Tunnel Vision Page 22

  “Know what?” I ask.

  “Are you seeing someone right now? Here in the room with us?”

  I glance at the bed. That Dr. Tenney nods, waves me on. Oddly, he pulls a cigar out of his pocket and starts to light it, puffing. “Yes.” I turn back. “I should know what?”

  “That the drug we’ve been feeding you so blithely has a significant side effect, Jake. That in tests it’s been shown to cause severe auditory and visual hallucinations.”

  I don’t react.

  “That we’ve known for some time that you’ve been experiencing these hallucinations.” He pauses. “Why haven’t you told us about them?”

  I push away, pace to the bed. Stand over the hallucination. I can smell the cigar smoke, drifting into my face. Fake Dr. Tenney grins with the cigar in his mouth. I swipe a hand through him, and he vanishes. Sometimes they do. “Would you?”

  There’s a long, strained silence.

  Then the chair creaks, and I hear the squeak of his shoes across the floor. He stops behind me, his mouth near my ear.

  “It’ll get worse,” he says, low. “With every dose. Liesel knows it. Eventually you will be useless to her. To anyone. You won’t be able to tell visions from reality. You’ll trade this cell for one with rubber walls.”

  I don’t know if his breath smells like cigars, or if it’s still the lingering scent of the hallucination. I stare straight ahead, at the wall. The solid, plaster wall.

  “You have to stop,” he whispers, urgent. “Stop the medicine. Stop tunneling. They won’t listen to me.”

  The door opens, and Dr. Tenney steps away. It’s not Liesel, though. It’s Eric. The loyal minion.

  “Time’s up,” he says.

  I watch Dr. Tenney pick up his pen, his notebook, the earpiece, the light slanting on his head a comfort. Familiar.

  “Thanks,” I say. I mean it. It’s been a twisted relationship. But he’s trying to help, at least now. He nods once, and Eric ushers him out.

  Somehow I know that’s the last time I’ll ever see him.

  32

  “Revenge” by Sean Murray

  I sit on the edge of the bed, dressed in shorts, a T-shirt, and sneakers. Ready.

  Not ready.

  No, ready. I have to be. It’s almost time. In my pocket I rub the cloth between my fingers, close my eyes. A quick dip first.

  Eric stands in a small, white room with Liesel. Room 322. The gun is heavy in the back holster, but it feels right. Its weight, its bulk, are familiar. Liesel checks her own gun, an M-9. He’d expected her to carry something smaller.

  “You sure you want him uncuffed during the meet?” he says. It doesn’t make sense for security. She insists he be cuffed in the building, for God’s sake.

  “It’s the appearance of the thing.” She secures the strap on her shoulder holster, checks the safety is on, and tucks it away. “He wants to see the boy is well treated, not a prisoner. We’ll show him.”

  “But we’re going to take Lukin anyway,” he says. “So what difference does it make?”

  She pulls her jacket on, her lips drawn down. “Who knows what Lukin has planned. Media? Witnesses? We know he’s not stupid. I’m preparing for all contingencies.” She throws him an ugly glance. “Now stop questioning me, and let’s get on with it.”

  One more thing, Eric.

  I mold into him, use his hands to feel in his jacket. Yes, the pills are there, right pocket.

  I should’ve known he’d be prepared, bring them. Just in case.

  I come out, swing my legs against the bed. That’s enough to tell me what I need to know. They’re planning on taking Dedushka, and they’re both armed.

  Go time.

  * * *

  They cuff and hood me for the trip. I’m led up in an elevator—I can feel the movement—and out of the building. There’s the warm touch of real air on my mouth, my arms, and legs. I stop to feel it. But I’m pushed on, up a step, settled on a seat. The motion of a car starts under me.

  God, how I hate this hood. I swear I’m not going to wear it ever again, no matter what happens.

  It seems like a long time in the car. I use the time to prepare. I play out what I have to do in my head, see the kinks, steel myself.

  What if I can’t get out again?

  I can’t worry about that. I have to just do it, trust that it’ll be okay. This is my only chance—and Dedushka is risking his freedom on it too. I can’t fail.

  Finally, the car stops. I wait. I feel people moving around me. Eric pulls off the hood, and I squint in the sudden light. I’m in the back of a van, white just like Ana’s, sunlight pouring in the front windows. I stare at the light, the dust motes dancing in it. He smiles at me as he takes the cuffs off, his eyes crinkling in the old way. “Ready?”

  I’m ready, I think. But you’re not.

  I stretch my hands, take a deep breath. “Ready.”

  He opens the back, and I step outside. And stop.

  We’re in the parking lot of a park. There are trees everywhere: cottonwoods, aspens, oaks, all in full green leaf, the grass bright. The air is hot and still. It smells like summer.

  The last time I was outside, it was the dead of winter. I breathe, deep.

  This. Oh God, this. I can’t go underground again.

  “This way.” Liesel’s voice is packed with tension, her hand on her side, where I know the gun is. There are five or six other agents there, men and women, all openly holding weapons.

  Two of them walk across the lot, toward a path, Liesel behind them.

  Eric takes my elbow, and we follow. There’s one car—a dark blue Cherokee—parked a few spots down. Dedushka really is here. There are no other cars, no other people. They must’ve closed it down for this.

  I judge it all, the angles, the people. The strategy. Contingencies. Thinking of Call of Duty, Halo.

  Pay attention to everything. Use everything.

  Be ruthless.

  We walk on into the park, halfway between the two cars. Dedushka sits at a picnic table, watching the parade of agents. When I come in sight, his face lights up, his teeth gleaming through the beard.

  “Dedushka!” I try to run to him, but Eric blocks me, his arm in front of my chest.

  “Not like that,” he says, low. “Slowly.”

  Dedushka stands up, his arms in the air.

  “Is he clear?” Liesel calls. “No others?”

  “Clear,” an agent calls back from behind Dedushka.

  “Let them go forward, then.” She turns to me, her expression severe, nervous. In this moment I’m amazed she’s gone through with this. She must want him badly. “You have five minutes. Remember what to say.”

  I remember what I’m supposed to do.

  I walk forward, at a snail pace, about six guns trained on me. Finally, I’m close enough. Dedushka holds his hands out, and I take them, squeeze.

  The cloth is curled in my fingers.

  “Yakob,” he says, loud enough for them to hear it. “Malchik. You are all right?”

  “I’m okay, Grandpa.” He flinches at “Grandpa”—he knows I’d never call him that to his face. I hope he understands that means anything I say, aloud, is a lie. “They’re treating me well. I’m fine.”

  He leans in to kiss me on each cheek. “The plan?” he whispers, his whiskers tickling my cheek. He still smells of tobacco.

  “We only have a couple seconds. Go along with whatever happens, okay?”

  “Da,” he whispers.

  “Hug me,” I say, “and hold me up. Now.”

  I close my eyes and tunnel to Eric.

  Hempstead Lake State Park, New York. Eric watches the two suspiciously. They’re too close, too long. Is Jake … sagging? What’s going on? He’s ready to move.

  I flood myself into him with all my strength, and move for him. I pull his gun, stride straight to me and Dedushka, and pretend to give myself a whack on the head with the butt of the pistol, holding back the hit so it’s not as hard as it looks. Dedushka
lets go, and my limp body rolls to the ground, fingers still tightly closed.

  I feel Eric inside, stunned. But I have control now. Thank God I practiced this. All those hours with Dr. Tenney.

  “No!” Dedushka cries, at the same time Liesel yells “Eric! Stop!”

  I make Eric pull my body up, cock his gun, and put it to my head. The gun is a lot heavier than I expected, but Eric’s hands know what to do. “Shut up, Grandpa,” I say, in Eric’s voice. He turns to Liesel, holding my body to his chest as a shield. “And you!” he yells. She’s pointing her gun at us, steady. “All of you! Stand down. I’ll kill him, and none of us want that.”

  “Eric,” Liesel says, tight. Utterly shocked. “What are you doing?”

  “I got a better offer,” I say in Eric’s voice. “I’m taking him and the old man. Get out of my way. You can shoot me, but I’ll get my shot into that valuable brain first. And the second shot will be for the old man. You’ll lose them both, and you won’t have any chance to get them back.”

  I make him start dragging me, backward, toward the Jeep. He’s strong, and I’m skinny. It’s not hard. He jerks his chin at Dedushka. “You too, Grandpa. We’re all going.”

  “You got a better offer?” Liesel says, still firmly controlled. “From whom?” She gasps. “Is it Smith? Wait. It was you who called Grigory! You set this up, so you could take both of them!”

  “Bingo,” Eric says.

  Why not? It’s working out even better than I thought. I can feel the real Eric struggling against me, and I’m crystallizing in him badly. But I have to stay put. I have to be him for as long as it takes.

  “I told you to stand down, all of you.” I stop, wait.

  Liesel gives the go-ahead, and they all set their guns on the ground. Even her. “Hands in the air,” I say. I make Eric look at Dedushka hard. “Take her gun, put it in my holster. No funny business, now.”

  Dedushka nods, playing the part of the scared old man. He scurries over to Liesel, picks up her gun, and slides it in Eric’s back holster.

  Object acquired. I feel more stuck than I’ve ever felt, like I’m part of him. I don’t know how I’ll ever get out.

  “Time to go,” Eric’s voice says. I make him drag me again. Only a little farther.

  “You won’t get away with this.” Liesel’s voice is spiked with fury. “We’ll have you—and them—back within the hour. And then you’ll be the one in the cell.”

  “I wouldn’t be cocky like that,” Eric says. “I’ll have my gun to his head the whole time, until we’re safe, until the exchange is made. You try anything, bye bye assets.”

  We reach the Jeep. Finally.

  “You drive,” I make Eric say to Dedushka. “Do anything crazy and I’ll kill him. Now open the back.”

  Dedushka flings the back door open, and I make Eric heave my body in, diagonally across the seat. I have Eric jump in too, shut the door. Dedushka runs around to the front, jams the key in, and slams his door. He starts the engine.

  “It is you, malchik?” he asks quietly.

  I keep the gun up, showing it to them all. Liesel and the others watch us, their hands still high. “It’s me, Dedushka. Go.”

  He floors it backward, then across the lot and onto the street, with the driving skills I saw before. Quickly I pull Liesel’s gun out of the back holster, toss it onto the front seat. Then the one in my hand. Then the T-680 from Eric’s jacket.

  “Keep driving,” I make Eric say. “Head somewhere safe, as fast as you can go. I’ve got to get out of him, and I don’t know what he’ll do, how much he’ll know. Don’t let him near the guns.”

  Dedushka nods. With one hand he opens the glove box, throws both guns and the medicine in it, and slams it shut. “Come back to yourself, boy,” he says, curt. “It worked, but this I do not like.”

  Me either. It feels awful now, the worst kind of claustrophobia. Like I’m stuffed into a tiny box, my skin stuck to the walls. I feel Eric too, shoved into an even smaller corner.

  I try to pull away. Yank. Feel myself start to tear. Yank again, with all the force I can manage.

  It isn’t working.

  “They follow us,” Dedushka says. “I see them. I will do my best.” We’re flying down the road as it is, swerving all over.

  I look at my body, where I’m supposed to be, touch my hand, try to tunnel to myself. But that doesn’t work either. I’m panting—or Eric is, I’m not sure which anymore—with the effort.

  “Come on,” I mutter. “Come on.”

  “Deerma!” Dedushka yells, and flings the Jeep hard to the left.

  There’s a crack. A spray of glass. Without warning I’m back in my own body, gasping, looking up at Eric as he slumps to the side, unconscious.

  There’s a bullet hole in the window, and blood streaming out over the seat.

  “They shot Eric!” I yell in my own voice. I scramble across the seat and lean him forward, so I can see. There’s a lot of blood. “Jesus.”

  “You make it back.” Dedushka grins back at me. “Slava bogu.”

  “But they shot Eric!” I feel the back of his head. I can see a wound, but I can’t feel a bullet or anything, and it doesn’t seem deep. Maybe it glanced off when we swerved? I grab a towel from the back and press it to his head.

  “This is bad thing?”

  “Yes,” I say, thinking of his wife, his babies. My chest aches. “This is a very bad thing.”

  It’s my fault, of course. I used him, made him seem like a traitor. I was ruthless.

  But I didn’t want him killed, damn it. I figured he’d be able to clear his name after a bit of interrogation. Liesel would believe him. Probably.

  We’re still zooming down the road, zigzagging between other cars, ignoring stoplights, Grand Theft Auto–style. We seem to be out of range of the shooting car for the moment.

  “We have to drop him off,” I say. “Pull over long enough for me to leave him. They’ll find him, take care of the wound. And maybe it’ll slow them down.”

  I see Dedushka’s eyes move to mine in the rearview mirror—he doesn’t want to slow down, much less stop.

  “Besides,” I add, “he probably has a tracker on him.”

  He pulls to the side of the road, slams on the brakes.

  I reach across Eric, open the door, and roll him out—as gently as I can, given the circumstances. He lies on the sidewalk, head lolling.

  “Sorry,” I whisper.

  Then I slam the door, Dedushka hits the gas, and we fly off.

  * * *

  About an hour later, when we haven’t seen anyone behind us for a while, Dedushka pulls into another Walmart parking lot. He parks at the very end and kills the engine. We’re quiet for a long moment. Then he puts his arm over the seat and smiles at me, his eyes bright.

  “Time for a new ride, as you say. This one will not last much longer.” He waves a hand at the air. “Satellites.”

  I nod, immensely glad he has this part under control. “Don’t forget the guns.”

  “Right! The guns!” He takes them out of the glove box and hands one to me. Liesel’s. I make sure it’s safe and tuck it in my pocket.

  Dedushka examines the green glass bottle with curiosity. “And what is this?”

  I put out a hand for it. “Something I hope I’ll never need again.” I don’t look at the seat next to me. Hallucination Myka’s been sitting there, bouncing and chattering, since I dropped Eric off. “But just in case.”

  We get out, leaving Hallucination Myka behind. I follow him as he strolls around the nearest aisles of the parking lot, looking for something.

  “Here!” He takes a thin metal bar from his bag and jimmies the lock of a battered mint-green Ford F-150. Then he hops up, tugs out some wires, and starts it. The whole thing takes twenty seconds.

  I stare at him like he’s sprouted wings.

  He shrugs at me. “What? It is useful. I will teach you. Now, get in. We will go to my safe house, and then we will talk.” He beams again. “I am s
o glad to see you safe, Yakob.”

  “You too, Dedushka. Thanks. For—”

  He shakes his head. “Not now. Get in.”

  I get in the truck. It’s a bumpy ride, but it’ll do. It’ll get us farther away from them.

  33

  “Feeling Good” by Nina Simone

  We change vehicles four times on the way to Lac Bromont. I worry about the border, but Dedushka steals a motorcycle and takes us on a track through the forest he says only the locals know about. He says Jeeps can make it through here too. Though the last Jeep is back in New York, probably crawling with agents.

  I hope Eric’s all right. I can’t check, even if I dared tunnel again. I lost the cloth in the first car. And I don’t dare tunnel to Liesel, not yet.

  We arrive at Dedushka’s cabin at about nine that night. He unlocks the door, and I start to follow him in. But something stops me cold in the doorway.

  It’s a perfectly normal, rustic cabin. Square, with a wood cot on one side and a sleeping bag rolled up on the floor at the foot of it, a woodstove, a small kitchen table and chairs. Two windows. A few things scattered around, mostly fishing tackle.

  But it’s inside, enclosed in walls, and even that reminds me too much of the room. I can’t breathe. “I can’t. I … can’t. Can I stay … outside?”

  His eyes are full of sympathy. “Stay wherever you most like, Yakob. You sleep in the boat, if you like. But the porch will likely be better.”

  I let out a slow breath. I don’t have to go in. I don’t have to be closed up again.

  I back up onto the porch, sit on the steps. It’s just getting dark, the whole sky, the lake before me, washed with orange. The night breeze is cool on my face. It smells of pine, mud, fish.

  I should’ve run in the first place. I should’ve come here before, when I had the chance, the first time.

  I hear Dedushka come out on the porch behind me, the hiss of a match, and the sharp, rich smell of pipe smoke.

  “What’s the date?” I ask.

  He puffs for a while, then sits next to me. “June ninth.”

  “Four months,” I say. Then, violently: “I’m never going underground again.”

  “No.” He takes the pipe out of his mouth, holds it loose in his hand. “Nor me. I have kept that promise to myself, for forty years.”