The Truth Of The Matter Part 6

"Sherman . . . ?" I shook my head. Sherman and I had had our disagreements over the years, big disagreements about freedom and the founding ideals of our countrya" the stuff you talk about in history cla.s.s. He always made fun of me in cla.s.s, in fact, for being a patriot, for believing in the words of our Declaration of Independence that people are "created equal," and "endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights," like life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Sherman didn't believe in any Creator, for one thing, so he didn't think there was anyone to endow us with rights. And he thought leaving people free to pursue their own ideas of happiness led to too much selfishness and unfairness in the world.

"Look," I said, "I never agreed with Sherman about much, but I always figured it's a free country, he's ent.i.tled to his opinions."

"He is ent.i.tled to his opinions," Waterman said. "In fact, as far as I'm concerned, the Islamo-fascists are ent.i.tled to their opinions too. They're just not ent.i.tled to force their opinions on the rest of us, or to kill and terrorize people who disagree with them. And Sherman's not ent.i.tled to drive a knife into the chest of a seventeen-year-old boy because he decided he didn't want to join with the Homelanders after all."

"Alex?" I said. It was almost too much to take in. Not almosta"it was too much to take in. "Alex was going to join them?"

"Sherman convinced Alex that he could somehow solve his personal problems by joining the Homelanders. And that was Alex's plan until that night he talked to you. I don't know what you said to him exactly, but we think it caused him to have second thoughtsa"and Sherman killed him to keep him from revealing the Homelanders' existencea"and maybe to protect himself from the consequences of his mistake in bringing Alex on board. The Homelanders aren't that nice to people who make mistakes."

I shook my head again, trying to get my mind to come to grips with this. "So Alex was going to join the terrorists, only then he didn't, so Sherman killed him . . ."

"That's it."

"So you want to frame me for murder? I mean, where does that come in?"

Waterman s.h.i.+fted in his seat, turning to face me. "We think, if we play this just right, we can get you into the organization."

"What? Me? You want me to become one of these Homelander terrorist guys?"

"As things stand, we could just arrest Sherman for murder. We might even be able to make a case against him. We might be able to pressure him into telling us what he knows. But the fact is, we already know what he knowsa"and it isn't all that much. He's been kept out of the centers of power and information because he hasn't earned the trust of the high command. Losing Alex hasn't helped his reputation with them either. That's why he'd be eager to recruit someone like you . . ."

In spite of my shock at hearing all this, I actually laughed out loud. "Recruit me? To the Homelanders? Big fat hairy chance, man. Sherman knows better than to think he can recruit me to attack this country. I think this country is one of the best ideas human beings ever had . . ."

"Well, I think you're right about that, Charlie. But I think you're wrong about Sherman. In his efforts to please his masters, he's been arguing that you're the perfect recruit."

"The pera"Me? But . . . why?"

"Well, you're a fighter, for one thing. And for another, you're kind of the all-American boy, you know? With a face like yours, you can get in anywhere. And on top of that . . . well, Sherman's theory is that you're a true believer. Because you're patriotic and religious, he figures you're the type of person who follows along blindly, without thinking. He figures all he has to do is replace your patriotism and your faith in G.o.d with his beliefs and you'll be willing to follow after him."

"But that's crazy! I don't just believe in anything that comes along. I've thought a lot about the things I believe. It's about people being free and . . ."

Waterman raised a hand. "You don't have to explain it to me, son. We know all about your beliefs, Charlie. Your beliefs are exactly what we're counting on. I'm just talking about what Sherman thinks. We feel if we can set up a scenario where it seems you have reason to feel bitter and disgruntleda"like your being unfairly convicted of murder, for instancea"it'll give Sherman fresh motivation to approach you and win you over. And it'll make your conversion believable to the people in charge."

"Okay," I said uncertainly. "I get that, I guess. So I'm unfairly convicted and Sherman recruits me. Then what?"

"Then you work your way into the organization. You go through their training, you get a.s.signed to carry out a terrorist attack and find out about any other attacks that are being planned. Then you help us prevent the attacks and find the people in charge so we can bring them to justice."

When Waterman was done, I sat in silence. I guess you could say I was dumbfounded. I mean, listen, I would do just about anything to protect this country, its freedom, its people. I already wanted to join the Air Force, and protect it from the sky. But this . . .

"Why can't you just use one of your own people?" I said after a while. "I mean, you're spies, right? This is what you do."

"We've tried that. The Homelanders are too good, too sharp. We believe they even have people with access to government records. They see through our cover stories, they spot our agents. But someone like you. A teenager. Someone with no connection to us . . ."

"Yeah, I get it, I get it."

"That's why there'll only be a small number of peoplea" just me and a few others in the organization and one other outsidera"who'll know what's going on, who'll be able to prove your true purpose and ident.i.ty."

I shook my head as the whole picture finally made itself clear to me. I turned away. I stared out the window of the limousine.

"Look, you don't have to give me an answer now," Waterman went on. "And before you do answer, I want you to understand completely what I'm asking of you. You'll be taken away from your family, your school, your friends, your girlfriend. They'll all believe you were convicted of murder. They'll believe you're a fugitive who's escaped from prison. They may even come to learn you've become a member of a group of terrorists. I can't say how long it will be before you can come home and tell them the truth. It might take a month, six months, a yeara"I just don't know. In the end, if you succeed, if you infiltrate the Homelanders, if you bring these people down before they can attack us, maybe you'll be a hero. Maybe they'll give you a parade in your hometown. But if you get caught, if the Homelanders expose you, kill you . . . Well, what we're doing isn't exactly legal, doesn't exactly have the approval of all our higher-ups, you understand me? If it all goes wrong, we'll never admit we know you, we'll never tell anyone the truth. Everyone who loves you will go to his grave believing you betrayed your country."

I went on staring out the window. I didn't see the forest pa.s.sing or the sky above the forest or the stars gleaming in the sky. I didn't even see my own faint reflection on the window gla.s.s. All I could think of was the people I knew. My mom and dad. Beth. My friends at school. All I could see was the look in their eyesa"what that look would be when they saw me accused of murder, when they saw me convicted, taken off to prison. I mean, my moma"she worried frantically about me even at the best of times. I couldn't take a walk without her thinking I was going to trip and fall down and break my leg or something. How would she ever get through something like this? How would she ever be able to stand it?

But on the other hand . . . on the other hand, if what this Waterman guy was saying was true, if there really were people who wanted to attack this country, to terrorize people, to bring down all the things that had made us, really, the freest nation that had ever existed in all the long history of the world . . . then how could I just stand by and let it happen? How could I say no?

I turned back to Waterman . . .

And in a snapping flash of light, the scene was gone. I was gone. There was nothing but a sort of woozy, searing darkness and then . . .

I opened my eyes. I was on the floor of the Panic Room, my cheek against the cold tiles. For a moment I couldn't think of anything, couldn't remember where I was or what was happening.

And then I did remember. I remembered the limousine. The forest pa.s.sing outside the window. Waterman.

We want to frame you for murder.

I sat up quickly. I winced as a dagger of pain went through my head, and a wave of nausea washed through my stomach. But I gritted my teeth and fought the pain and sickness down. What did it matter? A little pain was nothing. A little nauseaa"nothing. I remembered! I remembered what had happened. I remembered how I had become part of the Homelanders.

I was working for Waterman, for America. I was infiltrating the terrorist organization in an effort to bring them down.

My hands curled into tight fists. My vision blurred with emotion. I remembered! What I'd done, who I was. All the people who believed in mea"my parents, Beth, my friends, Sensei Mikea"all the people who hadn't thought I was a murderer after all, who had trusted I wasn't one of the bad guys even when I'd doubted it myself. They'd all been right. I'd never hurt Alex, I'd never been a terrorist, I'd only broken out of prison as part of the plan . . .

For a second, all I could do was sit there, staring through the blur of emotions, joyful and grateful to G.o.d that my life was finally coming back to me.

And thena"then my mind cleared. My vision cleared. I looked around and saw where I was. I remembered what was happening.

I was in the Panic Room. Stuck here behind a door I didn't know how to open. Stuck here while the seconds ticked away and the Homelanders prepared to blow the place to smithereens.

CHAPTER TEN.

The Sign

Fighting off my headache and my stomachache and the weakness in my muscles, I grabbed hold of the side of the chest and pulled myself to my feet. How long had I been out? I looked at my watch. I'd only been unconscious about twenty minutes this time. It wasn't much, but it was long enough for the Homelanders to have set a bomb and run for it. The explosion could go off any minute, any second, for all I knew. How much time did I have left?

I stared at the wall in front of mea"the wall that held the invisible doora"that blank, blank wall. The Panic Room struck me as a good name for this place just then because I could feel myself starting to panic.

But then, as my mind continued clearing, something came back to me. What was it? Just before that last seizurea" the last "memory attack," you might call ita"I'd had an idea, hadn't I? An idea had started to take shape in my mind about how I might be able to get out of herea"maybe even get out before the killera"Waylona" and the rest of the Homelanders blew the place up.

What was it? What had I been thinking?

I looked around, trying to recapture the half-formed thought. My gaze fell on the chest, the empty chest. Something . . . Something had been there . . .

And then I saw the tray. The tray that had had the sandwich on it. I'd taken it off the chest when I'd opened it. I'd set it on the floor . . . There was something about the tray, something on the tray . . .

It all came back to me.

A flash of pain went through my forehead as I reached down and picked up the 3 x 5 index card Waterman had left for me with the food and water. I had to shut my eyes a moment until the headache pa.s.sed. But a moment later, I forced my eyes open. I reread the message written on the card: Eat. Drink. Build up your strength. You're going to need it.

And then, at the bottom, that symbol instead of a signature: that simple stick-figure house, a square with an X inside and a triangle for the roof.

Why would Waterman sign the note that way? That was the thought that had come to me just before the memory attack knocked me down. What did the symbol mean? The answer had been coming to me when the seizure hit and drove me to the floor and back into the past.

It occurred to me that he must've been trying to tell me something. Why else sign with a symbol instead of his name? And what else could he have been trying to tell me except how to get out of here?

I remembered how I'd watched him pa.s.sing his hand over the secret doors. I remembered the pattern had been all straight lines and diagonals. Just like the little housea" the straight lines of the walls, the diagonals of the roof and the X inside. Waterman must've been pa.s.sing me the code just in casea"just in case the Homelanders arriveda" just in case he had to escape and couldn't help me.

That's why he didn't explain it. Why he didn't write it out. He was afraid they might be watching, maybe even afraid they had someone inside his organization. I didn't know. But since that little house symbol was the only hope I hada"the only idea I hada"I figured I better try to do something with ita"now, before Waylon's bomb went off.

I moved to the wall again. I was about to put my hand against it, when I hesitated. I pressed my ear against the wall instead. I didn't want to get out of here only to walk directly into the guns of the Homelanders. I listened. There were no voices out there now, no one talking. The place was emptya"or it sounded as if it was empty anyway.

I backed off. I put my palm on the wall, the way I'd seen Waterman do it. I traced the shape of the house. The square base. The X inside. The triangle of the roof.

Nothing. No motor noise. No sliding door.

I licked my dry lips. My heart was sinking. I could almost feel the seconds ticking away. I tried again. Again, nothing. Maybe the door had some kind of secret sensor that read Waterman's fingerprints or his DNA or something.

But then why leave me the symbol?

I thought back to when I'd seen Waterman make the sign over the door. I could see there was a pattern. It was always the same patterna"the lines and diagonals. But there was something else as well. He had always done it in one smooth, flowing motion, never breaking off, never moving his hand and never retracing any of the motions he'd already made.

There must be a way to draw the little house with the X inside in one motion without lifting my hand from the wall.

I tried it. No, I had to go over one line twice. I tried it again. Then again. I couldn't make it happen. Every time, I had to retrace one of the lines. And every time I was done, there was no motor. No door.

I stared at the pattern on the card. There had to be a way. Waterman did it. I could do it. He wouldn't have given me the symbol if it didn't work. I had to believe that or there was no hope.

I tried again. I traced a diagonal across the wall. Another one. Another. Wait, this time it was working. A straight line, drawing the house. Thena"yes!a"only one more line. I did it. I finished the whole thing without retracing my steps.

And immediately, there it was. The grinding engine in the wall. The panel slid back in front of me.

The door to the Panic Room was open. I was free.

I stepped out into the main part of the bunkera"and the first thing I saw was the bomb.

It was sitting in plain sight, right there on one of the workstations. It was a large cube made of several blocks of some kind of brown putty. Explosives. I'd seen stuff like that on TV. There was a device and wires wrapped around the putty block. There was a timer there with red numbers quickly blinking away.

Six minutes and fifteen seconds left before the bomb exploded; 6:14 . . . 6:13 . . . The numbers clicked swiftly down.

That was the first thing I saw. The next thing I saw was the Homelanders.

A movement caught my eye. I turned toward it. Something was moving on one of the monitors hanging on the wall. It must have been displaying the video readout from a security camera posted in the ruins above.

I could see by the video that the dawn was breaking outside now. There was a clear view on the monitor of some of the broken pillars and ruined buildings standing in the morning mist. I could see the Homelanders moving among them. Searching through them.

They were searching, I knew, for me.

I turned from monitor to monitor. Each one showed a different portion of the scene outside. Each one showed different ruined buildings, different columns and empty arches and patches of fog snaking through them, twining around them. Each monitor also showed one of the Homelanders.

I counted six of them altogether. Each one carried a machine gun. They moved slowly through the ruins, their heads turning this way and that, their eyes scanning the area.

All except one. One stood still. He held his gun with its b.u.t.t propped on his hip, the barrel pointed to the sky. I recognized the place where he was standing. He was right outside the brick cylinder that protected the entry. He was guarding the only way out of here. He was making sure I didn't escape.

So down here, the bomb was tickinga"six minutes and one second now . . . 6:00 . . . 5:59 . . . 5:58 . . .

And up there, the Homelanders were patrolling and guarding the way out.

If I stayed in the bunker, I'd be blown up. If I tried to leave, I'd be shot.

I looked at the bomb on the table again. For a moment I wondered if maybe I could just disconnect the wires and defuse it. But somewhere in the bottom of my mind was the absolute certainty that the device was sensitive to the touch. Maybe it was something I knew from my training with the Homelanders. But however I knew it, I felt very sure if I even touched the device, it would go off then and there.

So that was what I saw: first the bomb . . . then the Homelanders on the monitors patrolling the ruins outside . . . And then . . .

Then I turned to look around the room, to search for another way out or for a tool or weapon I could use in a fighta"and I saw something else.

On the threshold of the doorway into the next room, there was a puddle of blood.

The breath came out of me with a trembling "Oh!" I had a terrible feeling I knew what I would see if I went into that room.

But I had to go. I had to see. I had to know what was there.

I started moving. As I came closer, I saw a trail of blood leading away from the puddle, leading into the other room.

And then I came closer and I saw a handa"one outstretched hand lying on the floor.

And I came closer. Closer to the door. I saw the arm attached to the hand. I reached the doorway and looked in.

That's when I saw the body.

It was Waterman.

He was lying on his face in the middle of the floor of a room that looked like a small lounge. One arm was tucked under his torso. The other was outstretched, the hand pointing to the doorway through which I'd just come. Beneath his head, there was another pool of blood.

I rushed to him. I knelt beside him. I felt his neck for a pulse. There was none.

He was dead.