Tunnel Vision Page 16

  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?”

  “Oh, but I have a tunnel today, to work on moving the subject. Progress after our breakthrough last week.”

  I expected as much. He takes a bag from his briefcase, hands it over. It’s another key, this time a smaller silver one. I close my hand around it, hoping for the beach.

  “This one is set up to test your ability to move his hands, arms. Don’t be afraid to go deep, like last time.”

  It’s a man. Average in every way: height, size, looks. Hair muddy brown, cropped short. Location: Arlington, Virginia. DARPA headquarters. 3701 North Fairfax Drive, fourth floor, room 420. The room is empty except for the man, a camera, and the table where he sits, arms laid out in front of him. There are items on the table within easy reach: a pen, a pad of paper with some writing on it, a stapler, a paper clip. The man doesn’t move. He simply sits, eyes open, waiting.

  It’s creepy. It’s like the guy is a doll, a puppet, just waiting for me to take him over. All kinds of wrong. Still, I keep going.

  He’s a little nervous, worried about what this is for. They wouldn’t tell him, except he was to sit here and not move. His fingers twitch, and he stills them.

  I feel myself stretching into him, crystallizing. This is where I could probably control him, if I wanted to, if I did it right. I don’t try. I ignore his limbs, dive deeper into his brain, and rattle off details.

  His name is Mike Holmes. Research assistant at DARPA. Working on the AFPA project, an electro-optical imaging sensor for surveillance. Though he’s just an assistant. Treated like one too. If they’d just recognize his last proposal—

  Far enough. I open my eyes. “Couldn’t get him to move. Sorry.”

  Dr. Tenney writes something, flicks a look at me. “Try again, please.”

  I go in again, but I still don’t try. I pretend to. I grunt, crease my forehead all up. “Nothing.” I rub at my head.

  “Are you certain you’re trying, Jake?”

  “Of course,” I say, innocent faced. “Why wouldn’t I be trying?”

  He gathers up his things, disappointment stamped all over him. “Well, it can’t happen every time. We’ll try again Friday. Perhaps you’ll be a bit … cheerier then.”

  “Sure, doc. I’ll work on my cheery, just for you.”

  He rolls his eyes and leaves.

  I yawn big, stretch, and wait a couple minutes. Then I wander over to the bed to lie down and wait for the lights to go out. That should be long enough so I won’t waste my time on him walking down the hallway.

  I push my hand carefully into the fold between the mattresses, curl it around the notebook. Finally. Showtime.

  He sits in Dr. Miller’s office, room 205 on the second floor of the east wing. She’s in a suit again, red lipstick a slash. She pages through his notebook, frowning. “That was particularly useless.”

  “I agree,” Dr. Tenney says, his voice a rumble in his chest I can feel. “Something was wrong with him today. He is hiding something, or afraid.”

  “Afraid to go further? I’m not surprised.” She clicks her tongue. “He’s smart enough to have grasped the consequences. I suspect that’s why he was trying to get an object from Dr. Milkovich—he is aware of his potential value. He wants to know what we have planned.”

  “He cannot be allowed to know anything,” Dr. Tenney says. “He’ll shut down.”

  She glares at him. “Of course. I handled it. I don’t think he’ll be doing that again. If he does try anything…” She raises her eyebrows. “Well. Nothing will happen to the boy if he lives up to his potential. But I need better results from you. You did not get any information on Grigory Lukin. And my sources still have not located him. We need more from Jacob.”

  I struggle to stay on the surface of Dr. Tenney, to not go deeper, not yet. But I’m sinking. It’s been a long tunnel already. I have to come out for a minute.

  I lie still, counting my breaths. Dying to go back in. But I have to pace it. Ninety-nine … one hundred.

  I go back. Waste a few seconds on description, location.

  “… use this relationship with Proctor,” she’s saying. “Maybe he can extract some information you can’t. I’ll speak with him, and let you know what I want you to target.”

  “Have you thought of going to the sister for info on Grigory? He might have contacted her.”

  Myka? He knows how close I am with Myka. I’ve told him, confidentially. I want to scream at him, stop him. Instead I go deeper.

  “She’s under surveillance,” Liesel says. “If there is contact, we should know real-time.” Dr. Tenney is impatient, ready to go. She never listens to him anyway. She just wants to hear herself talk, like always.

  I need an object, and I may never get a better chance. I let myself solidify into him, into his body instead of just his mind. I feel him. It’s familiar, now. I’ve gone into him so many times.

  He looks over the desk littered with stacks of papers, books, notes, sliding every which way. So messy. How does she find anything? Nice pen, though.

  It’s a silver pen, the kind you get in recognition of something. Insight is engraved on the side. Perfe
ct.

  She glances at the monitor on her desk, the feed of Jacob’s room. “We’re done. You can go now. Let’s try for better on Friday.” She turns to her computer, dismissing him.

  I don’t have long. You want to take the pen, I tell him, as though he’s thinking it himself. Even superspy won’t be able to figure out where it went. There. Pick it up, drop it into your briefcase while she’s looking at her computer. I nudge his body to lean forward, his arm to swing out, sweep the pen off the desk.

  He leans forward, slightly, and swipes the pen into his own briefcase. Serves her right, the monumental bitch.

  I yank myself out of it, panting, sweaty. Exhausted from the effort, but hyped too.

  I did it. I found the right motivation for him, and I got something of hers, something I can use. Now if he just keeps it in his briefcase until Friday, I’ll have one more piece of stealing to do and I’m golden.

  Whew.

  I didn’t learn much today. Just that Dr. Tenney doesn’t like her any more than I do. They’re watching Myk, and they haven’t found Dedushka.

  And Liesel is serious about her threats. But that doesn’t surprise me. So am I.

  24

  “Dreaming” by Nikki & Rich

  That night I dream of Dedushka.

  It’s Christmas, the year I was five, and we were in North Carolina. I always go back to that year when I think of Christmas. Mom was six months pregnant with Myka, so it was my last as an only child. I was old enough to understand what was going on but still utterly believed in Santa Claus. Both Dad and Dedushka were there. Plus I got my first real bike with no training wheels, a red one. It was pure magic.

  In the dream I’m sitting alone in front of the Christmas tree, piles of presents and scrunched wrapping around me, playing with my new Godzilla. Mom’s in the kitchen baking cinnamon rolls, the sweet, heavy scent making me hungry. But I remember I have to do something. There’s somewhere I urgently need to be. Something about Dad.

  I drop the Godzilla and run to the hallway, which is overgrown with bushes and vines creeping up the walls, clogging every inch. I shove my way through, branches slapping my face, my legs, scratching at me. Down to Dad’s office. Something’s wrong. I have to get in.