Tunnel Vision Page 23

  I look at him sideways. The beard, the gray hair, the sagging skin. But underneath, the resemblance is obvious. Lukin men look alike. Live alike.

  “You were underground, Dedushka?”

  He nods slow, grudging. “I will tell you that story, someday soon. Enough for you to know that it is not far off from yours, except in Russia. Also I never had the”—again his hand flutters—“level of talent you have.”

  I shrug. It’s a talent I want no part of. Not anymore.

  No more tunneling, no more headaches. No more hallucinations. At least, I hope they’ll go away eventually—but I won’t cause any more. I won’t be able to help people. But I’ll stay sane. I’ll stay out of rubber walls. Any walls, maybe.

  He puffs for a while. I hug my knees and watch the sky darken, the stars come out. I don’t want to sleep, to lose a moment of this. I want to stay outside and watch the sky forever.

  “Two things,” he says. “First, most important: I have something for you.”

  He reaches into the pocket of his jacket, pulls out a folded blue piece of paper, and hands it to me.

  I open it. In neat, twelve-year-old writing are the words I love you, Jake. Underneath, it says We’ve missed you.

  I look at Dedushka. I almost can’t say it. “Myka.”

  He tilts his head and smiles. “Your sister, she knows everything. She called me a month ago, to tell me she does not think you are dead. That it is fishy. She does not believe me when I say she must let you go.” He shrugs. “So I tell her the truth. Then I tell her when you come to me.” His eyes shine. “It was her plan, to use me as bait. If she does not hear from us by tomorrow night, she will go to the press, tell your story and mine. It was backup.”

  I feel a rush of giddiness, like being drunk. She didn’t give up on me. She didn’t believe I was gone, even when he told her to.

  “And Mom?”

  “Does not know. But I think she should, yes? It will be a risk. But I think we have all underestimated her.”

  “But they could be seen as threats to the government, or hostages.” I clutch the note. “How can they be safe?”

  He puffs, considering, the cloud of smoke a mushroom in the air. “They’ll be watched, but no action has been taken, not yet. Your sister—and I—believe if we leave them be long enough, after this contact, they will be all right. I track them, like I did you. And in time, we will find a way.”

  After this contact. I look at the paper in my hand. She sent it as an object. I can go, right now. I can see her.

  But I’m not supposed to tunnel anymore.

  It’s getting full dark, and the lake is turning mysterious, unknown. The insects are out, flitting around us.

  “Go,” Dedushka says.

  I close my eyes, and go.

  She’s sitting at the kitchen table, at home, doing a jigsaw puzzle with Mom. I’m startled at first to see her hair cut short, to her chin. It makes her look different, older. Then I’m in her mind, easy. Like nothing ever happened.

  She stops, breathes fast. She knows I’m there.

  Myk. I’m out. I’m okay.

  I feel her concern, a rush of stored-up worry. Even accusation. I said I was okay before, right before I went away. Before I left her behind.

  I promise, I’m fine. I’m with Dedushka. Everything will be all right now.

  She starts to cry, tears hot on her cheeks. Across the table Mom exclaims, worried.

  Tell her everything, Myk. Tell her I’m sorry. Tell her I love her.

  I have to go. I don’t trust tunneling anymore.

  Love you.

  I pull away. My cheeks are wet too, and Dedushka’s. We’re quiet for a long time.

  “There is a second thing,” Dedushka says, when the night is full dark. His voice is so gentle I’m afraid. I grip the step, wait.

  “Yakob—it is time you know. Your father is alive.”

  Everything stops. It’s like being under the hood again: no sound, no sight, nothing but roaring blackness.

  I blink. “What do you mean?”

  “The death, it was faked. Like yours. Ivan is … it is difficult. It was for your safety, all of you. But he knew he was leaving. He told me so I could take care of things. Watch.”

  I’m back on that mountaintop in Colorado, holding my mother and sister at a grave marker, while the wind howls. I hate Dad terribly, for a second.

  Only a second. I’ve done the same thing.

  “Where is he?” I whisper.

  “I do not know. With another organization. He said the CIA, the air force, did not even know of it. I tracked him to a base in Texas. But then he disappeared.” He shakes his head sadly. “They have hidden him so well, or he has hidden himself—I do not think there is a way to find him.”

  I think instantly of the watch. The damned watch. If I’d known, I could’ve tunneled to him anytime I wanted. Anytime in the past two years, the past four months of hell. But I don’t have it anymore.

  “Do you have anything of his?” I ask urgently. “Anything personal?”

  He frowns. “Not here. It is in my house in Standish, all the boxes are there.” He chews on his pipe, thinks. “Or in your house in Herndon.”

  I set a hand on his arm. It’s warm, alive. Like the tingle in my own blood, the excitement rising. The challenge.

  “Dedushka,” I say. “If we can get something of his, anything—I can find him. I can find him that second. And the two of us, we can get him. So none of us have to be underground.”

  Lukins stick together like glue.

  And I guess I’m not done tunneling yet.

  34

  “Safe House” by Mintzkov

  I run, dodging between the trees, the soft ground giving under my feet. There aren’t dogs behind me, but I imagine dogs snarling and straining at leashes, sniffing me out. It helps me stay focused on running as fast as I can.

  It’s training. After four months of sitting on my butt in one room, I was massively out of shape. I’ve been running every day, as long as I can manage, to get some of that strength back. I want to be ready in every way I can when I get back out there.

  Get an object. Find Dad. Rescue him.

  Sounds simple enough when I say it to myself.

  I come to a clearing by the lake, no trees, and sprint across the grass hard, pushing myself, my legs and arms pumping. It feels good, strong. Like I’m part of a rhythm, have a purpose.

  It’s been three weeks since I escaped, since I came here with Dedushka. I still don’t sleep inside the cabin. It gives me the shakes to be inside for long. And I know very well how hard Liesel and her people are searching for me. Especially since they figured out how I controlled Eric, how far I can really go. I honestly don’t think she—or Eric—will ever stop searching.

  I still feel awful about Eric. I’ve seen him, in tunnels to Liesel. He’s wobbly, recovering from being shot. More, he’s pissed. At me. They have him on official leave, investigating his actions. Concerned that he’s still “compromised.” But he’s working with her anyway.

  I don’t even think he wants me underground anymore. I think if it were up to him, he’d shoot me dead on sight.

  None of that stops me from making plans to go back out there, despite Dedushka’s objections. He wants to keep me here, safe, forever. But now that I know Dad’s alive, I can’t just sit here and leave him alone. Not if he’s locked up like I was.

  “Whatchya running from?” Myka asks.

  I slow, but don’t stop, or look around me. I know it’s just a hallucination of my sister trotting beside me somewhere. She comes often, more than anybody else. I dive into trees again, under cover. Keep going, find the rhythm. One two one two.

  “They’re gonna catch you,” she says.

  I stop, lean over to get my breath back. Myka stands there in front of me, only a foot away, arms crossed. Her hair long and braided, like it always was. A frown tugging at her mouth. Even Hallucination Myka is hard to ignore.

  “They’re not go
ing to catch me,” I pant. “We’re safe here.”

  “I don’t think so…” she says, sing-song. “I think they’re gonna find you…”

  I shake my head and run past her. She falls into a trot behind me. I keep going on my loop through the forest.

  Not as relaxed as I was, though. There’s no reason to listen to her. She’s just a product of my mind. But somehow it echoes. I suddenly imagine coming back to find Dedushka on his knees, Liesel holding a gun to his head. I run faster. Almost there. Through the last trees, and …

  Dedushka sits on the porch, an unlit pipe clenched in his teeth, reading one of his Russian novels. His beard ruffles in the breeze off the lake.

  I breathe. He’s okay. But I still can’t shake off the worry, not until I check. I go straight for my bag and pull out Liesel’s gun.

  I sit on the porch and cradle the cold, heavy gun in my hands, distaste shivering through me.

  I wasn’t going to tunnel anymore. But it’s smart to tunnel to her at least once a day, at different times. Just to make sure our safe house is still safe. I don’t like touching the gun, knowing its power. I hate tunneling to Liesel. But I suck it up, close my eyes.

  It’s way faster than it used to be, easier. All that damn practice. I say it aloud.

  Location: Virginia. Arlington. 3701 North Fairfax Drive, sixth floor, room 622. DARPA headquarters. The office is plain, big, room for two desks spilling over with folders, maps. A woman, midthirties, blond hair pulled back. She wears a black suit, a badge. She leans over a map spread out on a large, cluttered table, tracing a circle with her finger. Here. He’s got to be in here, somewhere.

  I focus on the map, try to see the detail. It’s not as big a circle as I’d like it to be. Upstate New York, Vermont, Canada. Including Quebec, where we’re sitting.

  “Excellent,” Eric says, behind her. She turns as he hangs up the phone. He smiles at her, brittle. His eyes are cold. “I think we can narrow that circle a little more.”

  “Excellent indeed.” She turns back to the map, smooths it with her hand. “Not long now, Jacob. Not long at all.”

  I open my eyes.

  Dedushka closes the book, sets it in his lap. Looks at me, silent.

  “It’s time,” I say, my voice rising. “They’re going to find us if we stay here. It’s time to go.”

  I feel the weirdest mix of relief and absolute horror.

  I flash back to Liesel’s cell. I can still taste the stale air, the darkness of artificial light. Sitting there with my hands cuffed behind my back, powerless. Nothing but a tool. That’s where they want me again, for the rest of my life.

  I won’t go back there. But I don’t have to stay stuck here anymore, either. It’s time to get Dad, so we can all three be together. I want to go now.

  Dedushka takes the pipe from his teeth and examines the bowl carefully, like it’s really important. “Perhaps not yet. They have a circle. A circle, it could be months…”

  “Dedushka.”

  He meets my eyes. He looks old to me suddenly, uncertain. Vulnerable. I’m risking him too, going out there again. But I don’t think we have a choice. We can’t stay hiding here like rabbits until they beat down the door.

  “Please,” I say, low. “It’s time.”

  He sighs, then sets the book and pipe on the table, and gives a short nod.

  That’s enough for me.

  It doesn’t take long—we’ve planned the heck out of this. I change clothes, pull on a baseball hat, and grab my backpack, Liesel’s gun tucked safely inside. Dedushka has his bag. We hike to the motorcycle hidden deep in the trees, take the forest path out. We’ll cross the border that way, and then do our best to disappear on the other side, make our way to Virginia again. To an object of Dad’s, and then to wherever he is.

  I hope Dedushka really does know how to avoid surveillance like he says he does—but I have to trust him.

  I always trust him. And finally, finally, it’s time to go.

  * * *

  We stop in Vermont, in a town called Saint Albans, to ditch the motorcycle and steal a car. We pull into a mall parking lot and troll the aisles, scouting. I let Dedushka choose the car, but I’m supposed to hot-wire it. He taught me how, theoretically at least. We’re probably going to have to do it a lot. Not just cars either. To survive, to stay hidden, we’re going to have to steal people’s clothes, food, money.

  I feel a twinge of guilt about it. These people didn’t do anything to us; they’re not involved in any way. And I’m selfishly fucking with their lives.

  But I don’t really have a choice there either. DARPA took my identity—Jacob Lukin is officially dead to everyone but Mom and Myka and Dedushka. I can’t change that now. It’s not like I can go get a job, apply for a credit card, start over. When I start over (if—no, when) it’s going to have to go a lot deeper than that.

  I wish I could really think that far ahead.

  Dedushka pulls up next to an old, beat-up yellow Volvo wagon, cuts the motorcycle engine, and gives me a nod.

  Old cars are easier, he says. Less fancy protection, key sensors and alarms and all that. Plus they’re more likely to be unlocked, as long as we’re not in a city, so we don’t have to mess with a slim jim.

  I look around … nobody nearby. Check the door handle. Unlocked. He’s right.

  Here we go.

  I jump in, pull off the plastic panel, and search for the right wires. Red one for starter. There it is. I pull out the wire strippers from my pocket, strip it, and carefully touch the copper to the bundle of connected power wires. My hands are shaking. I’m totally sure at any moment someone’s going to run over, yelling, and call the cops.

  The engine catches, and I breathe. Dedushka stands next to the door, beaming.

  “Well done, malchik. I will drive for now.”

  I climb across. He spits three times over his left shoulder, then gets in, and we take off.

  That wasn’t as bad as I thought. Maybe the Volvo owner will take the motorcycle we left parked, wires pulled and ready to start. Fair trade.

  More likely I’m just trying to make myself feel better about it.

  Dedushka heads east, aiming for the highway. We should be able to use this car for at least a few hours before we have to dump it too. Tonight we’ll go hole up somewhere for a while, away from satellites. From what I could see in tunnels, they’re actively scanning cameras, data, for any sign of us, 24/7. We don’t want to give them an easy path to find.

  It’s quiet in here, compared to the roar of the motorcycle.

  “Should I tunnel to her?” I ask. “See if they know anything?”

  He shrugs. “Nyet. An hour or so.”

  For some reason being in the car doesn’t give me claustrophobia like walls do. I guess because you can’t lock me in a regular car, not like that. It’s the being trapped part that starts all the panic feelings.

  Worry about right now, Jake. Not tomorrow, or tonight, or what we’ll do once we see where Dad is.

  I watch the small-town scenery fly by the window, churches and stores and pastel houses with flags hanging out front and sprinklers shooting off. A couple kids running through in their bathing suits. It feels like none of it, none of that normal, everyday life, has a thing to do with me anymore.

  “Yakob,” Dedushka says, with a glance. “It is right that I should tell you, some. Now is good time.”

  I raise my eyebrows. I hope I know what he means. I’ve been asking questions about his powers, his past, for weeks, but it’s like trying to pry a boulder.

  “If something happens,” he says, “you should know. At least the start of it.”

  I swallow, ignore the if something happens. “Know what?”

  He sighs, grips the steering wheel, a tattered black leather cover. “It was in Russia, in 1958…” He stops and glances at me, his face stony. “No. I do not wish to tell this part of the story now. It is too much. Enough to say that … your talent is with touch, with people’s things. Mine was voice
s.”

  I wait, watch him. Suddenly he stares hard at the rearview mirror. My guts clench. Did they find us already? How? I spin, scan behind us. Nothing unusual. “What do you see?”

  After a couple minutes he relaxes. “Nichevo. Anyway, voices.” He waves his hand. “Like you and tunnel, but not quite. When I hear voice of someone who has died, I was taken over with last moments of this person, how they died, where. I feel it all.” He shudders. “Not pleasant, Yakob. I have died so many times, in so many people. Always it is sad.”

  He stares ahead, chewing on his lip.

  “Wow. I’m sorry, Dedushka.” Tunneling only to dead people. If it’s anything like that soul-sucking cold I feel when I touch dead people’s objects, I don’t know how he can stand it.

  Then I realize what he’s really telling me. “Was. You said was. You don’t have it anymore?”

  He shakes his head slowly. “This is what I want you to know. I was not born with it, malchik. It was created. It started with me. And we found a way to make it stop.”

  My head spins. You can stop it? I try to think what it would be like not to have this ability I was born with. To truly be a normal person.

  Wait. I would be useless to them, wouldn’t I? I wouldn’t be a pawn anymore.

  “How?” I ask, my voice cracking. “Can I make it stop?”

  He blows a long breath. “There was a serum. It is possible. But I do not think there is serum left, anymore.” He looks at me for a long minute, and sets a hand on my knee. “We did not know it would continue, that you would have power too.”

  “Who’s we?”

  He gets that look on his face, wistful, kind of goofy. “My Milena and I. Your Babushka.”

  I nod, look out the window again. There are a million things he’s not telling me in this story, massive blanks. Who created this power in Russia in 1958? Why did he and my grandmother have a serum to stop it? And what about Dad?

  I want to ask. I want to grill him on the details, find out more about this serum. But it doesn’t work to push Dedushka. He closes right up.

  We hit the outskirts of Burlington, and he squints at the signs. “We go to get an object of Ivan’s? You are sure this is what you want?”