Desert Dark (33 page)

“I have done nothing wrong! And I really like it here—I like
you all. I mean, I did not at first; I found you very annoying, but now I know you a little better—”

“Shut up,” Nadia orders. “Let me think.”
Is he telling the truth? This explains why he always looks nervous when our conversations get personal. What about coming to my room? Seeing the dead drop? Just bad timing?
“Why were you in my dorm after Thanksgiving break?”

“What?”

“You said you wanted to see if Libby was home yet, but you were lying.”

Alan wipes roughly at his eyes and says, “I do not want to tell you.”

“Tell me anyway.”

“You are not a very nice girl.”

“Noted. Now answer the question.”

Alan digs into his pocket.

“Easy,” Nadia says, following his movement with her gun. He throws her a folded note. The edges are worn; it looks like he's been carrying it for a while.

She pushes the note toward Libby with her foot. “Do you mind?”

Libby unfolds the paper and reads aloud, “Perhaps you would be interested in joining me for a meal downtown.”

Alan glares at Nadia. “Please disregard my inquiry. It is no longer relevant. I planned to leave it at the front desk after the holiday, but then I saw you coming and I lost my nerve.”

“And you just happen to have it with you?”

“I have been carrying it around for weeks, trying to work up the courage to give it to you.”

“What are you, like twelve years old? Why would you leave a note when you could've just said it to my face?”

“I did say it to your face. After the dance. That did not work out so well. Anyway, consider my offer retracted. Further investigation has revealed your personality to be a bit grating.”

She watches him carefully.
Anyone else and I wouldn't buy this story. But Alan? It does make sense
. “You don't sound like an American.”

“I was not born here. I learned Arabic, Hebrew and French, all while learning English. I get confused with my languages—
not
my loyalty. I am every bit as American as you, Nadia.”

The color is gone from his cheeks. Sweat collects on his forehead.
If he were lying, his face would be bright red
. Nadia lowers her gun.
He can't lie
.

“Thank God,” Libby says quietly.

Wait a minute—he can't lie. How the hell did he get past Cameron?
Nadia raises her gun. “How did you pass the polygraph?”

Alan sways a little. “I—I—”

“I thought you couldn't lie,” she says.

“I have no baseline!”

“What?”

“No baseline—Dr. Cameron asks questions to establish a baseline—I fail those questions, so all of my answers look the same.”

“The baseline question is your
name
. Stop trying my patience and give me
all
the information!”

“My name is not Alan!”

Nadia and Libby exchange a glance. “Continue,” Nadia says.

“It is not my given name.” His voice is weary. “It is the first question Dr. Cameron asks, and my face reddens, and my heart races, and my blood pressure soars. Because
Alan
is not my name. I was named for my Saba's father. My given name is
Aryeh
.”

“What's that now?” Libby asks.

“Yes, I know. It sounds like I have phlegm in my throat. When I was young, my teachers could not pronounce the name and I would have to correct them. The other children made fun of me. They would hawk loogies on the playground and then say, ‘Oh, someone is calling you.' I went home crying every day. My mother felt sad for me. The next fall, I transferred to a new school. She enrolled me as
Alan
. But it is a lie, and it makes me feel guilty. Like
I am turning my back on my heritage. Recall how your mother felt after 9/11.”

Nadia had mentioned it once, one night while she and Alan had been studying. For years after the attack, her mom stopped telling people she was Middle Eastern. She'd been afraid for her family's safety. But she'd also felt bad about her silence, like she was betraying her ancestors.

Nadia studies him. His eyes are wide. His body slumps, but his arms and legs are open, away from his torso—honest, revealing body language. His face is dreadfully pale.

She tucks her gun into her waistband.

Libby breathes a heavy sigh and rushes to Alan. “Hand me that water,” she orders Nadia. She holds the bottle for Alan to drink. “So you believe him?”

Nadia nods.

“Then apologize,” Libby demands. “You could'a killed him.”

“For the record, I lied. I don't have bullets. I have tranqs.”

“That was not an apology,” Libby says.

“I'm sorry I pointed my gun at you.”

“What about thinking he's a traitor? Shame on you.”

“No, I'm not sorry for that,” Nadia says. “Someone shot at us.”

“If I was the traitor, why would they be shooting at me?”

“Maybe
they
don't like working with you, either.” Nadia smiles.

“Not the time, honey,” Libby says.

Alan leans against Libby for support. The fight weakened him. He licks his lips. “I think it was Jack. He is the only one who was not there.”

“It wasn't Jack.” Nadia crouches next to Alan and wipes the cold sweat from his face. Now that she's cleared him, she feels guilty for kicking him awake.

“How do you know? Because he is your boyfriend and you do not want it to be him?”

“I'm relieved to see your wound hasn't affected your sharp
tongue. I already checked his gun. It was my first thought too.” She moves toward the mouth of the cave.

“You cannot tell Jack,” Alan calls after her. “Nadia, promise me. Please!”

Nadia looks back. Libby holds Alan's weight against her body and strokes his hair. She shakes her head almost imperceptibly.

Just what I need—another secret
. “I won't say anything. Yet.”

Alan opens his mouth, probably to protest.

“That's the best I can do right now.”
Am I the only one in the world with nothing to hide?

Jack finally staggers into view as the sky lightens. Nadia considers apologizing for checking his gun, but she's still mad.
After everything he did to me—all the lies. And he's offended I don't trust him?

He throws his arms around her before she can stop him. “You were right to suspect me, and to check my gun. I'm sorry for my reaction. I would've done the same thing. That's a good way to keep yourself alive, and I'm really proud of you.”

This isn't what she expects to hear, but she likes the compliment. At the same time, she's annoyed with herself for wanting his praise.

“But you need to know,” Jack lifts her chin to look in her eyes. “I would never do anything to hurt you.”

She actually believes him. He risked his future with the CIA to tell her the truth about Wolfe's ongoing suspicions. Everything that's important to him—he risked it all. To help her. She smiles a little.

Libby emerges from the cave with Alan draped over her shoulder. “Is Damon with you?”

Jack shakes his head. “I haven't seen him since I left you guys.”

“He got up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom and take a shift,” Nadia says. “Do you think he hiked out for help?”

“I think he would've told someone.” Libby's knees give a little under Alan's weight; she eases him onto a rock.

Jack kneels to check Alan's wound. “We'll give Damon half an hour, but that's it. We were due back last night and Alan needs a doctor before his leg gets infected.”

Nadia looks toward the sky as a hawk swoops into the canyon. She's trapped in a red-rock coffin, and straight up is the only way out.

Jack waits for forty-five minutes, constantly scanning the rocky walls for movement, a color aberration, any sign of the enemy sniper.

Damon doesn't return.

Nadia joins him, sitting as far away as possible on his rock. “What happened? Do you think he's in trouble? I mean, like captured or something?”

He shakes his head. “I don't know.” They sit in silence for a few minutes before Jack asks, “Did you hear what he called me in the van?”

Nadia nods. “Boy scout.” Her face pales.

“I think it might be him.”

“It kind of looks that way.”

“I can't figure out why he took off. He didn't really blow his cover,” he says.

“Maybe it's not him. Maybe he was kidnapped.”

“I'm pretty sure it's him. But how did the shooter make such a colossal mistake, hitting Alan instead of you?” Jack stands and reaches for Nadia's hand to help her up. Distracts her with a question. “You were nowhere near the guys, right?”

She takes his hand. “Not even close. Like, ten feet away.”

He doesn't want to let go. She gently frees herself and turns away.

They find Alan and Libby resting near the mouth of the cave. “It's time to go,” Jack says. “We're a day overdue, so I assume someone's looking for us, but I don't know for a fact. We need to get Alan to a doctor. Everyone, keep your eyes open and stay alert.” He hesitates a moment before adding, “And make sure your weapons are readily available.”

“What about Damon?” Libby asks.

“We can't wait any longer.”

“We're not leaving him,” she says.

“This is not a debate. And I'm not sure he's with us anymore.”

“You think he's dead?”

“That's not what I mean.”

“Well, what do you mean?” Libby presses for an answer.

“You know what? I don't even know. But we need to take care of Alan.” Jack turns away.

“You think he's the double, don't you?”

He looks at Nadia. “You told them?”

“I didn't say anything. Everyone already knew. Alan mentioned it months ago.”

Yeah, if I overheard it, I'm sure others did too
. “I don't want to talk about it anymore, Libby. We have other priorities.” Jack nods toward Alan.

Jack and Nadia take the first shift with Alan, supporting his weight as he limps along. They rotate every thirty minutes so that no one carries him more than an hour without a break. Their pace is agonizingly slow. Late in the afternoon, they find a steep incline leading out. They climb the hill on hands and knees.

The sun dips behind the mountains before they reach the highway. “We need to split up. You'll have better luck hitching a ride if it's just you two,” Jack tells Libby. He kneels on the asphalt and rips open the side seam of his first aid kit. He flips through the plastic cards and hands her a small stack. Two Arizona State University student IDs, a health insurance card and a credit card.

Libby reads the names. “Libby Brown and Alan Cross. You have a set of these for all four of us?”

“Five of us,” Jack corrects her. “Hide your weapons. Memorize your birth dates. You're freshmen at ASU. You were camping and Alan fell on some rocks. Don't report in. It's time to go dark. I'll have Wolfe find you.”

“Got it,” Libby says. She hoists Alan's arm over her shoulder.

The fear has not left Alan's face. Jack smiles, trying to reassure him. “You'll be fine. It's smooth sailing from here.” He gently punches Alan's shoulder. “Hey, I told you one day your life would depend on her.”

Alan glances at Libby and gives Jack a half-smile. “I guess you were right.”

“Almost always.”

Libby and Alan head southeast as Jack and Nadia go west, straight toward the setting sun. The sky burns orange before them.

“How far are we from school?” Nadia asks.

She's struggling to keep up, but Jack can't afford to slow his pace. “I think it's about seventeen-thirty. If we're lucky, we'll get back by twenty-three-hundred.”

“Do you think it's safe? I mean, do you think the shooter is on campus?”

“I can't imagine he would stick around. Missing your target is generally frowned upon in our line of work.”

“Do you think they'll try again?” She looks over her shoulder.

“No, I think you're okay. If they really wanted you dead, Damon could've slit your throat before he left.” Jack stops and grabs Nadia's arm. “I'm so sorry I left you with him. If anything had happened to you . . .”

“It's okay. You didn't know.”

“But I should have. After he called me boy scout?” They continue walking. “Dean Wolfe will know how to proceed. I don't know if he'll heighten security or what, but he'll do something. No worries, Nadia. It'll be okay.” He has no idea if this is true, but she looks concerned and he wants to reassure her. “It's almost over. We'll explain it all to Wolfe and clear your name. You'll be exonerated.”

He envisions the scene: relief will wash over Dean Wolfe. Jack might get a formal commendation. Maybe a letter signed by the President—or a dinner at the White House, followed by an awards ceremony, like they do for Navy SEALs. Not televised, of course, but still. And Nadia—he can patch things up with her. They can go on an actual date. Who knows? They might have a future together yet.

“Where do you think he went? Damon, I mean.”

“I don't know. We had no reason to suspect him. He could've stayed with us. And I don't know why they took a shot at you. I guess if you'd died, they could claim you were the double. You wouldn't be around to disprove it. But then again, the gunfire might've been a distraction.”

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe this was Damon's extraction. You know, they wanted to pull their agent out of the field, but still provide reasonable doubt. Like maybe we're supposed to think he was kidnapped, instead of believing he's the double.”