Oksa Pollock: The Last Hope (17 page)

A
S SOON AS OKSA BEGAN MAKING THE FIRST COPY
, G
US
had a feeling of foreboding. What Oksa thought of as a shushing sound sounded to Gus more like the roar of a jet at take-off. As the
corridor
was quite dark, the bluish flashes from the photocopier filtered under and around the door frame, projecting bright stripes onto the walls. Gus gritted his teeth and wrung his hands in misery, glancing up and down the corridor, terrified he might see someone coming. Suddenly he saw the light go on at one end: someone was climbing the stairs! With a little luck, the unwelcome intruder would stop at the first floor. But what if they didn’t? Gus felt icy perspiration trickling down his back and beading his forehead. His legs grew heavy, rooting him to the spot, and his mouth suddenly went dry. Without waiting to find out if the person who’d switched on the light in the staircase was coming up to the first floor, he started to cough. Because his throat was so tight and dry, this cough soon turned into a loud, irritating coughing fit. “
Oh damn!
” he panicked.
“This stupid cough is going to bring the whole school running! Oksa, Oksa, what have you got us into now?”

Jake, one of the monitors, had just appeared at the end of the corridor. Gus felt all his blood drain away. Inside Mr Bontempi’s office, the bluish flashes and the roaring of the photocopier had stopped. Gus vaguely heard the click of the lock: Oksa had probably locked herself inside. He’d expected her to come out when he warned her, but apparently she had
other plans. Unless she was trapped inside and counting on him to get her out of this tight spot?
“But what can I possibly do?”
he wondered in a panic.
“She was insane to take me with her!”

Fortunately Jake was nowhere near the most feared monitor in the school—which didn’t stop Gus being caught off guard when he called out.

“What are you doing there?”

“Er… I was waiting for Dr McGraw, um no, Miss Heartbreak… I wanted to ask her something about our history lesson,” he managed to splutter out in a monotone.

“I rather think you wanted to give her that, didn’t you?” teased the monitor, glancing at the rose Gus was holding.

“This? Er no,” replied Gus, feeling like a right idiot.

“Whatever, you can’t stay here anyway. You can ask her during your next lesson with her, okay? Go back to the courtyard now.”

“Okay!” said Gus, still unsure about going back downstairs on his own.

But he could hear the sound of voices, including those of Miss Heartbreak and McGraw, coming from the staircase. Nightmare! Struggling with his conscience, Gus had no choice but to walk back along the corridor and obediently, if reluctantly, go downstairs to the courtyard.

Inside Mr Bontempi’s office, Oksa had heard Gus’s entire conversation. Realizing that her friend was trapped, she turned off the photocopier and quickly put McGraw’s file back, pleased nonetheless that she’d been able to copy all of it. She rolled up the sheets of paper and stuffed them in the waistband of her skirt beneath her shirt. There were other voices in the corridor now, so she couldn’t get out that way. With her heart pounding, she quickly ran through her possibilities: hide under Mr Bontempi’s desk and risk being trapped there all afternoon a couple of inches from the Headmaster’s knees; shoot out of there and bolt away so quickly that no
one would have time to recognize her; or take the only remaining way out: the window. Behind her, she heard the Headmaster’s voice coming nearer. The door of the office was about to be opened. Ignoring the voice of caution, she opened the window, pulled the curtain behind her and knelt on the windowsill, partially shutting both sides of the window again. One of the countless gargoyles was sticking out in front of her, providing an additional surface. But when she looked down, she suddenly remembered she was on the first floor.
“Wow, this is high! A new challenge for Oksa-san!”
She shut her eyes and concentrated on the empty space below her, driven by her need to escape this trap of her own making. After two seconds of total self-absorption, she confidently stretched out her left foot and moved it up and down slightly, as if she were testing the terrain. The empty space felt solid. PHEW!
“It works!”
she told herself without losing focus. She put her foot down as if she were treading on firm ground and decided to step forward with her other foot. This was more hazardous and the consequences much more serious if Oksa failed, because she was in danger of crashing to the ground thirty feet below. This thought insidiously crossed her mind, making her wobble.

“No! Don’t even think about it,” she told herself.

Bravely she looked down one last time to make sure there was no one there. No, the coast was clear, the students were still in the cafeteria but not for long, it was now or never. Focusing on her descent, Oksa put her right foot forward and, since she didn’t feel as though she was falling, imagined floating like a feather until she finally landed on the flagstones, a few minutes before the students streamed out into the courtyard.

“You gave me the fright of my life,” Gus whispered in Oksa’s ear. “I thought I was going to have a heart attack. Are you okay? How did you get down?”

With her arms pressed to her sides, Oksa flapped her hands as if she were fluttering.

“From up there?” continued Gus, stunned, gazing up at the first floor.

“You bet!” nodded Oksa with a radiant smile. “And look what I’ve got here,” she continued, briefly showing him the roll of paper stuck in her waistband.

Gus whistled through his teeth in admiration.

“What are you two up to?” asked Merlin, coming over. “An airborne escape, eh?” he added, gazing intently at Oksa. “St Proximus must look pretty cool from the sky, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Why did he say that to me?” Oksa whispered to Gus. “Do you think he saw me?”

“Sshhh,” breathed Gus, “I don’t even want to think about it. Come on, it’s time to go.”

“I’ll see you in a bit, I just need to put something in my locker,” said Oksa, made uncomfortable by the roll of papers sticking to her stomach and unsettled by Merlin’s ambiguous words.

During Dr Lemaire’s lesson she sank into a soothing reverie. She’d had to concentrate so hard during her free fall that it had left her feeling both hyper and drained of energy. But the teacher’s calm voice eased these two extremes and put the young student in a more reasonable state of mind. As for Gus, he had suffered a few minutes of black terror, convinced he’d find Oksa smashed to a pulp on the flagstones of the courtyard.

Like all lessons before those given by Dr McGraw, this one flew past much too quickly. An hour later, with a great deal of sighing, the students made their way to the science room. Despite her best efforts and her good resolutions, it only took Oksa a quarter of an hour to attract attention:

“Miss Pollock!” bellowed Dr McGraw. “If it’s not too much to ask, would you do us the great honour of coming back down to planet Earth? We know you’re an expert in astronomy, but even if it’s a real disappointment for you, let me remind you that we’re in a maths lesson! Come and sit at this empty desk in the front row, so it’ll be easier for you to stay with us.”

Oksa blushed to the roots of her hair and obeyed. She’d been totally absorbed in her own thoughts. Just before McGraw had interrupted her musings, she’d been wondering what she would find in his file. What a crazy day… She looked despondently at the desk which McGraw had pointed out, a couple of inches from his table and the rostrum; it was such a popular seat that no one ever wanted to sit there! She had only just sat down when the classroom door opened to reveal Mr Bontempi. They all stood up.

“Dr McGraw, can you spare a moment, please?”

“Of course, Headmaster,” said Dr McGraw. “Mr Poicassé, you will look after the class while I’m gone.”

“Yes, sir,” said Merlin, looking worried.

After McGraw’s departure, it didn’t take the Year 8 Hydrogen
students
more than ten seconds to start whispering. At first, Merlin tried to reason with his classmates, stressing the dire consequences which would befall him, but they were more interested in letting off steam than listening to his arguments. There was a cheerful hubbub as some of them threw balls of paper at each other and others decided to run races around the desks. When Axel Nolan knocked over McGraw’s satchel on the rostrum, she unwittingly placed an idea in Oksa’s mind, which was working overtime: that school bag was bound to contain personal papers or other interesting things about their teacher. Taking advantage of the confusion, she stood up and went over to pick it up. Trying not to draw attention to herself, she risked peeking inside. She noticed his wallet immediately. She dipped her hand in and took it, amazed at her own daring. This type of thing was just not done, but her investigation was too important to let principles stand in the way. She went back to her seat, huddled over so that her body acted as a screen and opened the wallet. She had to be quick! A few seconds later she stood up and again went over to pick up the satchel, which was still lying on the floor, and put the wallet back. The room was in such an uproar she was sure no one had noticed anything. But to justify being near her
teacher’s desk, she set about coming to Merlin’s aid. Two precautions were better than one…

“Watch out, McGraw’s coming back!” she yelled loudly.

Everyone hurriedly returned to their seats. McGraw came in soon after and when he opened the door the Year 8 Hydrogen students were the image of a studious class, above all suspicion.

“O
RTHON-
M
C
G
RAW, BORN
1960
IN
M
ILWAUKEE
, Wisconsin, in the United States.”

Gus was sitting on Oksa’s bed. At last! The afternoon had dragged on interminably and, as soon as lessons were over, they’d raced back in record time to the novice spy’s home on their rollerblades. Breathlessly they had rushed into Oksa’s room and spread the photocopies of McGraw’s file all around them so they could study their booty carefully.

“That means he’s forty-nine,” mused Oksa. “Look, this lists his personal details: he lives at 12 Franklin Roosevelt Street, that’s appropriate for an American! He’s married and has a fifteen-year-old son. That must be who I saw in the photo.”

“There’s a photo?” asked Gus, interrupting her.

“Yes, in his wallet, there was the photo of a woman with a young boy. They were standing in front of what looked like the Capitol in Washington. So what else is on this sheet? Oh look! Here’s what he told Merlin—he was a researcher for a scientific laboratory attached to the CIA for ten years. He collaborated with NASA, working on the photoelectric effect and light waves. Wow! Take a look at this list of degrees—McGraw is a real brainbox!”

Oksa held out the long list to Gus and continued to leaf through the documents spread out on the bed. Suddenly she cried out in a shrill voice:

“Look at this! McGraw was an official representative for the American government for two years. Didn’t I tell you he’s a secret agent?”

Gus sighed noisily.

“But Oksa,” he remarked as tactfully as possible, “not everyone who works for a government is necessarily a secret agent.”

“Perhaps not
necessarily
, but it could be a good cover, don’t you think?”

“It is a bit strange that a man like him should be teaching maths and physical sciences in a school. I agree with you on that,” confirmed Gus, holding McGraw’s curriculum vitae.

“Going from NASA to physical sciences is a bit
spaced out
…” added Oksa.

Gus began laughing.

“NASA…
spaced out
… Congrats, very funny! I see your brain is working overtime.”

They continued to analyse the ten sheets of paper photocopied by Oksa for quite a while. The young spy was a little disappointed because the documents were mainly administrative in nature and not very interesting. Only one was a little more personal: McGraw’s application letter, written in a beautiful flowing hand, which outlined his reasons for wanting the job.

“Listen to this: he applied to St Proximus ‘for personal reasons’. Personal reasons, Gus! And he said that he was particularly keen to rediscover ‘the exhilaration of teaching younger generations’! Honestly, give me a break,” said Oksa angrily.

“It is a bit much,” agreed Gus, frowning.

“A bit suspicious, you mean!” added Oksa excitedly. Gus took the letter and read it carefully. He had to agree—it did confirm Oksa’s suspicions. He put it down and lay back on her bed, stretching out his arms and legs, then looked at his friend sitting cross-legged, scrutinizing each of the sheets that she’d photocopied at such risk to herself. She was incredible, so strong and determined. And yet he knew how hard she was finding
things at the moment. He felt a surge of admiration and concern. As long as she didn’t flip out…

Oksa felt exultant. She might not have learnt as much as she would have liked but the fact that she’d pulled off such a daring exploit gave her a feeling of intense satisfaction. Sneaking into Bontempi’s office and going through McGraw’s file! Looking inside his wallet without him being any the wiser! The work of a true pro, even though it had given her palpitations and brought her out in a cold sweat more than once, particularly when she’d made her amazing, death-defying descent from the first floor.

“And were you able to see what there was in his wallet? Anything interesting?” asked Gus, still stretched out on the bed, never taking his eyes off his friend.

“No,” continued Oksa, without looking up, “not really. Everything you usually find in a wallet: credit card, driving licence, receipts, scribbled phone numbers, nothing really exciting. There was also a card with an odd phrase written on it: “If you think you’re stronger than me, you’ll have to prove it.”

“Strange…”

The two friends fell silent for a moment. Gus nodded, engrossed in what Oksa had just told him. Oksa, on the other hand, was finding it hard to relax from the tension that had been tying her stomach in knots all day. She would never have thought she was capable of doing anything like that. It was easy to imagine it or daydream about doing it! She loved pushing the boundaries like this, but at the same time she was alarmed by what she’d done. She thought about the unknown risks she’d taken for what was after all a pretty mediocre result and about what would have happened if McGraw or Bontempi had noticed anything. No, better not to think about that, unless she
really
wanted to scare herself silly. As usual, she was more afraid afterwards than she had been during. Which was something that could become a problem…

“Anyway, it was a masterstroke!” said Gus breaking the silence.

“All the same I was a little scared,” admitted Oksa, ignoring Gus’s compliment.

“Oh, Oksa! It’s true that sneaking into the Headmaster’s office and photocopying teachers’ files isn’t strictly legit, I won’t disagree with you. But the circumstances are exceptional. McGraw isn’t on the level and we can now prove it. You didn’t do anything really wrong, you just photocopied a file and looked inside someone’s wallet, it’s no big deal. You didn’t steal anything!”

“Well—” breathed Oksa, miserably studying her badly bitten nails.

“Wait… don’t tell me you took something from his wallet?” cried Gus suddenly, sitting bolt upright on the bed.

“This,” admitted Oksa, taking from her pocket a piece of paper folded in eight, the corners dog-eared with use.

“Oh no,” groaned Gus, rubbing his forehead wearily. “You’re insane! What’s on that piece of paper then?” he continued, his curiosity getting the better of his concern.

Oksa carefully unfolded it, smoothing it out with the palm of her hand, and they both studied it intently to find out what it contained:

The two friends looked at each other in confusion, then again tried to decipher the mysterious document so they could understand the
meaning
of the letters and numbers.

“It’s like a list,” said Gus. “With initials and dates.”

He carried on carefully reading the sheet of paper. Suddenly he exclaimed:

“Hey, that’s odd! There’s my mother’s date of birth! And beside it, the town where she was born!”

Oksa narrowed her eyes in amazement and found the line Gus was pointing to.

“There—look!
‘J.K. 12/12/64 Plzeň (Czech.) 04/77+02/78’
.”

“Do you know your mother’s maiden name?” asked Oksa,
increasingly
intrigued.

“Kallo,” breathed Gus, suddenly looking very drawn. “With a K. Before marrying my father, she was called Jeanne Kallo and she was born on 12th December 1964 in Plzeň in Czechoslovakia. How come my mother’s name is on a list drawn up by McGraw?”

“And above all
why
?” added Oksa, breathlessly.

Silently they exchanged a look of concern and amazement.

“Look!” he said pointing to the last line. ‘O.P.
29/09/96 Paris (Fr.) 05/09
’. That’s you…”

He groaned as he watched the blood drain from Oksa’s face.

“You’re bang on,” she whispered, looking stunned.

“If the numbers afterwards represent dates, as far as you’re concerned, that would correspond to May 2009…”

“Which would mean that McGraw already knew about me then. He came to St Proximus because of me, I was right!”

“It looks like it, I’m afraid,” muttered Gus.

Oksa shivered. She felt a certain satisfaction at coming up with what had today proved a watertight theory. But facing the facts sent shivers up her spine. Breathing heavily, her head swimming with fear, she fell back on the bed and stared at the ceiling.