Prettyboy Must Die

by Kimberly Reid

  Koval rolls off of me and gets into a fighting stance, keeping one foot on my chest. But the sight of fifteen girls charging down the hall must make him realize he’s outnumbered seventeen to one—with a switchblade as his only defense—because he looks down at me and back up at Katie before he runs for the nearest stairwell.

  “Should we go after him?” Rachel asks.

  “I am so grateful you saved me, but now y’all need to go back to your classroom, bolt the doors, and don’t come out again until the police arrive.”

  But Katie has other ideas. “No, we should go after him. This may be my only chance—”

  “He’s probably gone for backup, and he won’t have just my knife when he returns,” I say.

  “So you’re in this, too?” Rachel asks Katie. “I mean, whatever Prettyboy is, you’re one, too?”

  “Yes. This is our job; they’re coming for us. They won’t hurt you if you stay out of their way. So you need to do as Peter asks and go back to your classroom.”

  Rachel nods, and it seems her friends finally get that this is serious business. A few of them wish us good luck before they all turn and run.

  CHAPTER 22

  As soon as the girls are gone, Katie heads for the stairwell, but I step in front of her.

  “You don’t know if he’s lying in wait behind that door. For all we know, he could have a weapon stashed in there.”

  “But I need to confirm … something.”

  “Yeah, I know. Something about the package,” I say, stepping so close we’re almost touching. All I can think of is how I felt about Katie before I learned who she really is. “But you can’t do that if you’re dead.”

  When I take Katie’s hand, I’m surprised she doesn’t fight me. Maybe she’s remembering me from before, too. I lead her around the corner into the next corridor, to the same stairwell Bunker and I took up to the roof.

  “Let go of my hand,” she says, sounding more like the Katie I know now. “Where are you taking me?”

  “Uh, you’re welcome? And by the way, we’re even.”

  “Yes, well, thank you,” she says before sitting on the bottom step to look through her bag, which she stopped to grab as we ran past the alcove.

  “Truth time, Katie. If you aren’t here for me, why are you here? Why do you believe the whole planet is in jeopardy? And what’s up with the ‘package’? Don’t play like you don’t know.”

  “Truth time, Peter,” she says without answering even one of my questions. “You say they’re here to kill you. Okay, but why are you here?”

  It’s the same thing I was wondering about her, so I shouldn’t be surprised she asks this, but I am. Since I don’t want to reveal the hacker just yet, I don’t have a ready answer.

  “Just as I suspected. Assuming you really do work for the Americans, I’m here for the same reason. And rather than sit here in this stairwell playing Trust Me, Trust Me Not, we should be getting on with it. You brought me here because you know where the package is, right?”

  I almost join her on the steps, but lean against the wall instead. Katie might still be lying. Not about being an operative—I’ve seen her in action, so she’s clearly that—but she may not be one of the good guys. She has already fooled me once. Who’s to say this isn’t another cover, another lie? That’s what my brain tells me.

  It’s mostly my heart that’s having the crisis of confidence.

  “If I agree to team up,” Katie continues, apparently believing she’s now running the show, “you’ll need to step back once we get through this mess. We had him first, even if you did try playing nicey-nicey with him.”

  “He’s a she,” I correct her, letting her know psych games also won’t work on me. Either that or I just gave away information she didn’t have. “And what do you mean, you had her first?”

  “Nothing. I didn’t mean anything by it,” she says, not that I believe her.

  “Well, that’s where we’re going, to check on your—our—package. It’s on the roof,” I say, expecting this to clarify everything.

  Katie looks confused.

  “How did it get up there?”

  “After chasing it all over the school, I finally caught the package and left it on the roof under Bunker’s guard.”

  Katie eyes me suspiciously. “But I secured it myself. Why would it run all over the school? And why do you keep calling it the package? We’ve agreed we’re after the same thing. Do you not trust me enough to tell me who exactly you’re after?”

  “I notice you haven’t named it, either.”

  Katie stares at me for a second, no doubt trying to figure out her next move.

  “All righty then. If the package is on the roof, let’s go up to the roof. Lead the way, CIA.”

  “No, after you. Ladies first.”

  Now it’s my turn to get a serious eye-roll from Katie, but she goes up ahead of me where I can keep an eye on her. Even when a spy looks like Katie, it’s tough for an operative to trust another one.

  Especially when a spy looks like Katie.

  We haven’t finished the first flight of stairs when my walkie-talkie phone buzzes.

  “What’s that? You’ve had a working phone all this time?” Katie says, her expression a mix of frustration and hope, at least until she sees the phone I pull from my bag.

  “Truly, what is that? It must weigh five pounds. Wait … don’t tell me your people have stolen the time-portal scientist away from us, too?”

  “The who? You guys have a time—”

  “Oh, never mind,” she says, looking like she’s just been busted. I can’t tell if she’s messing with me or being serious. She casually waves in the direction of the phone. “So what’s that about?”

  “It isn’t a real working cell phone. It’s a two-way radio.”

  Then we hear a series of beeps: three quick beeps, a pause, two more beeps, a pause, and then one final beep.

  “What is that—Morse code?”

  “No, that’s Bunker. It’s a bad sign that he sent me an alert rather than calling me. He’s saying, I need cover. Well, that’s probably not exactly what he’s saying, it’s a thing we worked out for—it doesn’t matter. I think it means Bunker’s in trouble.”

  Katie follows me as I take the stairs two at a time. When we reach the roof, there is no sign of him. The only place to hide up here is behind the HVAC units, and neither Bunker nor the hacker is there.

  “Oh no,” I say again, and then two more times because it’s all I can think to say. The wave of panic that just hit me has taken away my ability to think.

  “So where are they?” Katie asks.

  “I don’t know. I left them right here. Bunker was here, and she was sitting right there next to that HVAC thing.”

  “Who is this she you keeping talking about?”

  “The hacker, obviously.”

  “You thought the package was this hacker? Oh no. I have to find Koval,” Katie says, sounding as afraid as I was when I found Bunker missing. She runs for the door we came through and returns a second later. “Peter, it’s locked.”

  “Aw, damn! I was so worried about Bunker, I forgot to prop it open behind us.”

  “We should have gone after Koval when he ran into the stairwell. There’s no telling where he is. He could be off campus by now.”

  “And risk taking a bullet the minute we opened that door? Besides, if he somehow left the campus in that short amount of time, that’s a good thing. One less man to fight. And—dude was like two men.”

  She must not see the good fortune in Koval’s possible departure because she’s just sounding more panicked. “This girl you’re looking for, she might know something. Was she tied up? Sedated? What state did you leave her in?”

  Katie’s questions are starting to get on my nerves, but I’d be asking the same questions if the tables were turned.

  “I didn’t leave her in any state, none of those things. But I left Bunker to guard her.”

  “Oh, is he CIA, too?”
r />   “No, but the girl’s just a hacker, and I thought…”

  “I assume ‘hacker’ is what you would put on your resume too, if you were sent to Carlisle to bring her in. From what I’ve seen of you so far, you’re pretty handy away from the keyboard. You didn’t think she might be as well?”

  Okay. That’s one question too many. Katie may be the first girl I could fall for, and her questions may be legit, but right now they aren’t making me any less afraid for Bunker, and I can’t help taking out my fear for my friend on her.

  “Of course I’d have rather secured the hacker better and not have left her with a guy whose understanding of covert ops comes from watching James Bond movies. But I had to come rescue you,” I say, not caring one iota whether I sound like a Neanderthal, or like I’m trying to pull the plug on her girl power, or whatever. “That’s right. I said it. Rescue. It may not have happened that way and you may have ended up rescu—helping me, but when I left my best friend up here alone with a cyberterrorist, that’s what I thought I was doing. I was leaving him to save Katie Carmichael, regular girl. I chose you over Bunker, and now who knows what the hell has happened to him.”

  At the end of my rant, Katie just stares at me for a second, probably thinking I’ve lost it, but then she takes my hand. She holds it for only a second, but the gesture calms us both down.

  “Let’s think this through,” she says, sounding a lot more composed. “If this hacker has been controlling the school’s security system, and she was able to overtake Bunker, she’d have locked the door to the roof. It’s an escape route for you. She probably knows any operative worth his salt carries emergency rappelling equipment. So she wanted you to be up here for some reason.”

  “Or maybe she knows I’m the kind of spy who doesn’t have any emergency rappelling equipment. But thanks for that.”

  “Nothing has happened to him, Peter. And we aren’t going to let it.”

  They’re nice words, and I really do appreciate the pep talk, but except for the zeroes and ones of cyberspace, I don’t believe in anything I can’t see.

  And right now, what I see is Bunker’s Phantom Menace backpack near the edge of the building, on the side facing the school’s driveway. It looks innocent and lost up here on the empty roof, the way a little kid looks wandering around a department store alone, and causes the same reaction in me—I can feel Bunker’s fear, his panic.

  “That’s his?” Katie asks, but she already knows the answer. She’s just trying to distract me from noticing that she’s trying to look over the edge of the roof.

  “Go ahead. Check it out.”

  “The hacker may have wanted to make her getaway before any police arrived, and taken Bunker with her as a hostage,” Katie offers. “They could have rappelled over.”

  “Just look, will you?”

  It’s the longest five seconds of my life.

  “There’s nothing, no one down there. She has to be somewhere in the building. We can—”

  I don’t wait to hear the rest of Katie’s plan. I start walking the perimeter. Bunker’s pack being here doesn’t mean this is where he may have … left the roof. The U-shape of the building makes for a lot of roof edge.

  “No, Peter,” Katie calls after me. “I’ll do it. You shouldn’t be the one to—”

  “I definitely should be the one. It’s the very least I can do, since I’m the one who left him up here with someone I knew was dangerous,” I say, because it’s true. But I appreciate what Katie is trying to do, so I add, “You go left, I’ll go right.”

  Katie tries to offer a smile, some comfort, but I can tell she’s worried about finding the same thing I am. My stomach lurches, but I force myself to follow my own instructions and head right, covering the north-facing side of the building. With each yard of the roof’s edge that I cover without finding any sign of Bunker, I am encouraged to cover the next yard.

  I’m so busy looking down, I almost miss movement among the stand of Russian olive trees about three hundred yards south of Carlisle, near an old abandoned shed. It’s such a small movement, and so brief, that I’m wondering if my eyes are playing tricks on me. I stand there watching, and I see it again—flecks of black moving among the light green leaves.

  Then the flecks grow bigger as they emerge from the trees, and I know exactly what it is, even if I don’t know whether it’s good or bad.

  It’s a full-scale tactical incursion.

  CHAPTER 23

  From this distance, nothing gives away whether these people are friendly or hostile. They’re dressed pretty much the same way I am, the same way black ops everywhere dress, which could make them military, mercenary, FBI, or even the SWAT team from the Boulder police department.

  When Katie reaches me, she’s smiling, which means she found no sign of Bunker being pushed off Carlisle’s roof. My relief is deep, but only lasts a second because we now have a new problem. I motion to her to get down. She lies on her stomach, next to me.

  “Katie, were you able to get the SOS out to your team before all comms went down?” I ask her.

  “If I had, they’d be here by now.”

  I point in the direction of the Russian olive trees. “Well, someone’s coming.”

  “I’m not sure if we should be relieved or worried,” Katie says, pulling mini-binoculars from her purse. She clearly has a better go-bag than I do, and it appears to be bottomless.

  “When in doubt, I always go with worry.”

  “They aren’t part of an overt operation like local police or FBI,” she says as she peers through the binoculars. “If they were, their affiliation would be stamped all over their clothes. Requirement for good community relations.”

  “You know who doesn’t care a good goddamn about community relations? Terrorists. Mercenaries. We’re not waiting until they get here to find out. You have rappelling equipment in your bag, right?”

  “They could be special forces. They tend not to broadcast who they are.” Katie is more hopeful than I am.

  “Let me see,” I say, motioning for her binoculars. By now the team is close enough that I clearly recognize the guy who appears to be the leader. White-blond hair, shockingly white skin, eyes so flinty gray it’s almost like he has no irises—the kind of looks that make me wonder how he succeeds in a business that requires blending in. “There’s one more organization that prefers anonymity. Mine.”

  “They’re CIA? Are you sure? Neither of us were able to call for help.”

  “I’m sure the lead guy is. His name’s Berg. He was at Langley while I was in training, but was forward deployed a few months ago. Unless he’s gone to the other side, that’s a Company team.”

  “The fact that he’s here makes me think his defection is a possibility. How would the CIA even know there’s a problem?” Katie asks.

  “I lied to my boss about why I wanted to attend Carlisle, but maybe she read right through my lie and figured I was here to track the hacker, and thought I needed help.”

  “But why today? It’s too much of a coincidence.”

  “Maybe my team picked up some noise today about Marchuk’s arrival?” I offer. My turn to be hopeful. Berg’s an asshole, but he isn’t a traitor.

  I don’t think.

  Katie rolls away from the edge of the roof, out of sight of the approaching team, before she stands up and starts peeling off her clothes. It takes me a second to realize I probably shouldn’t be staring like I’ve just seen the promised land, and turn back to look at the approaching agents. But I can’t help but comment because, you know, Katie. Half naked.

  “Hey girl, as much as I’d like to, this probably isn’t a good time.”

  I can only imagine the eye-roll Katie’s giving me when she says, “I’m glad you can find levity in our imminent capture. If they are your people, I don’t want my cover blown. You can look now.”

  When I turn around, to my great disappointment, she is not half naked but back in her school-issued uniform, minus the blazer. It’s a little wrinkle
d because it was no doubt crammed into that magical bag of hers, but she’s back to looking like Katie Carmichael, Carlisle’s most popular student.

  “I’ll keep your cover. Berg is the last person I’d do any favors for,” I say, though I hope he’ll do one for me. If it really is him, I could use a few of his people to help me find Bunker.

  “You could be wrong and the leader just looks like the guy from your office. You were right to be worried. I don’t think we should assume this is a rescue team.”

  It’s too late for us to assume anything. Three soldiers, CIA operatives, or Marchuk employees—I’m not sure which—have just come over the edge of the building, fully armed. No doubt there will be more right behind them. While we were busy looking north, another team roped up to the roof from the south. We might be screwed.

  I stand to face Katie, with my arms up. Without turning around, she realizes what is happening and assumes the surrender position, too. We look at each other, silent for a moment, until Katie says, “Petah, I … I wouldn’t have minded being your girlfriend.”

  “I should have asked you for a second date,” I say, because I may never have the chance again.

  But then I hear “Peter Smith!” being called from behind me without a trace of Ukrainian or English accent, just a good ol’ plain-Jane Midwestern voice that I remember well.

  “Ray Berg,” I say, turning but keeping my arms up. I nod left, toward Katie. “It’s okay. She knows who you are because I told her who I am.”

  Berg looks angry and dumbfounded at the same time.

  “The whole damn world knows who you are. That’s the problem,” he says, his contempt for me obvious in every word. “And put your arms down. I’m here to save your ass, not kill you, though you tempt me.”

  “What do you mean, the whole world knows who I am?”

  His response is so Berg, blowing the #Prettyboy thing way out of proportion. That’s probably what he’ll put in his report, too, exaggerating the situation just to keep me out of the service.

  “Well, they don’t know who you work for,” Berg says. “Or who you used to work for, if I get my way. But they know what you look like. Did you cut class that day at Langley? It’s difficult to be a covert operative when your face is all over the internet.”