“I’m really, really sorry about your friend, Jamie. I don’t know if I told you that. But I am.”
“Thanks,” Jamie says, then finally glances up. I’m filthy from walking through tunnels and sitting on the floor in Iran, and my rain-drenched hair has no doubt dried funny. I probably look as awful as I feel, and my brother sees it. “Where have you been?”
That’s all it takes to make me want to crumble, to break down and tell him everything. Jamie is older. He’s supposed to be wiser. He had years more with our mother than I will ever have, and I want to ask him if he ever heard her talk about a treasure or a society or any reason someone might want her dead. Mom was obsessed with something, I want to say. It’s like I never knew her, and now I know I never will.
A week ago I thought I’d spent the last three years living a lie, but now I know that it’s actually been much longer. I want to go back to being the little girl who was on the outside of the secret.
“Grace, what is it? What’s wrong?”
I killed our mother and someone killed Spence — someone is trying to kill Alexei. A better question might be what’s right?
So I tell him, “Alexei’s okay,” because right now it’s the only thing that matters. “I mean, I don’t know where he is exactly, but I know he’s fine.”
I’m lying, but that’s not the look that Jamie gives me. If anything, he looks like someone who would give anything not to be the bearer of bad news.
“Oh, gosh,” my brother says. “You don’t know.”
“Know what?”
“Russia blew up their own car, Gracie.”
For a second, I’m sure I must have misheard him.
“No. I told you. Alexei was supposed to be in the car. He was turning himself in. And, besides, Spence made it back to the mainland!”
“Oh, Gracie.” Jamie sounds like he’d give anything to keep me young and na?ve and stupid. But we both know it’s far too late for that. “There’s proof. Adrian officials finally got eyes on the car. And, besides, there’s a witness. The cops just briefed Grandpa. There’s a witness who saw Spence on the mainland after the party. And he was with Alexei.”
Jamie sounds as if this makes it real, but I know all about witnesses, how they appear and disappear to suit the needs of some kind of higher calling. I know medical records can be altered and even gunshot wounds can morph into something else. Jamie’s older and no doubt wiser, but on this topic I am the expert, and my brother has no idea.
“No.” I shake my head. “Witnesses lie. They get confused.”
“This one isn’t confused.”
“Alexei’s not a murderer.”
“But Spence was a hothead!”
For a second, Jamie’s as stunned as I am to hear him shout, but he’s so angry now. Not with me. Not even with himself. He’s angry with the thoughts that he’s obviously been carrying for days. Gone is his cool logic, and what remains is guilt and dread. It rolls off of him in waves.
“Okay, Gracie? I know that. And that’s what worries me.”
The rage fades, and in its place grows something so much darker, sadder.
“Spence wasn’t the type to let go of what happened on the beach — to take it. Not from some high school kid. Not from some Russian. He could have picked a fight, and in the heat of the moment, in the dark … it could have gotten out of hand. It could have gotten out of hand real fast. Don’t you get it, Gracie? I’m not afraid Alexei started something.” His voice cracks. He can’t meet my gaze. “I’m afraid that Alexei finished it.”
Jamie’s really scared, I can see it now. This isn’t the by-product of grief or guilt. He actually doubts Alexei. And that makes me doubt myself.
“But if Spence made it back to the island, then anyone could have done it,” I say.
Jamie laughs softly, as if it would be nice to be so innocent. “Do you know how hard it is to break a man’s neck with your bare hands — how hard it would be to do it to someone like Spence, who was big and strong and trained? Dad could do it. It would have to be someone like Dad.”
“Exactly! Alexei doesn’t have that kind of training!”
It’s supposed to be the perfect argument. This is supposed to be the moment that changes his mind. But, instead, my brother gives me a look that makes my blood go cold.
“Did Alexei ever tell you what his dad did before he came to the embassy?”
“No.”
“Well, I don’t know what it was exactly. KGB? Russian special forces? I don’t really know. I just know that … You know how, growing up, boys say things like my dad could beat up your dad?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, Alexei’s the only kid I never said that to.”
I try to remember the boys they were, how they used to laugh and play and run wild through the halls and down the streets, but no matter how hard I try I just can’t reconcile who they were against who they are.
“What are you saying?”