It is the Duck, Duck, Goose of Adria. I’d totally forgotten it until now, but the haunting melody comes back. I can remember our mother singing it as Jamie and I played in the yard. When the song ends the kids all stand and chase each other wildly around. I want to join them. Those words have always made me want to run.
Noah rubs his hand over his face, mumbles something that is a cross between Hebrew and Portuguese. Then he shrugs and gives the long sigh of someone who has learned not to argue. “Just tell me what to do. Wait … do we know what to do?”
He doesn’t look at me like Jamie or my father, like Grandpa or Ms. Chancellor. Noah isn’t looking at me like I’m seeing things, hearing things, too fragile and grief-stricken to live.
In short, for the first time in three years, I’m talking about the man who killed my mother with someone who isn’t looking at me like I’m crazy.
And that is why I trust him. That is why I say, “Come on.”
“Hello, Grace. Noah.” It’s clear from the way Ms. Chancellor is looking at us that she thinks her plan is working — that we’ve come to ask her to arrange the wedding, maybe be godmother to our child. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Ms. Chancellor is carrying a stack of files and walking through the embassy in a pair of impossibly high heels. I’ve noticed this about Ms. Chancellor: She’s almost always moving. And she’s almost always doing it while wearing shoes that would make me want to stay perfectly, utterly still.
“I was hoping you could help me,” I say, following her up the stairs.
She rests her left hand on the smooth rail but glances quickly back.
“Of course I will if I can.”
“After last night …” I begin.
This, at last, stops her. Ms. Chancellor pivots on the balls of her feet, looks down at me from two steps ahead.
“Your grandfather and I have already spoken about this, Grace, and I’m afraid I —”
“I’m not talking about that,” I hurry to say.
“You’re not?”
“She’s not,” Noah adds. Ms. Chancellor slides her gaze onto him. At least there’s someone on my side she can trust.
“No. Grandpa was right,” I say. “I’m sure I was just tired. This is all so new to me. I probably just got overwhelmed.”
“Yeah.” Noah moves to join me. “In fact, Grace and I were talking about how overwhelming it all can be. So many new people. Not to mention all the protocols and the rules and —”
“And the people,” I blurt. “There are just so many new people. It was —”
“Overwhelming,” Noah interjects.
“Yes,” I say. “Overwhelming.”
Ms. Chancellor crosses her arms, file folders pulled tightly against her chest. “I see.”
Noah moves forward. “So I was telling Grace about the directory. I thought that she could take a look at that — maybe memorize a few names and faces and then —”
Ms. Chancellor spins and starts back up the stairs, Noah chasing after her.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Noah.”
“I know you keep a book. A file. Something with pictures and names and job titles and the lowdown on all the players. Come on, Ms. C. I know you have something like that.”
“You know no such thing,” she tells him.
“Then you’d be the only embassy on the row that doesn’t have one.” It’s a good point, and I can tell by the look on Ms. Chancellor’s face that he’s got her.
“Come on, Ms. Chancellor,” Noah says, easing closer to the place where she now stands at the top of the stairs. “Tell me, would you rather have Grace getting her information off the street? Or here, in the safety of her own home?”
Ms. Chancellor looks between us, a slight crinkle in her brow. We amuse her, I realize. Up until my arrival, her job was probably all conference calls and paperwork.
“Actually, Noah, I prefer Grace get all of her information from you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go drop these files off in my office and then go have tea with your mother, Noah. Grace, I’m sure everything is going to be fine. And that, right now, is the best I can offer.”
She starts to walk away but turns back, eyes me over the top of her glasses. It’s like looking at Clark Kent and getting a glimpse of Superman. I’m almost sure she sees through me.
“Are you certain you’re feeling okay today, Grace?”
I smile.
I lie.
“I’m great.”
The sun is lower when Noah and I step into the courtyard.
“So what’s Plan B?” I ask him.
“Wait,” Noah says. “I was supposed to come up with a Plan B? I don’t have a Plan B. I mean, I guess I could just start randomly going up to strangers, asking if they’ve seen a big, scary guy with a scar on his cheek. I’m assuming he’s big and scary. I didn’t really ask about that part.”
Noah rambles when he’s nervous. It’s one of many things I’m starting to figure out about him.
“Can you get the directory from Israel or Brazil?” I ask.
Noah shakes his head. “I doubt it. I don’t have that kind of access.”
“They’d have a guest list for last night inside the palace, right?” I say. “Invitations, security checks? Everyone went through a metal detector. There have to be cameras. Facial-recognition software. They have to have that, don’t they?”
Noah looks at me like maybe I’m off my meds. Which I am. But that is totally beside the point. “I guess so.”
“Well, who do we know at the palace?”
“Who do we know at the palace?” Noah can’t help himself; he laughs a little. “Correction. Who do we know who would hand over classified security footage and facial-recognition results? Well, there’s got to be a super long list. Hey, the king seems like a good guy. I bet we can call him up and ask for a favor.”
“Well, we’ve got to do something! Can we hack the palace’s computer server?”
“Of course!” Noah actually hits his forehead with his palm. “Why didn’t I think of that? I’ll get right on it.”
“What about the embassy’s servers?”
“Who are you?!” Noah cries, like I’m morphing right in front of his eyes. He doesn’t know this version of me has been around since the cradle. “More importantly, who do you think I am?”
Poor Noah. All he wanted to do today was go see his dad, and look at what I’ve done. I’ve tried to turn him into an international hacker and all-around spy.