We’ll promise him you won’t tell.
It’ll never be enough. He’ll make a bunch of promises in return, and the first chance he gets, you know what will happen. To you. To me. To Dash. You know.
A dark-haired twenty-something guy with stubble and black glasses got out of the minivan. Marvin’s right hand moved toward his hip.
No, Evie signed. Marvin, no!
The kid’s hands were empty. Evie thought that was fortunate. He looked around and said, “What’s going on?”
Leed kept her eyes on Marvin. “Micah, give us a minute.”
“Do we have what we came for?”
“I don’t know.”
I can’t let you give it to them, Marvin signed. I’m sorry.
Then you have to stop me.
He shook his head. Every time he stopped signing, his right hand went back to his hip.
Leed’s cell phone rang. She pulled it out and looked. “It’s him.”
I’m not going to spend the rest of my life afraid, Evie signed. I won’t.
Evie, please. Don’t make me.
Leed put the phone to her ear. “Are you all right?” she said. A pause, then, “Yes, I’m right here with her. But we have a slight problem. Stand by.”
This isn’t who you are, Evie signed. This isn’t who you have to be. You’re not a bad person, Marvin. You’re not.
Yes, I am.
Not if you don’t want to be.
Marvin’s hand went behind his back. “Don’t, Evie,” he said, his voice loud, intimidating. “Don’t.”
She didn’t think. She didn’t consider. She just kept her eyes on his.
Pulled the drive from her pocket.
And handed it to Leed.
Marvin slumped. He put his fingers to his temples and slowly shook his head.
Leed said, “I have it. Text us the passphrase. Micah and me both. Hurry.”
There were two incoming chimes. The guy named Micah looked at his phone. “Got it.”
Leed tossed him the drive. Micah caught it one-handed. “Go!” she said. Micah turned and raced back to the van.
“We’re sharing it,” Leed said into her phone. “The Guardian, McClatchy, the Nation, ProPublica, Rolling Stone, WikiLeaks. Plus various individuals we trust. Micah’s got a satellite link. He’s decrypting and uploading right now. Everyone’s ready. Everyone has their own passphrase. Can you stay on the phone with me? I want to know everything you learned directly from Perkins. The context. His impressions. The more you can tell me, the faster we’ll get through the documents. And the faster we can publish. They can’t put this genie back in the bottle. Not anymore. Give me a day, and we’re going to get you home.”
“Go,” Evie said to her. “Now.”
Leed looked at Marvin, then at Evie. “Look, why don’t you come with Micah and me? It’ll be safer for you. And we could really use your help to—”
“I’m fine. Just publish what’s on that fucking thumb drive.”
There was a pause, then Leed nodded. “Count on it.” She ran to the van, got in the driver’s side, and roared out of the parking area.
Dash tugged at her arm. Mommy, what’s going on? Who were those people?
Journalists, hon. Helping us.
Is the scavenger hunt over?
She nodded.
Did we win?
She looked at Marvin. Yes. I think we did.
Marvin just stood there, his shoulders slumped, slowly shaking his head.
It’s okay, she signed. I told you. You’re not a bad person.
He let out a long sigh. They won’t ever stop.
She heard tires on the gravel again. She looked up, alarmed. Marvin followed her gaze. A black Suburban came barreling down the road right toward them.
Evie looked at him, not understanding. Did you do this?
But she could see from his expression, his body language, that he hadn’t. He looked to his pickup, and must have decided it was too far to get all three of them there in time. He moved so that he was between Evie and the Suburban, then put a hand on Dash’s shoulder and eased the boy behind him, too. The hand stayed behind his back. Evie could see it was resting on the butt of his gun.
The Suburban stopped ten feet away, pointed straight at them. The doors opened. Four large men in shades got out. They had longish hair and were wearing casual clothes, but they looked fit. Military-serious. They kept behind the doors. Each of them pointed a gun at Marvin.
Dash turned to her, his eyes wide. She shook her head—no questions—and pulled him close.
Remar came out. And then — of course — the director.
“Marvin,” he said. “What would I do without you? My most reliable aide. My most trusted.”
Evie felt gut-punched. Had Marvin been working for the director the whole time? But then why had he positioned himself as though to protect them?
“You’re too late,” she said, surprising herself with her bravado. “The thumb drive’s gone. The Intercept has it. And they’ve already uploaded it to a dozen mirror sites. Everyone’s going to know what you’ve been up to. All your business, all your secrets. Let’s see how you like it.”
Did his face lose a little color? Yeah, she thought maybe it did.
He looked at Marvin. “Marvin, what’s going on? Do you have it?”
Marvin shook his head. “No. It’s gone. She’s telling you the truth.”
The color the director’s face had lost a moment before was nothing. Because suddenly he looked practically bloodless.
Remar walked over and put a hand on the director’s shoulder. “Ted. Listen.”
The director shook off the hand. “How could you?” he said to Marvin. “Betray me? For what? A sweaty little romp? Don’t you think I knew? Yes, even before you told me. I knew.”
There was a long pause. Marvin said, “You only know what you see. You don’t know what I feel.”
“Really. Well, let’s see about that.” He turned to the men behind him. “Take care of them.”
Evie dropped, spun around, and threw her arms around Dash to shield him with her body. But she heard a new voice, a deep Southern baritone: “No. You will not ‘take care of them.’”
She turned and saw a tall black man in a blue army service uniform emerging from the Suburban. She recognized him from television — Vernon Jones, the chairman of the Joint Chiefs.
“What are you talking about?” the director said. “We need to finish this.”
Jones shook his head. “It’s already over. You need to listen to Mike.”
The director looked at Remar. “All right,” he said, massaging his shoulders, “what is going on here?”
Remar shook his head and looked down. “I’m sorry, Ted. It’s time for new management. Long past time, in fact. You must see that.”
The director’s eyes narrowed and his lips thinned. “You scheming son of a bitch.”
Remar nodded. “I guess you can’t know everything after all.”
“After what I’ve done for you? I saved you. I pulled you from the fires of hell, you ungrateful bastard, I promoted you and protected you. Without me, you’d be nothing. You’d be dead, ashes, a cinder!”
“I know. And I’ll never be able to repay you for it. Although God knows I’ve tried. But this is bigger than that, Ted. Bigger than you and me. It can’t keep going like this. The fact that you don’t realize that… you’re not fit anymore. I’m sorry.”