Desert Dark (12 page)

A sudden, sharp pain pierced her foot.

“Oh my God!” Nadia cried. “I think a scorpion bit me!”

Immediately dizzy, she swayed to the side and hit her head against a scrawny tree. The animal's poison was attacking her central nervous system. Next her muscles would lock, then full paralysis would set in. Without the anti-venom, she'd be dead by nightfall.

Jack rushed to her side. “What happened?”

She clutched his hand. “Jack, please. Tell my parents . . .” Her lips and tongue tingled. The words felt thick, like hunks of bread. The earth lurched toward her.

“Nadia!” He caught her in his arms. “You shot yourself in the foot!”

Her vision warped. She tried to answer, but the sedative in
the dart worked fast. Her eyes closed as the drug coursed through her veins.

Nadia came to with a splitting headache. She struggled to focus. She was moving—how was she moving? Someone carried her. A shoulder dug into her abdomen.

“Look who is awake,” Alan said. “Sleeping beauty.”

“She didn't do it on purpose,” Libby snapped.

Nadia was slung over Jack's shoulder, his strong arm secure around her legs.
This is the most humiliating moment of my life
. With every step her head pounded. “Can I have some water?” she whispered, her tongue thick and dry.

“We're almost home,” Jack said, not slowing his gait. “Can you hang on until then?”

“I feel really sick.”

“Please don't puke on me,” Jack said.

She didn't answer; she'd fallen back asleep.

Given that Alan was ordered to bring up the rear on the way home from the survival course, he spent a large part of Sunday afternoon watching Nadia swing like a pendulum across Jack's back. She regained consciousness long enough to complain about being thirsty, but not long enough to hear his request that she return home at the first available opportunity. A request which, for whatever reason, seemed to annoy Libby much more than did Nadia's screwing up in the first place.

Alan parted ways with his teammates the moment they crossed through the back gate. Before he dined, before he showered, before he returned his gear to the dojo, Alan marched across the lawn to the tree-lined path leading to Dr. Cameron's office.

“Alan,” Dr. Cameron greeted him. “What can I do for you?”

“May I?” Without waiting for an answer, Alan charged inside and pulled the door closed. “I have serious concerns about one of my teammates.”

Dr. Cameron turned his papers face-down. “Who?”

“It is Nadia Riley.”

“Has she done something?”

“Oh please. What has she
not
done?” Dr. Cameron looked at him quizzically, and Alan quickly reviewed what he had just said. “I mean, what hasn't she done? We just finished our survival
course. Jack Felkin had to carry her back to school because she shot herself with a tranquilizer dart.”

“What?”

“I am not kidding. She has failed all three quizzes administered this week. Her grades are disgraceful, but I do not—I don't think she cares! She is a distraction during study sessions. Constant interruptions, and she is not even trying to catch up. How did she get into this school? I left an exceptionally well-regarded institution to attend Desert Mountain, and I refuse to allow my academic record to be marred due to an incompetent teammate.”

“I can see you're very upset about this.”

“Of course I am upset! Would you not be? It is bad enough I have to train with other people, but forcing me to carry her weight is unacceptable.”

“I thought you said Jack carried her.”

“Yes—he did. I did not mean literally carrying—”

“Alan. I'm teasing.”

Alan paused. “I do not think it is the best time for a joke.”

“Listen, would you like to sit?” Dr. Cameron gestured to the folding chair.

Alan shook his head.

“Okay,” he continued. “I hear your concerns, and they are absolutely valid; however, an important part of your training involves learning to work with others.”

“I do not
like
working with others.”

“I understand. But you cannot enter into the field of intelligence if you are unable—or unwilling—to be part of a team.”

“I am willing to concede that teamwork is required; however, equipping me with incompetent teammates is unreasonable and unfair.”

“I can assure you, we do not admit incompetent recruits. Perhaps Nadia has qualities and talents you haven't yet discovered?”

“No. She does not. She is not good at anything.”

“Okay. You have two choices. You can wait it out and hope
she's not invited to return next semester, or you can work with her, in a dedicated effort to improve your team.”

“I do not want to be part of this team.”

“We've established your feelings about that.”

“Can you not move me to a different team?”

“There are no vacancies.”

“Well, maybe I will just go home.” Alan made the threat before he thought it through. Even if he could convince Saba to let him transfer, he did not really want to. Desert Mountain Academy was so exclusive, one could not even apply. His old school was impressive, absolutely, but with enough money anyone could get in.
Well, maybe not Nadia
.

“How about this: give it one semester. If Nadia manages to pass her classes and return, I will look into vacancies on another team. Academically, we always lose a few students before winter break.”

Alan chewed on his cuticle as he considered this. He shrugged. “We can always hope.”
Knowing my luck, this will be the first semester in history that no one fails
.

That evening, Alan signed out a car and drove into town. Though exhausted from the survival course, he needed time away from the troglodytes. Plus, he had a phone call to make. A call that could not
under any circumstances
be traced back to him.

He drove to the bus station west of town. Inside, along the wall of dirty windows, he found a bank of telephones. Alan chose the farthest from the door and, back to the wall, used a tissue to pick up the receiver. Not because he was worried about fingerprints, but because the station smelled like vomit. He dialed his international calling card number, followed by fourteen digits. The line rang in Tel Aviv.

“Shalom.”
The voice sounded a million miles away.

“
Shalom
, Saba,” Alan answered.

“My son,” his saba said in Hebrew. “Where are you?”

The ninth circle of hell
. “At a bus station.”

“Alan. You took a vehicle from school? They have GPS trackers.”

“I have bigger problems than campus security.”

“If anyone questions you, say you stopped to use the facilities, all right?”

“This is a mistake. I cannot do what you asked. I—I am not the right person.”

“Yes, you can. I will tell you exactly what to do.”

Alan sighed. A homeless man shuffled across the station, pushing a grocery cart loaded with trash bags. A woman bounced a fat, drooling baby on her lap. He felt nauseous.

“Are you listening?”

“Yes, Saba.”

“You must blend. Get close to people. Be part of the team.”

“But—”

“Aryeh, I have been doing this my whole life. No one likes to suspect their friends. Eat too much, watch football. Act like an American. Remember your training.”

“But these people are—”

“Enough.”
His grandfather answered sharply. “You did not have to go. You insisted you could handle it. You said to me:
This is what I want
. So, now you must make the best of the situation.” His voice softened. “Relax. Take a girl out for dinner.”

Alan rolled his eyes. “I really only know two girls. One is a senator's daughter—”

“Not her.”

Great
. “The other is a complete moron.”

Saba chuckled. “This is not a bad thing. She is pretty, I bet.”

“She is all right.”

“Use contractions, Aryeh. Americans are lazy. They use contractions all the time.”

“
She's
all right.” He never remembered the contractions. He was good about the adverbs, but not the contractions.

“Aryeh, you must tell me something. Has your loyalty shifted?”

Alan hesitated a fraction of a second. “Of course not, Saba. And please stop calling me that. My name is Alan.”

“Because I have told you before: The United States is not loyal to her children. If anything happens in the field, the CIA will disavow you as an agent. It is not like this in Mossad. Here, we are
all
family. We never leave anyone behind.”

“Yes, Saba.”

“Family before country, Alan. Always.”

Unless the country is Israel
. “Yes, Saba. Of course.”

Sunday night, after waking from her drug-induced sleep, Nadia took a walk around campus. She kept to the shadows, not wanting to be seen. She'd figured someone might choke on the first trip, but she never dreamed it would be her.

Every time I think I've reached the height of my embarrassment, I'm proven wrong
. She might've enjoyed the irony if the stakes weren't so high.

Marcus Sloan had told her not everyone made it to the next level. The senior class had twenty students fewer than the junior class, which meant two out of every five kids either got tossed or quit. Failure was not an option.

It's time to get serious
.

First step, she needed a tutor, and as much as Nadia hated the idea, she knew whom to ask for help.

At breakfast on Monday, Nadia dragged her chair around the table next to Alan's. She smiled. “How are you this morning?”

“What do you want?” he asked, not bothering to hide his contempt.

“I think we got off on the wrong foot,” she said. “Occasionally, I can be a little . . .”

“Aggressive?” he asked. “Antagonistic? Incompetent?”

“Direct,” she said. “I've clearly offended you, and I apologize.”

He eyed her suspiciously. After a moment he answered, “Very well.”

“And I have a favor to ask.”

Libby and Damon, who were carefully watching the exchange, shared a glance.

Nadia continued, “I'm having a little trouble with my schoolwork. Between catching up on summer reading and learning the new material, I'm a bit overwhelmed. I was wondering if you'd be willing to tutor me?”

Alan took a long time to finish chewing. “Perhaps you should go home.”

Be nice. It's this or facing Matthew
. “I understand I'm not your favorite person, but you'd be helping our whole team. After all, my performance reflects on you, as well.”

“Your work ethic is abysmal.”

“It's been a long and difficult week. That's why I'm coming to you.” She tried not to sound irritated.

“I'm surprised you are astute enough to acknowledge your shortcomings. I would not have credited you as one with accurate introspection.”

Keep your mouth shut
. “Yeah, well. I'm an enigma. Can you help me or not?”

His eyes narrowed as he studied her. Almost to himself, he said, “We would be required to spend a great deal of time together.”

“I am aware.” She could practically see his wheels turning as he calculated the hours he'd be forced to spend with her.

After a heavy sigh and a sneer, which Nadia chose to interpret as his attempt at a smile, he answered, “Fine. We will convene after dinner.”

An hour before dinner on Monday evening, the student pulled on a pair of shorts and a long sleeve shirt before heading toward the running trails. When he reached the east side of the outer wall, he slipped off the path and into the brush. He stayed low as he stole through the desert.

A few miles out, he retrieved his phone. He assembled the pieces: handset, battery, memory chip. “I got your message,” he said to his contact. “What do you want?”

“The Gila monster was a good idea, but a rattlesnake would have been more efficient.”

“For your information, anti-venom is readily available. And a rattlesnake comes with a built-in alarm system.”

“So why not a scorpion?”

“Again, anti-venom. It's the equivalent of a spider bite. Only dangerous without modern medicine.”
Where did this moron train?
“Is this why you needed me to call? So you could lecture me?”

“Believe it or not, I have better things to do than coach you through adolescence. Someone knows about you. And the administration's on a manhunt.”

“Thanks for the news flash. I have one for you: everyone knows about Drew's execution. If you and your
colleagues
could refrain from gossiping in front of the students, I would be very grateful.”

“I realized our error shortly after the conversation. I thought we were alone.”

“You realized your error?” the student repeated. “How many other people overheard?”

“I don't know. I'm sorry. Was it a severe setback?”

“No. I covered it well. Does the administration know about me
specifically
?”

“Not yet. And you'll never believe who they suspect.”

“Who?”

“Nadia Riley.”

“Because her family is from the Middle East?”

“Don't be ridiculous. Wolfe has good reason to suspect her. Not only did she arrive on campus late—giving the appearance that someone hand-picked her—but she received a perfect score on the CIA's questions in the standardized tests.”

“How is that relevant?”

“Do you know how difficult it is to get a perfect score? It's been done maybe twice.
You
didn't do it.”