Page 7
Story: Mr. Nice Spy
I’d hoped for sunlight. Something that could tell me where, or when, we were. Not that we were time travelers or anything like that, but I had no concept of how long we’d been out. I expected it was morning, but there was only more darkness outside the truck door, so I couldn’t be sure. The air was musty and dank, smelling like a boys’ locker room. Not exactly pleasant. Chan and I stayed inside the truck, neither of us moving as we watched the person silhouetted in the doorway. With such little light to guide us, we couldn’t even tell who it was.
Until he spoke.
“Out, both of you,” Xander said. He waved his gun, which I was beginning to suspect was a permanent accessory, a comfort object like a child’s blanket. When Chan and I still didn’t move, he cocked it.
We moved.
The room we now stood in would barely qualify as a garage. It fit the armored truck and had a small hallway leading out of it. A metal garage door separated us from wherever we’d come from, but it was locked along the bottom. There weren’t any windows, just a single fluorescent light bulb that hung from the ceiling ten feet above us, casting an eerie glow about the room. The walls were stone and the floor was dirt. It sloped slightly downward, like the garage was a tunnel leading into the belly of the beast and we were about to be eaten alive.
Xander motioned for us to walk down the hallway.
“I’ll go,” I said, attempting to make my voice commanding. “But I want you to take Chan back.”
Might as well start my resolution now. No time like the present and all that. Once Holt got involved, my chances of getting Chan back home dropped exponentially, and I didn’t know how long I had before Daddy dearest made his grand entrance.
Xander actually laughed at me. “You may be the boss’s daughter, but you don’t call the shots around here,” he said. “I’m more than happy to tie you up and hit you with another tranquilizer dart if you’re going to be uncooperative about things. Or both of you can walk down that hallway now. It’s your choice.”
In the sickly glow of the single light bulb, his tattoos looked decidedly sinister. My eyes cut to Chan, whose expression wasn’t one I was familiar with. The muscle in his jaw clenched so tightly I could see it every time it flexed, and he glanced around the room like he was memorizing every detail.
And I realized—he probably was. Chan was likely analyzing the exit points and strategizing whether he could take down Xander without injuring either of us in the process. Xander had a gun, but Chan had the training. The true question was whether we’d be able to escape once Chan took out Xander. Or whether Xander had reinforcements down the hallway we didn’t know about. So two questions really. Oh, and how much time we had before someone came looking for us. So make that three. That was a lot to evaluate with not a lot of time to do it in.
Being a spy was more difficult than I gave agents credit for. I didn’t know how he could analyze all these things simultaneously, when there were literal lives at stake. Plus he had to live with the consequences. Then there was the hand-to-hand combat, foreign languages, marksmanship, and probably twenty billion other things I hadn’t considered.
And I thought my job was hard. All I did was light things on fire.
I focused on the one thing I could handle: getting Chan out of here.
“If you just take him back,” I tried again, “you’d be doing Holt a favor. You know it’s only me he cares about. Do you really want another mouth to feed? Another prisoner to watch?”
Xander shook his head. “You expect me to magically teleport him back to Virginia in the blink of an eye now that he knows we’re in France?”
Well, we hadn’t known that previously. And okay, maybe the transportation details had a few kinks we’d need to iron out, but I was willing to bet with a little effort we could make some magic happen. Maybe even sneak in a tour of the Eiffel Tower along the way just for funsies.
But, wait a minute. France? As in, France , France? The France that was halfway across the world, where they ate excellent cheese and made fun of Americans? That France?
Xander had said it, and I’d heard him, but it’d taken me a full twenty seconds to internalize what he’d said and what that meant for me. We were in a foreign country, with nothing except the shirts on our backs, and the CIA still hadn’t stepped in to save us.
“Well,” I said, pretending to consider, “maybe not in the blink of an eye, but you could put him on a plane. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind flying first class. After how we’ve been treated, really, it’s the least you could do.”
Chan looked at me like he didn’t know what I was going on about. I couldn’t tell him I was trying to save his life. Or that my coping mechanism was humor, and right now I had enough anxiety coursing through my veins that it was a wonder I wasn’t putting on a full-fledged stand-up routine.
“You’re the one who insisted I bring him along,” Xander said.
“That was before I knew you were going to treat us like prisoners of war,” I said. “What is this place?”
“Your new home,” an unfamiliar voice said. “And trust me, you have no idea how a prisoner of war is treated.”
The air of authority, the mocking tone that was saturated with derision—I knew without a doubt who this individual was without being introduced.
I turned. And came face-to-face with the person I’d seen splashed across the news for the past several weeks.
Holt.
Looked like we were going to get this family reunion started right away, whether I wanted to or not.
His nose was flat and wide, matching the rest of his face, which looked like it had been stepped on one too many times. His hair was on the lighter side, like mine. But unlike me, he must have been well over six feet tall, with broad shoulders and a sour expression.
“I take it you’re my father.” I didn’t phrase it as a question. After everything I’d been through, I guess I’d finally come to terms with the fact that my father was a wanted crime boss. Lucky me.
Three more men stood behind him, bringing their total number to five.
Five to two, and all of them were armed, judging by the bulges in their jackets. Not great odds considering the fact that we still didn’t know where we were. And no, a country didn’t exactly count.
“We’ll see.” Holt held out a small tube, shoving it toward my face. “Spit into this.”
“No, thanks.” I pushed it away.
In response, Holt grabbed my jaw in a viselike grip with his left hand, clenching so hard my mouth popped open against my will. Another man from behind him came to the side and forced a Q-tip under my tongue, practically skewering me while I writhed like a fish on a hook. I couldn’t even protest, since Xander pinned my arms to my sides so I could only whimper in response.
“Hey, easy now.” Chan reached out, but another man pointed a gun at him. Chan backed down.
Holt finally released me to grab the swab, which he put inside the tube he still held in his right hand, replacing the lid before dropping it into his jacket pocket. Xander released me and stepped away like nothing unusual had happened. I blinked furiously, attempting to stop the tears that pricked my eyelids.
“Be grateful,” Holt said, voice low like a warning. “I could have taken your blood.”
I shivered.
How had my mother done it? How had she fallen for this man, and how had she escaped what had obviously been an abusive relationship?
No, I couldn’t think about my mom now. That only made me feel worse and more alone than ever. The one person who’d always had my back had lied to me about my entire existence. I didn’t know if there was anyone I could trust anymore.
I shook my head, trying to gather my thoughts.
“Nice to meet you too,” I mumbled, massaging my jaw. Surely there had to be easier ways of obtaining my DNA. Come to think of it…
“Hold up.” I dropped my hand as I looked at Holt. “Didn’t your lapdog already take my DNA? Don’t you trust your men?”
Holt crossed his arms. “I trust no one.” He scowled. “Not anymore.”
The entire room was silent, and I wondered what unspeakable line I’d crossed. It sounded too similar to my own thoughts about trust that I’d had a moment earlier, and I sat with the uncomfortable feeling of a coat that no longer fit right. Did I have more in common with my father than I’d originally anticipated?
At my left, I thought I saw Chan’s lips twitch. But before I could double-check, the ghost of a smile was gone. He’d been quiet since we’d gotten out of the truck, barely even putting up a fight when Holt’s men had taken my DNA sample. But it made me remember something Agent Mendez had said back at my apartment. Something about how the CIA had learned about me in the first place, and my own fears disappeared with a burst of realization.
“That’s right,” I said with a laugh. “The CIA said something about a double agent when you were in Prague.”
Holt turned back around faster than I would have thought possible for a man of his size. The look he gave me was laced with so much venom it instantly made me take a step back. In a blink, Chan was there, placing his hands on my shoulders to steady me.
“You don’t seem to understand how things work around here.” Holt stopped when he was only inches away from my face and I’d backed fully into Chan’s chest.
Holt’s face was purple, and so close I could see the vein popping above his temple. His eyes narrowed as he considered me. “You need to remember who is in charge and watch your attitude, little girl. Aren’t you scared?”
Yes.
“No,” I lied. “But maybe that’s because I know you want me alive.”
It was the only thing keeping me from peeing my pants, if I was being honest. That and the feel of Chan’s heartbeat behind my back, unfaltering in its rhythm. How he could remain so calm was a mystery.
Holt tilted his head and considered my statement. “Maybe I want you alive right now, but that might not always be the case.”
He turned, and without warning, pulled a gun from the inside of his jacket and shot one of the men he’d brought with him. It was a clear hit to the chest, and the man went down with a cry, collapsing in a heap as he clutched at the bullet wound. Blood pooled around him on the dirt floor, but none of the other men stepped up to help. They didn’t even look concerned.
I stood in horror, watching a man die in front of me because of something I’d said rather than because of anything he had done. Yes, he was probably a bad man. He’d been associating with criminals, after all, but he deserved prison, not death.
The room was silent except for the whimpers and cries of the man who was bleeding out on the dirt floor. When he stopped moving, Holt turned his gun to me, pointing the barrel at my chest.
Ice coursed through my veins, numbing every thought except that I’d made a very, very bad mistake. Holt pushed the gun into my chest, and the hard end of it drove me farther into Chan.
The other men watched noiselessly, none of them moving to come to my aid. Not that I would have expected that, but even their eyes looked dull and expressionless. Like they knew they worked for the devil and this kind of behavior no longer fazed them in the slightest.
Chan reached over and gently nudged the gun away. “All right, you’ve made your point.”
Holt sized him up, taking in his muscular build and the way he carried himself. Holt obviously wasn’t scared of Chan, but he also knew he’d already won the argument.
Not hard to do when you had a gun and were willing to use it.
“So you’re the boyfriend.” Holt dropped his arm but didn’t put away the gun. I was sure that was a deliberate choice.
The thing that amazed me the most about this whole encounter, aside from the person dying in front of me, was that Holt’s other men still stood by him. They’d watched him murder one of his own employees in cold blood for no reason, and they still thought he was the safe bet. Why? What was I missing?
“That’s what they tell me.” Chan slid his hand from my shoulder and intertwined his fingers with mine. It was a nice gesture, but all I could do was panic. That’s what they tell me ? How could Chan joke around when a man had just been killed right in front of us? And was he trying to subtly hint to Holt that our relationship was a lie? Because I did not need this right now. He was supposed to be good at reading the room. Reading people . So why would he crack jokes at a time like this when there was enough tension in the air to power an electrical storm? I understood the desire for comic relief—I tended to rely on that myself—but not when someone was lying lifeless on the floor. The time for jokes was long gone.
Chan squeezed my hand reassuringly, and I swallowed the protest that was bubbling up in my throat. He was the CIA agent. I should let him handle this. I’d tried to talk to my father and a man had died, so maybe it was time I shut up already.
“When Xander asked me what to do with you, I’ll admit, I had to think about it,” Holt said, bringing the gun up and inspecting it like it was a beloved toy.
I shook my head. Of course Xander had gotten permission first. It was naive of me to assume I could have sneaked Chan out of here with Holt being none the wiser to his presence back when we’d first arrived in the garage. Still, I didn’t feel bad for trying. It just meant I’d have to double my efforts now.
“But then I decided it didn’t matter.” He scratched the side of his face with the gun. Maybe he was showing off. Or maybe my father was just that stupid and I was lucky to have graduated from college with a chemical engineering degree. Either was a distinct possibility.
Holt finally put the gun away and turned to face me. “Don’t push me and your boyfriend can stay.” He inclined his head. Did he expect me to thank him for taking us prisoner?
“And if I push you?” I asked.
Holt had no idea how badly I didn’t want Chan to stay. How I needed him to go. Both for his own safety and mine.
If I got Chan out, he could bring the cavalry, aka the CIA.
Heaven knew I needed them.
I didn’t really think they’d leave me here to rot, but I also didn’t put a whole lot of faith in the United States government, so it was a guessing game as to whether they’d uphold their end of the bargain. Or if they’d be able to find us now that we were on the other side of the world. Supposedly. I had a sinking suspicion everyone in Holt’s operation lied for a living. We could be in Zambia for all I knew.
Holt sighed and gave me a look laced with so much derision it was obvious I ranked somewhere below the feral cats he probably kicked for fun and spam emails that didn’t have an unsubscribe button.
“Then I kill him.” Holt smiled.
What a great father figure he turned out to be.
He placed a hand on my shoulder. It was so heavy I shifted under the weight.
“Don’t play games. Don’t blow this.” Holt stared into my eyes, dipping his head so his face was level with mine.
Little did he know, blowing things up was literally my specialty. I only hoped Chan wasn’t the one to pay for my mistakes this time.
The directness of Holt’s gaze made me squirm, but I locked my knees so he wouldn’t see any weakness.
“I let you bring your boyfriend because you won’t be leaving my bunker.” Holt released my shoulder. “And I thought you might appreciate the company. See? I can be a good guy.”
I wanted to tell him that everyone in the world would disagree with his statement, but my brain was still caught on his earlier comment. Where he said I wouldn’t be leaving his bunker.
“What, for like a week? A month?” I asked, voice slightly tinged with hysteria.
Holt held my gaze without blinking.
“Ever.”
And with that, he strode away, leaving the men with guns behind.