Desert Dark (6 page)

“I apologize, Sensei. I'm afraid we overslept,” she replied with another bow. “We'll see you tomorrow morning.”

“You have never been late before.” Sensei stared at Nadia as he addressed Libby. His expression said,
I can see this is your fault, new girl
.

“No, Sensei,” answered Libby.

“Do not be tardy again.”

“No, Sensei,” she repeated.

“He's a little scary,” Nadia said as she followed Libby through the dojo.

“You have no idea.”

They joined the pack of students pouring toward the Navajo Building. Behind the dining hall, a tall wooden gate led them to the running trails carved into the desert beyond the concrete wall.

Looks like our perimeter is secure
, Nadia thought as she took in the multiple security cameras mounted along the wall and the heavy chain and padlock piled on the ground beside the entrance. “What's with the excessive security? Are we not safe?” She tried to sound casual. She didn't want Libby to know how nervous she was on her first day.

Libby laughed. “No, we're safe here. The wall keeps the coyotes off campus. Come on.” She began a slow jog and Nadia trotted beside her.

“And now we're on the other side of the wall.” Nadia scanned the low shrubbery for coyotes.

“Don't worry. Coyotes aren't aggressive and they don't hunt in packs. Plus, there are plenty of rabbits around for them to eat. They're more of a nuisance than anything.”

“And the cameras? Also for the coyotes?”

Libby wrinkled her forehead. “I never thought about it.”

Nadia, already breathless, did not respond.

After their run, the girls trudged back to their room to get ready for class. While Libby showered, Nadia made her bed—something she never did at home, but Libby had made hers first thing. As she yanked the frame away from the wall to smooth her comforter, something dropped to the floor.

She crawled under the bed and retrieved a book.

It was a leather journal with a gold dragonfly embossed on the cover. Nadia glanced toward the bathroom before turning to the first page. The author had been at the beach, sunburned and miserable. She flipped to the last entry, halfway through the book.

September 7

I'm in the bathroom with a flashlight so I don't wake my roommate (who demands a solid 8 hours for “beauty renewal”). On my way back from the dining hall (ice cream, what else? I know, diet starts tomorrow) I saw Oso and Culebra talking near the bushes by the dojo. Culebra gave Oso a black duffel. I tried to be still because I was kind of standing under a light but I think Oso saw me! He totally froze when he looked my way. I pretended not to see him and ran back here as fast as I could. What were they doing? What was in that bag? Sooo weird. Something is not right
.

The entry was scribbled, almost illegibly.
This must be Drew's
. Nadia did the math in her head, counting the days backward. The last entry was the day of Drew's death. Two days before Nadia met Marcus Sloan.

The shower stopped. Nadia shoved the diary under a pillow as Libby came into the bedroom.

“What are you doing?” Libby looked past her to the pile of pillows.

Nadia glanced toward her headboard, confirming the book was hidden. “Just making the bed.” She stood and smoothed the covers.

“Oh.” Libby nodded. “It looks nice.”

“I'll take a shower and we can go.”
I can't believe I read Drew's diary
. Nadia walked past Libby into the bathroom.
Okay, I can believe it; I can't believe I almost got caught
.

After the morning workout, Damon Moore took a five-minute shower and booked up the hill to the Navajo Building. As usual, he arrived to an empty dining room. A few years ago he might've wandered in at the last minute like the rest of his classmates, oblivious to his surroundings, one of the herd, but no more. A hard lesson learned.

He didn't mind being early—especially when it involved food. His father used to joke that Damon would sell his soul to Satan for a good steak. And showing up first meant Damon could observe his environment without the distraction of other people.

He selected a generous assortment from the buffet, and then took his regular seat, back against the wall at the corner table. Immediately, he noticed the change in position. Damon lifted the tablecloth: vacuum tracks in the carpet. Housekeeping had rearranged the furniture to clean. He stood, moved the table four inches to the right, sat back down and continued his surveillance. The security camera over the door had malfunctioned; it remained motionless, and normally by this time it would've swept the room twice. Everything else seemed copacetic. Satisfied, he eyed his plate, piled high with scrambled eggs, bacon and waffles smothered in fruit compote.

Training himself to notice every detail hadn't been easy. If
he'd bothered to learn these observational skills earlier, his whole life would be different. His father's sudden heart attack, for example. There had probably been signs: sallow skin, labored breathing.

Initially, the heightened attention had worn him out; his senses had been constantly on alert, his eyes scanning, watching everyone, everything, waiting for something terrible to happen. But rather than suffer through chronic anxiety, Damon had systematically retrained his brain. So now when something seemed off, he didn't panic: he looked for explanations.

He devoured his eggs and returned to the buffet for another glass of orange juice. Nadia was making her way down the line. Damon watched her for a second, considering.
Don't even think about it. Teammates are definitely off-limits
. He touched her shoulder, matched her smile. “I'm at the same table as last night. Need a hand?”

“No thanks, I'm good.”

Back in his seat, his incessant hunger slightly abated, he relaxed a bit. As far as he could tell, he was the only student at Desert Mountain who'd ever gone to bed hungry. Alan rarely cleaned his plate, and Libby threw out more food than she ate. He stood as Nadia approached.

“Assigned seats?” she asked, carefully setting her overstuffed plate on the table.

“Not officially, but this one's mine. I like to peruse the room as I eat. Makes me feel like royalty.”

“Consider it sacred.” She took the chair across from his, her back to the room. The worst seat at the table, and one he would accept only at gunpoint. “That buffet is amazing. I'm used to Lucky Charms and a banana.”

Damon laughed. “I know. I've easily gained fifteen pounds since June.” Bottomless bowls of pasta, made-to-order omelets, seconds on sandwiches. If Sensei's workouts weren't so intense, he probably would've packed on an extra thirty by now.

“Well, it must be muscle weight, because I don't see an ounce of fat.” She took a swig of her cranberry juice. It looked too clear. She must've watered it down. “You're from Baltimore, right?”

“I am. Libby briefed you?”

Nadia smiled. “Just names and locations.”

“You feeling okay? Your blood sugar high?”

She paused, her fork midair, and stared at him. “It's not high, but I can't eat sugar in the morning. It makes me feel sick. How'd you know that?”

“Your plate,” he lied. “All protein. You were kidding about the Lucky Charms, right?”

Nadia glanced at her breakfast then back at him. “You're really observant.”

“Not really. My mom's a reference librarian, so I hear about everything from managing diabetes to the aerodynamic qualities of titanium.”

He and his mom hadn't shared many meals together. She worked most nights, picking up extra shifts to pay off the hospital bills. Afternoons and evenings, Damon had kept busy. Quiet time unsettled him, so he joined after-school clubs and took classes through Baltimore's Parks and Recreations Program. He joined the debate team, rowed crew, learned to paint. He took up chess, tried boxing, joined the drama club. He attended free lectures at the local universities. One regrettable semester he tried his hand at the violin. Whatever occupied his mind.

Wednesday afternoons, however, had been sacred. At four sharp, Damon would arrive at his branch of Baltimore County's Public Library, where his father used to take him every week for story hour. Continuing the tradition in his own way, he'd greet the director, say hi to the kids, then browse the shelves. A fast reader with myriad interests, he spent his leisure time discovering new theories, honing new skills, exploring new worlds.

At least, he used to. Until everything changed.

Damon tried the fruit compote. It tasted like strawberry jam. He polished off his bacon as Alan approached, fresh from the shower, hair soaked, looking like he'd just taken a swim. Poor kid never remembered to brush his hair. Probably too busy sharpening his tongue.

“I see we have another voracious eater,” Alan said, eyeballing Nadia's plate.

“Hey, I earned this,” she answered. “That workout was tough.”

“We are not training to be Sumo wrestlers. You may want to slow down.”

“Did he just call me fat?” Nadia asked Damon.

“It's entirely possible.”

Behind Alan came Jennifer, the flirty blonde from Noah's team, and her roommate, Niyuri. Jennifer was the kind of girl who wanted all the guys to notice her, a trait Damon found particularly unattractive. His eyes glanced off Jennifer's as he met her roommate's smile.
But Niyuri might be just what I'm looking for
.

He studied her carefully as the pair moved toward their table. Five-four, one-ten, with cinnamon skin and long black hair. Her chin came to a soft point, shaping her face into a heart. It made her look happy all the time. He liked that about her.

Damon stood as Libby joined the table, then quietly turned his attention back to Niyuri. She was fluent in both Japanese and Italian. Her comments in class leaned more toward the abstract and philosophical. Some mistook her as flighty, but Damon didn't think so. She just thought a lot. Her fork slipped from her napkin roll and fell to the carpet. She leaned forward to catch it and bumped her head on the table.

“Ow,” she said softly, rubbing her forehead.

Damon swiped Alan's napkin roll as he sidestepped his roommate.

“Hey,” Alan protested.

He knelt beside Niyuri's chair. “Are you all right?” he asked, handing her Alan's unrolled silverware. He touched the red mark on her forehead.

“Just careless.” A pink hue colored her cheeks as his hand brushed against her. “I was hoping no one saw that.”

He feigned confusion. “Saw what?”

She grinned. “Thanks.”

Yeah
, he decided.
She'll do just fine
.

When Professor Sherman dimmed the lights to show her psychology class a movie, Nadia felt immediate relief. She'd been a little worried about catching up, but a movie? A monkey could follow along.

Twenty minutes later, however, her confidence had vanished.

“That was the President's exit interview,” Dr. Sherman said as she raised the lights. “What did everyone think?” Hands popped up. “Jennifer?”

“He's obviously lying.”

“How can you tell?”

“He's looking up and to the right, rather than down to the left, which indicates he's inventing a truth rather than remembering a past event,” Jennifer said.

“Nice try, but that's a myth. Who else? Damon?”

“He exhibited a cluster of deceptive behaviors. He pulled his earlobe, repeated the interviewer's questions and offered irrelevant details. The truth is simple; when folks lie, they talk too much.”

In Virginia, Nadia's first class had been Literature and Composition, reading Thoreau. Apparently at her new school she would learn to be a human lie detector.

“Excellent, I'm pleased you read your assignment. And what
was the other big tell in his nonverbal communication? Anyone?” Dr. Sherman raised her shoulders. “The shrugging—pay attention, people. These are skills you will need.”

In her next class, Computer Science and Information Systems, they discussed basic hacking techniques. Their homework assignment was to circumvent the security system of a fictional network and download the database.

“Isn't that illegal?” Nadia asked Libby.

“Sure, but it's not a
real
network. Good skill to have though, don't you think?”

In math, they learned tricks to help memorize long series of numbers. “When do you think he'll teach us how to open a Swiss bank account?” Nadia joked.

“We covered that on day two. I'll give you my notes.”

Chemistry turned out to be a lot more fun at spy school than public school. The class mixed common drugstore ingredients to create a stable explosive that required a high velocity strike to detonate. Their professor demonstrated the smoky explosion with a rubber bullet on the front lawn.

Political science, taught by the dullest man in the world, dragged on for a decade. Professor Hayden towered above his class as he paced the aisles. He discussed
ad nauseam
recruiting methods used by al-Qaida, Boko Haram and ISIS. “Our nation, founded on religious freedom, will never be safe from terrorist activity.”

A brutal hour later, the students convened in the dining hall for lunch. Nadia and Libby reached the table before the boys.
I can't believe it's only one o'clock. I feel like I've been here a month
.

As they settled in, Libby placed her hand on Nadia's arm. “I can't tell you how excited I am to have you as my roommate. I have a really good feeling about this year.”

“Me too.” Nadia smiled.

“It's tough when roommates don't click.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I've been in boarding schools my whole life, so I've had my share of strange girls. The sleepwalker who ended up
everywhere. The hippie who shaved her head the first of every month, which I wouldn't have minded, but she saved her hair in a shoebox under the bed. I try not to judge, but that was odd.” Libby shuddered. “One girl stole from me. I caught her in the act and she still denied it. Can you imagine?”