“Grace, I don’t feel …”
I know exactly how he feels, but I don’t say so. I just grip his waist tighter with my left hand while, with my right, I slip the nearly empty vial of medicine into my pocket.
Alexei’s gait is uneven as I lead him past the Iranian fence. His legs wobble. But thankfully we are out of view of the street by the time he passes out completely and falls, sprawling into the weeds.
I look down at the sleeping boy who, for once, looks helpless. Innocent.
“It’s for your own good,” I assure him.
Alexei doesn’t say a thing.
I’m almost to Brazil before Noah and Megan see me. He looks worried something bad has happened. He has no idea.
“I got your text. What’s going —”
“Come with me,” I say, and sprint toward the city gates.
I can hear Noah and Megan behind me, but I don’t stop or look back.
“Grace, slow down!” Noah yells, but I am running down the beach like there is no looking back. And there isn’t. Not for me. Not anymore. I will not stop to consider what I’ve done, that it might be a mistake. I did what I had to do. And if I can’t make Noah and Megan see that …
I have to make Noah and Megan see that.
My side no longer hurts. It’s the adrenaline, I know. I have to keep moving, keep fighting. I have to keep us safe and make them see.
When we reach the cliffs that mark the north end of the beach, it’s like we’ve reached a dead end. Almost.
Then they see it.
“No.” Noah pulls back and shakes his head. He has no intention of following me through the small, arching doorway that was once a hidden passage through the great wall of Adria. Forty years ago, it was the gateway that allowed the Iranian embassy private access to the beach. It’s rusty and overgrown now, but it still works, I know, and I push through it, desperately needing my friends to follow.
“Grace, I thought we talked about this!” Noah calls after me. “I thought we said that maybe Iran wasn’t the best place for us to … you know … hang out.” He glances nervously around, but this stretch of beach is deserted. There is no one here to see. “Especially those of us who are, you know, half Israeli.”
“And American,” Megan adds. “Americans should really keep out as well.”
“Guys.” I look at them and then do something truly desperate. I say, “Please.”
“Grace, wait,” Megan calls to me, but I’m already through the gate and running across the stretch of sand that lies between the wall and a wooden fence that has been beaten down by more than two decades of salty air and neglect.
“Grace!” Megan’s voice isn’t fading, and I know she’s right behind me, running through the weeds that are so thick and high that when I see him, I have to freeze, slamming to a stop.
I feel Megan collide with me, then Noah. For a second, no one speaks. We just stand quietly, staring at the boy asleep on the ground.
His hands are bound with shoestrings, his feet with his own belt. He lies on his side, lifeless and still.
“Alexei!” Megan rushes to his side and shakes him. Her hands push back his hair, looking for some kind of wound.
But Noah doesn’t panic. He just looks at me.
“He’s okay, Megan,” I say. “He’s just sleeping.”
“In the weeds in the backyard of the Iranian embassy?” Noah sounds like he wants to shout but is afraid to.
“He’s drugged,” I say.
“How did he …” Megan starts, then realizes she already knows the answer. “No. No. No, Grace. Tell me you didn’t drug the son of the Russian ambassador and restrain him on Iranian soil. Please tell me you didn’t do that.”
“I had to!” I tell her.
“Oh, she had to,” Noah says, cutting his eyes at Megan and then at me. “Tell us, Grace, exactly why you had to drug Alexei.”
“He was going to give up his diplomatic immunity. He was going to turn himself in.”
I stand, waiting, watching. And that is when I see the look that passes between Megan and Noah like a secret.
“What?” I ask, but they stay silent. “What is it?”
Noah eases toward me. “Alexei’s dad just finished the press conference. It’s done. They’re expecting Alexei to come in for questioning” — Noah glances down at his watch — “now. Right now, in fact.”
Megan shifts her gaze onto me. “If Alexei doesn’t show up …”
“He can’t show up,” I tell them.
“He has to!” Megan says. “Without diplomatic immunity, not showing up will mean violating all kinds of Adrian laws. He has to turn himself in. It’s too late.”
“No,” I say. I’m not shouting. My voice is even and low. “He didn’t do it, and he is not going to turn himself in. Now come on.” I reach down and grab Alexei’s arm. “Help me get him inside. I would have done it myself, but he’s heavier than he looks.”
I pull and tug, but Alexei barely moves across the overgrown grass. Neither Noah nor Megan moves to help me.