t seem like a big deal at first—a couple of boxes in the mail room. Maybe somebody’s parents were shipping late Christmas gifts. But at night, from a window in the north wing, Jasper swore that he saw the Civil War kids hauling those boxes to the chapel. It was probably more gaming equipment. Why did he want to know? He had enough to do. Break over. Back to work.

  But he couldn’t let it go.

  Jasper started dropping by the mail room and looking at shipping labels—all addressed to Eliza. The packages were mostly from tech companies, and not very descriptive. But a couple had their contents printed on the side: Gridiron Server, BMD—Beast Mode Driver. The words didn’t mean a thing to him, but it seemed like some serious gear.

  It wasn’t like he could tell Byron. The guy would probably raid the place and smash everything with his giant fists. And it wasn’t like Jasper had any reason to tell him, anyway. He had no idea what the Civil War kids were doing. But he wanted to find out.

  So he waited until the midnight shift change on a Wednesday. Colton’s night.

  Jasper got out of bed as quietly as he could. He hadn’t even taken off his shoes. Zipping his hoodie, he cracked open the door and stepped into the hall.

  “You all right?” Colton asked.

  Jasper started toward the bathroom. Colton followed him.

  “I want to go to the chapel,” Jasper said. “I want to see her.”

  “That ain’t a good idea.”

  “It’s definitely not. But I want to go anyway.”

  “I oughta check with Byron.”

  “He’ll say no.”

  Colton shifted Lacy to the other shoulder. Jasper found it weird that it was no longer weird to be around a sawed-off shotgun all the time.

  “Give me ten minutes with her,” Jasper said. “Please.”

  “Really shouldn’t.”

  Jasper stared at the tile floor. Bleach stung his nostrils. “I helped you out with Lacy. Come on.”

  “That ain’t the same thing and you know it.”

  “Colton,” Jasper said. “I need to see her. Tell me you don’t understand.”

  Colton tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. He studied Jasper and the wall behind him for a solid minute before finally saying, “I ain’t leaving you two alone.”

  “Deal.”

  The winter was just being nasty now—wind that carved at you like knives. Jasper thought it had to be near zero. He pulled down his wool hat and burrowed his face in the coat. Patches of snow the Donelsons couldn’t plow had turned into ice sheets and he almost bit it near the chapel.

  “You really thought this one through?” Colton asked. “As I recall, the last time you spoke, she put a cigarette out on your neck.”

  “What is she gonna do, kill me?”

  “A couple more witnesses wouldn’t hurt, is all I’m sayin’.”

  “You’re scared of her.”

  “I am.”

  Jasper shuddered as they approached the chapel. “Me, too, actually.”

  He pried open the door with frozen fingers, and the boys stepped into the entryway. Jasper was careful to ease the door shut so the lock wouldn’t clang. He listened for the bass—he was actually counting on it to cover the creaking of the wooden planks as they crossed the floor—but tonight he could have heard a pin drop.

  The pair eased along the wall, stopping suddenly when a board underfoot groaned.

  At the top of the stairwell, Jasper heard buzzing. Or was it humming? It was kind of like the noise he’d heard when he’d stood too close to a power line on a school trip. And it only got louder the lower they went. Now, it almost sounded like wind.

  Crunch.

  Jasper froze.

  He carefully lifted his right foot and saw shiny pieces glittering in the green light bouncing off the walls. A black wire stretched across the step, an inch from Colton’s boot.

  Jasper could feel a prickling along his neck. “Don’t move,” he whispered.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Don’t—”

  Colton’s boot caught the wire as he tried to reverse up the steps. Jasper heard a ding, like a bell being set off. It wasn’t loud, but he still screamed. He fell to the landing, tripping another wire—dingdingding—and kept rolling down the stairs until he landed at the bottom with a thud.

  A flashlight beam blinded him.

  He felt something hard and cold jammed against his neck.

  “Drop it!” Colton shouted from the steps. “Put it down!”

  “I almost killed you,” Nora hissed in Jasper’s face.

  “Put. The knife. Down!”

  Jasper blinked away the spots floating in front of his eyes and saw Eliza wielding a giant Maglite. Nora was pointing a six-inch blade at Colton. “Easy,” she said. “I thought he was someone else.”

  Colton lowered his gun and helped Jasper up. “Don’t think Chilly would like you riggin’ up tripwires on her campus.”

  “And I don’t think Byron would like Jasper wandering the grounds this late,” Nora said. “Why don’t we go wake him up and ask?”

  The humming was intense now. And the rushing sound really was wind—three window fans were pointed at two racks of computers. Eight monitors blinked hundreds of lines of tiny numbers and letters. This wasn’t gaming.

  It was something more.

  Jasper looked Nora right in the eye. “I came to say I’m sorry.”

  “You said it. Now get the hell out.” She pushed him back up the steps, blade still out.

  What was she hiding? What was happening down here?

  “I mean it,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not.”

  She marched them to the top of the steps, then disappeared back down.

  “Byron doesn’t need to know about that,” Jasper said as he and Colton headed back to the dorms.

  “Fine by me,” Colton replied. “Could have my daddy poke around their little hideout during the day. See why they’re so private all a sudden.”

  “Let’s just pretend it didn’t happen.”

  But Nora had given away more than she’d meant to.

  I thought you were someone else.

  Someone she’d been ready to kill.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Jasper fogged up the hot pink reading glasses and then cleaned them with his shirt. They were working pretty well—the ice pick was almost gone from his head—but they also had left a permanent dent on the bridge of his nose. Thankfully, the safety glasses from the shooting range supplied a perfect cover.

  “We need new latex gloves,” Jasper said to Byron. “There’s a hole in this pair.”

  “You need to be more careful.” Byron checked his watch. “Eight minutes.”

  Jasper put the reading glasses back on and dragged his eyes to June 13th, 1779. He tried to focus, but his thoughts kept drifting to breakfast (he was starving) and the calculus quiz he was nowhere near ready for
(which he’d be taking in about an hour), and Nora and this person she was ready to kill and what all those computers were doing in the chapel.

  And that’s how he almost missed it.

  I woke last night to the sound of heavy boots. I went to the steps and saw Ira salute a man dress’d in a heavy coat and plain clothes. They sat by the fire and spoke in low voices. He left and Ira smok’d for some time. When he return’d to bed I asked who the man was, and he said it was Mr. Reed of the Pennsylvania Council, but would not say what they spoke of. very warm to day.

  He scanned to the next few entries for similar cursive patterns but came up empty. More weather and whiny children.

  Until a week later.

  I wish there was something I could do to aid my husband. He is much troubl’d by the visit from Mr. Reed. I ask’d him but he refus’d to tell me—very mild weather.

  “Time to go,” Byron said.

  Come on, Ira, Jasper thought. Talk to your wife.

  little Sarah very poorly with a fever and violent cough—sent for Dr. Teller—Ira confid’d about his visitor last week said Mr. Reed ask’d him to persuade Gen. Arnold to abandon our Cause. G. Washington had lost faith in him as we all know from the court martial. Mr. Reed promis’d a high commission and money if Ira did so. I am much troubl’d as many gossip that we are Tories. fine weather today.

  “Byron.”

  Maybe it was the edge in Jasper’s voice, but the bodyguard’s hand flew to his gun.

  “Byron. Listen to this.”

  He read the passage out loud.

  Byron took out his phone and sent a text.

  “Did you hear what I said?” Jasper shouted. His ears were pounding and his eyes had stopped burning and, just for a second, he wasn’t having horrible flashes of Sybil’s blood all over him.

  This was it.

  The answer to the Big Question.

  “Joseph Reed bribed Boswell to turn Arnold into a traitor!” Jasper said, jabbing at the page. “This is what they didn’t want us to find!”

  Byron’s phone buzzed. He glanced at it and started carefully packing up the journal. “The Counselor is on his way to inspect the diary himself.”

  Jasper clapped and let out a whoop, then went to hug Byron, but realized that was a bad idea when the bodyguard shoved him away.