Prettyboy Must Die Page 8

  “And you carry these around in your backpack because…”

  “Because I always knew you were an undercover agent and I always hoped something like this would happen,” Bunker says, looking immediately apologetic. “I mean, not like this, with people trying to kill you and all. You know what I mean.”

  “I know, Bunk. And no one’s getting killed. I was able to tell the police what happened. Well, sort of. The main thing is, they know we’re in trouble, but they might be a minute getting here unless I can get that computer to work. We just have to keep me and everyone else safe until the cavalry comes. You’d better get going. I’ll see what I can do with that catalog system and call you in a few minutes with my status.”

  “I’ll set the phone to vibrate, and I may have to whisper, depending on who’s around. You can also leave a message, in case I can’t answer,” Bunker says, his voice full of nerves, as he jams the last of his stuff into his backpack. He turns toward the stacks, but stops. “Hey, what’s your real name? I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

  “I trust you, Bunk. You’re the only person in this building I trust. It’s Jake Morrow.”

  “Jake. Jake,” he says, like he’s trying it on for size. “I just wanted to know because, well, in case—”

  I cut him off because I won’t be able to stop the bad guys if I’m thinking I’ll never take Bunker to his first NBA game, or eat another plate of Mrs. Morrison’s chicken and dumplings, or the million other things I want to do in the next eighty years.

  “In case nothing. Don’t even think about it.”

  “All right. From now on, you’re Jake Morrow to me. I mean, as long as no one else is around. I’m not going to blow your cover. I don’t want to be the reason you get killed.”

  “I’m not getting killed. We’re getting out of this, Bunker. Both of us. All of us.”

  Bunker smiles and then heads for the front of the library, probably a lot more confident in my words than I am.

  CHAPTER 12

  The catalog computer is in the perfect location. It’s near the emergency door. I can see anyone coming, and it’s in the very back of the library so no one can hear me, as long as they all stay up front. Assuming he’s still logged into the school’s system, I only need a few minutes to figure out how the hacker, how Katie—ugh, I can barely form the thought—is connected to the outside world, and piggyback onto whatever pipe she’s using.

  I haven’t been working two minutes when I feel the phone vibrate.

  “So how’s it going?” Bunker whispers.

  “You’ve only been gone a second. There hasn’t been enough time for me to do anything yet. Can you give me a couple more minutes and call me back?”

  “Oh,” he says, and then nothing else.

  “Bunker, you still there?” I ask, worried he’s been caught using the phone.

  “Yeah. It’s just…”

  “Spit it out, man. I’m kinda busy over here,” I tell him, searching the school’s system for the hard drive the hacker’s using to control the building’s operations.

  “Well, I was thinking … all those years I spent in a hole. I finally come out and discover the awesomeness of ice cream and fireworks and girls. Especially girls.” He pauses for a second, then adds, “Actually, I kinda met one already.”

  “And I’m just now hearing about it?”

  “At first, I thought she only talked to me to ask about you. I mean, that’s usually how it goes.”

  “You make it sound like girls are just lining up to get information on me, and yet I’ve never heard about it.”

  “Okay, it only happened a couple of times. Maybe three times. But I figured between Katie and Darlene, you had your hands full, so I forgot to mention it. They all seemed nice, but one of the girls … well, it turned out she was really interested in me.”

  I stop entering DOS commands long enough to finally get what he’s not saying. “Instead of me, you mean. Bunker, I’d never block you, man. Never. Tell me about her.”

  “Not much to tell. We only talked a couple of times. But I’m telling you now because, well, who knows…”

  Bunker’s voice trails off at the end and goes quiet, and now I get it. He’s as afraid as I am.

  “When we get out of here, we’ll find me a girl since you’re already covered, ask them out for ice cream, and take them to a fireworks show. We might have to wait a few months until New Year’s for that last thing, though.”

  Bunker laughs a little at that, and I realize I can work and talk at the same time. It isn’t a big deal for Bunk to stay on the line with me. Actually, it makes me feel a bit calmer, doing something normal, when right now life is anything but.

  “You already have a girl—two if you count Darlene,” Bunker says, unknowingly crushing me. “Wait. Darlene in Texas isn’t real, is she?”

  “Nope.”

  “I knew it.”

  “You figured out a lot of things, Bunk.” He’s probably grinning at that.

  “Like how I know you aren’t really over Katie. What if someone tells the bad guys how you feel about her? People are afraid. They do stupid stuff when they’re afraid. That would put her in a dangerous spot.”

  “Katie … well, we may have both gotten that one wrong. Waaay wrong,” I say, not wanting to say the words out loud, but needing to, so I can make them real. “Look, Bunker, the whole reason I’m at Carlisle is because I tracked a hacker to the school. I thought this person was looking to steal defense intelligence from the local fed agencies, but now I know my target is helping these guys take revenge on me for something I didn’t even do.”

  “And you think this person might be Katie? No way.”

  “I don’t want to believe it, either, but I have some information that—” I stop mid-sentence, unable to tell him what I overheard about Katie because it’s still too much. “Anyway, the local cops will never believe a seventeen-year-old was sent by the CIA to hunt another kid looking to harm the US government, especially since that isn’t exactly accurate. My boss sent me to Carlisle to grow up, but now I need to reach her ASAP and tell her I was right, the terrorist hacker really is at Carlisle, but my cover and the mission have been compromised.”

  Bunker is silent for a second and I’m worried he’s been caught talking on the phone, but then he says, “Wow. I’m torn between being piss-myself scared right now and truly in awe.”

  “Yeah, well, try to avoid the first thing and definitely don’t be the second one. You and everyone else could be in trouble right along with me. I messed up, Bunk.”

  “Hey, you just promised we’d be taking actual girls to see fireworks, so just focus on getting us out of this,” Bunker says. “I’ll be quiet and let you work, but maybe I’ll just stay on the line while you do.”

  I concentrate on my work, glad for Bunker’s wheezy breathing on the other end, which seems to calm me, though I can’t get Katie out of my head. As much as I don’t want to believe it, looking back, there were so many red flags. I was just too into her to see them. Some signs, like the fact that she’s a genius in electrical engineering or that she blows away even the best guy in Carlisle’s judo club, don’t automatically mean someone’s a terrorist hacker. I know some guys wouldn’t expect those skills from a girl, but they’ve never met the kickass women working for the Company.

  But I can’t ignore recent developments, like what the pretend-janitor said about the girl with a fake accent making an easy mark out of me. Or where the hell she went during the fire drill. Did she fall back, hide in the bathroom or something, so she could be the last one out—so she could prop open the main door with the matchbook? I want so much to run all this by Bunker, but now my paranoia has kicked in.

  Maybe they’ve planted listening devices in the library, or all over the building. If Katie really is the hacker, I can’t let her know I’m onto her. And if she isn’t, Bunker is right. I can’t risk the hostiles knowing any more about what she means to me than they already do. I really hope she isn’t the hacker, t
hat she’s in sixth-period English Lit, safe behind bolted doors. Is it crazy that I’m hoping she’s okay—even if she is the hacker?

  The wheezing on the other end suddenly stops. I hear a thud, a woman’s voice, then nothing at all.

  CHAPTER 13

  When the phone vibrates, I’m almost afraid to answer. I’m relieved when I hear Bunk’s whisper on the other end.

  “What the hell happened?” I ask.

  “I got caught—” He pauses and my heart damn near stops. “By a cop. Well, not really caught. She didn’t see me on the phone. I was able to hide it before she saw. I know she’s police, but in every spy movie I’ve ever seen, the agent is wise to trust no one.”

  I will never tease Bunker about his ancient movie collection again. “You did the right thing, Bunk. She isn’t the real deal.”

  “She flashed a real-enough-looking badge. Ms. Larabee bought it, anyway.”

  “Yeah, well, she’s one of the bad guys. What did she say?”

  “Claimed she was doing a sweep of the building, looking for suspects, but I’m guessing she was looking for you if she’s not a real cop. She left when Larabee told her everyone was accounted for.”

  “She even polices like a fake. A real officer would have swept the place anyway, in case Larabee had been forced to lie.”

  “Exactly what I thought,” Bunker says, and I believe him. He’s about as paranoid as I am now. “So you really believe Katie is working with these people?”

  “I don’t want to, but it makes sense. To me, at least. But I can’t focus on that right now. I got bigger problems.”

  “Can I help?”

  “Well, first I need to keep everyone safe until the real police arrive. Next, I need to take down Kat—” I stop mid-word. Calling her by name only makes the mission harder. “I have to figure out how the hacker blocked our phones so I can make contact with my boss at the CIA, because Marchuk will soon be a national security issue again—I mean, once he’s done killing me, of course. So if you can help me with any of that, please tell me your plan.”

  I don’t mean to snap at Bunker. I know he’s just trying to help, and that I actually came here looking for it, but I’m beginning to freak out a little. Spelling it all out like that shows me just how impossible this whole thing is.

  “Sorry Bunk, I’m just a little tense. You can help me by keeping everyone up front so I can work.”

  “Roger that. Anything else I should know about the bad guys? Other fake police to watch out for?”

  “Might be. At my last count, there are five, maybe six hostiles in the building. Which reminds me—you know the janitor who’s built like The Rock? Don’t trust him, either.”

  “Jeez. He’s one, too?”

  “Yeah, and probably that groundskeeper who’s always out back, bench-pressing that railroad tie during his breaks,” I say, hoping there are only five hostiles, maybe six. “He’s small and wiry but could probably out-lift you. And they’re both ex-military, so … no joke.”

  Bunker starts to say something but gets interrupted.

  “Yeah, those guys are friends. That’s probably who Red is talking to right now,” says a guy’s voice on Bunker’s end. “I think he’s lying about why the alarm went off. Let’s check it out.”

  The line drops right after I hear a scream, though it may have been more like a squeal. A few seconds later, I’m face-to-face with a small search party, Bunker bringing up the rear.

  “I’m sorry, Peter. I should have been paying more attention, but they snuck up on me.”

  “Oh my God. I sit two rows over from him in calculus,” says a girl at the front of the group. “How did I not notice how hot he is?”

  “Who could tell? I mean, how does that,” says another girl, pointing to me, “compare to this?” She holds her phone at arm’s length, presumably comparing my stalker shot to the real thing and finding reality lacking.

  “No, don’t you see? Just remove the glasses, take off his shirt, and boom. Hot.”

  I’m beginning to feel like a zoo animal, both on display and caged at the same time. Calc girl makes a move toward me, and I’m afraid she’s about to demonstrate her theory, when the guy who led them all back here intercedes.

  “Are you crazy? He’s the reason for all of this. Stop talking about him like he stepped out of a poster on your bedroom wall.”

  “Peter’s a good guy,” Bunker says, trying to defend me, but they ignore him.

  “Excuse you, but I’m into real art. I’m not a freshman,” says the second girl, like it’s a crime for a senior to have a Tupac concert poster on his wall. Or a couple of them.

  I try to gain some control over the conversation. “Okay, wait a minute, y’all—”

  “He would make a good poster,” says the second girl. “I mean, the shirtless version. Whoever took this picture has serious skills. I wonder which filter she used, because—”

  “Would you please shut up about what he looks like?” says the guy who is the worst nightmare of a spy who’s been made: jumpy and scared. “He’s probably a criminal. Because of him, we might all be killed.”

  “There is no way a guy that good-looking hangs out with terrorists,” calc girl offers in my defense.

  But her friend isn’t convinced. “Not true. Remember that felon who went viral because he was so gorgeous, and then got a modeling contract after he got out of jail? And he had a teardrop tattoo. This one even looks a little like him.”

  They’re all working my last nerve, and I’m about ready to stop seeing them as classmates I need to protect and more like obstacles I need to knock out of my way.

  “What does that tattoo mean, anyway?” asks calc girl. “I heard—”

  “Focus, people. The guy is obviously bad news,” yells the self-appointed leader of the group. The three quiet ones in back nod in agreement. “Even so, we can take him. There are more of us. You two go get reinforcements. And find that cop. We’ll keep an eye on him.”

  Bunker steps up beside me in a show of force. The whole thing is starting to feel way too Lord of the Flies for my comfort. As much as I don’t want to hurt a student, I’m about to shut down this Jack-runs-the-island wannabe when the PA alert sounds.

  I can feel the collective tension of everyone in the library rise at the same time.

  “It’s true! What Prettyboy says is true!”

  It’s Dodson, and she’s clearly given up trying to sound calm. Her frantic words are followed by indecipherable noises, the screech of feedback on the PA system, and then a now-familiar voice.

  “Pupils of Carlisle Academy,” begins Marchuk, no longer trying to tone down his thick Ukrainian accent, “what headmaster is trying to tell you is, school has been taken over by me.”

  There is a murmur of voices at the front of the library, and probably all over the school, as people try to digest this information.

  “We are here for only one reason. We are here for person you know as Peter Smith.” He stops for a second, and there is muffled conversation on his end before he resumes. “Or perhaps you know him as Prettyboy. Sooner we find him, sooner we leave. You can help—”

  He’s stops talking and begins moaning like someone is killing him. Then we hear a thud, followed by his voice sounding far away: “Вона брикатися мене!” which translates to “She kicked me!”

  It doesn’t take a genius to figure out where, considering all the moaning. Score one for Dodson.

  There are some indecipherable sounds on the other end, more squealing feedback from the PA system, and then Dodson’s voice, sounding way past frantic.

  “Don’t believe him! They won’t just leave. We must protect Prettyboy for all our sakes, because the minute they find him, they’ll—”

  The next sound through the PA system is clear, at least to me: the sound of a fist hitting bone. Dodson’s down. A second later, the only thing I hear are the screams inside the library, including the one coming from my mob’s leader, who runs off toward the front of the l
ibrary.

  “Just as I suspected,” I say. “He’s the type who only jumps bad until the shit hits the fan.”

  “Uh, he’s the type who will turn you in to the bad guys to save himself,” calc girl offers. “He was talking about doing that even before Dodson’s announcement.”

  Next thing I know, Bunker takes off after him, but not before yelling back to me, “Keep working! Find a way to get help.”

  I’m worried whether Bunker might have taken on more than he can handle, but he’s right, and so is Dodson. Even if a mob hands me over—or I do it myself—Marchuk isn’t just going to walk away from this. Dodson and her people have seen his face. I remember what he said in that shelled-out house back in Ukraine. He’ll use kids as human shields if that’s required to make his escape. Turning myself in will save many more lives than we’ll lose, but that isn’t a cost-risk assessment I’m willing to concede. Not yet. I don’t plan on losing a single person.

  “We aren’t going to stop you,” calc girl says as she puts up her hands and looks around at what remains of the mob, who nod in agreement. “Do what you gotta, Prettyboy.”

  She turns to leave and the group follows their new leader.

  I know the police are on their way, but it’s taking too long. Maybe they’re having trouble breaching the security doors. I need a backup plan, and getting CIA-grade help might be the only thing that saves us, so I get to work, hoping Bunker can deal with whatever’s happening up front.

  Come on, Jake, you can do this. You’ve stopped hackers from taking down Wall Street.

  First, I need to figure out whether the hacker is blocking communication by spoofing radio frequencies or jamming GPS signals. He—or she—would need some mad skills to pull off the first thing, skills I probably can’t match, so I’m hoping it’s the signal jamming. I’d have a chance against that.

  No, man. Either way, you got this. The reason you’re only seventeen but work for the best spy shop in the world is because you’ve hacked into the Defense Intelligence Agency just for kicks.