Tunnel Vision (20 page)

She opens the box and pulls out the first bag; a small, gold dangly earring.

My chest tightens. A woman hostage.
Okay. Go.

She’s too thin, hollows under her cheeks. Her hair is dark with grease and dirt, stringing over her face. Location: Alaska. Harding Lake, forty-four miles south of Fairbanks. A cabin on the east side of the lake, in the trees at the end of Friendly Road. She’s on a bed in the corner of the one-room cabin, handcuffed to the metal frame. A man sits in a chair, watching her. He licks his thin lips, slow, eyes never leaving her face. She’s terrified. Hopeless. No one knows where she is. No one can save her. She’ll die here.

I come out of it quick. “Enough?”

Bunny pauses. “Yes. Thank you.”

I go to the mini-fridge for a Coke and suck it down, eyes unfocused. The hostage ones rattle me. It’s harder to be in their heads than the bad guys, the people who are wanted for their own choices. But they’re still why I do this. For now.

After a while I circle back to the table, take a deep breath, and drop into the chair. Silently Bunny passes the next bag over.

It’s a girl’s diary, a fancy one with pink and green swirls all over the cover, and a small gold lock. Myka had one like that when she was nine or ten, pink and silver. She’d been so protective of it I hadn’t even had the heart to spy, to find out who she thought was cute and which friend was fighting with who.

Deliberately I pull this one out of the bag, run a finger over the swirls. It makes me feel close to Myk somehow. Even though this isn’t hers. Even though she’s far away.

I squeeze my eyes shut.

Sucking, empty blackness. Painful. Frost filling up my veins.

I gasp out of it, my hand still flat on the cover, and shove it away. It slides too far, into Bunny’s lap. “Dead,” I manage.

That little girl, whoever she was. Too late to save her.

Bunny’s eyes look big in her face. “Do you need to stop?”

I swallow, breathe, shake my head again. Not if there are some in there I
can
save. She takes her time wrapping the book in its bag, settling it in the box. Like a good umpire brushing off the plate, giving the catcher time to recover from a hit to the groin.

When I’m ready I hold up a hand, and she passes me the next one.

We do two more. One is alive, and hopefully will stay that way if responders can get there fast enough. The last—another woman, her object a mini–Big Ben—isn’t.

Did she get to Big Ben before she died? I’ll never know. Or her name.

Bunny sits a minute, looking at the box, her pale hair swinging around her chin. A pink blush creeps across her cheeks as I stare at her.

She’s almost pretty, with the pink. And looks young, almost my age. Of course I haven’t seen a girl other than her and Liesel for a couple months—and I see Bunny almost every day—so maybe I’m losing perspective. But I think she might have a little crush on me, if she’d let herself.

I miss Rachel. I wish, powerfully, that she were here right now. Just for an hour. Even if I couldn’t touch her, just talk. About movies I haven’t seen, comics I haven’t read. I’d even take that.

But I’ll never see Rachel again. Even if I do get out of here. She thinks I’m dead.

Bunny lifts her eyes to mine. “I know it’s hard for you, being here. I hope you know we’re doing good work. We’re making a difference in this room.”

Dedushka’s voice echoes in my head.
“At the expense of yourself? They will take everything from you, these people. They will suck you up until you are dry and then toss you away.”

I drop my head, don’t answer. There’s nothing to say.

I do another tunnel that night, on my own in the dark with Ana’s bracelet. After that little girl, that diary, I have to see Myk again. Even if she’s hurting, I need to know she’s alive, okay.

But when I go to Ana, she isn’t in my house anymore. She’s sitting in a car in New Jersey, watching a warehouse with binoculars.

She’s off the case. That means Mom and Myk really are alone. And I can never tunnel to them again. It’s just me.

Now I really have to scrounge all the information I can and find a way out of this.

*   *   *

On Saturday I decide to try to get an object from Bunny. I probably won’t learn much from her—I doubt she’s on the inside track, like Liesel—but it can’t hurt.

I’ve only thought of one way to get an object from her, and it isn’t very nice. But if it comes down to nice Jake staying in a cell forever as a pawn, or not-nice Jake taking control of his own life …

When she comes in I’m sitting on the bed, legs swinging. I smile, lazily. “Thought you’d never get here.”

Her forehead creases. “What?” She’s wearing the silver clips in her hair, on either side, just like every day.

I shrug. “You’re all I have to look forward to, Bunny.”

The blush spreads across her cheeks like magic. Jesus. I was right about the crush.

I feel like I’m being disloyal to Rachel even pretending this. Which is weird, maybe, since I can’t see her again. But real.

She drops the box on the table too hard. “You shaved your beard.”

“Yeah. I figured that was enough of the mountain man look and requested a razor.” Which they took away as soon as I was done. “Mostly I thought you’d like it better. What do you think?” I sit across from her, watch her as she sets up. She’s all fumbly, glancing at me sideways. I don’t want to overdo the flirting—but I don’t seem to be.

“Nice.” She says it soft, ducking her head.

“Bunny.”

“Yes?”

I clear my throat. “I want to say … thanks.”

“Thanks?” Her mouth opens a little, her eyes wide.

“For the other day. What you said about doing good work? It’s hard for me to remember sometimes.” This, at least, is true. “It meant a lot.”

She smiles, her whole face brightening. “You’re welcome. It is important.
You
are.”

I study her intently. Tilt my head. “Can I do something?”

She laughs, a tiny bubbly laugh she stops as soon as it starts. “What?”

I reach across the table slowly, like I’m approaching a small animal, until my fingers are in her hair. Her breath goes fast, her eyes fixed on me. I undo the clips, one, two, and let her hair fall.

“I wondered how it would look like that. Much better.”

I draw my hand back, the clips safely tucked in my palm, and hide them in my pocket, under the table.

She beams at me.

I breathe. That wasn’t so bad. Wrong, yes. Manipulating her. But not
evil
or anything. Now to do some work, and then later I can tunnel to her. And not flirt quite so hard next time.

She goes for a bag, then stops, hand in midair. Listening. Her cheeks blaze, instant, like somebody splashed red paint across them. “Yes,” she whispers. “I understand.”

She keeps her eyes down, holds out one hand to me, palm up. It’s shaking. “I need my clips back, please.”

Crap. I look at the camera. It worked on her, but not on them.

Slowly I take them out, hand them to her. Without a word she flings them into the box, picks it up, zips to the door, and slams her badge in the key reader. When the door opens she scurries out, without looking back.

I let out a long breath, stand, and go to the black chair. I sit, hands flat on the arms of the chair, and wait. If I’m right, it won’t be long. About as long as it would take to get here from the second floor.

I’m right. The door opens in a few minutes.

I stay like that, back to the door.

“Jacob Lukin.” It sounds like a curse.

I turn slowly in the chair. Liesel stands inside the door, her entire body rigid.

My face tries a smile, but it doesn’t get very far before sinking away.

“What the
hell
did you think you were doing?”

“Flirting?” I clear my throat again. “You didn’t say I couldn’t—”

She paces in front of me. “Don’t mess with me, Jacob. You were trying to steal objects from her. You
did
steal objects from her. What were you going to do with them?”

I haven’t seen this side of her before. This seems like a good time to not answer.

“Stand up.”

I stay where I am. I keep my face, my hands, perfectly still.

“Stand up, and don’t make me ask you a third time. This”—she flings a hand out, pointing around the room—“may not be ideal for you. But it can be a whole lot worse, with a few words from me.”

I push myself up. She crosses to me, thrusts her hands in my pants pockets, one after the other. The first is empty. The second, the right pocket, has Ana’s bracelet. She tugs it out, triumphant. “What is this?”

“My girlfriend’s,” I mumble.

“Rachel Watkins? No, I don’t think so. You forget I know everything about you. Whose is it, really? Your mothers? Your sisters? Were you tunneling to them on your own?”

Almost. I flinch, but don’t answer.

She closes her fist around the bracelet. “I’ll need to keep this.”

“No,” I say through gritted teeth. “I don’t have anything else left of them.”

Even though I can’t use it, I want it. It’s all I have, except Dad’s watch.

She breathes through her nose. “You shouldn’t have anything left,” she says, lower. Almost gentle again. “You need to let them go, let that life go. And I
cannot
take the risk that you’re tunneling privately. As to today’s incident.” Gentle vanishes. Her lips pinch tight. “I will not tolerate this kind of behavior. You will be told what you need to be told, and nothing else. You will not use my staff, and you will not go behind my back for more information. Got it?”

Except for Dr. Tenney,
I think, thankful I hid the notebook in the mattress.
And you, when I get something of yours. And I will.

She takes a step closer, pushing into my space. “Do you understand, Jacob?”

“Yeah.” I meet her soul-sucking eyes. “I understand, Liesel.”

“Good. Since you have compromised Dr. Milkovich, she is off the project. I will find someone else.” She pauses, narrows her eyes. “Male, I think.”

Because I need less estrogen in my life. That leaves me with Liesel representing the female sex, and she definitely does not count.

“In the meantime, if we have any urgent work for you to do, I will handle it personally.”

“And today?” I ask.

“Today I’m busy,” she snaps. “Consider yourself lucky I don’t put you in a real cell, in cuffs, for a while. If you try any more tricks like that, I will. Be careful, Jacob. I will be watching you very closely.”

She spins, thrusts her card in the reader only slightly less violently than Bunny had, and leaves.

That went really well, I think.

23

“Things Are Looking Up” by Blues Traveler

By Monday morning I’m ready to do something again, even if it’s DARPA work. Even with some random new guy. When the door opens and I see the shock of red hair, the freckles, I grin.

“Thank God it’s you. I figured she was going to send some tough hard ass to keep me in line.”

Eric sets down his box and holds out his hand. I shake it. He smiles his easy smile. “Hello. I’m Eric, the tough hard ass sent to keep you in line.”

We laugh, and sit at the table.

“Seriously,” I say. “I can’t believe they sent you here. I figured you were long gone, off on bigger and fantastically more exciting assignments.”

He shrugs. “I am a field agent, but there are very few people who know about you—and it seems they want to keep it that way.” He gives me a shrewd look. “So what happened with Bunny?”

My turn to shrug. Even though I’m glad to see him—even though I trust him far more than any of the others—his loyalty is still to them, and I know it. “Misunderstanding.”

“I see.” His eyes travel around the room, taking it in. “You okay here?”

I glance at the camera, then at him. “Brilliant.”

“Is there anything I can get you? To make it easier?”

I smile.

“No, I can’t get you a girl, or porn, or the Internet,” he says.

I snort. “A card key? A field trip? A new room, with an actual window? Five minutes of sunshine?”

He gives me a wry smile. “Nice try. Look, I really am supposed to keep a close eye on you. No stealing objects from me, or other shenanigans. All right, mate? We do that crazy thing you do, and that’s it.”

I nod. I don’t think I could steal anything from him anyway. He’s too sharp. And he knows me a lot better than Bunny ever did.

It’s a relief having someone here who knew my life before. He sat in Mrs. Skinner’s class, ate lunch with Kadeem and Chris, met Pete. I know he left at the same time I did … “Ed” is dead too … but it’s almost like having a smidgen of home. It’s more than I’ve had in a long time.

“At least you know where the secure facility is now,” I say. “You’re moving up in the spy world.”

He laughs. “I guess I am.”

“Eric…” I pause, then push on. “What’s it like out there? Are there wars? Earthquakes? They … don’t tell me anything.”

He opens his mouth, but the little voice in his ear clearly tells him not to answer. “The same as it always is. But we have work to do, to help it stay safe out there. You ready?”

I sigh. “Sure. Let’s go.”

After the second tunnel I get slammed with a headache, a bad one. It had been a couple weeks, and I’d almost forgotten how disabling they can be. In two seconds I turn into a puddle on the floor, screaming.

Way to break Eric in. The rest of the day is shot, and I miss another session with Dr. Tenney.

It will have to be Wednesday before I learn anything else.

*   *   *

Dr. Tenney is growing a beard. I keep staring at it. His face looks different with it, more professional, doctorlike. Like he’s channeling Freud.

“And Dr. Milkovich’s departure?” he asks, scribbling in his notebook of the day. “How are you adjusting to that?”

I shrug. “Fine. Who cares?”

He glances at me, makes a note. “You seem unhappy, Jake. Has something changed?”

“No.” Other than that I found out you’re lying to me, you two-faced bastard. “Can we be done now?”