We haven’t gone three steps before Ivan is jogging to catch up to us. The only way to describe his grin is shit eating.
“Adam,” he says, talking to me while sizing up Hannu. “Who’s your new friend?”
“Hannu,” replies the Garde, shaking Ivan’s hand. I can tell by the way Hannu grimaces that Ivan’s grip is vice-like. “Another American. Cool.”
Everything about Hannu is easygoing, even the leisurely way he walks us over to the basketball court. He looks at home here, comfortable. Too comfortable. I wonder how long he’s lived here—how often he’s come to this court to shoot hoops. I think about the paranoid behavior of the other Cêpans, the nomadic life that One was forced to endure, the shut-in existence of Two. It seems like Hannu has had such a peaceful time on Earth that he’s forgotten there’s a war on.
Some of the younger children beam at Hannu as he passes by. He pats them on their heads, smiling back, joking with them in Swahili. I wonder how many languages he knows.
“Did you get vaccinated?” Ivan asks, blunt as ever. “I don’t remember you coming by.”
Hannu waves this away with a serene smile. “Me? I’m strong like an ox. Save that for the kids that really need it.”
One of the other kids passes Hannu the ball, and he floats up a shot on a lazy arc. It drops through the basket without even brushing the rim.
“Have you lived here long?” I venture.
“All my life,” he replies. The kids pass the ball back to Hannu, and he flips it over to Ivan. “Take a shot, big man.”
Ivan squeezes the ball so tightly that for a moment I’m afraid it will pop. Then he hurls it towards the basket in an ugly imitation of Hannu’s stroke, the ball clanging wildly off the side of the backboard. Some of the kids, including the one who called Ivan a hippo, laugh.
“Good try,” says Hannu cheerily, winking at the laughing kids.
Ivan’s expression darkens. I jump in, trying to direct the conversation in a way that will raise Hannu’s dormant danger alarms without tipping off Ivan.
“Is it weird to have strangers just showing up at your village?” I ask.
Hannu shrugs. “We get tourists on the bus sometimes.” He glances over at Ivan. “I hope you guys packed sunscreen. Your friend is turning red.”
Ivan grabs my arm before I can form another awkward question. “Come on, Adam. We have work to do.”
Hannu looks disappointed as Ivan drags me away. “Maybe we’ll play later, yeah?”
“I hope so,” I tell him.
As soon as we’re out of earshot, Ivan hisses to me, “That was him!” He looks thrilled. “You might be worthless in a fight, but you can sniff out a Garde better than any of our scouts.”
I glance over my shoulder. Hannu has already put us out of his mind, helping some of the younger kids practice their form.
“We can’t confirm that’s him,” I say.
“Oh, come on, Adamus,” groans Ivan. “I should’ve choked him right out there.”
“You don’t want to waste the General’s time until we can be sure,” I say, trying to buy time. “Plus, even if that is our Garde, you don’t know he’s Number Three.”
Ivan sneers at me, and I can tell his mind is made up. When we get back into the hut, he grabs the nearest aid-worker by the shirt and pulls him over to the window.
“That kid,” he says, pointing at Hannu. “Where does he live?”
The aid-worker hesitates, but I can see the fear in his eyes.
“Not sure,” he mumbles. “Outside the village, I think. Near the ravine.”
“Good enough,” says Ivan, shoving the aid-worker away. He glances at me before disappearing into the backroom. “I’ll tell Father you say hi.”
So that’s it. Soon the strike team will be here. I return to the doorway, watching Hannu dribble past a defender and flip a layup into the basket.
“He’s dense,” observes One, suddenly standing next to me, looking at Hannu. “You have to tell him.”
I nod. No more waiting around, no more planning, no more subtlety. There will never be a more perfect opportunity to defect. I’ve already watched one Loric die because of my uncertainty, because I failed to act in time. I won’t let this one be captured, or worse.
“You’re right,” I whisper back. “Tonight, we escape.”
CHAPTER 24
Night has fallen. The jungle around me is alive with strange noises. I should be worried about what kinds of animals are out there, snapping branches as they stalk me, hissing around my ankles. But there are other, more dangerous predators in the jungle tonight. Ones that I need to stop.
I run through the jungle with only a vague idea of where I’m going. Maybe running isn’t exactly accurate—more like stumbling; it seems like every vine on the jungle floor has a mind to trip me. It’s so dark out here, I’m practically blind. My knees and elbows are scraped from falls, my face cut from the branches slapping against it. Still, I press on toward the ravine.
The communicator on my hip buzzes with static. I swiped it before sneaking out of the aid-worker hut. My plan is simple, the best I can do under such circumstances. Get to Hannu and his Cêpan, tell them what’s happening and use the communicator to monitor my people’s movements. Hopefully, with Hannu’s knowledge of the jungle, we’ll be able to stay one step ahead of the soon-to-be-arriving strike team. It won’t be easy—because of the remote location, my father has authorized a larger unit than normal, including a piken—but I know how my people think, how they attack. I can do this.
All I have to do is get to Hannu first. A task this thick jungle isn’t making very easy.
When the jungle begins to thin out before me, moonlight shining through the canopy overhead, I know that I’m close. I can hear rushing water in the distance, the river coursing through the nearby ravine.
And then I see it. A single, solidly built hut. The jungle around it has been painstakingly cleared, leaving a flat expanse that’s littered with angular mahogany equipment. As my eyes adjust, I realize the objects are some kind of homemade obstacle course. So Hannu does more training than just pickup basketball games in the village. That’s good. He’ll need to be agile for what’s to come.
I approach the hut cautiously. The last thing I need is to spook Hannu and his Cêpan. If he’s anything like Conrad Hoyle, Hannu’s Cêpan might emerge from that hut with guns blazing.
I stop, stiffening, the hair on the back of my neck rising. Footsteps are crashing through the jungle behind me. I break out in a cold sweat despite the African heat.
I turn to see Ivan emerging from the jungle. In the moonlight, I see a trickle of sweat roll down his cheek, his face contorted in a humorless smile.
“Clever Adamus,” he sneers, “thought you’d get away with this.”
He’s on to me.
“With what?” I ask, stalling.
I glance over my shoulder at the hut. There’s no movement inside, the sounds Ivan and I are making drowned out by the jungle. I’ll stop Ivan if I have to, but I hope it won’t come to that. Maybe I can still talk my way out of this.
I walk back towards the edge of the clearing, standing inches away from Ivan.
“Get out of here, Ivan,” I say, trying to sound as intimidating as possible.
He snorts, disbelieving. “What? And let you try to steal all the glory? You’ll probably freeze up again.”
And then I realize what dim-witted Ivan thinks I’m doing out here. He doesn’t think I’ve come to warn Hannu; such treason isn’t even a possibility to him. Ivan thinks I’ve come to capture or kill Hannu myself, just like he assumed I did with Number Two.
“You didn’t even bring any weapons,” Ivan observes mockingly. “Are you going to talk the Loric to death?”
He’s right. I came unarmed, hoping it would help convince Hannu to trust me. Also, I never intended to actually fight my people, only evade them. I hoped that violence could be avoided.
With speed that surprises Ivan, I snake my hand forward and rip the dagger off his belt. His jaw drops when I hurl the weapon into the jungle.