Jack's Run by Roland Smith 1 The phone rang, but Mack did not get up to answer it. He was lying in bed, a breeze was blowing through the screened-in porch, and he was feeling comfortable for the first time in twenty-four hours. It wasn't so much the heat that bothered him in Manteo, it was the humidity -- sticky, cloying, like swimming through warm chicken broth. The Greenes had moved to Manteo in November. The weather was fine throughout winter and spring, but when school let out in June, the heat wrapped Roanoke Island in a shroud of perpetual humidity. The only relief came between five and eight o'clock in the morning, when an Atlantic breeze blew in from the Outer Banks. The best place to catch the breeze was the screened-in porch overlooking their backyard. At first Mack's mother was not thrilled with the idea of her son sleeping on the porch. "Not enough security," she insisted. "Too dangerous." But after a couple weeks of Mack's complaining, she gave in. The phone continued to ring. They had an answering machine, but his father had forgotten to switch it on when he left for work. Whoever was calling wanted to talk to someone, but Mack knew that someone was not him. He had been in Manteo eight months and still didn't know anyone well enough to give them the family's unlisted phone number. The last time he had made a friend, she had nearly been killed. He figured he would have plenty of time for friends in the fall when he started eighth grade. By then he would know the fate of Alonzo Aznar. He would know if it was safe. The phone was still ringing. He sat up and looked at his watch. Five after eight. He knew it wasn't his mother. She and Christine were in Los Angeles, which was three hours behind East Coast time, and neither one of them were early risers. It wouldn't be one of his father's customers with a leaky toilet or broken windowpane either. He used his cell phone for his handyman calls. But it could be Dad trying to reach me, he thought, swinging his legs out of bed. He knows there isn't a chance in a million I'll have my cell phone turned on. Mack didn't even know where his cell phone was, or if the battery was charged. There was no point in carrying a cell phone if you didn't have anyone to call. He walked into the kitchen and picked up the phone. "Hello, Mack?" It was Doris Welty. "I didn't wake you, did I?" "Kind of," he said. "So, how's everything going?" "Good." Doris was a U.S. Marshal. She and her partner, Donald Smites, were their handlers. It was their job to protect the Greenes of Manteo, North Carolina, which had not worked out very well when they were the Grangers of Elko, Nevada. "No bad guys hanging around?" she asked. "People giving off weird vibes? Any funny feelings?" Mack had plenty of funny feelings these days, but he wasn't about to share them with Doris. "Sixth sense stuff?" she asked. She and Don were constantly talking about the sixth sense stuff. "If you think you're being followed or watched," Don had told him, "you probably are." "No," Mack said. "No sixth sense." The truth was, he didn't have this sense that they were always harping about. "I understand you and your dad are batching it," Doris said. "Right," Mack verified, seeing that his father had left him a note on the counter. I'll pick you up at six for some blue crab at the beach. Dad "How's your dad's business?" Doris asked. "Good. How's Don?" "He's on vacation," Doris answered. "Speaking of which, what are you doing this summer?" "Helping Dad a couple days a week. Hanging around. I might spend some time with Christine in Los Angeles before school." Unless I can talk my parents out of it, he thought. "Your mom and sister are having a ball in L.A.," Doris said. "I talked to them last night." Mack understood now. This was an official call. Doris was letting him know that she was keeping tabs on them. The marshals were not the only ones doing this. Agent Pelton, the drug enforcement agent who had arrested his father, called once or twice a week. So did the prosecuting attorneys who were trying to convict Alonzo Aznar. The calls were patched through the marshals' office in Washington, D.C. No one but Doris and Don knew where the Osbornes were living or who they had become. "What's going on with Alonzo?" he asked. The question was followed by a long pause. Mack knew that Doris was not comfortable discussing Alonzo with him, which is exactly why he asked the question. "Oh," she said finally. "You don't need to worry about him anymore." Mack rolled his eyes and was tempted to tell her that if that was the case, why were the Greenes in the Witness Security Program? "That's not what I meant," he said. "Is the trial on schedule?" "I'm a marshal, not a federal prosecutor," she said. "You should ask your dad about that." Mack glanced at the calendar on the refrigerator. There was a red question mark on Wednesday, the week after next, and a red line drawn through the next several weeks. He had noticed them for the first time the night before. "We've talked about it," he said, which wasn't even close to the truth. "The trial starts in a couple weeks." Again, Doris hesitated then said, "Really?" Mack was not the only one fiddling with the truth. The same date was marked on Doris's desk calendar. "We were wondering if it's going to be delayed again," he said, as if he and his father had talked about it just that morning over breakfast. "I don't think so," Doris said, giving in. "Wednesday is the start of all the pretrial stuff. Arguments, preliminary motions, jury selection . . . things like that. Your dad's part won't start for a while." "Why did the trial get delayed so many times?" Mack asked. "It seems to me that Alonzo would want to try to get out of jail as quick as he can." "First of all, Mack, he's not going to get out. He and his attorneys know this. Right now he's being kept in a federal holding facility in Atlanta, Georgia, which is posh compared to where he will be sent once he's convicted. As the accused, Alonzo is afforded certain comforts that aren't available inside a federal penitentiary. He's delaying the inevitable, but his time is just about up." Mack sat down at the table, happy now that he had decided to answer the phone. In ten minutes he had learned more about what was going on with Alonzo Aznar than he had in the previous eight months. His parents refused to talk about Alonzo with Mack and his sister, Christine. Their reasoning was that they wanted them to forget about what had happened, or what might happen, and concentrate on being the Greene kids from Manteo, North Carolina. Christine-the actress-had no problem with this. She had made a pile of new friends, and finished her senior year in high school "without a hitch," as his mother proudly put it. Playing Christine Greene was just another acting role for her. For Mack, the adjustment had not been quite so smooth. He'd had a few "hitches." He could not quite forget that Alonzo Aznar had tried to kill him twice. And he couldn't stop wondering what had happened to Sam Sebesta, the custodian and former Russian spy who had saved his life. Or Catalin Cristobal -- especially Cat -- who he had not even had a chance to talk to before they left Elko. What does Cat think of me now? he thought for the thousandth time. What do her parents think of me? Will I be able to talk to her after this is all over? Mack and Catalin's relationship had just gotten started when Alonzo came to Elko looking for his father's diary. Alonzo had kidnapped Catalin and threatened to kill her if Mack didn't turn it over to him. "Mack?" Doris said. "Are you there?" "Uh . . . yeah . . . sorry." Doris laughed. "I'll let you go. I just called to check in and see how you're doing." "Wait," he said. "I have a couple more questions. Have you heard from Sam?" "Who?" "Sam Sebesta." "The custodian?" Right, he thought. Sam is no more a custodian than you are, Doris. He had not only captured Alonzo in Elko, he had also saved the diary, which was the only thing that was keeping his father out of jail. "Yeah," Mack said. "The guy who caught Alonzo and saved my life." "No," Doris said. "There would be no reason for him to get in touch with us. Why?" "I was just wondering. I mean, after what he did to Alonzo . . . I guess I'm just worried about him." "I'm sure Alonzo has more important things to think about than the custodian at your old school." "What about Catalin?" he asked. "Did she ever write me back?" After they had left Elko, the marshals allowed him to write a letter to her, censored of course, and nothing like the letter he really wanted to send. "Mack," Doris said gently. "The Osbornes and the Grangers have no return address. I know it's hard, but you really need to forget about what happened in Elko and before. You need to move on with the life you have now." The problem is, Mack thought, I can't. I left my life back in Elko with Catalin Cristobal. But he couldn't tell Doris that -- he couldn't tell anybody.