Undetectable (Great Minds Thriller) (4 page)

“
Ron
,” said the older man, who made no effort to rise from his chair. He had his head propped up in one hand, and his eyes were fixed on a point somewhere among the dust and crumbs of the lounge’s brown rug. If Kevin had not heard him speak, he might have thought he was dozing.

“I just call him that to annoy him,” Jean explained.

“Overkill,” Ron grunted, still staring at the rug. “
Everything
you do annoys me.”

“Hush.”

“I’m Kevin Brooks.” He shook hands with Jean and sat down in the third armchair.

“Ronald Clemson,” the older man said, still without looking up. “Art, Photography, Graphic Design. You’re teaching math?”

“That’s right.”

“Eighth grade?”

“As far as I can tell.”

Ron gave a grudging nod at this, as though being a math teacher fell, in his opinion, at least one step above the position of gas station attendant. “Good thing,” Ron added. “Guy before you only lasted a year. He was a jackass. You’re not a jackass, are you Kevin?”

And here Ronald Clemson looked up for the first time, fixing Kevin with a watery, red-eyed stare that was startling in its clarity. Kevin could see fierce intelligence behind his eyes.

“Hope not,” Kevin said.

“Uh-huh.” Ron seemed unimpressed. “Where were you before this?”

“Tanner and Trevor.”

“Never heard of it. What kind of name for a school is that?”

Jean tried to interrupt. “Ronny, honey. Easy. It’s – ”

“It’s not a school,” Kevin cut in smoothly. He was enjoying the conversation, despite Clemson’s tone. The whiff of confrontation was making his head feel better. Clearer. And that panicky voice from an hour ago – the one that had been so worried about him being
ready
– had gone completely silent.

At least for the moment.

Ron was still staring at him. “Not a school? Explain.”

“It’s a brokerage. I ran tech at one of their subsidiary hedge funds for a few years.”

“You were a broker?”

“I created the trading algorithms for the fund. The system for telling the computers what and when to buy and sell. But sure, a broker.”

“Whatever. You any good at it?”

Jean tried to pipe in again. “Ronny. Honestly, now. Give the boy a few minutes to settle in first. You’ve got all year to be rude to him.”

“It’s okay,” Kevin said. He turned back to Clemson, and he kept his expression steady. “Ronny,” he said slowly, “I was great at it.”

“Uh-huh,” Ron said again. Still not convinced, his tone said. Or at least pretending not to be. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-eight.”

Ron smiled. “Twenty-eight,” he repeated. He said the number as though it left a bad taste in his mouth. “How wise you must be. How
seasoned
. Did you manage to put away any spare cash while you were busy ruling the world down on Wall Street?”

Kevin affected ignorance. “Spare cash?”

Clemson fell for it. He let a little laugh escape him. “Did you
save
anything, Kevin my boy? Because now you’re a teacher.”

Kevin waited a moment before answering. “Oh, I understand now.” He kept his voice low. “You mean, do I have anything in the bank?”

“Exactly, Kevin. Because you can’t just – ”

“Two-point-five million,” Kevin said. And he shrugged. “Last I checked, that is. But I’ve been having a weird day, and it’s been a long while since I went over the portfolio. Could be up or down a few hundred thousand. You know how it goes.”

Ron opened his mouth, then let it close. There was a drawn-out silence. Then Jean laughed. He threw his head back, put his hands up like a churchgoer in rapture, and laughed at the ceiling until
there were tears in his eyes
. It was a mischievous, delighted laugh. “Oh, I
like
this boy!” Jean sang out. He wiped his eyes and then pointed at Clemson, whose face had gone red. “This boy just took you
home
, Ronny. Took you home and put you in the drawer.”

Ron was still staring at Kevin. He seemed to be weighing his options. “Bullshit,” he said finally.

“I wouldn’t bullshit you, Ronny.”

“You’ve got over two million dollars in the bank?”

“I do.”

“Right this minute?”

“You want to go buy a boat with me or something? Commission a statue?”

Ron sighed. All at once it became too much for him. He repositioned himself in his armchair, a process that involved considerable grunting and grimacing and coaxing of balky hip joints. Then he waved his hands in front of him as if he had just been forced to look at an offensive picture. The color was very bright in his cheeks. “The hell are you doing here, then?”

Kevin smiled for the first time. “Like I said, Ron, I wouldn’t bullshit you. I don’t have the first fucking clue.”

Partial transcript from a closed hearing before the budget subcommittee for the Secret Service (New Initiatives Division)

Department of Homeland Security

September 17, 2011:

Q: But Dr.
Levoir
, you of all people should know how carefully we control our annual financial distributions. Why should we consider these new techniques? There are currently no fewer than 14 programs slated for cutbacks, and yet you suggest that funding is now necessary for this unorthodox and completely untested initiative. We are not supermarket consumers here, Dr.
Levoir
– we are not drawn to the “new” label for its own sake. And you’ll concede, I think, that
t
errorism is nothing new.

A: I agree in principle, Senator. But the meaning of that word has changed. Terrorism no longer means men
with knives and bombs. It
means men with
anything
. Men who will use whatever tools are available to accomplish their mission.

Q: I don’t think I see your point.

A: Terrorism is creative now. More than ever, it’s inventive and unpredictable. An I.E.D
.
is exactly what it sounds like – something that has been improvised.

Q: Dr.
Levoir
, few people are worried about encountering road-side bombs on their way to work.

A: And yet this is exactly my point. We have an irrationally inflated sense of security. Terrorism, meanwhile, continues to evolve. It has come to a turning point, a moment of transformation. And the U.S. should be willing to embark on a creative, transformative campaign of its own.

Q: Fine. So explain the initiative.

A: It is as follows: we will be creating scrubbed agents. In fact, we have the first one moving into position now.

Q: Yes, I’ve read your abstract. But I’m asking you to
explain
. Let’s start with the term “scrubbed.”

Beautiful Emily

Ron Clemson was still staring at
Kevin
. Jean pulled himself under control and stopped laughing. The two of them regarded him breathlessly, looking at
Kevin
now with wonder, as though they were in the presence of an unidentified species of snake. Rare and beautiful, but also possibly deadly.

Rich person in the house. Careful.

Kevin felt good for the first time that morning. He realized he didn’t care whether he had said too much. He could handle these people. They were odd and cliquish, but so was any group when you first arrived. It didn’t matter if he had unsettled them, because he wouldn’t be staying here for more than two or three days. Maybe he’d even be gone by tomorrow. He’d get out of here just as soon as he had figured out how –

But then he noticed the clock.

Shit
.

The red hand was stuck again. And now he saw that Jean and Ron were not simply being quiet. Maybe that was how this had started, with them going silent as they gr
appled with the idea of a
millionaire teacher in their midst, but now they were not even
moving
.

Not moving at all.

They were like the red hand, they were
frozen
, they were –

“Drinks are on this one!” Jean said suddenly, pointing at Kevin as if the three of them were in a crowded bar.

Kevin stopped himself from jumping, but only barely.

The clock was moving again. Everything was fine.

Son of a bitch. How am I supposed to know when –

He heard the door to the lounge open behind him, and Kevin became aware of a sudden change in the atmosphere of the room. Ron and Jean were both facing the door, and he could watch their faces as they reacted to the person coming in. Ron’s expression changed. There was a subtle brightening, a slow lifting of his features; in another man, this change might have signaled happiness. Jean, on the other hand, was more overt. He simply threw his arms open and beamed. “Ms. Beck!” he sang, as if welcoming a long lost relative.

“Jean, for the last time, call me Emily. There are no students in here. Good morning, Ronald. And hello – ?”

Kevin stood and turned for an introduction, and suddenly he found himself off-balance. A moment ago he had been the master in this room. Not that being the alpha dog in a place like this was such a difficult thing; he was young, he was smart, and he was probably one of the few financially secure adults in the entire building. Plus, he had quashed Ron’s hazing attempt
and
had managed to turn Jean into an unabashed fan in a space of five minutes. But now the game had changed.

He had just re-acquired his second-fiddle status.