For the next three nights, I could hardly sleep. Every time someone came to the door, I figured it was the FBI. Every time the phone rang, I jumped. Every time the loudspeaker in school crackled, I expected to be called to the office, where I’d be met by the police and my parents. After a couple more days, I started to relax. After a week and a half, I stopped worrying and congratulated myself for pulling off the perfect non-crime.
The men in the dark blue suits showed up two weeks after that. They were standing on the sidewalk when school let out. One of them had a photo in his hand. His hair was cut really short, like he was in the army. His dark-blue jacket had weird buttons with gold stars on them. The other guy was a bit older. His hair was slightly longer on the sides, but he was bald on top. His buttons were normal. They both looked like they belonged to some sort of serious organization. I figured they were narcs. I didn’t think they had anything to do with me.
By the time they’d trailed me halfway home, I couldn’t deny something was going on. I crossed the street. They followed me. Instead of turning right at the next corner, toward my house, I turned left, toward one of the older developments where the houses were crammed close together and narrow side streets twisted off in all directions. I figured I could lose them in an alley. But I guess they realized I was planning something, because they started to jog toward me.
I was about to run when one of the guys called out, “You can’t get away, Eddie.”
I spun around at the sound of my name. The older guy snatched the photo from the other one and held it up. Even from a distance, I could tell that the picture was a grainy black-and-white shot, like the kind they show on the news after someone robs a convenience store. It was probably taken from a security-camera video.
“We know who you are,” the guy with the short hair said. “We know where you live. We know everything.”
No way. Nobody knew everything. Except my friends. And they’d never break our vow. I pressed a finger against the scar in my palm. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I shouted. “Leave me alone.”
“You run now, you’ll be running the rest of your life,” the older guy said. “Is that what you want?”
“I want you to go away.”
“That’s not going to happen.” He stopped about six feet from me. “We saw what you did. We don’t care about the money. You aren’t in trouble. So relax, okay? This isn’t about the bank. We want to help you use your skills for everyone’s benefit. Cooperate with us and everything will be fine. Right now, we just want to introduce ourselves.” He took a step toward me.
I backed a step away. “I didn’t do anything.”
“You’re too smart to believe that will work.”
“Just leave me alone.”
He shook his head. “It’s far too late for that. Listen, young man, you can trust us. We’re the good guys. USA all the way.”
Just then, the guy with the short hair dove toward me. Flinch would have seen it coming, and Cheater would probably have realized what the guy was thinking. I didn’t have that sort of warning, but I reacted quickly enough to save myself. While he was still in mid-air, I slammed him down at my feet. I can’t lift a person very easily, but I can give someone a persuasive nudge when he’s already moving.
“Wait,” the older guy shouted. “Don’t do anything stupid.” He dropped the photo, reached one hand out toward me, and shoved the other inside his jacket.
That’s when I snapped all of his ribs. I wasn’t even thinking. I didn’t plan to hurt him. The most sickening sound shot through the air, like a string of firecrackers. The guy dropped to his knees and his face went pale. He opened his mouth. I thought he was going to scream. Instead, he let out a wet moan as blood gushed from his mouth.
I wobbled back, sickened by what I had done. Something stung my neck. I looked down. The other guy, still on the ground, held a gun pointed at me.
I ripped the gun from his hand and sent it flying across the street. But the rushing darkness told me it was too late. I realized I’d already been shot.
“Sweet dreams,” he said. “You and me—we’re going to make history.”
I tried to pull the dart from my neck. But my hand wouldn’t cooperate. Neither would my mind. Then something flipped a switch in my brain and everything shut down.
AN INTERNAL FBI MEMO RECENTLY
OBTAINED UNDER THE FREEDOM OF
INFORMATION ACT
To:
All field offices
Subject:
Clarification of request from
As covered in last month’s briefing, we have been requested to forward to all material related to any cases marked “unexplained.” Please note that this does not include instances where the perpetrator is merely unknown. has requested we provide reports of only those crimes where the means or method remains unexplained.