Andrew Klavan - The truth of the matter

The black limousine was moving now. It had left the reservoir behind. The driver was guiding it into the darkness of the hills around my town. There was nothing on either side of us but looming forest and the night.

“What I’m about to tell you is a secret,” Waterman was telling me. “A secret of the United States government. If you tell anyone, you’ll be endangering people’s lives. I want to know if you’re ready to hear it and if you can promise me not to tell anyone, not even your parents, not even your closest friends, no one.”

I sat in the darkness, nervous. Was this guy really an intelligence agent for the United States government? What did they have to do with what happened to Alex? What did they have to do with me?

“Okay,” I said. “I promise not to tell. What’s the big secret?”

“We want to frame you for Alex’s murder.”

I sat staring at him as if I hadn’t heard him. I hadn’t really-at least I hadn’t been able to totally comprehend what he said. The meaning of it reached me slowly. And then I answered, “I… What?”

“We want to plant your DNA on the murder weapon, traces of Alex’s blood on your clothes. We want to rush the case to trial as quickly as we can and basically railroad you into prison for murder.”

I went on staring at him-or at his shadow in the dark. It seemed to take long, long minutes before each new sentence he spoke made sense to me. “You want to send me to prison?”

“Oh, don’t worry, we’re going to help you escape.”

“Oh.”

“But your family, your friends, your girl, everyone you know, is going to think you’re a murderer-and you won’t be able to tell them the truth.”

I didn’t answer. There was no answer I could think of. What could I say? I sat there, nodding. “Whoa,” I said finally. “You want to frame me for murder, put me in prison, and make everyone I know think I’m a criminal. That’s a really great offer. Is there a second choice? Like: you shoot me in the kneecap and leave me by the side of the road to die?”

Waterman gave a small snort of laughter in the dark. “Doesn’t sound like much fun, does it?”

“Any,” I said. “It doesn’t sound like any fun. But since you have the word intelligence in your agency, I’m guessing you have some reason for wanting me to do all this.”

“We do,” said Waterman. I heard him take a deep breath, as if he needed strength before he tried to explain this to me. “Your friend Alex was murdered by one of your teachers at school.”

“What?” I blurted out. Immediately, my mind went through a roster of my teachers. I couldn’t think of any one of them who would murder somebody. Okay, maybe Mrs. Truxell, the girl’s PE instructor… but no, not really, not even her. “Who?” I asked. “Who killed Alex?”

“Mr. Sherman. Your history teacher.”

“No! Come on!”

Waterman shrugged in the shadows.

“That’s ridiculous,” I said. “Sherman’s an idiot, but he’s not a killer.”

“Actually, I’m afraid you’ve got that backward, Charlie. He’s a killer, but he’s no idiot.”

I brought my hands to my face, confused. For a moment I felt that I was forgetting something important…

And then, I was in the dark again, looking through a sort of keyhole of light, looking in at my own body where it lay writhing in agony on the floor of the Panic Room.

They’re going to blow it up! They’re going to blow me up! I’ve got to get back there! I’ve got to stop it! I’ve got to get out of this flashback!

For that one moment, I remembered my present situation, my present danger.

But the next second, as if I’d reached the end of some enormous elastic tether, I was snapped backward out of consciousness and hurled into the past again…

Back onto the seat of the dark limousine next to Waterman.

“Your history teacher is a member of an organization that’s dedicated to attacking this country in any way it can,” he was saying. “They call themselves the Homelanders. The group was begun by Islamo-fascists in the Middle East, but they’ve come here to recruit Americans who don’t like the way our country works and who want to join with them in fighting us.”

“Sherman…?” I shook my head. Sherman and I had had our disagreements over the years, big disagreements about freedom and the founding ideals of our country- the stuff you talk about in history class. He always made fun of me in class, in fact, for being a patriot, for believing in the words of our Declaration of Independence that people are “created equal,” and “endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights,” like life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Sherman didn’t believe in any Creator, for one thing, so he didn’t think there was anyone to endow us with rights. And he thought leaving people free to pursue their own ideas of happiness led to too much selfishness and unfairness in the world.

“Look,” I said, “I never agreed with Sherman about much, but I always figured it’s a free country, he’s entitled to his opinions.”

“He is entitled to his opinions,” Waterman said. “In fact, as far as I’m concerned, the Islamo-fascists are entitled to their opinions too. They’re just not entitled to force their opinions on the rest of us, or to kill and terrorize people who disagree with them. And Sherman’s not entitled to drive a knife into the chest of a seventeen-year-old boy because he decided he didn’t want to join with the Homelanders after all.”

“Alex?” I said. It was almost too much to take in. Not almost-it was too much to take in. “Alex was going to join them?”

“Sherman convinced Alex that he could somehow solve his personal problems by joining the Homelanders. And that was Alex’s plan until that night he talked to you. I don’t know what you said to him exactly, but we think it caused him to have second thoughts-and Sherman killed him to keep him from revealing the Homelanders’ existence-and maybe to protect himself from the consequences of his mistake in bringing Alex on board. The Homelanders aren’t that nice to people who make mistakes.”

I shook my head again, trying to get my mind to come to grips with this. “So Alex was going to join the terrorists, only then he didn’t, so Sherman killed him…”

“That’s it.”

“So you want to frame me for murder? I mean, where does that come in?”

Waterman shifted in his seat, turning to face me. “We think, if we play this just right, we can get you into the organization.”

“What? Me? You want me to become one of these Homelander terrorist guys?”

“As things stand, we could just arrest Sherman for murder. We might even be able to make a case against him. We might be able to pressure him into telling us what he knows. But the fact is, we already know what he knows-and it isn’t all that much. He’s been kept out of the centers of power and information because he hasn’t earned the trust of the high command. Losing Alex hasn’t helped his reputation with them either. That’s why he’d be eager to recruit someone like you…”

In spite of my shock at hearing all this, I actually laughed out loud. “Recruit me? To the Homelanders? Big fat hairy chance, man. Sherman knows better than to think he can recruit me to attack this country. I think this country is one of the best ideas human beings ever had…”

“Well, I think you’re right about that, Charlie. But I think you’re wrong about Sherman. In his efforts to please his masters, he’s been arguing that you’re the perfect recruit.”

“The per-Me? But… why?”

“Well, you’re a fighter, for one thing. And for another, you’re kind of the all-American boy, you know? With a face like yours, you can get in anywhere. And on top of that… well, Sherman’s theory is that you’re a true believer. Because you’re patriotic and religious, he figures you’re the type of person who follows along blindly, without thinking. He figures all he has to do is replace your patriotism and your faith in God with his beliefs and you’ll be willing to follow after him.”