Stay in the Game Page 5

  James left the note on his desk. He put on the clothes from the other night and slipped the burner phone into the jeans pocket. When he opened the door quietly, he could hear his aunt still talking to the nurse. “Come on into the kitchen, Andrew, the least I can do is offer you something to eat . . .” James slipped into his grandpa’s room.

  Maybe he was imagining it, but he thought his grandpa already looked better. More comfortable. More alert.

  A smile came over the old man’s face: James’s favorite smile.

  “How you feeling, old man?”

  “Not so bad.”

  “You’ll be back to your old self before you know it.”

  “I wouldn’t bet on that, Doodle.”

  But I would, thought James. I’m betting everything on that.

  James bent close and held his grandpa’s hand. The lines of his hands were familiar and warm. They almost brought tears to James’s eyes.

  “Listen, Gramps . . .” He didn’t know how to explain, but he knew he had to say something. He couldn’t just disappear without a word—especially if he was going to be gone for a while. “I may be kind of busy for a few days. I might not be around. But—” He paused, weighing the words. The Benefactor seemed to hear everything, to know everything. James didn’t dare say something the Benefactor didn’t want him to. He couldn’t risk being punished—or kicked out of the contest completely. Not this late in the game. “But it’ll be OK,” he said finally. “Just trust me. All right? Everything’s going to be OK.”

  His grandpa squeezed his hand. “James,” he said, “I am so proud of the man you have become.”

  The guilt rushed back, stronger than ever. But he couldn’t afford that now. Not when he was this close. “Thanks, Gramps. You should probably rest now. I’ll let you sleep.”

  James couldn’t believe how hard it was to leave the room. To turn his back on his grandpa, not knowing when he’d be back. But it had to be soon. The Benefactor would keep Gramps alive until James finished the last task. And then James would have the money for the rest of the treatments. And everything would be fine.

  That’s what he kept telling himself as he walked out of the apartment.

  *****

  A few minutes before 1:00 a.m., James stood outside the massive building at 128 Nicollet Mall. A guy bumped into him, someone his age, then said, “Sorry,” and walked away quickly. James went back to staring up at the building. He put his hands in his coat pockets and was surprised to feel something inside one of them.

  A white business-sized envelope. Who had put it there? Must’ve been the kid who bumped into him just now. He looked down the street but it was empty. On the front of the envelope was a handwritten message: “James. Sit on the bench at 1st and Nicollet.” James scrunched up his face in confusion. This kept getting weirder and weirder.

  He walked to a bench about half a block away and opened the note.

  Dear James:

  Congratulations! You have pleased us greatly. This last task is the most important one. Once you’ve completed it, your family will receive a check for $10 million. You can use this to continue your grandfather’s treatment. We understand he is responding well so far.

  Here is your task tonight: The security guards in the front lobby of this building will be called away at exactly 1:00 am. Take the elevator to the 15th floor. Use the map on the back of this letter to find the office of Jennifer McKnight. In her file cabinet, in drawer E–F, you will find a file labeled “EarthWatch Project Proposal.” Take this file and leave the building.

  When you exit the building, the guards may be back. Do whatever is necessary to get past them. Tools are provided under the bench seat.

  After you exit, get into the white van waiting for you. The van will take you to your $10 million reward. Then you will be returned home.

  Do not fail.

  —The Benefactor

  James reached under the bench and felt an object taped to the underside. He pulled and brought it up.

  It was a gun.

  One of those cowboy guns, the kind that people used for Russian Roulette. James started shaking. And just then the alarm he’d set on his phone went off: 1 a.m. He had to decide what to do with this thing.

  He reread the letter. Turned it over and saw the floor map on the other side. With the weight of the gun in his hand, James couldn’t push the questions back anymore. Who were they? Who was he working for?

  This last task was beyond sketchy. Steal something, carry a gun, get in a white van? How was there any way that this was legit?

  A picture of his grandpa filled his mind. Whoever was behind this had followed through on every promise so far, and then some. This was a well-planned contest. These people had power. James knew they would come through if he did this. He just had to make sure the guards wouldn’t get hurt. He definitely couldn’t and wouldn’t shoot anyone. That was a deal breaker. If the Benefactor had other ideas, then that was too bad.

  His grandpa had said he was proud of the man he’d become. Well, for the first time in a while, he would live up to that and follow his instincts. No gun.

  James checked the chamber of the gun—carefully, trying to remember how he’d seen it done in movies. To his surprise, there were no bullets in there. Still, he didn’t like the idea of even holding a gun, empty or not. And he couldn’t just leave it here where someone else might find it . . .

  Not knowing what else to do, he stood up and threw the gun in the garbage.

  Then he squared his shoulders and walked to the building.

  One more task.

  CHAPTER 17

  Sure enough, the guard desk was empty.

  James ran to the elevators, punched the Up button, and got in as soon as a door slid open.

  Inside the elevator, the button for the fifteenth floor was labeled "SolarStar." While the elevator rose, James looked at the map on the back of his letter, plotting a route to Jennifer McKnight's office. Once he stepped out onto the fifteenth floor, it was too dark to see much. But he didn’t dare turn on any overhead lights. Instead he tried to remember the floor’s layout.

  Squinting at a name plate in the dark, he found Jennifer McKnight’s office. The door was unlocked, so he tiptoed in. He went straight to the file cabinet, which opened easily.

  James worked as fast as he could, looking through files by the light of his phone screen. Prototypes in Development. EarthWatch Development Minutes. Manufacturing Research.

  He remembered Sandra Bravo’s work at EarthWatch. Could that be related to the project proposal he was about to steal? SolarStar was clearly tied to EarthWatch. But why did that matter to the Benefactor? This whole contest couldn’t possibly be about something as harmless as solar power, could it? No time—keep going. He flipped through the files faster.

  Suddenly a flashlight beam swept the floor near the office door. James bit back a curse. He’d left the door open. Genius.

  He shoved the drawer closed and ducked behind the desk. Out in the hall, he could hear two men talking.

  “These idiots don’t lock their offices. Look at this. This one is wide open. I’m tempted to steal something just to teach them a lesson.”

  The other man laughed. “Nothing here worth stealing. Gotta love the nonprofit world.” James saw footsteps near the door.

  The door to the office closed. James heard, muffled, “These rounds are hard on my old bones. But this is what they pay us for, huh?”

  James heard a grunt far away. After that the security guards’ voices disappeared. He counted to a hundred, then stood up on wobbly legs, opened the door, and peeked out. No one. The light from the hallway shone through the door on the cabinet.

  James lunged back to the E–F drawer. And there it was. EarthWatch Project Proposal. Now all James had to do was get out. If the guards were on their rounds, checking every floor, he had plenty of time.

  He closed the door to the office and raced toward the elevators. Then he stopped. What if he ran into the guards? He should ta
ke the stairs instead . . .

  He found the door to the stairway and jogged down the steps. Every squeak of his sneakers seemed to echo through the stairwell. When he got to the first floor, he opened the door quietly and looked out. No guards. He headed for the front door.

  A voice called out, “What do you think you’re doing here? Stop right there!”

  James froze and turned around. Where did he come from?

  A gray-haired, white security guard pointed a Taser at him. James thanked his lucky stars that it wasn’t a gun. And that he’d had the sense to get rid of the Benefactor’s gun. James put his hands out to the side, one palm open and the other holding the file. He didn’t dare make another move.

  The guard spoke into a walkie-talkie he held with his other hand, keeping his eye on James. “Yeah, I got a break-in here. I need backup. Young black male, six-one.”

  Then he looked James right in the eye and said into the set, “Suspect is armed.”

  CHAPTER 18

  Fury ran through James. Then fear. Then fury again. His hands were open. It was clear he wasn’t armed.

  James wanted nothing more than to lunge at this guy and punch him in the face, Taser or not. But then he heard his grandpa's voice in his head again.

  So instead he said as calmly as he could, “Sir, I’m not armed. I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t be here. I took this file. I would be happy to give it back to you.”

  “Don’t move!” the guard shouted. From somewhere outside, James heard sirens far away. He began to shake. This was the scariest moment of his life. The security guard raised the Taser and stepped forward.

  From out of nowhere, a can bounced into the lobby, leaking gas. James’s eyes started to tear up and he couldn’t see. Someone grabbed his jacket roughly and pulled him out onto the street.

  James felt the night air hit him. He still couldn’t see.

  A voice whispered in his ear. “Come on, we have to get out of here!”

  James followed the voice, breaking into a run. He squinted through stinging eyes and got a glimpse of the person in front of him.

  Brown hair streamed behind her. And when she turned around, he recognized those eyes. He almost stopped running.

  It was Ana.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Megan Atwood lives and works in Minneapolis, Minnesota, where she teaches creative writing at a local college and the Loft Literary Center. She has an MFA in writing for children and young adults and was a 2009 Artist Initiative grant recipient through the Minnesota State Arts Board. She has been published in literary and academic journals and has the best cat that has ever lived.