Fakie Read online

  “Cool,” agreed Alex.

  “Let’s hit the bowl first,” yelled Nate, as soon as they locked up their bikes.

  “Dude!” Tyler whipped out his cell phone and yelled to Nate. “Let’s video each other for YouTube.”

  “Cool!”

  The thought of dropping into the seven-foot deep bowl freaked Alex out, so he decided to spend time on the street course. Watching other skaters, he tried some grabs and ollies over ramp spines. When he landed his first frontside 180, he let out a “Yes!”

  He looked around, but no one else was paying attention. No big deal — Alex knew it wasn’t a historical milestone like Tony Hawk’s 900, but it felt as if he had just conquered the world. Today, he was a little less of a fake. The world was a little less scary.

  He looked up at the bowl defiantly. Soon, he promised himself, I’ll drop in.

  CHAPTER 10

  “HEY WHATS UP?”Tim asked, as he pulled his bike into the school bike rack.

  Alex clicked his lock closed and looked up. “It’s Monday morning,” he announced in mock enthusiasm. “Just getting ready for another exciting day of learning.”

  “Uh, okay then,” Tim answered with a laugh. “Are you sore from Saturday?” He locked his bike and they walked toward the school.

  “Yeah, a little,” Alex confessed. “Mostly my legs and my butt.”

  Tim nodded. “Totally. And my sides are wrecked too. I think I might have overdone the bowl.”

  As they relived the high points of Saturday, Alex realized how much better this identity felt than the others. No one harassed him about not going into the bowl. His new friends felt like real friends. It even felt, Alex thought, as if he could finally open up and be himself. Well, as open and himself as a person could be when he was forced to lie about nearly every detail of his life.

  However, Alex was bothered by a suspicion that he had — that Tim knew he had been lying all along. Tim didn’t talk endlessly, like Nate and Tyler; he only spoke when he had something to say. He was the kind of guy whose wheels were always turning. It had been obvious all week that Tim had something to say to Alex, but that he kept stopping short of saying it. Alex was afraid that it was just a matter of time before Tim called him a poser.

  “Ooof!” grunted some poor daydreaming kid on his way to science. Alex thought his name was John.

  “Pay attention, dork,” growled Brian as he bumped John into an open locker. Brian’s dopey grin faded for a second as his eyes locked with Alex’s. Then his usual cocky face returned and he strutted into class.

  “What was that?” asked Tim catching the stare-down contest.

  “I guess Brian just chose John for his victim of the day.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “What?”

  “The staring thing?” prompted Tim. “Come to think of it, Brian stopped picking on you pretty quick after you first got here. What’s up?”

  Alex puffed up his chest and lowering his voice said, “I guess he just knows I’d kick his butt!”

  “Yeah,” Tim added sarcastically. “I’m sure that’s it.” Tim stared at Alex for another second or two. He obviously had something else to say, but he held back.

  “All right, everyone. Let’s take our seats,” Mr. Henry announced.

  Alex briefly saw a kid named Mike take something from behind his back and place it in the trash can — gently, but quickly. Strange, thought Alex as he got out his science book.

  It took three full minutes before the firecrackers went off, blowing trash in the air and sending most of the students under their desks at least the ones who had common sense. Mike had common sense. Brian did not.

  Mr. Henry took cover behind his desk. Then he looked up and saw the only student who barely moved — obviously, the guilty one. “Brian Joseph! Go down to the office right now! I’ll send the referral down after you!”

  “Me? What did I do?”

  “Oh, come now, Mr. Joseph! You’re the only one who didn’t duck! You knew it was coming, and if you didn’t set off the firecracker, you know who did! Now either tell me who it was, or leave immediately!”

  “This is crap!” protested Brian.

  “No,” answered his teacher. “Arson is crap. And arson is the charge you’ll get for setting off firecrackers on school property. The school may bring charges against you, and you might be arrested. At bare minimum, you’ll probably be suspended or expelled. That was not a wise thing to do, Brian!”

  “I didn’t do it!”

  The class was silent. Brian stood alone, waiting for someone to help him. The rest of the students had come out from under their desks and were back in their seats. They didn’t laugh, as they normally would have after a prank. Instead, they stared accusingly at Brian. They all think he’s guilty! No, not all, Alex realized. Mike had a faint smile on his face.

  The whispering started when Brian left. While Mr. Henry wrote up the office referral, the students held court. “Good! I’m glad he’s finally gone.” “It’s about time!” “Jerk!”

  “That was nuts! D’ya think he’s gonna be back?” Tim whispered.

  “Yeah,” Alex whispered back. “Because he didn’t do it. And, lucky me, | get to sneak down to the office and save his butt.”

  “You’ve gotta be kidding me! What are you talking about?” Tim’s whisper was now a hoarse, muffled yell.

  “Shhhh! I watched Mike put it in the trash can.”

  “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

  “I… uh… I’m the new kid, and I don’t need anybody thinking I’m a narc.”

  “I didn’t think you cared that much about what other people thought.”

  “Would you believe that I don’t want people to think I’m friends with that idiot?”

  “Yeah, that I’ll buy,” smiled Tim. “Don’t you want to wait and let Brian squirm a little?”

  “Oh, definitely,” agreed Alex. “I didn’t say I was in any big rush.”

  * * *

  The killer peered through his binoculars as Lankford kissed his wife and got into his car. Aaron marked down: “Tuesday, November 23, 7:38 am.: Leaves for work.”

  He let Lankford drive off for a full minute before following. He knew where his target was going, so there was no need to risk being seen. Lankford would stop at WaWa, a local convenience store, to grab a cappuccino, a coffee cake, and a paper. Aaron knew Lankford would drive cautiously to work. “Cautiously” was the key word: every few seconds, this paranoid cop would glance around, looking for guys who were waiting to jump him. Spending your time trying to avoid an attack was a pretty pathetic way to make yourself feel important. Unfortunately for Lankford, those fears were going to become a reality.

  CHAPTER 11

  WHEN GYM STARTEDat the beginning of the second semester in late January, it felt like spring with its sunny, slightly breezy 72°F. In the two months he had been here, Alex still hadn’t completely adjusted to the warm winter — his brain kept insisting that it was cold outside. When the holidays ended, Alex had expected a brutally cold winter waiting for him, forcing him to stay inside. But that just wasn’t the case. He quickly learned to appreciate the warmth, especially when he had time to work on the skate ramp with his friends.

  Having gym outside in January was always pretty cool, though “required showering” never was — especially for Alex. In the shower, others could see his scars, and that would lead to rumors and questions.

  The locker room echoed with loud voices. A couple of boys rolled their towels and rat-tailed other kids as they came out of the showers. When the gym teacher finally arrived, his only comment was, “Everybody gets a shower, or points will be taken off your grade.”

  As always, Alex stalled until most of the others were hurrying to get out of the locker room. Then he kept his back to the shower wall and covered his chest scars with soap lather as quickly as possible. He was showered and dressed within minutes.

  He ran his fingers through his hair in the mirror. He was l
etting it grow a little longer now, mostly in the front, like Tyler’s. Above all, he had to fit in. And if winter ever did come this year, a shaved head would be very cold. The locker room got suddenly quiet as the gym door closed and cut off the hall noise. Alex had to hurry.

  “Miller!”

  On the outside, Alex didn’t flinch, but on the inside, his stomach was doing somersaults.

  It was Brian, and they were the only two people in the locker room.

  “Just so you know, I know you were the one who helped me out of the firecracker crap a couple months ago. I’ve been thinking a lot about it, and it had to be you. I could tell by the look on your face before I left Henry’s room. I just wanted to finally say thanks.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Alex answered without a smile. He couldn’t have Brian thinking he was soft. “You didn’t do it, so there was no reason for you to get nailed. But don’t go thinking this makes us friends or anything.”

  “Of course not,” Brian said, as both boys turned toward the door. The next class would be starting soon. “I don’t want any skate punk friends.”

  “Fine by me. So hey, when you’re not beating people up, what do you do for fun?”

  “I ride my fourwheeler through the woods.”

  “Oh yeah? I used to do that,” Alex admitted. “A friend of mine had one that could race at eighty miles an hour, and he tried to use it to jump ditches. He broke both of his arms — looked like a cactus with his casts on.”

  Brian laughed. “I’ve got one that races too. I’ve never broken my arms, but I’ve come pretty close I’ve flipped it a couple of times.” He paused a moment before they opened the hallway door. “You can come over and try to break your arms sometime if you want.”

  Alex smiled. “Yeah, that’d be cool.”

  As they entered the hallway with the rest of the students, Brian’s expression and tone returned to normal. “Of course we’re still not friends.”

  “Of course not!”

  * * *

  The best time to go to a pizza restaurant is Monday at 3:30. The weekend is gone, lunch has been over for a while, and even early dinner customers won’t show up for at least an hour. It was the perfect time for Alex, Tim, Nate, and Tyler to talk to Alex’s mom without making her manager mad. The hostess sat them immediately in Alex’s mom’s section. His mother was just finishing up another table’s order.

  “And I’d like the cheeseburger platter,” said the customer.

  “How would you like that cooked, sir?”

  “Medium-well. And it’s important that I don’t get a pickle. If you even put the pickle on my plate and then take it off, the juice could get on my fries and I could eat it. Then my tongue would swell up, and you’d have to take me to the hospital.”

  “I gotcha,” his mother replied sweetly. “I’ll personally make sure no pickle even touches your plate. Will there be anything else?”

  Everyone at the table shook their heads, and she went to get their drinks.

  Two minutes later, Alex’s mom came to their table. “Hey, boys. What are you up to this afternoon?”

  “We’re on our way to Tim’s house, and we thought we’d stop by to get some pickles,” Alex joked.

  “I’d like to gargle with a pickle-juice cocktail, please,” added Tyler.

  “You are a strange young man, Tyler,” his mother laughed.

  “Thanks, Mrs. Miller,” said Tyler with a big grin.

  “Mom, can you take us to the junkyard sometime? We’ve finished everything, but we still need to get the rails.”

  “I’ll double-check my schedule, but I think I could do it on a Saturday morning.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Mil-ler,” sang Tyler in his best second-grade voice.

  * * *

  WaWa, 7:48, Tuesday morning. Lankford slid his three bucks across the counter and pocketed his change. He sipped the hot French vanilla cappuccino and singed his tongue as he did every morning. Before shouldering the door open, he glanced around the store, just as he did every day. With his coffee and cake in his left hand and his newspaper tucked under his left arm, his right hand was always free to reach for his gun if he had to. He walked to his car, scanning the parking lot. He unlocked his door as a light blue Honda pulled into the spot next to him. The driver got out and trudged into the store to get his own caffeine fix.

  Lankford had already slid into his seat and closed his door when he noticed his rear-view mirror was pointing all the way up so that he could not see the back seat. Almost immediately, he felt the gun barrel in the back of his neck.

  “Start the car and drive your normal route. I need to talk to you,” Aaron directed in a low, calm voice. “Keep both hands on the steering wheel. You’re not fast enough to get that nine-millimeter out of its holster before I mess up your windshield, so don’t bother trying.”

  Lankford knew better than to say anything. Scan. Look for a way out. Another policeman? A place to jump out? Slam on the brakes?

  “Now,” Aaron said, his voice still low and almost soothing, “since I’ve been watching you for a couple months, I feel like I know you. You’re thinking of trying to jump out, to signal someone for help, or something like that. Bad idea. If you do, I’ll have to visit your lovely wife and two children.” He paused for effect. “By the way, I think it’s really sweet the way she hands you a packed lunch every day.”

  Lankford’s breath caught in his throat. The car pulled onto the 25 mph residential road leading to the FBI office.

  “So let’s talk,” responded Lankford, less calmly than he wanted to.

  “I need Danny Torbert’s address. See? Nothing too tricky.”

  “I haven’t had contact with them in over a year!”

  “Okay, watch that speed. We’re in a 25 zone here,” Aaron cautioned. “Tell me where they are and how you contact them.”

  Lankford paused. “They contact me only if they need me. I have no idea where they are.”

  “Tell me how to contact them.” Aaron’s voice was still quiet but sounded impatient. “Give me phone numbers, e-mails, passwords, or anything you’ve set up to communicate with them.”

  Silence.

  “Oh, come on,” Aaron scoffed. “I’ve had hackers working on this since we found you. They’ll probably get the information anyway in a couple more weeks, but I’m in a hurry.” His voice lowered to a whisper. “Help me out and you’ll live. If not, the hackers’ll find it anyway, and then you’ll have died for nothing. Save us all some trouble. Save yourself.”

  “No.” Dozens of lives were at stake here — not just Danny’s and Eileen’s, but all of the lives that had been entrusted to him. Lankford no longer missed the drug raids; he missed his family.

  “Are you sure? Your wife and kids?”

  Lankford shook his head.

  Aaron pulled the trigger, which did, in fact, mess up the windshield. Aaron then opened the door and rolled onto the sidewalk as Lankford’s car cruised into oncoming traffic.

  Aaron brushed himself off as the light blue Honda stopped to pick him up. Lankford’s car smashed into an oncoming pickup truck. He ignored the series of tire squeals and crashes that followed as he slid into the passenger seat.

  “Anything?” Frank asked.

  “No. Guess we call Echelon.”

  “It figures. Want your coffee?”

  CHAPTER 12

  THE NEXT MORNINGin history class,everything changed.

  “Current events. Your life is affected by things happening around you every day, whether you’re paying attention or not,” Mr. O’Neil recited for the nineteenth time that year. “You’d better start paying attention.” Two students mouthed the words as they slapped a copy of USA Today on each desk.

  Centered and in full color, the photo of the smashed cars caught Alex’s eyes first. As the words in the headline came into focus, his breath was wrung from his body: “FBI Officer Shot, Others Dead in Car Wreck.”

  Like a gas explosion, the memories flashed in his brain. The gunsh
ots. The falling body. The silent scream.

  * * *

  Alex didn’t exist. However, an eleven-year-old named Danny Torbert lived in the suburbs of Chicago. On weekends, he and his family would go to parks, ride bikes, and play board games in Dad’s office. During the week, everyone was busy. Danny rode his bike to school. Eileen, his mom, worked at the bank. Rick, his dad, worked, but Danny had never been exactly sure what that work was. Danny asked once, and his dad told him he repaired computers.

  However, when Dad’s work friends came over occasionally, and Danny was shooed upstairs to his room so that they could have “adult time,” Danny heard differently. He picked up quietly spoken phrases like “call detail records” and “vibration sensor.” Danny had used computers enough to know that those words didn’t seem as if they had much to do with computer repair. It seemed to Danny that his dad’s business was more about surveillance. Who was he watching? And why was the business kept so secret that Danny had to go upstairs?

  Rick would always apologize to Danny after his co-workers left. He didn’t like to bring work home, but sometimes it was important. Rick’s business partner, Steve, was the one who came over the most. He was always friendly with Danny, with his booming, “Hey, Buddy! How’s it goin’?” The loud behavior, which had scared Danny when he was younger, became more comfortable as he got used to the man. Danny and Steve would even give each other high fives before Danny was politely dismissed.

  Rarely, maybe once every few months, other men would come over too. Danny didn’t remember them very well. Once, just once, a tall, thin man came with Steve. That day, Rick rushed to the door.

  “I told you I don’t want him in my house!” Rick yelled at Steve. In the brief argument that followed, Danny found out that the other man’s name was Aaron. Danny had never seen his dad angry like that before. Maybe it was his dad’s reaction. Maybe it was the look in Aaron’s eyes. Whatever the reason, Danny had nightmares about the tall, thin man for weeks.