Cloak and Dagger (The IMA Book 1) (4 page)

My interest pleased my dad. Unlike my mother, who had threatened to faint dead away when I announced an interest in becoming an engineer (“why don't you just come right out and
say
you're a lesbian, Christina? That's what the world is going to think.”) my dad was encouraging of any sort of intellectual pursuit, especially computers. He had once said that technology was like a skeleton key with which one could open many doors. The problem, he went on, was that many of these doors shouldn't be opened so you had to be careful when deciding how and when to exert that power.

I can still remember that conversation almost verbatim because it had made such a strong impact on me. We'd been in the kitchen. My parents were between business trips. Just one normal family, that was us. I was eating a Pop-Tart, ignoring the looks my mother was shooting me from across the room as she prepared sandwiches for lunch. I knew she wouldn't dare complain, not out loud. Not with my dad there. But at his words, she stilled.

“
Why do you have to be careful? That wouldn't be your fault. It'd be a mistake.”

“
Rubens!”

Dad glanced at my mother. “Nothing, Sweet Pea,” he said to me.

“
I want to know.” I put down the pastry and wiped my hands on my jeans. “It'll come in handy, in case I end up working with computers one day.” I shot a defiant look at my mother.

Both my parents exchanged a long look. “Just because you can do something doesn't mean that you should,” he said, choosing his words carefully. The fingers on his left hand drummed against the table as he sipped his morning coffee. “With great power comes great responsibility.”

I was pretty sure he'd stolen that from a movie. “Dad,
please
. You work at a software firm. What harm could you possibly do?”

“
Nothing in this world is without harm.” He looked into my eyes. “Nothing. Promise me, Christina, that you will never open Pandora's Box.”

“
Um…sure, Dad. I won't open any weird boxes.”

“
That's enough.” My mother's voice was quiet, but firm. “Christina. Put down that…
thing
and help me with the sandwiches.”

Then Dad went silent. I watched him as I spread the pus-colored mayo “lite” on my mother's favorite revolting whole-grain bread. He said nothing else. That was three days ago and I was still replaying that moment in my head, trying to analyze those secret looks and unspoken exchanges. What had my dad been trying to say? That he had, in a burst of egotism, opened one of those that shouldn't have been opened? Or was it one of those normal parental caveats—don't have premarital sex, don't do drugs, blah, blah, blah? But if that was the case, why wouldn't my mother let him speak?

“
Turn to
p
ágina
catorce
,” Alvarez said. “And we will correct the homework.”

I had already finished my homework while Alvarez had been blathering on with the lesson. As I filled in the multitude of missing accent marks with red pen, my dad's final warning ringing in my ears. It had been so strange that I'd chalked it up to parental distress and said nothing more than “Um, sure.” I wondered if there had been something more to his words than I thought. I stared down at my homework. Now it was full of cubes, all sizes, from different angles.

Promise me, Christina
.

What was that even supposed to
mean
?

“
Christina!”

I jumped when Alvarez's ice-blue eyes landed on me. “
Por favor, lee
numéro
cinco
.”

And, pushing such concerns from my mind, I did.

Michael:

I bought a one-way ticket to Barton, Oregon at the airport. With the assistance of a Brooks Brothers suit, I could play the role of the successful young entrepreneur just well enough. I bought an espresso and a copy of
The Wall Street Journal
. “Business trip,” I explained to the attractive barista, who nodded in sympathy as she handed me my drink and my change.

It was early. Too early for a cross-country flight. Many of the shop lights were still extinguished, and I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the dark glass of a Mexican restaurant. I looked, I decided, taking a sip of the espresso, like a man with a plane to catch. Then I winced. The coffee was bitter and tasted cheap, but at least it made me alert. I drank half before tossing the cup. My baggage went on a conveyor belt to be checked. I slipped off my loafers and put them on top of my briefcase in one of the gray plastic bins.

“
Can I see some ID?” the officer asked.

With a polite smile, I handed her my card. Edward Collins; 6'2”, blond hair, blue eyes. Twenty-seven-years-old. None of this was strictly true.

She glanced at the picture, a cursory scan with no real interest, and waved me through the metal detector; her eyes were already beginning to focus on the British couple behind me.

Easy.

Once I was on the plane, I pulled out my laptop and accessed the file I had hastily constructed on Rubens Parker during the wait in the airport terminal. It was disguised as a company report. The words of the real plan were typed in boldface font and needed to be strung together for the message to be comprehensible.

Even though I could have recited it from memory, I skimmed through the information the file contained. The man, Rubens Parker, was a forty-six-year-old programmer possessing a high-ranking position within the software engineering industry. His wife was thirty-nine; an ex-model from the Dominican Republic. She spent most of her free time designing clothing for her fashion line. They had one child, an eighteen-year-old daughter who was attending a reputable all-girls' school and on the fast track to a liberal arts college like Reed, or Sarah Lawrence.

What might the parents pay to get their precious daughter back? Taking hostages was messy but, if well-executed, the financial gain alone could make it worthwhile. She seemed sheltered, soft.
If I were them
, I thought,
I would pay quite a lot.

“
Would you like anything to drink?”

I didn't lift my eyes from the laptop. “Perhaps later.”

“
We're going to take off soon,” the attendant informed me. “You'll need to put that away.”

I closed the computer obediently. “Do I have time to make a quick phone call?”

“
Hurry.” She repeated her initial offer to the people behind me, who took her up on it.

There were few other passengers in first class. Two men of Middle Eastern descent were discussing the stock market, and the businessman—the one who wanted the drink—and an elderly gentlewoman that looked British were both reading e-books on their Kindles. None of these people were particularly interesting but I kept an eye on them, regardless. The IMA had many enemies, with about a thousand different faces.

First class was expensive. But to the IMA, privacy was invaluable. I would not be bothered here. When I was certain that nobody was paying attention to me, I picked up the phone set provided in my seat and dialed the number I had committed to memory in the terminal.

“
Hello, my name is Edward Collins. I'm new at Debutech. Yes, I quite enjoy it.”

The person on the other line was eager to strike up a conversation on this slow Friday afternoon. I listened for about a minute and then got down to brass tacks. “Listen, one of my coworkers dropped a piece of personal mail in my briefcase by a mistake — a Rubens Parker. Yes. In the break room. I don't have his address, or I'd mail it myself. It looks urgent.”

I paused.

“
No, I'm afraid I can't bring it in. See, I'm on a flight as we speak. I'm visiting my kids in California. Yes, divorced. Tell you what, why don't you just give me his home address and I'll forward it to him myself?”

I listened, then nodded.

“
I know. I figured this wasn't normal protocol, but the return address is smeared — must have been from last night's rain. Mailmen can be so careless. Otherwise I would have taken the initiative myself. No, it's no trouble.” I typed out the address in the open file. “I understand. It'll just be our little secret. No, thank
you
.”

Too easy.

Chapter Three

Quarry

Christina:

“
Christina? Hey — wait up!”

Renee was galloping after me as fast as her schoolbooks would allow. I used to think her life was perfect before I learned how hard she worked to project that image of herself. She wasn't any more privileged than I and had told me things about herself that shocked me so deeply, I wouldn't believe her at first — not from somebody so strong, so flawless. I guess it just goes to show that we've all got something to hide. Like my mother pinching my stomach in an airport when I was fifteen, telling me how lucky I was that the airlines weren't charging extra for
that
kind of carry-on.

“
Hi.” I made room for her on the narrow sidewalk. There was barely enough room for us to walk side-by-side. “Thanks for trying to talk to Alvarez today, by the way.”

“
I'm sorry it didn't work. He said you had too many tardies. You were lucky he didn't mark you down for a cut.”

“
Speaking of which, I didn't see you in Stats. Did
you
cut?”

“
As if. All members of the student council got to leave early so we could plan for the dance. We've already talked to St. John's and they're co-hosting.” She flashed a quick smile. “Isn't that exciting? I feel like it's been years since I've laid eyes on a boy.”

I loathed the St. John's boys. They hung out in front of Holy Trinity sometimes, hassling some of the younger girls as they walked home. Once a group of them had serenaded me with “Milkshake” until I'd fled to the nearest store. “How is that going?”

“
Like a train wreck. We had to postpone it for a week because the stupid orchestra has practice and needs the gym for rehearsal before the
big concert
, and the school is too cheap to rent out someplace nice”— she threw up her hands — “and I
still
don't have a date.”

She might have been on the student council but I held that she should have gone for drama since she had such a penchant for theatrics. “It's not the end of the world.”

Renee eyed me intently. “You
are
going right?”

“
Um, no.” Her gaze got even more intent. “You know how horrible I look in a dress!”

“
Christina — ”

“
Besides, I doubt that I'd be allowed to go. You know how old-fashioned my mother is.” I raised my voice, adopting her thick accent, “You're wearing that? Will there be
boys
there, Christina? Boys don't marry girls who look like cheap French whores.”

“
I know, I know.” Renee cut me off. “Then you say, No, mother. It's a
nun
party. It wasn't funny the first time, you know. Holy Trinity is just too close to being a parochial school.”

Not close enough for my mother. In her view, there were three options for a woman. If you were beautiful, you got married. If you were ugly, you became a nun. If you were beautiful and stupid, or ugly and dishonorable, you became a whore. I think that was probably the only reason she was agreeing to let me go to college — she was hoping I'd get my “M.R.S. Degree.”

“
So are your elusive parents actually home?”

I grimaced, twisting my hair into a bun. “They shouldn't be. They were leaving this afternoon to go somewhere. Hawaii, I think. I wasn't listening.” Had my mother even told me? “Anyway, they'll probably be gone by the time I get home.”

“
On a show?”

“
Just leisure. And no, her dresses still cost upwards of a thousand dollars.”

Renee sighed. “Your mom is so cool. I wish I had a fashion designer as a mom. Do you know how many girls would kill to wear one of her dresses to prom?”

“
No you don't. It's a total pain. She's never home and I'm too fat to wear any of her clothes.”

“
You're
not
fat, Chris.”

“
Tell that to my mom. She's always saying to me, Size sixteen? How can you be a size sixteen? When I was your age, I was a size
four
. As if my self-esteem isn't low enough already.”

“
She's probably just worried….She shouldn't be saying those things to you, but I'm sure that's just because she cares for you. But you should still come to the dance. Don't you see? If you don't, you'll be letting her win because she'll have gotten to you. I'll help you find a dress, Christina — and you're going to look
great
in it.”

“
Maybe,” I said unconvincingly.

“
Hold that thought.” Renee picked up her phone. “Hey, Dad. You're on your way? I'm with Christina right now on Anderson.” She listened to whatever her dad was saying and gave me a funny look. “Huh. Interesting. Okay. Love you, too. See you soon. Bye.”

“
Interesting?” I raised an eyebrow, wondering what was up with the cloak and dagger stuff.

“
What time did you say your parents were leaving?”

“
Early. Around noon or one. Why?”

“
That's weird. Because my dad said he'd just come back from Radio Shack. He said he saw
your
dad there.”

“
Really? Just now? In Barton?” She nodded.

That
was
weird. I didn't see why they would lie to me about their trip.

“
Maybe they needed a security device,” Renee suggested. “Or a new cell phone.”

“
Maybe.” They had told me the plane was leaving this afternoon. Had they postponed the trip? If so, why? Last week, they had seemed quite anxious to leave. Or was I just being paranoid? This was the airport, after all. Flights got canceled and delayed all the time.

I still couldn't quash the anxiety that gnawed at my gut.

“
Well, that's my ride.” Renee waved as her dad pulled up to the curb in a gray Mercedes. “Do you want us to take you home?”

“
I live just down there. It'd be out of your way.”
And I could use the exercise
.

“
Well…see you, then, I guess. Oh, and don't text me — I'm close to my plan's limit.”

I waved and continued down the street to my house: a large, two-story mock Tudor. I entered through the side door, passing straight through the kitchen. Surprise, surprise, my parents weren't home. My kitten, Dollface, was, though, and ran up to greet me.

“
Hi, Doll,” I cooed, scratching him under the chin. He was a yellow tabby with a white tummy and white paws and had the privilege of being the most important boy in my life. This did not bode well for my future.

He purred, letting me pet him until he got bored with me and trotted off to his cat dish. Even I couldn't compete with chicken- and liver-flavored kitty kibble. Feeling hungry myself, I went to the fridge, surprised to see that there was a note waiting for me.
Christina — when you get home, call this number
as soon as possible:

Ten digits were listed below in my mother's feminine script.

I dumped my messenger bag on the linoleum and helped myself to a sandwich from the fridge. I wasn't concerned. My mother tended to overreact. Whereas my father was the stolid, logical one, my mother was the dramatic one who liked to pretend life was a giant
telenovela
where she had center stage. I consoled myself with the knowledge that if the problem was serious, my mother would have called my cell phone or left a message with the school.

No
, I thought, pouring a few potato chips on my plate. Mom probably wanted to remind me to take my vitamin D, or not consume any high fructose corn syrup while she was gone. Besides, I had more pressing concerns. Like studying for my Spanish test on Monday. Later. I relocated to the living room and switched on the TV. My dad had left the news on from this morning. A blond woman with too much hairspray was saying, “...secret terrorist organization was discovered due to an unlucky hacker's computer exploits — ”

I paused with my finger hovering over the channel button then surfed some more. None of the other channels yielded anything more promising. I settled for reruns of old cartoon shows. During the next commercial break, I took my plate to the kitchen. My eyes went to my mother's note. I should call her so she wouldn't jump the gun and do something drastic like phoning the police. I punched the number, twirling the cord around my finger. For somebody who used to be a professional model, my mother was incredibly lacking in poise.

The connection was terrible. Grainy. I thought I could hear somebody speaking amidst the static. “Christina, this is…warning… must get out…house…possible…danger.” The voice went dead. I heard a beep. I redialed the number. Warning? Danger? If I listened to the message a second time, it might make more sense.

“
The number you have dialed is no longer in service. Please hang up and try again.”

I dialed again, with exaggerated slowness.

“
The number you have dialed is no longer in service. Please hang up and try again.”

The hand holding onto the phone fell to my side. Distantly, I was aware of the phone smacking against the wall. I had always been told not to believe everything I heard. I'd also been told that the mind can play tricks on you when you are afraid. Those two things in combination should have been enough to quell my fears but they weren't. Even if the call meant nothing, even if it was a
hoax
, I was terrified. I was home alone, getting strange calls from somebody who did not sound like my parents. I wanted reassurance from an adult that I was going to be fine.

But my parents weren't here. They were halfway around the world by now — unless Renee had been right, and they'd decided to take a detour. Wherever they were, it wasn't here, and there was nobody else I could….Wait. I backpedaled. That wasn't quite true. Renee. I could call Renee at home and ask if I could spend the night at her house. Her parents were well-versed in my mom and dad's erratic behavior. I was sure they wouldn't object to me staying the weekend. If necessary, my parents would compensate them for their time and resources.

I could still hear that disembodied voice in my head, chilling me to the bone. It had sounded like the person on the other end was saying that I must get out of the house as soon as possible because of the danger. That didn't make any sense to me, though — wouldn't it be safer to be
in
the house?
Not if somebody was already inside
. I brushed that thought aside, where it retreated to my unconscious and darkened my mood like a thundercloud.
Okay, that's it
.
I'm getting out of this house
.

Dollface mobbed me, rubbing his face against my ankle. “Not right now.” I scooped him up, ignoring the indignant mew he uttered in protest. “I'm going away for a while. Out you go.”

I could hear his paws scrabbling against the glass as he mewed to be let back inside the house. I shook my head at him and stumbled up the stairs. My messenger bag was lying on the floor near my bed. I dumped all the school crap onto my comforter, making room for a nightshirt and an extra set of clothes. I hesitated, then packed my Spanish book. No point in tempting fate.

A sudden creak made me jump. I picked up my cell phone from the nightstand and started to dial. My hands were trembling. The sooner I got this over with, the better I'd feel.

I waited as Renee's phone rang…and rang…and
rang
, before taking me to voice mail. “Hello, this is Renee. I'm not here right now but if you leave a message, I'll get back to you as soon as I can.”

“
Hi, Renee. This is Christina. I was just wondering — ”

The only warning I got was a flash of black in the mirror over my dresser, as if one of the shadows in my bedroom had come to life. In the time that it took me to blink, he grabbed me and my cell phone, which had been in my hand, clattered to the floor. Disbelief gave way to utter terror and I inhaled reflexively for a scream that never got released.

A gloved hand had closed over my mouth. I could taste leather. “No,” I screamed, “No, no, no — ” before my words just dissolved into incomprehensible shrieking that not even the glove could mask. Something hard and cylindrical pressed against my temple.

“
Be quiet. It's not in my interests to hurt you, but I will.” The voice was sexless, emotionless, and lacked any discernible human characteristics, including mercy. Is your name Christina Parker? Nod yes or no.”

I nodded, staring at my flowery mattress, which was starting to blur before my eyes.

“
Are you alone?”

Yes, I was utterly and inescapably alone. Should this man know that? He'd already made it quite clear that laws meant nothing to him. He'd broken into my house and now he had a gun up to my head. What if he was going to rape me as well? What if he was going to
kill
me?