“You can’t stay here, Alexei.”
“No.” He’s shaking his head. “I’ll not leave you to take chances because of me. I’ll not sit on my hands while you and our friends place yourselves in danger because of me,” he says again.
“We won’t be in any danger! Megan’s going to be on her computer. Noah and Rosie are going to be walking down public streets. And Lila and I are just going to go look around a place we’ve already been invited to look around. It’s not dangerous.”
“Digging up secrets is always dangerous.”
“Alexei, you’re still the most wanted man in Adria. We need you to go back to the cave.”
“No. These are dangerous people. I don’t want you sticking your noses where they do not belong.”
“Why?” I ask. “It’s not like you’ve got anything to hide,” I say in the manner of someone who knows too much about secrets.
Alexei catches my arm and doesn’t let me pass. When he speaks again his voice is low and his accent is thick. “We all have things to hide.”
It’s late in the day when I return to the embassy and find a suitcase on Jamie’s bed. Rows of neatly folded clothes sit in orderly stacks. Some books. A few toiletries. For a second, I panic. Jamie just got here. I just got him back. But another part of me has to wonder if this isn’t what I want — for Jamie to leave Adria, to go back to West Point. For my brother to get far, far away from me.
“Jamie? Are you leaving?” I step farther into the room, but Jamie just keeps folding and refolding clothes, trying to bring order to our messy world.
He doesn’t even look me in the eye when he says, “No. Not yet.”
“But —”
“These are Spence’s things. His parents asked me to ship them home.”
Suddenly, the feeling in the room makes sense. Jamie isn’t packing. He’s mourning. And as usual I’m in the way. I should slip back through the door, but my legs don’t move. I stand, frozen.
“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 naïve 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.”