NUMB, Judy Colella [i am malala young readers edition .TXT] 📗

like Russia, where our relationship with them, even when working together to take down a known criminal, is, ah, delicate. They could easily think we’re using you as a way to accuse them of some kind of wrong-doing in the international community should something go wrong and one of you get injured or killed. So, no. And I doubt you could shoot better than even our worst marksman.”

Jax and Jett exchanged an amused glance. “Wanna gives us a try?” asked Jax.

“I’m very busy, as you must realize. This interview was a favor because you,” and he nodded at Jett, “are the victim’s husband, and, quite frankly, because I appreciate you representing the United States so well in the last Olympics. But that’s all.”

Jett took a deep breath. He hadn’t tried to speak yet, but if there was ever a necessary time to try, this was it. He cleared his throat, getting Gilliard’s attention. “I need to go,” he whispered, the sound coming across as painful.

“Do you have laryngitis, Mr. Kinsley?”

“No. When I heard that my wife’s plane crashed, I checked myself into a mental institution so I wouldn’t kill myself. My parents and brother didn’t need that. But I – I lost my mind for a long time. Every time I started to think of ‘Tarah, I would push it away by either hurting myself or screaming. I had nightmares all the time about her that were…” He swallowed, both to ease the scratchiness and to push down the remembered horrors this discussion was bringing back. “They were bad. I woke myself up by screaming. I pulverized both hands by hitting a metal steam pipe, broke the toes and instep of one foot, and badly dislocated my shoulders and collar-bone because I figured the pain would keep me from thinking about her. That really hurt, and so of course, I did a lot of screaming about that, too.” He gave twisted smile, shrugged. “This went on for about six months or so. And then I began to get past it. But as you can hear, my voice is destroyed. Anyway, I came home, still thinking I no longer had my beautiful Atarah, trying to deal with that, only to be called by one of your agents and told she wasn’t dead after all. Then I learned I also had a son. Would you stay home and wait for someone else to rescue them, Mr. Gilliard?” He swallowed hard, this throat on fire, wincing. That was more talking than he’d done in over a year.

The man took a deep breath, his mouth a thin line. He shook his head. “I don’t know what to tell you. That – that’s – I’m sorry you had to go through that, son. And I can’t believe one of our operatives was so stupid…what was he thinking, calling you like that?”

Jett shrugged, unable to talk at all now.

“Well, I doubt I can get permission for you to participate, but, hey. You want to come with me to the gun range? I’ll give you guys a chance to show me your shooting skills, at least.” He got up and headed for the door.

“May as well,” Jax murmured, standing. “Who knows?”

Nodding, Jett joined him and they went out.

An hour later, Frank Gilliard stared in utter disbelief at the targets. After they had shot dead-center into the hanging paper ones at the end of the regular range, he’d allowed the brothers to try their hand at the training grounds made up of “streets” with house and foliage mock-ups, where dummies would spring out of nowhere, from behind trees, doorways, in windows, on rooftops, and the trainee had to shoot not only the actual “bad guys” while holding back from hitting the “good” ones, but they had to try and make every pull of the trigger a kill-shot.

Jax went first, then Jett. They scored a perfect one-hundred percent each.

“Holy shit!” Gilliard turned and regarded the brothers with unashamed awe. “How – where did you two learn to do that?”

“We were both athletic, and our parents enrolled us in all kinds of things as kids. But we’re also really good at math. So Jett chose to continue improving his athletic skills, while I pursued engineering. We both continued with the other stuff, though – before all this bullshit happened, he was working at the local University as an athletics instructor and an associate math professor. I have my own business as a structural engineer, but I go on weekend-warrior jaunts to keep up my shooting, climbing and hiking. I also play a bunch of sports in the summer. Good aim is as much a function of understanding mathematic algorithms as athleticism.”

Gilliard shook his head. “Wow. I never would have suspected that.” He looked around at the targets again, uttering a short laugh. “I should be offering you guys a job.”

“Just let us go to Russia and help rescue Atarah.”

Jax had spoken, but only a fool would have missed that he was acting as his brother’s voice, too.

“Is that all?” With a barked laugh, Gilliard turned, waving for them to follow him, and left the area. He hadn’t said he’d let them be part of the case, but it was clear his view of them had undergone a radical change.

They soon found out how radical.

 

*******

 

“This is crazy.” Kobienko looked at his watch, then up at the apartment window. She’d been home for an hour, having gotten there the same time she always did, and as usual, there was no sign of any visitors. How much longer could he wait?

The question now, is, how badly do I want my revenge? Could I not modify it a little? Simply tie her up and make her watch as I skin her brat alive, then make her drink its blood or something? Then I will be free to take her. And I won’t be nice about it, either. Oh, no, I’ll make sure it hurts and keep at her for as many hours as I can stand. Yes, that might be the only answer. I can’t wait for her friends or family to show up – if they knew where she was, surely someone would have arrived by now!

He straightened, smoothed the front of his coat, and peered out of the doorway. The street seemed deserted. That wasn’t good. It would make his presence more obvious to anyone who might be looking out a window. Damn. He’d have to wait a little longer. A number of people who worked late would be by in a while, at which time he could leave the doorway and join them on the sidewalk. Then he’d make his way across the street as if he belonged there, and go into her building. If anyone questioned his presence, he’d simply kill them.

One hand in his pocket, he felt for the prepared syringe. Its contents produced either paralysis or death, depending on how much of it was injected. Should anyone see him on his way up to her apartment, he’d empty the entire thing into the person’s veins and have done with it.

An hour later, he saw his chance. Determined, excited, he walked out of the doorway.

 

*******

 

Atarah was tired and the baby was crying. Some days were like that, though, and she was up to dealing with it. A full week had passed since she’d noticed the gleam in the dark doorway across the street, and after that evening, she hadn’t seen it again. No matter. She was being more cautious than normal now.

After feeding Chasin, she’d tried getting him to go to sleep, but he’d been fussy. She had picked him up and was still pacing with him, crooning into his ear, trying to get him to settle down. As happened every evening, the street became temporarily more active as some of her neighbors who worked the later shifts began coming home. Out of boredom, she watched them as she walked back and forth in front of the small casement window. Even with the streetlamps on, it was difficult to see anyone’s face from there, but she had begun to recognize most of these people by the way they walked.

One man, fairly young, had an obvious limp that logic told her was the result of one leg being shorter than the other. He lived several doors down on the same side of the street as her apartment building. Another man, who never wore a hat even in the coldest weather, walked with an unconscious swagger. She didn’t think he was arrogant, but that it was simply the way he walked. His apartment was further down and across the street. Then there was the man who..where was he – ah, there!...wore an apron that was so long, it could be seen peeking out from under his coat. His walk was slow and painful-looking, like maybe he had a bad back. She noted each one as she bounced Chasin lightly in her arms, singing a quiet lullaby into his tiny pink ear. All of them familiar.

Except that one. Someone had emerged from a doorway – the doorway, and his walk wasn’t like anyone else’s who lived around there. Still, it was every bit as familiar. She’d seen it every day for months while recovering in the clinic. He had pulled his hat low over his eyes, his collar up, and clearly he was trying to blend in with the others on the street. She had no doubt that at some point he would make his way to her building and somehow manage to get into her apartment.

Oh, God! Chasin, what do I do? How can I keep you safe from that monster? She didn’t think about her own peril, but spent what little time she figured she had trying to think of a place in the apartment to hide the child where he’d be comfortable enough not to start crying. No matter what the doctor did to her, she could never let him get to her son. And she knew instinctively that he would not be kind to the child. She rushed about, thinking. Closet…no. Kitchen pantry closet…no. Cabinet…no, no. The bedroom – absolutely not! The…ah.

Hoping her solution wasn’t based on an erroneous assumption, she took a deep breath, held Chasin a little tighter, and left the room.

Had she glanced out the window again, she would have noticed someone else in the street, someone she also would have recognized immediately, and who was closing in on her building not far from the doctor’s shuffling form. But instead of going to the front door like he was, this person paused, then dashed around the corner, heading instead for the back of the apartment house.

As with most buildings of any size, there was more than one way in. Kobienko had only chosen the obvious one.

 

*******

 

Trying to look like a member of the neighborhood wasn’t easy when everyone around you was nodding to an acknowledging each other. Kobienko decided to walk slowly, draw as little attention to himself as possible. A few individuals gave him inquisitive glances, one even greeting him with wishes for a pleasant evening. Not wanting to encourage further curiosity, he’d responded in kind, and then headed for the front door of the girl’s apartment building. No buzzer had been installed that required permission of the tenants to enter, so he went inside and headed up the stairs. Based on the position of the window as seen from the street, he easily guessed which door was hers and knocked.

That she would open it wasn’t that surprising, but that she looked like she was expecting him when she did, certainly was. “Issa?”

“Atarah. You know that’s my real name.” She stepped back so he could enter.

He looked around at the sparsely-furnished interior, seeing what he’d expected. “Tell me, then, Atarah. Why did you run away from clinic?”

“Dr. Chevon scared me.” She shut the door but didn’t lock it. “I may have misinterpreted what she was implying, but I don’t think so.