Brad Meltzer - The Zero Game

Earlier, I said we shouldn’t make this call. Now we have to. If Mom pulls the fire alarm, we’re not going anywhere.

“Better,” Mom says. “Now, whatsa matter?”

There’s real concern in her voice. Sure, Mom’s loud… but not from anger… or bossiness. Senator Stevens has the same tone. That sense of immediacy. The sound of strength.

“Tell me what happened,” Mom insists. “Someone make another comment?”

“No one made a comment.”

“What about that boy from Utah?”

I can’t place Mom’s accent — part southern Ohio drawl, part broad vowels of Chicago — but whatever it is, when I close my eyes… the intonations… the speed of each syllable… it’s like hearing Viv twenty years in the future. Then I open my eyes and see Viv hunched over from the stress. She’s got a long way to go.

“What about the Utah boy?” Mom persists.

“That boy’s an ass-”

“Vivian…”

“Momma, please — it isn’t a cuss. They say ass on every dumb sitcom on TV.”

“So now you live in a sitcom, huh? Then I guess your sitcom mom will be the one paying your bills and taking care of all your problems.”

“I don’t have problems. It was one comment from one boy… The proctors took care of it… It’s fine.”

“Don’t let them do that to you, Vivian. God says-”

“I said I’m fine .”

“Don’t let them-”

“Mom!”

Mom pauses — a triple-length pause only a mother can give. All the love she has for her daughter — you can tell she’s dying to scream it through the phone… but she also knows that strength isn’t easily transferred. It has to be found. From within.

“Tell me something about the Senators,” Mom finally says. “They ask you to write any legislation yet?”

“No, Mom, I haven’t written any legislation yet.”

“You will .”

It’s hard to explain, but the way she says it, even I believe her.

“Listen, Momma… the only reason I’m calling… they’re taking us on an overnight to Monticello… Thomas Jefferson’s home…”

“I know what Monticello is.”

“Yeah, well… anyway, I didn’t want you fretting when you called and we weren’t here.” Viv stops, waiting to see if Mom buys it. We both hold our breath.

“I told you they’d take you up there, Viv — I saw pictures in the old brochure,” Mom says, clearly excited. And just like that, it’s done.

“Yeah… they do it every year,” Viv adds. There’s a sudden sadness in her voice. Almost as if she wished it weren’t that easy. She glances up at the poster on the wall. We all have our mountains to climb.

“So when you coming back?”

“I think tomorrow night,” Viv says, checking with me. I shrug and nod at the same time. “Yeah… tomorrow night,” she adds.

“Don’t forget to ask about Sally Hemings…”

“Don’t worry, Momma — I’m sure it’s part of the tour.”

“It better be — what’d they think, we’re just gonna forget about all that? Please . It’s bad enough they’re trying to sell it now as some tender love affair…” She stops a moment. “You got enough money and all that?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. Right answer.”

Viv lets out a soft smile at the joke.

“You okay, Boo?” Mom asks.

“I’m great,” Viv insists. “Just getting excited for the trip.”

“You should be. Treasure every experience, Vivian. They all matter.”

“I know, Momma…”

Like before, there’s a maternal pause. “You sure you’re okay?”

Viv shifts her weight, leaning even harder on the desk. The way she’s hunched over, it’s almost as if she needs the desk to hold her up. “I told you, Momma. I’m great.”

“Yes. You are. True greatness.” Mom’s voice practically beams through the phone. “Make us proud, Vivian. God gave you to us for a reason. Love, love, love you.”

“Love you, too, Momma.”

As Viv hangs up the phone, she’s still hunched on the desk. Sure, both phone calls can get her grounded and maybe even expelled — but it’s still far better than being dead.

“Viv, just so you know-”

“Please, Harris…”

“But I-”

“Harris… please, for once… stop talking.”

“Ready to fly?” the pilot asks as we return to the main reception area.

“All set,” I say as he leads us toward the back of the building. Over my shoulder, Viv stays silent, purposely walking a few steps behind. I’m not sure if she doesn’t want to see me or doesn’t want me seeing her. Either way, I’ve already pushed enough.

Up the hallway, there are two locked security doors straight ahead. Behind me, I take one last look at the reception area and notice a thin man in a pinstriped suit sitting in one of the upholstered chairs. He wasn’t there when we walked in. It’s like he appeared out of nowhere. We weren’t gone that long. I try to get a better look at him, but he quickly averts his eyes, flipping open his cell phone.

“Everything okay?” the pilot asks.

“Yeah… of course,” I insist as we reach the doors.

The woman at the reception desk hits a button, and there’s a loud magnetic thunk. The doors unlock, and the pilot shoves them open, ushering us outside. No metal detector… no wanding… no screening… no luggage… no hassle. Fifty feet in front of us, sitting on the runway, is a brand-new Gulfstream G400. Along the side of the jet, a thin blue and orange stripe shines in the late afternoon sunlight. There’s even a tiny red carpet at the base of the stairs.

“Beats the heck outta flying coach, huh?” the pilot asks. Viv nods. I try to act unimpressed. Our chariot awaits.

As we climb the stairs to the plane, I look back at the plate-glass window of the hangar, trying to get another look at the thin man inside. He’s nowhere in sight.

Ducking down and stepping into the cabin, we find nine leather club chairs, a buttery tan leather sofa, and a flight attendant who’s waiting just for us.

“Let me know if there’s anything you need,” she offers. “Champagne… orange juice… anything at all.”

A second pilot’s already in the cockpit. When they’re both on board, the flight attendant shuts the door, and we’re on our way. I take the first chair in front. Viv takes the one all the way in back.

The flight attendant doesn’t make us put on our seat belts or read a list of rules. “The seats recline all the way,” she offers. “You can sleep the whole flight if you want.”

The sweetness in her voice is at fairy godmother levels, but it doesn’t make me feel any better. Over the past six months, Matthew and I spent countless hours trying to figure out which of our friends and coworkers were potentially playing the game. We narrowed it down to everyone — which is why the only person I trust anymore is a seventeen-year-old who’s terrified and hates me. So even though I’m sitting on a thirty-eight-million-dollar private airplane, it doesn’t change the fact that two of my closest friends in the world are gone forever, while some killer for hire is chasing after us, ready to make sure we join them. No question, there’s nothing to celebrate.

The plane rumbles forward, and I sink down in my seat. Outside the window, a man in blue cargo pants and a blue-and-white-striped button-down shirt rolls up the red carpet, stands at attention, and salutes us as we leave. Even when he’s finished, he just stands there, frozen in place — which is why I notice the sudden movement over his shoulder. Back in the hangar. The thin man on the cell phone presses his open palms against the plate-glass window and watches us leave.

“Any idea who that is?” I ask the flight attendant, noticing that she’s staring at him, too.