Брэд Мельтцер - The Fifth Assassin

“Will you stop? It’s me being smart. Those magazines are gold. How stupid would I be if I left them unprotected up here? In my room, at least they’re safe.”

“And they’re not in your room?”

“I thought they were. I could swear I brought them there, but when I checked…”

“You think your mom took them?”

“My mom?”

“No offense, but you’ve seen how she’s been since she started working at the church. She’s like a second pastor. If she found your porn, you really think she’d let you keep it?”

Looking over Marshall’s shoulder, Beecher saw how restless Paglinni and the rest were getting.

“Guys, give us two minutes—I think I know where it is,” Beecher added, heading for the treehouse door and down the ladder rungs that were nailed into the tree.

Hopping down from the final rung, Marshall chased behind Beecher. “What’re you—?”

“Double-check your room,” Beecher said as they tugged open the screen door, ran inside the house, and raced upstairs.

Like any kid’s room, there wasn’t much to tear through. Desk, bed, dresser…

“Toldja, it’s not here,” Marshall said, approaching the set of encyclopedias that filled two rows of a bookshelf in the corner. Pulling a chunk of encyclopedias out from the top shelf, he pointed to what was hidden behind the volumes. Nothing. “See? All gone.”

“And that’s where you hid them all? Behind the encyclopedias?”

“Don’t judge. At least I’m putting my encyclopedias to use.”

“Yeah, as a hiding spot.”

“And a good one at that. They were tucked behind F. Get it? For Finally . And Friends .”

“I get it,” Beecher said, following Marshall out of the room and into the hallway. “But for someone to break into your roo—”

“ You boys doing okay? ” a female voice called out.

On their left, halfway down the worn carpeted hallway that had two matching grooves from wheelchair traffic, Marshall’s mother was dressed in a freshly pressed black skirt, white gloves, and her favorite lemon yellow blazer. Church clothes, or more recently, work clothes.

“You said you’d be home today. It’s Saturday,” Marshall said.

“Just a few hours. Just to get everything set for tomorrow,” she explained. “Oh, and sweetie, I’m supposed to tell you: When your father gets back, he wants you to go with him to Dr. Pollack’s house. There’s a nest of dead rats in the attic and he needs you to climb up and take pictures.”

Marshall nodded as Beecher nudged him from behind.

“Mom, before you go: Has anyone been in my room?”

“In your room?” she asked, clearly confused.

“Or even at the house? I don’t know, maybe last night… or even this morning… Did any friends come over to visit?”

Marshall’s mother did that thing where she tapped her pointer-finger against her nose, lost in thought. “I don’t think so. I mean, except for Pastor Riis.”

Marshall stood up straight. “Pastor was here?”

“Just for two minutes. I think you were in the shower. He was dropping off a draft of his sermon he wanted me to look at.”

Beecher shot a look at his friend, who didn’t need to hear anything else.

“Did I say something wrong?” Marshall’s mom asked.

“No, that’s great. Thanks, Mrs. Lusk,” Beecher said, tugging Marshall by the front of his shirt and pulling him downstairs. Neither of them said a word until they reached the kitchen.

“That skeevy sonuva—He stole my stolen porn!” Marshall hissed.

“I’m more skeeved out that he went in your room.”

“ Plus he went in my room! Plus he went through my stuff! Isn’t it bad enough he’s trying to screw my mom?”

“Marsh, whoa. That’s not even funny.”

“I’m not deaf, Beecher. I hear what people say. You see how she was dressed today? How many church secretaries get personal visits at home from the pastor?”

Shoving open the screen door and following Marshall back into the yard, Beecher didn’t argue. He’d heard the same rumors. But in all their time together, this was the first time he’d ever heard Marshall broach the subject.

“The real question is, without the porn, what do we tell them ?” Marshall added, motioning up to Paglinni and everyone else in the treehouse.

“Actually, I don’t think that’s a problem anymore.”

Following Beecher’s sightline, Marshall glanced diagonally upward toward the treehouse. From this angle, between the Plexiglas window and the open treehouse door, they could see inside. It was empty. Paglinni, Mackles, even Lee Rosenberg. All their newfound friends were gone.

Marshall’s eyes went wide and he started to sway, staring up at the treehouse and looking like he wanted to crawl out of his own body.

“Y’know what the saddest part is?” he finally said. “I didn’t even mind them using us for the porn. It was better than being by ourselves.”

“They’ll be back.”

“They won’t, Beecher.”

“They will. Especially if we—if we—” Beecher’s voice hung in the air, filled with a dangerous mix of promise and desperation. “What if we steal it back from him?”

“What?”

Beecher paused a moment as the pieces of the plan began to knot together. In a few hours, when he thought back on it, he’d tell himself that he just reacted … that he didn’t like seeing his friend so lonely and heartbroken. But even now, as the words left his lips, Beecher knew he wasn’t doing this just for Marshall. Beecher was doing this for himself .

“If Pastor Riis has the porn… You know where his hiding spot is, right? So what’s stopping us from grabbing it back?”

“How about him catching us? And throttling us? And telling our parents?”

“Marsh, he’s not telling anyone. You said it yourself—the last thing any pastor wants is to have his congregation find out he’s got a stash of porn in his basement. Even if he knows we snuck in and grabbed it, he can’t do anything. Weren’t those your words? He can’t do anything. ”

Just from the look on Marshall’s face—and the way his swaying started to quicken—Beecher knew he was close.

“You really like porn, don’t you?” Marshall finally asked.

“C’mon, you know it’s not just about the porn. Over these past few weeks, you saw what those magazines did for us. They were—They were like airline tickets to the cooler versions of ourselves.”

“Now you’re overstating it.”

“I’m overstating nothing. We’re not popular, Marsh. We’re not good at sports. Face facts: Without those magazines, there’s no way Paglinni and the rest are coming back. So either we find our way to those magazines, or we go back to our old lives. And no offense, but I don’t want to go back.”

Standing there in his own backyard, Marshall kicked down at nothing in the dirt, making his double chin become a triple.

“You really think we can do this?” he finally asked.

“Do I look scared to you?” Beecher said, already getting excited.

“I’m serious, Beecher. Whatever James Bond theme song you’re now hearing, I’m not just going in there by myself.”

“Can you please not worry for once? I promise you, Marsh. I’ll be right there with you.”

101

Today

Camp David

You’re serious?” I ask. “You think I’m working with Nico?”

“Beecher, we saw him slip you the playing card!” Palmiotti says.

“What’re you talking about?” I ask as I climb to my feet, both arms still chained to the bed. “He didn’t slip me anything!”

“We have it on video,” Agent Reed interrupts, his tone always even. “You think with all these murders—and with the Knight copying Nico’s old kills—we wouldn’t be looking at St. Elizabeths’ security tapes? We saw you there this morning, Beecher. We saw you bring Clementine there and we saw Nico slip you that playing card in his old book.”