Rebel Page 8

Phoebe said. "I'll put you on a strict wheat germ diet and take you shopping for secondhand clothes, and we'll look like twins from a Doublemint commercial."

  "Oh, goody!" Heather cried. "Just what I always wanted!"

  Ed laughed again. It was amazing to see Heather and her sister actually getting along. And not only that--he was enjoying himself. He didn't think such a thing was possible. Especially tonight. Here he was, sitting with Heather and her sister, chatting and laughing. There wasn't any tension. None. For a few blissful, fleeting seconds he'd even managed to forget that he was in a wheelchair.

  It was a good thing he'd ditched Gaia after all.

  Well ... no, it wasn't. But at least he could pretend it was for the next few minutes.

  SKIZZ.

  There was no doubt in Mary's mind: Ed had seen Skizz. The pig hadn't been kidding about coming to find her. He'd probably been following her all day. For all Mary knew, he could be lurking outside the apartment building right now.

  High Security

  She stood at her bedroom window, staring down at the lights of Park Avenue. She didn't see any people out there--but Skizz was clever. The twenty-four hours he'd given her to pay him back had long since expired. At least this was a high-security building. Her door was dead bolted. Besides, there was a doorman. There were video cameras. All the doorman had to do was press a button, and the police would rush right over....

  "... should call him," Gaia was saying.

  "Huh?" Mary tore her attention from the street below and glanced back at Gaia's sprawled form on the unmade bed. "Sorry. What was that?"

  "Maybe I should call Ed," Gaia murmured, staring up at Mary's ceiling. "I feel bad. I guess I just kind of got caught up in the game."

  Mary walked over and sat on the edge of the mattress. "You know, Gaia, we don't have to keep playing." She bit her lip, debating whether or not to tell Gaia about Skizz's call. No. It was best not to think about it. Besides, there was a chance that his threats were empty. And even if they weren't, this was her problem. Not Gaia's. She didn't want to drag Gaia into the middle of it--especially after Skizz's warning about the "psycho blond chick."

  "But I want to keep playing," Gaia stated.

  "But maybe for Ed's sake ..." Mary let the sentence hang.

  "You don't believe him, do you?" Gaia asked. She sat up straight, her eyes narrowing. "Did you see something, too?"

  "No." Mary sighed and shook her head.

  "Then what are you worried about?"

  "It's just ..." Mary lowered her eyes. It felt terrible to keep her feelings bottled up inside her. She could at least let Gaia in on her thoughts without going into all the gory details. And as a friend, Gaia had a right to know why she was acting so strange. "Remember that guy you beat up the night we met?"

  Gaia nodded. "How could I forget?" she murmured.

  "Well, I owe him money ...," she said.

  "Is that it?" Gaia asked.

  Mary frowned. "Well, yeah, but--"

  "Don't worry," Gaia said soothingly. "He won't try anything. That guy is useless. In case you've forgotten, I kicked his ass in the span of about five seconds."

  Mary didn't look convinced.

  "Besides," Gaia added, "I'm sure he's heard that you're clean now. So you're of no use to him, you know?"

  "Maybe," Mary said dubiously. "But Skizz doesn't forget about things like money."

  Gaia was silent for a moment. "How much do you owe him?" she finally asked.

  "Five hundred," Mary whispered.

  "I bet that's a drop in the bucket to guys like that,"

  Gaia reassured her. "Trust me. And if you're thinking about all this because of Ed ... don't. He's the most paranoid guy on the planet."

  Mary tried to force a smile. But the sad fact of the matter was that her friend had no idea what she was talking about. And Gaia had the benefit of thinking she was invincible--a trait Mary didn't share. She would be safe inside her room or with Gaia around to protect her--but someday, at some moment, she'd find herself alone on the streets.

  That was when Skizz would strike. She was sure of it.

  RED SQUARE WAS PACKED WITH PEOPLE, but Tom Moore knew that this was to be expected. He welcomed the crowds. Witnesses would ensure the safety of this meeting. Not that he was worried about security, but he knew that his contact had some concerns. Debra (at least that was her alias) was still new to this theater of operations, new to the job itself. And young. In fact, she reminded him a little of Katia. Beautiful and innocent. Naive ...

  Anonymous Tip

  He thrust the thoughts aside. He would not think of Katia. Not now. He would concentrate on the task at hand.

  As he hurried across the cobblestones in the direction of the multicolored spires of St. Basil's cathedral, he was surprised by how many American voices he heard. Of course, the week after Christmas marked the height of the tourist season--in spite of the frigid temperatures. And since Russia was no longer a closed and communist society, tourism was one of the few industries that kept its economy afloat.

  Tourism and terrorism, of course.

  He raised his eyes in the biting wind, glancing up at the cathedral. Even after having seen it so many times, he was still struck by its fairy-tale beauty: the brilliant reds and greens and golds, all of the different turrets and ornate fixtures.... It looked less like a place of worship and more like an enchanted castle. He snaked his way through a mob of students toward the southeast entrance: the rendezvous point. But then he paused.

  Debra wasn't there.

  Protocol dictated that she should be the first to arrive. For a moment he stood still and sized up his surroundings. As far as he could tell, he wasn't being watched or followed. There was no need to panic ... not yet. There was a chance that she could have been held up in traffic. Public transportation in Moscow was notoriously unreliable.

  He stepped closer to the cathedral's massive arched doorway. The biting wind stung his ears, but he hardly noticed. A few people jostled him. Where was she? The entire operation hinged on this one exchange. She knew that. The agency was counting on her. She had managed to acquire a copy of the smugglers' safety deposit box key. The box contained the money they would exchange for the plutonium.

  But Debra didn't know the location of the bank. Only Tom knew that. Each member of the unit was entrusted with one vital piece of information; that way the entire operation wouldn't be compromised if one of them were caught. Still ... if she failed to deliver the key in time, then Tom would be unable to prevent the smugglers from leaving the country. And they were leaving soon. This afternoon, in fact. They would have all the cash they needed to buy anything they wanted--

  A muffled beep rang from deep inside his coat pocket. He scowled. That was probably Debra, calling to explain why she was late. He fished out his cell phone and flipped it open.

  "Yes?" he muttered.

  "Hello, Tom."

  He stiffened. It wasn't Debra. It was a man. And whoever he was, he wasn't part of the agency. The agency never addressed its operatives by name over the phone.

  "Tom?" the man asked. "Are you there?"

  "Yes," Tom croaked, feeling a sudden dreaded certainty that Debra would never arrive, that she had been killed. The voice was American ... but Tom couldn't place it. From the static, he judged the call was coming from overseas.

  " I'm listening."

  "It's about Gaia."

  Jesus Christ. It took all of Tom's years of training, all of his carefully honed self-control, not to display any emotion. But he could no longer breathe. He gripped the phone as tightly as he could. He felt like his heart had been set ablaze.

  "Go on," Tom choked out. He barely recognized his own voice.

  "Your brother's moving against her," the man said.

  Tom drew in a deep, quivering breath. Loki. He should have known. He was clever. Obviously he was well aware that Tom was halfway around the world, unable to stop him.

  "He's placed someone very close to her," the voice went on. "A
n operative whom Gaia would never suspect."

  "Who?" Tom hissed. "I don't have time--"

  The line went dead.

  "Hello?" Tom barked. "Hello?"

  He stared at the cathedral door. Still no sign of Debra. It could mean only one thing. She was dead.

  She had to be. Tom dialed the agency's emergency number as quickly as he could.

  "Go," a voice answered.

  "Three, zulu, alpha, four, seven," Tom whispered-- the code for a failed operation. It was surprisingly easy.

  "Understood," the voice replied.

  Tom folded the cell phone and jammed it back in his pocket. Suddenly nothing mattered anymore-- nothing but Loki and Gaia. The rest of the world ceased to exist.

  Without so much as a backward glance, he turned and hurried from Red Square.

  Hang on, Gaia, he silently implored. I'll be there soon.

  ED

  I used to think that I was lucky in a way because I had already experienced the worst possible thing that could ever happen to me. Some people coast through life--then when they're forty or something, they're suddenly hit with a disfiguring disease or a heart attack or they lose all their money. And since their lives have basically been gravy up to that point, they're totally unequipped to deal with it. They have a complete mental breakdown. It's institution time. Electroshock therapy. Straitjackets. The works.

  Not me, though. I figured since I already suffered one of the most major catastrophes known to man, the rest of my life would be pretty good by comparison. Nothing could make me feel any lower than losing the use of my legs. Especially since my entire life was pretty much devoted to skateboarding. To quote the old cliché: When you've hit rock bottom, there's no place to go but up. I guess it helped me deal with the last two years. Thinking that way kept me out of an institution.

  Now I know that I was wrong.

  No matter how much pain you endure, something else can come along to knock you back down. Something totally different and unexpected. It doesn't even have to be physical pain. It can be something as simple as getting into a fight with somebody.

  But there's no point in dwelling on the negatives. You'll just drive yourself crazy.

  over the edge

  Well, not tonight. Her heart pounded. Oh, no. It was time to make Daddy proud again.

  GAIA COULD SEE THE FEAR CLEARLY ETCHED on Mary's face. It was right there: right in her creased forehead and downcast eyes. They had been speeding downtown on the local number-six train for nearly fifteen minutes, and Mary hadn't spoken once. She was more worried about this drug dealer than she'd admitted. Probably thanks to Ed.

  Fear

  Gaia knew all about fear. She'd seen it enough on people's faces to know the signs. And she'd also studied it. Scientifically. She'd read that the best way to overcome it was to confront it directly, head-on ... to embrace it.

  It was a lesson from the Go Rin No Sho--the "Book of Five Rings"--a Japanese guide to martial arts. Her father used to make her read it all the time. Most of the books were about as thrilling as the yellow pages and about as heavy, too--like Leviathan and The Iliad. Her dad was a stickler for the classics. But the Go Rin No Sho was different. Gaia had loved it from the time she was a little girl. It was beautifully written, like poetry. It taught that a person would never be complete unless they explored both good and evil. Darkness and light.

  It made perfect sense. To her, at least.

  Maybe that was why she remembered the lesson about fear so well. Since she didn't feel fear, she could never confront it. But she realized something: Even if

  she was unable to use fear as a tool, she could help Mary use it.

  "So we're still playing, right?" Gaia asked over the rattle of the speeding train wheels.

  "Huh?" Mary asked.

  Gaia shifted in her seat, trying to get comfortable. It was impossible. Even though she generally loved the subways, rush hour was always a nightmare. Somehow she found herself mushed between Mary and some businessman's designer leather briefcase. The sharp corner was starting to dig into her sides. But they were almost at Astor Place--the stop closest to Washington Square Park. She could endure a few more minutes of torture.

  "The game?" Gaia prompted.

  "Oh--yeah, yeah. Of course." Mary nodded as she stared down at the forest of legs rising from the grimy subway floor. "But do you think we can avoid the park? Just for tonight? We can go back tomorrow."

  "And why would we avoid the park?" Gaia asked gently.

  "Because I'm scared of running into Skizz," Mary admitted.

  "I think that's exactly why we should go to the park," Gaia countered. "Look, chances are he won't even be there. And even if he is, he won't try anything. And even if he does, I'll kick his ass, all right?"

  Mary smirked. "I guess I don't have a choice, do I?"

  "No," Gaia replied dryly. The train began to slow. She glanced out the window. The lights of the Astor Street station swam into view. The wheels squeaked harshly. "So here's what. I dare you to go back to the spot where we first met--and sing a song of your choice by Hanson at the top of your lungs."

  For a moment Mary looked at her as if she were completely insane. Gaia couldn't blame her. She didn't even know where that dare had come from. It had just sort of popped out of her head.

  "Hanson?" Mary started laughing. "But that's not fair. I don't even know any songs by Han--"

  "Then make one up," Gaia interrupted. "Or sing a song by Michael Jackson. Any ridiculous song will do." She grabbed Mary's arm and pulled her up along with her, then began snaking her way through the crowded car.

  "What if I want to pick truth?" Mary asked.

  Gaia looked her straight in the eye as the doors slid open. "You don't really want to pick truth, do you? I mean, this is a chance to sing in public, right?"

  "I don't know, Gaia...."

  "Look, by daring you to do something silly in the same spot where you last saw Skizz, you'll see that you have nothing to worry about. And once you see that you're safe, you'll realize that you can start getting on with your life."

  WHAT THE HELL AM I THINKING? MARY wondered.

  Lightbulb

  Here she was, about to sing a song (she didn't even know what song)--and there was a very good chance that by calling attention to herself, she would send Skizz running straight for her, like a moth to a lightbulb.

  She walked silently with Gaia down Eighth Street, with her head down to protect her face from the bitter wind. The air was so cold that it felt antiseptic, bluish. The night was eerily quiet. Her eyes smarted. Her nose burned. She kept her gaze pinned to the sidewalk. She couldn't believe she had actually let Gaia talk her into this. If Skizz was anywhere in the city, he'd be here.

  But at the same time, in spite of her anxiety, she couldn't help but feel a peculiar anticipation. And somewhere in the dim recesses of her consciousness, she knew that the anxiety and anticipation were all bound up together in the same feeling. It was a feeling all her own--a selfish feeling, one that was bent on seeking pleasure, no matter what the risk. It was the same one she used to get when she diced out a line of coke. Or met Skizz on some dark corner to make a score ...

  It was the one she got knowing that she was putting herself in harm's way.

  And that was the root of her problem. Of all her problems, really. Very simply put, the closer she was to danger, the more she felt alive. That was bad. Very bad. She had to suppress that feeling. She shook her head as they turned south onto Fifth Avenue. Once she started slipping down that slope, there was no telling what she could do.

  "Piece of cake," Gaia murmured, patting her shoulder.

  "Yeah," Mary whispered. "Right." She glanced up. The Arc de Triomphe loomed ahead of her at the end of the block, brightly lit against the purplish, starless sky. Behind the white marble the park was a shadowy black abyss. She swallowed.

  "All you gotta do is go in there and sing," Gaia said with a perfectly straight face. "I mean really open up. Let the entire West Vil
lage hear your dulcet tones."

  Mary had to laugh. But she found she was trembling. Of course, that was the weather's fault. The chill tonight soaked through her coat, down past her skin, all the way to the center of her bones. She paused on the corner opposite the park entrance.

  "And why, exactly, am I doing this again?" she asked. Her question billowed from her mouth in a frozen white cloud, then vanished under the streetlamps.

  Gaia raised her eyebrows. "Because I dared you to," she said with a smile.

  GAIA KNEW THAT MARY WAS AFRAID.

  Exorcism

  But as she watched Mary trudge into the park alone, she knew that the more fear she felt, the better it would be in the long run. The greater the risk, the greater the reward.

  Besides, Mary was in no real danger. First of all, the park was completely deserted. Only a lunatic would be hanging out there on a night like tonight--a night so cold that the tips of your fingers and toes went numb after about three minutes. Also, as Gaia had told Mary, if some creep did try anything, she would be right there. Ready to knock him flat. From where she was waiting on MacDougal Street, she could see the entire park--and Mary would never be out of her sight, not even for an instant.

  She smiled as Mary sat on a park bench in a circular pool of pale light. Good. By singing a ridiculous song and freezing her butt off in that exact spot, she would drive out her fear of Skizz. It was like a ritual, an exorcism. And Mary Moss would emerge from it a new woman.

  THIS WASN'T THE EXACT SPOT WHERE MARY had last seen Skizz face-to-face, but she figured it was close enough. Gaia wasn't that nitpicky.

  Close

  She hunched over and squeezed herself, struggling to fight the cold. Her teeth chattered uncontrollably. So. She had to rack her brain for a song. The problem was, she didn't listen to Hanson. But she had to sing something--otherwise Gaia would never let her out of the park. For some reason, though, she couldn't seem of think of anything. Her mind was a complete blank.

  Mary had never been the creative type. She always hated this kind of thing, being forced to perform on the spot. That was probably another reason she'd loved coke so much, now that she thought about it. Up. One little bump, and your thoughts moved at the speed of light. For those five minutes you were a genius. Not only a genius; a world-class singer, too. No song, no matter how out of tune and excruciating, was ever that bad when you were wired. Of course not. It was brilliant....