I’m in my own chair when they come back. Dusan doesn’t even give me a glance as she heads to her table. The messenger bag is where she left it.
“Did you do it?” AmberLea asks. “I stalled her as long as I could.” Then, “Hey, what’s the matter? You okay?”
All I can do is nod. My brain is working the way I skate: flailing around helplessly. I can’t tell them the kind of horrible trap I’ve led everyone into, especially Aiden Tween.
Then Dusan is striding past us, cell phone in hand. I jump up. Toby looks at me questioningly. I wave him off and follow her. I don’t know what I’m going to do. She stops and starts, looking at her phone as if she’s having trouble getting a signal. We’re over near the yurt now. I step in front of her as she frowns over her phone.
“Dusan.”
She starts a little, then looks up at me blankly. “Pardon?” It’s the teachery voice I heard in the hotel lobby after we visited Aiden Tween that first time.
“Hi, Dusan. Nice to see you again.”
“Sorry, that’s not my name.” She moves to step around me. I block her and say, “Oh, you have lots of names, just like you have lots of voices. And beards and mustaches—and a gray Civic with a busted bumper.”
“I don’t know what you’re—”
“You’re going to kill Aiden Tween.”
For a moment she stares at me, as if she’s trying to decide whether it’s worth keeping on trying to fake me out. Then she jerks her head toward the open doorway of the yurt. We step inside. Like Toby said, the place is filled with fancy carpets. Lighting from somewhere gives it a soft glow.
Dusan turns to face me. “I’m not killing anyone,” she says coolly. The fabric around us swallows her voice. “Aiden Tween will be lucky to die a martyr’s death in the struggle against forces of oppression.”
“I’ve read your press release for tomorrow.”
“Then you know the Pianvian government, the PPP, is going to kill him.”
“I know the SPCA is going to kill him and blame it on them.”
Twin spots of red start to burn in her cheeks. “The SPCA fights for freedom. Sometimes freedom comes at a heavy cost. But not to you. All you have to do is stay out of the way, which is less than your grandfather did.”
“My grandfather—”
“Your grandfather butchered my great-grandfather in cold blood,” Dusan hisses.
“Zoltan Blum was your great-grandfather?”
“Of course.” Her eyes glitter. I flash on her ID: Jennifer Blum. “And your grandfather blew him off the face of the earth with a bomb in a golf ball. There was nothing even to bury. And probably he said that somehow it was for the sake of freedom. Maybe he even believed it: it’s easier to tell yourself that than ‘I did it for the money.’ Well, this is for the sake of freedom, freedom for a whole people, freedom your grandfather and his CIA masters set back fifty years. The whole world will rally to us if they think the Pianvian government killed Aiden Tween.”
“My grandfather wouldn’t do stuff like that,” I say.
“He had the anthem.” She shakes her head.
“There are a million reasons why he could have ended up with that song.” I don’t know what they are, but I keep babbling. “Somebody else could have killed your great-grandfather. You said he was scared and being followed. Maybe he gave it to my grandpa to keep safe and then got killed and my grandpa got scared and didn’t know what to do with it, so he hid it. Ever think of that?”
“You think of this,” she says. “Either Aiden Tween dies or your brother does.”
“Whaaat? Why? The deal was, get Aiden Tween to sing the anthem. Period. I did that.”
“But now you can make trouble for us, so the deal has changed. Deals often do. Ask your grandfather.”
“He’s dead.”
“Good.” She spits at my feet. Something roils inside of me.
“I’ll stop you,” I say.
She smirks. “It’s not me you have to stop. And it’s far too late to stop anything.”
“Oh yeah? Better check that box of bullets you carry around.”
Now she laughs. “There is more than one box of bullets.”
“I’m still going to stop you.”
“Maybe you didn’t hear me, little boy. Unless Aiden Tween dies, your brother will be killed. So you have a choice: him or your brother. A worthless pop star becomes an instant martyr for Pianvian freedom, which is better than he deserves, or your brother dies slowly and alone. I guarantee you, there will be nothing even to bury. Make a better choice than your grandfather did.” Jennifer Blum walks out of the yurt.