“Hey, Megan,” I say the next day.
Technically, Megan and her mom don’t live in the embassy; they reside in an apartment on the grounds. Once upon a time, these rooms were servants’ quarters for the large estate, but now they are reserved for the most essential personnel. I know Megan’s mother’s work is important. And risky. And super, super secret.
I tell myself that’s why Megan doesn’t bother asking me inside.
“What’s up?” she says, shutting the door behind her. For a moment, I wonder if there’s a boy in there. For another moment, I wonder if it’s Noah.
“I wanted to tell you something. Or a couple of things, actually.”
“Okay.” Megan doesn’t look or sound as mad as she should.
“First, I’m sorry. For not telling you about … the other times.”
She waves this away as if I might be wasting her time, so I take a deep breath and plow on.
“And the second thing is that I figured out where the Scarred Man went the night I followed him. I know where … if you’re still interested.”
“Where?” Megan asks.
“Here,” I tell her. “He was meeting someone here. In the US embassy. In the basement.”
It takes a long while for Megan to speak. And when she does, she just says, “Come on.”
“What’s going on?” I ask, but Megan keeps walking.
We’re climbing up a busy street, heading toward the palace. Something big is drawing her up this hill, and I am almost afraid to follow.
“You know how we’ve been wondering who the Scarred Man’s target might be?” Megan says to me.
“Yeah.”
“Well, our list of possibilities just got a lot bigger.”
We turn the corner, and I see flags — dozens of them — all standing in a row, lining the long grassy lawn that sits in front of the palace. It’s royal property — a public garden on which I have never seen a member of the public set foot. Now scaffolding rises into the sky. Spotlights cover the square, and in the air there is the echo of hammers and saws — shouting men working all day as they raise a stage. Bleachers line the square.
“What is all this?” I ask.
“The G-20 summit is this week. It was supposed to be in Prague, but there was a problem with the venue, so they’ve moved it here. Mom told me last night.” Megan glances quickly to the square then back to me. “Think about it … Presidents. Prime ministers. Kings and queens. They’re all going to be in one place at one time. I wasn’t that worried about it because security for the G-20 is always super tight. But if he’s already gotten into our embassy …” Megan trails off. It isn’t hard to figure out what comes next.
“Then he can get in anywhere,” I say.
I watch the crew work, the whole time hearing the Scarred Man’s words: There are many perfectly adequate ways to die. I just have to find one.
“Who’s coming?” I say.
“Officially, the G-20 summit is a meeting of the leaders of the twenty largest economies in the world.”
“And unofficially?”
“They’re all people that someone might want dead.”
Walking into the embassy, Megan and I can instantly feel the difference. We have to stand aside and let a parade of people carrying giant bouquets of flowers squeeze by. There are ladders against the wall, covered with workers in overalls cleaning windows. The closer we get to the kitchen, the more we can smell roasting meats and baking breads. It’s like all the aromas of the café district have been pumped inside our walls. And I walk on, knowing that these are not the only intrusions.
“Whoever he was meeting had access to the US embassy,” I whisper to Megan. “Whoever he’s working for is inside the embassy.”
I feel vulnerable, betrayed. All my life I’ve been told that the embassy was a safe place — my safe place. No matter what was happening, all I had to do was reach its gates and I would be okay. It’s a terrible thing to realize you’ve been living a lie.
When a group of men in dark suits comes toward us, it’s like a swarm of bees approaching.
Megan and I press ourselves to the side of the hall and wait for them to pass.
“Does it have to be an American?” Megan whispers back. “I mean … does it really? You got into the embassy through the tunnels. So did the Scarred Man. Maybe this was just a place to meet?”
The men have stopped at the end of the hall, and I can hear them talking about angles and sight lines, new cameras and barricades. But I’m looking at Megan, and I’m already shaking my head. “Pretty risky meeting place.”
“But maybe it was just a meeting place,” Megan says, hopeful.
I’m willing to let her have the point, especially since it’s a point that I’m pretty sure is just supposed to make me feel better.
“Do you ever wonder why?” Megan asks after a moment.
“Why what?”
“Why would he do it? Your mom was an antiques dealer, right? A nice lady. I never heard anybody say anything against her. So why would someone travel halfway around the world and kill her?”
Honestly, it’s a question I’ve never considered before. And I can’t bear to consider it for too long now.
“They knew each other. Maybe he was her ex-boyfriend or something. Maybe it was personal.”
“Yeah. I guess that could be it.”
But I can tell from the tone of Megan’s voice that she isn’t certain. That’s okay. I haven’t been certain about anything in years.
“That will be very difficult!” I can hear Ms. Chancellor’s voice floating down the hall. For the first time, I notice her in the midst of the swarm of men. Her hair is up and her glasses are on. She’s all business as she tells them, “This isn’t the local Hilton. Our neighbors value their own privacy and security as much as we value ours.”
The main man looks at her and her clipboard then chuckles like she doesn’t know who she’s up against. I don’t have the heart to warn him that he’s the one making the mistake.