[Brackets]

by Sloan, David

  “I didn’t know you could be a prodigy at that,” Tucker said, dubious.

  “Of course you can,” Rick opined confidently. “There are prodigies for everything. If projectile spitting were an Olympic game, at some time there would be a five-time gold medalist.”

  They drove within view of the Washington Monument, lit up like a torch against the night sky. Tucker shook his head again. “I still have no idea where you’re going with all this.”

  Rick handed back a piece of paper. “Where we’re going with all this is to a very nice skybox at the Verizon Center. It’s brand new. You’re invited up during half-time at the game on Monday. Abby wrote down the name of the thing so you won’t forget. Our boss will be there. He wants to meet you to discuss an opportunity with you.”

  “You mean a job?”

  “No. I mean an opportunity.”

  Tucker took the paper and flicked it in his hands. “OK then. Are we done?”

  Rick looked at Abby to make sure. “Yup. No! We got you another seat for the championship game. For Cole, too.”

  “Really? I thought ESPN took away the ticket when I said—”

  “It’s taken care of. You’ve got one extra. Fill it well.”

  “Oh. OK then. Thank you, that’s really cool.” The car had pulled back up to the valet stand in front of the hotel. Tucker opened the door. “I guess I’ll see you Monday,” he said, swinging himself out. But Rick and Abby were jumping out as well, handing the keys to the valet.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Oh,” said Rick. “We’re working here at the hotel all weekend. Thought it best to hang around. We’re doing the late shift tonight as bell-hops. Is that what they still call us?”

  Abby nodded. Tucker rolled his eyes, escaped to his hotel room, and fell asleep very quickly.

  * * * *

  In spite of everything, Tucker still awoke at 6 AM the following morning. He left his room in a maroon University of Nebraska sweatshirt, stretched a little outside the hotel, and began to jog west toward the Lincoln Memorial. Running felt good, even after only five hours of sleep. Just the day before, he had met three strangers who were bizarrely linked to him through their freak brackets, and now, not even twenty-four hours later, one was unconscious in a hospital, one was in jail, and one was so scared about a stalker that he was going home. The blunt-force trauma of the events had dulled with sleep but not dissipated. He was glad to have a day before the championship to just do normal things. He would call his dad that morning and try to convince him to come out for the game. They could go see Washington—neither he nor his dad had been to the city in a long time. And he would definitely not think about international politics, mysterious recruiters, disrupted basketball games, or ex-girlfriends.

  As he jogged toward the Lincoln Memorial, he passed the long black marble scar of the Vietnam Veteran’s Memorial. He stopped when he saw it and paused to glance at the endless list of names. He had taken a seminar the semester before about warfare in the 20th century. The memories of all the dates and maps he had studied gave way to lingering impressions from a veteran guest speaker. The man had talked about chaos, about the brutal nature of war that mercilessly determined which young soldiers lived and which died. He had talked about the missteps that had brought the war about before people really understood what was happening. As he stood there in the chilly morning, Tucker reached out on an impulse and touched the names. Decisions and consequences. He glanced over his shoulder, remembering that the Korean War Memorial was close by somewhere. Then he reminded himself that jogging was supposed to make him forget about all of this.

  Turning abruptly away from the wall, Tucker resumed his paced run back toward his hotel. When he was within eyesight of the top of the hotel building, he noticed a man coming out from a doorway on the opposite side of the street, about thirty yards away. The man wore an old grey sweatshirt with the hood over his head, and early morning sunlight glinted off of his glasses as he began to jog in Tucker’s direction. The man crossed the street deliberately and seemed to be coming straight at him as he jogged closer and closer. Tucker suddenly felt very uneasy and wondered if he should alter his course. No, it’s light out, other people are around, there’s no reason to be paranoid, he told himself. Just ignore him.

  But Tucker couldn’t ignore him. The man stopped in the sidewalk, blocking Tucker’s way. He hadn’t realized how large the man was, but Tucker, who was tall himself, had to look up to see the man’s bearded face. His unkempt goatee reminded Tucker of the sketch he had seen in the security office.

  “Uh, can I help you with something?” Tucker asked, suppressing a shudder. The man did not smile, did not move, didn’t even seem out of breath from his run. He just looked at Tucker with his hands deep in the pockets of his sweatshirt. The right hand bulged in the pocket. It was holding something.

  “You got a problem?” Tucker couldn’t keep the note of belligerence out of his voice, even with this behemoth. He made a motion to find a way around.

  “You’re one of the two,” said the man, more an accusation than a comment. “The last two.”

  “I’m one of the last two guys with the bracket, right. Is that what you’re talking about?”

  “Are you going to win?” asked the man, his face frozen, unsmiling.

  Tucker normally couldn’t resist that kind of a verbal challenge, but under the circumstances, he tempered his response.

  “I hope so.”

  “I see,” said the man. “It must be exciting for you. The future.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  The man lingered. “Have you seen the future?”

  “Not really,” said Tucker. “Look, you’re kind of blocking the sidewalk. Can I get back to my running?”

  The man scratched his chin, then stepped aside. Tucker began to move forward, making sure to give the man a wide berth. After he passed, the man yelled, “I’ll see you later, Tucker Barnes. Tell Cole Kaman that I missed him, but I won’t again.”

  Tucker ran, not jogged, the rest of the way to the hotel. At the revolving doors, he looked behind him and saw no one. The man had not followed him. Tucker bent over, breathing hard, and contemplated the sickening realization that he had just come face to face with Ichabod.

  Still sweaty, he ran up and knocked softly on Cole’s door. It was only a few minutes after seven, and Tucker was actually surprised when he heard active movement from inside. He was even more surprised when the door opened on a girl with dark hair and sleepy eyes.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry, I thought this was someone else’s room,” Tucker said.

  “Are you looking for Cole? He’s here, he’s just still asleep.”

  Tucker must have looked as dumbfounded as he felt, because the girl laughed and said, “Sorry, I should have introduced myself. I’m Nera. I’m Cole’s girlfriend.”

  “Oh, yeah, Cole talked about you. I thought you weren’t coming.”

  “I wasn’t planning on it. But he texted me yesterday morning and I just felt like this was a big deal and I should be with him. I wanted to surprise him before the BC game, but I got caught in traffic on the New Jersey turnpike and didn’t end up getting here till really late.”

  “Uh, that’s great! I mean, that sucks that you missed the game, but it was actually kind of a disaster anyway, so…”

  “Cole told me about the fight. He said that you really saved him.”

  “Nah, I just…” Tucker’s voice trailed off. “So Cole is staying for the championship now? For sure?”

  “Yes, Cole is staying. I talked him into it last night, which wasn’t easy, given everything that’s already happened to him in public. But I got him to stop worrying so much and come to peaceful terms with the universe for the weekend. As long as nothing crazy happens between now and the game tomorrow, I think he’s actually kind of excited now.”

  “Uh-huh, OK,” Tucker said. He cleared his throat. “So he isn’t concerned about Ichabod showing up?”

  “Oh, he is, and I am
, too. I don’t know if you heard, but we were both in that building that he burned down. But I realized during this past week that you can’t live by fear. We don’t know what will happen, but we won’t choose to not do things just because we’re afraid of the possibility that something bad will happen, you know?”

  Tucker nodded at the wisdom of her statement even as he wrestled internally with the wisdom of keeping his meeting with Ichabod a secret. He shuffled his feet on the hall carpet and patted a rhythm on the door.

  “That’s good, that’s all good,” Tucker said, looking down the hallway. “Listen, I’ve gotta go shower and stuff. So I guess I’ll see you two around.”

  “Definitely. I’ll tell Cole that you stopped by. Was there anything you wanted to tell him?”

  Tucker thought with momentary panic. “Nope. No, just checking up on him. I’m good. See yah.” Nera closed the door as Tucker treaded slowly down the hall.

  In his mind, he could hear the voice of his mom asking him if he had really thought things through. He heard the voice of Lena chastising him for placing a basketball game before the safety of another human being. He heard the voices of Rick and Abby and quickly shut them off. The ding of the nearby elevator snapped him back to reality. He was on his own, and he was making the decision that he wanted to make. There would be plenty of time to tell security about the threat from Ichabod after Monday’s game. Nera was right about not doing anything out of fear.

  And as he went back into his room and saw the complete statue of the Eiffel Tower he had placed on the hotel dresser, he imagined one more voice: his dad, reminding him about the free buffet breakfast.

  * * * *

  In her hotel room back in Lincoln, Carla assembled some papers on the desk and prepared to check out. She just had to wait for a phone call. It was starting to snow outside, and Carla wondered if this would mean sleeping in the airport tonight. She hoped not; she could use a good night’s sleep before her next assignment.

  Her cell phone rang. She put it on speakerphone. “Graham?” she asked.

  “You done there?”

  “I’m done. My flight leaves in two hours. Everything’s closed out.”

  “And the girl?”

  “Energized. Lena’s plan is already in effect. She’s en route.”

  “A very good first job. Well done,” Graham said with no warmth.

  “Thank you,” she said, then paused. “Are you sure we didn’t make a mistake by not making an offer to Tucker? Everything I’ve found points to him being the genius behind Dr. Tonkin’s recent success, and Lena raves about his abilities.”

  “I decided based on your assessment, Carla. Are you saying that you were wrong?”

  “No, no,” she backpedaled, “I still think that splitting Lena and Tucker up was important for Lena to do what you want her to do. And Tucker is probably unrecruitable. For all his abilities, he has zero ambition. Did I tell you that his life’s dream is to be a small-town lawyer for farmers? Hard to tempt somebody like that.”

  “But?”

  “But talent is talent. Maybe we shouldn’t have let him get away completely.”

  “He hasn’t gotten away,” said Graham cryptically. “It’s time for you to move on. I’m sending you a file now. Are you ready for a bigger assignment?”

  “You mean I get to recruit bigger fish than Nebraskan co-eds?” asked Carla, still curious about where she would be flying to in the morning.

  “We do more than just recruit,” said Graham.

  -[Championship Game]-

  [Championship Game: First Half]

  [Monday, April 6th]

  The small ICU room at George Washington Hospital was completely dark except for the dim light that made it from the hallway under the closed door. A machine near the bed was running with the low hum of a pump, and the still body of Perry Lynwood was face up, eyes closed, and breathing in slow intervals. The chart hanging next to the door indicated a nurse check-in at four PM and a neurology consultation at five. It was four-thirty. No one else was in the room to see the intruder.

  He had entered with a compact rolling suitcase which he put next to the bed. Then a small camera was attached above the television. It was placed to get a clear view of Perry while remaining concealed from anyone who wasn’t looking for it. The intruder checked his phone to make sure the video feed was sending out a signal. Lastly, he set a bouquet of daisies still in its cellophane on the bedside table and placed next to it a get-well card with a picture of a disassembled C-3PO and the line “It could have been worse.” The intruder slipped through the door and glanced both ways down the hallway. No one was watching. He left, removing the pilfered latex gloves he was wearing and tossing them in the nearest trash can. The entire operation took four minutes.

  * * * *

  “We’re going to be late.”

  Nera checked the clock on her phone and looked out the window at the painfully inert D.C. traffic. Cole was next to her, rubbing his knee compulsively. Across from them was Tucker, also anxiously monitoring the time. The only one enjoying the limousine ride was Henry Barnes.

  “Relax,” Rick O’Shea called from the front passenger’s seat. “We’re closer than you think, and Abby’s the fastest driver I know. As soon as we get off 14th Street, we’ll go sixty all the way to the back door. You’ll have plenty of time to hit the red carpet and get some poses in before game time.”

  “There’s a red carpet?” Cole asked.

  “He’s kidding,” Nera nudged him with her shoulder. “There’s just a really long line through a metal detector.”

  Henry leaned forward.

  “How do you know my son again?” he called up to Rick.

  “I told you,” Tucker said with a little irritation. “They work for a friend of Dr. Tonkin’s. They’re, um, consultants.”

  “Consultants,” Henry repeated. He looked back up at Rick, who was craning his head to see the group. “And what exactly do you want from my son?”

  “Dad, come on. Not everyone is trying to play us. Don’t worry about Rick and Abby, they’re for real,” Tucker urged.

  “Don’t be so sure,” Rick shot back. “Clearly we’re taking him for a ride.” Everyone groaned at the pun except for Rick, who thought it was hilarious.

  “Mr. Barnes,” Abby spoke up when Rick had calmed himself down, “you’re right to be cautious about the people that might try to exploit Tucker and Cole. A lot of people see them as celebrities, or think they have a system for choosing winners or something. I don’t expect you to just take it on trust that we’re legitimate.”

  “Okay,” Henry said. “So what should I take it on?”

  “You’ll see in a minute.”

  They had finally reached the Verizon Center and were half a block away from the entrance to the underground parking lot. From where they sat, it became clear why the traffic was so bad. A large group of protesters had gathered on the other side of the street and were yelling at another limousine just about to turn in. Police were struggling to keep them behind barriers.

  “Who would protest a basketball game?” asked Cole.

  “I’ll give you a hint. The flag sticking up from that limousine is the South Korean flag,” said Rick.

  “South Korea is protesting the game?” asked Cole.

  “No,” Tucker interjected restively, “Americans are protesting South Korea. The Koreans were trying to mediate a secret deal between China and Thailand, and they got it done, but the deal was leaked over the weekend. And now, all the pro-Many Hands people are mad at South Korea for interfering. My ex-girlfriend is a big Many Hands fan; she’s probably furious. This is the kind of thing she would be at, too.” Tucker glanced out the window as the thought occurred to him.

  Cole was still confused. “So… who’s in the limo? The President of South Korea?”

  “It’s the foreign minister and his posse,” Rick spoke up. “They were in town already and had been planning to come to the game for weeks. No one cared until this weekend. Somebod
y got the word out about their travel plans at just the right time. Good ol’ leaks.”

  Abby nosed through the traffic, driving close to the line of screaming protestors on the sidewalk. Tucker found himself looking for Lena’s face, but he didn’t expect to see her. There was a reason she had never gotten caught for anything. If she were there, she would be in the back, with a cell phone and an alibi.

  “Wait, ” Henry said to the couple in the front seats. “How does the protest prove that you’re legitimate?”

  “Well, it proves that the foreign minister of South Korea is legitimate, doesn’t it?” Abby replied. “Two hundred screaming activists can’t be wrong.”

  “So?”

  “It’s the Koreans’ skybox that you four will be visiting during halftime. We’ll be there all game.”

  Tucker looked up in surprise. “You didn’t tell me that,” he said.

  “You never asked,” said Rick.

  The car reached the valet stand and stopped. As the four in the back exited, Rick and Abby rolled down their windows. “We’ll see you kids during half-time,” Abby said cheerfully. “We can’t wait to see you square off in that first half stunt, that’s going to be fun. May the best bracket win!”

  Tucker bent down to Abby’s open window. “Now listen. I didn’t come here for any more political stuff, OK? I don’t want to talk to any ministers or delegates or anything. I just want to watch the game. You got me?”

  “You have been got,” Rick nodded. “We just want you to meet our boss. We know that even back-room international power-brokers like yourself have to unwind a little.” Tucker stood back up, completely unconvinced that they weren’t hiding another secret.

  Cole, Nera, Tucker, and Henry walked in through the arena’s VIP entrance, flashing their ESPN credentials. In a few minutes, they were surrounded by the chaos of the main concourse. The time had come for Tucker and Cole to split and go to their seats on opposite ends of the court. They looked at each other awkwardly for a moment.