Terror (9 page)

“I'm so, so sorry, Jake,” Gaia added.

He put his arm around her shoulders. “It's okay. I'm just glad you're not hurt.”

From:
Runner 16

To:
Rizq14176

Operation successful for the most part. A few hairs with intact roots gathered from subject. Runner14 and I were both badly injured. No witnesses observed.

The din of frenetic coffee conversation rose to a roar in Gaia's brain.

GAIA PUSHED OPEN THE GLASS door and stepped into the dark, cool environs of Café Reggio. It had always been her favorite coffee shop in New York, ever since she'd seen Al Pacino hanging out there in the movie
Serpico,
which she'd watched with her father as a kid. She associated it with a different time period, when long-haired hippies and beatnik poets had come there to share high-minded ideas about politics and literature. Ironic, then, that she was here to meet the FOHs for a gossip fest about the lowest-minded ideas imaginable.

“Hey, Gaia,” a voice said. “Over here.”

Gaia looked to the back-right corner, where Megan was waving her over with two fingers, as if she were hailing a cab. Gaia walked toward them. Quickly assessing the scene, she was relieved to see that Megan, Laura, and Melanie were all there, but the other girl wasn't Tammie. It was Liz Rodke, which seemed odd, considering that Liz had professed, even more intensely than Gaia, her annoyance with the FOHs. As she approached, Liz slid over to make room for Gaia.

“Hey, everyone,” Gaia said. She went through the understood ritual of kissing on both cheeks, the European-style greeting the FOHs had picked up from attending society events with their
mothers. Once this was done, Megan wasted no time returning to the pressing subject at hand.

“So anyway,” she said, holding her coffee cup up with thumb and forefinger. “I think Hal Hobbs is totally overrated. He's good-looking, agreed, and his dad's a French diplomat, and he's a model with the Ford agency, and blah, blah, blah. … So he's got the right pedigree. But talking to him is like… I mean, with a face like that, he barely needs personality, but come on, throw me a bone here. I feel like he was lobotomized or something.”

“Yeah, but I heard he's great in bed,” Laura said.

“Interesting,” Megan said. “Well, that raises his stock a little.”

“Who told you he's great in bed?” Melanie asked.

“I don't know,” Laura said. “I thought it was you. Maybe it was Leila Berger. I don't remember.”

“Oh, she's so full of it,” Megan said. “She claims to have hooked up with half the guys at school.”

Laura and Melanie laughed in high-pitched evil squeals. Liz turned to Gaia and gave her a look like:
Why are we here?
Gaia tried to convey agreement without being too obvious about it. But Megan, ever attuned to social nuances, must have picked up on it because she immediately changed the subject to something more Liz-centric.

“So,” Megan said. “The word around the campfire is that one of the hottest society events of the year is
coming up at that new club, Capitale, and that the party's being thrown by none other than Dr. Rodke.”

Liz snapped to attention. She looked taken aback for a second but covered it up with an easy smile. “It's true. Dad's throwing a big old shindig for his company. I didn't know it registered as a noteworthy social event, though.”

“Sure does,” Melanie said. “I heard my mom talking on her cell phone, trying to wrangle an invitation out of her bridge partner.”

“So what's the deal, Liz?” Laura asked. “Can you get us invites?”

“Uh… sorry, but I don't think so. At this point it's unclear whether
I'm
going to be invited. My dad said that the party has gotten so popular with his clients that he accidentally invited too many people, and the manager of Capitale is pissed.”

“So you don't even get to go?” Melanie said. “I find that hard to believe.”

Liz shrugged. Gaia looked around the café to keep from being drawn into this conversation. Impressive that Liz was willing to lie just to keep their little secret. Gaia couldn't help but feel like an exclusive VIP selected from a group of VIPs. She knew she should be ashamed of herself, but she wasn't.

Megan drained her coffee and clanged the empty mug against its saucer. “Well, what use are you to us if you can't get us access to your dad's hot parties?”

Gaia looked at Megan, then at Liz. Everyone was frozen in silence.

“Just kidding,” Megan said. Laura and Melanie broke into simultaneous fits of fake laughter, hoping to cover up the tension. Liz looked mortified. Gaia touched Liz's leg underneath the table for support. Megan hadn't been kidding, and they all knew it.

“I'm going outside for a cigarette,” Laura said. “Anyone want to join me?”

“I will,” Megan said.

“No, thanks,” Melanie said. “I'll stick to coffee.”

Liz scooted toward Gaia, her eyes focused on the floor. “I have to go to the ATM,” she said.

This seemed to be a new ritual of the FOHs, the postcoffee or postmeal cigarette. Gaia remembered that a prior FOH policy on smoking was that it was disgusting on the grounds that it was bad for the complexion. But soon after the New York City laws had prohibited smoking indoors, Megan had reversed the outdated policy from the Heather era. She claimed that she'd dropped five pounds since she started smoking and that older guys often hit on her while she was smoking out on the sidewalk.

With the rest of them in a rush to escape the social awkwardness, Gaia found herself left alone with Melanie, the FOH whom she knew the least and, as far as she could tell, had the least in common with. To make matters worse, they were sitting directly across
from each other, and the table was small. Gaia didn't even have a coffee mug to use as a prop. She searched her brain for some appropriate conversation starter.
Can you believe that outfit Sarah Jessica Parker wore to the uh… whatever that award show was? Have you seen the new spring line for, uh, you know, like, Calvin Klein? Did you see the season finale of, uh, what's that show on HBO?

“You know, Gaia, there's something I've wanted to talk to you about,” Melanie said, waking Gaia from her reverie. Her tone was oddly serious. Gaia couldn't imagine what on earth Melanie, who barely knew her, could say that would be urgent.

“What's that?” Gaia said.

“Well, it's kind of awkward, and I don't want you to take this the wrong way….”

Gaia balled her hands into fists beneath the table.
I hate when people start off like that.

“The thing is, I like you, and there's nothing worse than being kept in the dark in a relationship, so I'm going to tell you. It's about Jake.”

Gaia's eyes shot open.
Jake.
Not the easiest topic right now. Despite cementing their “going out” status the evening before, she felt like she'd soured their meal by bailing when they'd been attacked. Her guilt accentuated by fear, Gaia had begun to assume the worst. Was Jake trash-talking about her cowardice at school?

“What about him?” Gaia asked, moving forward in her chair.

“It's just that…” Melanie looked down and sighed, as if gathering the courage to get this out. “Several girls at school—and I don't think I should name any names here—have said that Jake is a major flirt and that he hasn't slowed down a bit since you two started seeing each other.”

Gaia squinted, trying to keep from getting annoyed. That was the last thing she'd expected to hear. “What do you mean by ‘major flirt'?”

“I mean, like, egregious, over-the-top flirt. Like giving out his cell phone number and telling certain disreputable girls to stop by his place after school.”

Gaia's suspicions of Melanie were quickly overrun by the shock of this potential truth. Her brain sorted through images of their date the night before. Seen from the perspective of this new information, all of Jake's gentlemanly charm seemed kind of cheap. It was borderline suspicious how smooth he had been, picking out the perfect restaurant, ordering the food for her. But another set of images, of how incredible he had been the entire time in Russia, flooded into her brain as a stark counterexample.

“I'm not saying he's cheating on you or anything. I'm just saying you should watch your back.”

“Thanks for the scoop,” Gaia said with thinly
veiled sarcasm. “Are you sure your sources are reliable on this one?”

“Pretty solid” Melanie answered. She pressed her lips together in a look of maternal concern. “Let's just say I actually saw the matchbook that he'd written his cell phone digits on.”

“For who?” Gaia felt herself getting warm. “Who was the girl?”

“I'd like to tell you” Melanie said. “But I swore to her that I wouldn't tell anyone, least of all you.”

Gaia was about to protest Melanie's half loyalty when she noticed Megan and Laura returning from outside. Melanie leaned toward Gaia and set her hand on top of hers in a way that made Gaia want to vomit. “I can tell you this much,” she whispered. “She's got blond hair, and she's a junior.”

“Megan's so right,” Laura said as she approached. “It totally works.”

“What?” Melanie said.

“The whole smoking thing. You sit out there and puff away and act totally aloof and pow! Like clockwork, some cute guy will come up and ask for a light or bum a cigarette.”

“We just got asked out by a couple of guys from NYU Law School,” Megan added. “They were cute, in that goofy, blue-oxford-and-khakis kind of way.”

They sat down and started yakking away. Gaia was too overwhelmed to hear anything but the internal
sound of blood flooding her brain.
Jake a huge flirt? Writing digits on a matchbook?
She tried to picture the scene: Some vacuous bottle blond staring up at him as he scribbled out his number.
Call me anytime𔅾 Stop by after school sometime.
… The strange thing was, Gaia wasn't disgusted. She wasn't even able to convince herself that it was true. But she was overcome by a powerful magnetic draw to Jake. Last night's little mishap in the park seemed suddenly more problematic. If she had offended him by running away, and there was a good chance she had, then maybe he was so pissed, he was already giving out digits to other girls. Or maybe their relationship, from the beginning, had been a joke to him. Maybe Gaia was one of Jake's many women hangers-on. Maybe he was actually a teenage pimp with women in every borough. The din of frenetic coffee conversation rose to a roar in Gaia's brain.

JAKE MONTONE WIPED HIS BROW and kept trudging crosstown on Bleecker Street. It was a sunny June day, and as all New Yorkers know, sunshine in summer equals sweltering on the streets of Manhattan.
The second he emerged from the air-conditioned subway car, Jake had felt a rush of thick, smoldering air. But out here on the sidewalk, dodging people and roped-off construction sites and puddles of oil mixed with dirty rainwater, suffering through the stench of heated garbage, it was pure dog-eat-dog urban hell.

Considering he had been spontaneously attacked just blocks from here less than twenty-four hours ago, brisk was the appropriate pace. Jake pushed forward with long loping strides and little patience, passing old people, tourists, and slow walkers like so many traffic pylons.

Jake saw a little black cat leap across his path on padded feet.
Sweet. Black cat. Just what I need right now.
He was probably supposed to go throw salt over his shoulder or something, but there was no time. The cat turned and flashed its yellow eyes at Jake. He noticed that it had little white streaks on its face. Thanks, cat, Jake thought.
Thanks for not being black.

The sign on the corner of the street said, Don't Walk. Eyeing a stream of taxis and other cars, Jake obeyed. He wiped his face with his wrist and sighed.

“Hey,” a voice said. “Jake.”

Jake turned. It was Oliver, doing his best concerned-but-friendly look. Jake thought about how suspicious Gaia had been of him, how she had run from
him. She'd claimed Oliver had followed her for blocks. Had he been following Jake this whole time?

“Hey, Oliver” Jake said.

“We need to talk” Oliver said. “Gaia is in grave danger.”

Jake stopped. He looked at Oliver, trying to assess his intentions from his facial expression. Master Sing had taught him that people exuded their intentions unknowingly. It was just a matter of peeling past the exterior to sense the vibe someone was giving off. Oliver seemed pretty sincere. His bright blue eyes were locked tight on Jake's, and they had a certain genuine pleading aspect to them.

“How do you know this?” Jake asked.

Oliver ushered Jake up the block a ways and leaned against a redbrick wall. “How do you think, Jake? Let's just say that I know people. Intelligence types. And let's just say there's been a lot of chatter. I have reason to believe that a group of operatives is after her, but I don't know who's behind it yet. All I know is that they are pretending to be CIA as a guise for some other objective. That objective is as yet unclear….”

Jake thought back to the attack in the park. He remembered one of the guys yelling for Gaia to give up her cash. Funny, though, it hadn't felt like some random robbery. Those guys had definitely been
on
something, and they'd been after something. Something
specific. From Gaia. They'd clearly known who she was.

“I know that you've been spending time with her recently” Oliver said. “Has anything out of the ordinary happened?”

“No,” Jake lied.

“Any erratic behavior?”

Jake pretended to ponder this.
Hmmm. Is Gaia ever
not
erratic? Does spontaneous femininity constitute erratic behavior?
But Jake knew he had to say what Gaia would want him to say. “Nope. Not really.”