“Charlotte booked our airfare,” I began, knowing our paradise would be coming to an end eventually and dreading every tick of the clock that brought us closer to that reality.
“Let’s stay here forever,” he moaned, rolling over on his lounge chair and reaching for my leg, sticky with the sunscreen he’d rubbed on it.
I took a breath so big, my chest lifted a couple of inches. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
Marcus blinked his eyes open, alarm already present as he squinted in the tropical sun. “Que?”
“I didn’t want to tell you earlier, because you were still recovering, and I don’t want to hurt you more, cause a setback. And I know how it might look, the history that’s there, the way I acted in the beginning, but it’s not about that…” I rambled, staring at the moons of my fingernails as I delivered the blow.
“Say it. You’re scaring me.” Marcus sat up, his legs long in front of him.
“It’s Antonio.” No turning back now. “He’s still working for Department D, for your parents. All the Dresden Kids lied; their evidence is fake. They were paid to say the things they did by Department D. Agents got to them before we ever showed up.” I grabbed a fistful of beach towel, twisting the terry fabric between my hands so hard the rough texture was leaving a burn. “Department D was able to do that, your parents were able to do that, because Antonio gave them all the names of every kid we were going to meet. He told your parents every word we ever said. He helped them set up my family, plant that news article. He’s still one of them.”
I watched Marcus pale, his body empty out so fully he slumped back on his recliner like a raft that deflated. His eyes closed.
Then I waited. There was a lot more to say, about how Allen Cross had figured it out, about how he didn’t tell us we were being misled, about how Charlotte and Julian had kicked out every Dresden Kid the moment I called with the truth. But he didn’t need to hear that right now. He couldn’t hear it.
“Are you sure?” he asked, eyes still scrunched.
I nodded though he couldn’t see me. “Yeah. I’m so sorry.”
His long lashes shot up. “Why are you sorry?” he snapped. “I’m the idiot! I’m the one who believed him. I’m the one who begged you to trust him! This is my fault!”
“No, it’s not. He’s your brother.” I understood that sibling bond more than anyone. You do stupid things for family, like chase after assassins.
“I should have known better. I should have known him.” He punched the plastic slats holding the beach chair together, holding us up. “I begged you…” His voice trailed off, so full of shame it sent a piercing ache through my chest.
I reached for his hands and pried his palms open, pressing my thumb until his fists released. “You love your brother, and he hurt you, betrayed you. If there’s anyone who knows what it’s like to be betrayed by family, it’s me.” I let out a dark chuckle. “There is no judgment here. We are equal members of the Evil Family Club. I’m just sorry you had to join.”
We talked about it more (and more and more) as the hours blended together in the sun. But anytime anyone’s mood got too dark, brow got too heavy, the other always found a way to squash the conversation. Usually it involved a pair of warm lips.
Now we were going to have to face them, face everyone, and no kiss would save us.
We walked to the compound’s soaring wooden door. I placed my hand on the brass handle, and we stepped inside.
“You’re back!” Charlotte and Keira squealed in unison as they rushed toward me. My sister hugged me first.
“Are you okay?” she asked in my ear.
“No,” I answered honestly. Physically, I was fine. Mentally, I was in need of a wheelchair.
“I want to hear everything again,” Keira said, her hazel eyes reminding me so much of our dad’s, her dad’s. “How did they look? Really?”
“Exactly the same,” I answered truthfully. “With maybe a few extra wrinkles. Oh, and Mom stopped to get her brows waxed. You know, priorities.” My voice was cold.
“You still hate them.” It wasn’t a question.
“I don’t know.” I shook my head, feeling uncertain if the sky was blue. “It was Mom and Dad.”
Keira hugged me once more. “It’s okay to be happy to see them.”
But was it? After everything they’d done?
“I don’t know how you were able to walk out of there and not go with them.” She wasn’t judging me; she sounded in awe.
“You didn’t see what they did to Cross.” I pulled back from her embrace with a steely look. “The way they moved, fought, it was like nothing I’ve ever seen. I couldn’t believe it was them doing those things. I couldn’t put the parents I knew in those bodies.”
To anyone else, that wouldn’t make sense, but I knew my sister would understand. And she did. She nodded, her eyes drooping like our dad’s. Her dad’s. How had we not seen it before?
“I wish I could have been there. For you. To see them.”
“I know. It sucks. It isn’t right.” I squeezed her hand. Keira had earned that confrontation through three years of social service visits, teacher conferences, and electric bills. She needed her moment to let that all out, and I suspected one day she’d get it. I just wasn’t sure I wanted to be there for it.
I looked at our friends, standing back a few paces, giving us space. “I should have listened to you. All of you. We shouldn’t have gone to Rio. You shouldn’t have gone to Barcelona. If anything had happened to you, it would’ve been my fault. Because I was stubborn, because I had to keep going. I still can’t believe Marcus—”
“I’m okay,” he repeated for the millionth time.
“And I’m the one who needs to apologize.” Charlotte looked at Marcus. “I’m so sorry. My intel on Paolo, I should have done better. I should’ve known better. I trusted Cross—”
“We all did.” Marcus smiled in forgiveness. He wasn’t angry with her. How could he be?
“I’m glad you made it back safely.” Julian clapped a hand on Marcus and my shoulders. “I had the master suite made up for you, Marcus, or whoever you want to share it with.” He winked in the least subtle way possible. “I’ll sleep in a guest room. You deserve some peace and quiet.”
It was so Julian; it was what he could offer—money and comfort. “Thank you,” I said.
That was when I noticed Antonio in the doorway. I guessed it would have been too much to have expected him to leave, given that it was his brother who was poisoned and pumped full of life-saving charcoal, but still, it took guts for him to stand in this house and face us like he wasn’t the ultimate traitor.
I gritted my teeth to keep from running at him full speed with a scissor kick to the head. Marcus gripped my forearm, pulling me back, sensing my reaction. He always did. Maybe we shared my parents’ unspoken communication, only without the intent to murder.
“Let me talk to him,” he whispered to me.
I nodded, not taking my eyes off the brother who sold us out to his parents.
“Hermano, lo siento. Lo siento mucho,” Antonio started in Spanish, tears welling in his dark eyes as he took four long strides to Marcus and gripped him in a bear hug. Marcus actually embraced him back. I wanted to scream, rip them apart, and claw Antonio’s beard off.
But no, Marcus was giving him a hug.
“I didn’t know what I was doing,” Antonio continued in Spanish. “It was Mom and Dad. I listened to them. I didn’t know! What happened to you… I’m so sorry!”
“I know, I know.” Marcus nodded, listening as he pulled away.
“If I had any idea that kid in Rio was dangerous, I never would have let you go,” Antonio continued to rattle in his native tongue. “I wanted to stop, but I didn’t know how to get out. If I stopped giving Mom and Dad names, I would have tipped them off. So I thought I’d try to make things safer, send you and Anastasia together. I knew the Phoenixes were drawing close. That was who I saw as the threat, who I still see as t
he threat.”
We all paused at the mention of my name. Even Charlotte and Julian, who couldn’t speak Spanish, understood that much.
“I thought with the girls separated, us separated, it would stop all of our parents from doing anything crazy,” Antonio reasoned. “Mom and Pop, I swear it’s not as bad as it sounds. They’re not evil.”
I understood every word, and so did Keira. And I couldn’t stay quiet anymore.
“They’re not evil? They killed Tyson,” I snapped, eyes blazing.
“You don’t know that! I swear, they’re not killers!” Antonio spun my way, flicking a tattooed arm in the air. I wanted to scratch it. “There is no proof of anything. It could have been your parents or Urban.”
Technically, this was true. My parents swore it wasn’t them, and given the message was directed to them, I had to admit in this instance, they were the least likely culprits. That left Randolph Urban and the Reys, both motivated to get to my parents, and both amoral enough to use children. But the Reys were the ones who were running operations lately, and that was all the evidence I needed. Clearly, Marcus and Antonio felt otherwise.
“Antonio, you lied to us! You betrayed us. Just like them, just like our parents.” I was not offering any Ghandi-like hugs of forgiveness, and I knew it would hurt Marcus to attack his brother, but he didn’t see the person he loved twitching on the ground. “Marcus could have died.”
“I know! I’m sorry! Dios mio! But my parents have made me feel like an idiot my whole life. Antonio, the screw up. Then they got me this job, and all of the sudden they were proud of me. I was good at it.” Antonio pumped his broad shoulders as if he had no other choice. Had he heard the way his parents talked about him in Boston, that their opinion of him hadn’t changed, he probably wouldn’t be defending them now.
“Your parents suck. Join the club. I hope your spying made them proud.” I offered a sarcastic thumbs up. “Now, get the hell out!”
Unfortunately, I knew exactly what it was like to have horrible parents who did horrible things. The difference was when faced with the opportunity to help with my parents’ crimes (or help them get away with their crimes), I walked away.
“Anastasia, wait.” Keira pulled me back. “Antonio told me everything in Barcelona. As soon as we heard about Marcus in the hospital, before you even talked to Cross or Mom and Dad. I’m not defending him—obviously—but I think everyone should know that in the end, he came clean.”
Is she kidding me with this? Like that matters?
“He came clean after his brother almost swallowed his tongue!” I swung my hand at Marcus, who snatched my palm and held it close to his chest.
“It’s my turn to speak.” Marcus’s voice was still hoarse from the tube shoved down his throat, which only illustrated my point.
“I know what you did.” Marcus looked at his brother. “And I know what Mom and Pop can be like, the pressure. But you lied to me, and I defended you. Over and over.” His eyes screamed apologies for insisting I trust his brother, but as far as I was concerned, Marcus didn’t need to apologize for anything, ever. Not after what happened in Brazil. Not after I made him go there.
“I know.” Antonio hung his head, itching his beard in a nervous tic. “But I am still that guy, your brother. From the moment you showed up on bonfire night, from the moment I met Keira”—he looked at her, and she had the good sense to step back—“I wanted to somehow stop all of this. But I did not know how. You think you’re being set up.” He glared at me. “I think my parents are being set up. They haven’t done the things your parents have. I know it! I swear it. And I could not let them be blamed for everything.”
“From over here, it sure looks like they’ve done a lot,” I snipped. They almost got their son killed. They sent us running around the world on wild goose chases. They planted fake news blaming me for Keira’s kidnapping, and they very likely killed Tyson. “We got lucky that none of the other Dresden Kids tried to kill us. Paolo Striker, Sophia Urban, they work for Department D. Paolo kills for them. These weren’t innocent missions that you let us go on, and you let these kids live here. They could have done anything!”
“Speaking of which,” Julian piped up. He slid an envelope from the breast pocket of his blazer, because of course Julian wears a jacket in the afternoon in his own home. Everyone looked at me, already knowing what the message held. “This is for you. From Dani.”
The Dresden Kids left before Marcus was discharged from the hospital, all swiftly packing bags and none offering any defense. Apparently, except for one.
I slid the letter out of the envelope, with a trembling hand and a racing heart. It was handwritten:
Anastasia,
I didn’t want to skulk away. I’m not a coward. I wanted to face you, but it was clear I was no longer welcome. So I am forced to settle for this—what I told you wasn’t a lie. Not all of it. My mother spent two years in a Turkish prison. I lived on the streets after my uncle abused me. My stepfather worked for Department D; he had my mother thrown in jail.
However, I don’t know if your parents were involved in what happened to my country, to my mother. The video of your father meeting with my uncle, that was given to me by the Department D agent who showed up before you did, a woman, Slovakian.
Antonio’s partner, I thought to myself, teeth grinding.
While that one bit of evidence may have been fabricated, everything else I told you was true. Our lives were destroyed. My mother wakes up every night screaming with nightmares. I have scars all over my body from what my uncle did. We left Turkey with no money and no family. Then a woman shows up and gives us cash and a gold watch.
I remembered his mother’s Rolex, the “gift from her lawyer.” I knew it wasn’t fake!
She cleared my mother’s name, and already my mom is working as a reporter again, doing what she loves, and making more money than she ever did before.
When you met us that first day, you promised revenge. You promised we could get back at the people who did this to us. Your parents are not good people. They started Department D. They ran that organization. No one asked us to bury an innocent bystander under false evidence, like they did my mother. Getting back at your parents, meant getting our revenge. You must realize there is no difference to any of us Dresden Kids between any of your parents.
So we enjoyed our time here while we were together, a group of kids who had all been through the same thing, wronged by the same evil people. Not one of us felt guilty for the things we said or the false evidence we gave. You might not have done this to us, but your parents did.
I truly hope you bring down Department D one day, and I wish you no ill will. I hope you don’t wish any on us.
Sincerely,
Dani
“Shit,” I muttered, dropping the letter to my side.
“We read it already. I hope you don’t mind.” Charlotte exhaled, even her breath sounding apologetic. “None of this is about you, Anastasia. You or Keira. They get that. We all get that. And we will bring them down.”
“How?” Keira asked, voicing the question on everyone’s mind. “All the evidence we thought we had is fake.”
“We don’t know for sure.” Charlotte squirmed in her fuzzy socks as she looked at me with guilt in her eyes. “I gave everything to the CIA. I know they had your parents in some secret black site, but we’re outmatched when it comes to computers. That video of your dad looked real.”
“I’m working to get us better equipment,” Julian offered, like that was the problem.
“Some of that evidence could be legit. We don’t know. We need their resources. Besides, at least now we know everything. We know why the CIA has been so eager to help—because we were either building a case against your parents or we were leading them to your parents. Now it’s out in the open, and maybe they can really help end this—”
“Before anyone else gets hurt,” I finished for her, agreeing. The CIA wasn’t our enemy. We needed help.
Or a ne
w plan.
I glanced at the broken faces in our group. We’d all given up so much, from Keira’s kidnapping and anxiety, to the career Charlotte put on hold, to Julian’s public shaming in the media, to Marcus’s hospital stay, to even Antonio’s twisted family loyalties. We were all damaged. Including me. Especially me.
Maybe we couldn’t bring down Department D on our own. Maybe it was too big for a bunch of teenagers to handle from the shadows.
I thought back to that Boston news article. They were coming after us—not my parents, but us. Like my mom said, Department D had become their own client, and they knew quite well how to manipulate the press, how to convince the world of their version of the truth before anyone had a chance to prove the opposite. They were making the world think I killed my sister, or kidnapped her, or faked her death. I’d been blamed for Tyson’s murder, and they’d already planted the seed that my parents were alive. We looked guilty.
They would keep coming at us with these stories. They’d convince the world that the name Phoenix should go down with Benedict Arnold. No one was ever going to believe us.
Unless we spoke up.
Unless we changed the game with something completely unexpected.
We needed a new plan, and maybe we already had it.
For months, my friends had been asking me to trust them, to listen to their ideas. They pressed me again and again. I always said no. But maybe the time had come for one of those ideas; maybe it was time to say yes.
“Julian.” I looked at him, power in my voice. “Where’s your camera? I think it’s time for me to give you my deposition.”
The Truth
Evidence of a fake Turkish Coup plot, supposedly orchestrated in 2003, was first published in newspapers in late 2010. Code-named Operation Sledgehammer, the hypothetical coup was designed to overthrow the newly elected, Islamic-rooted government. Evidence detailed plans to bomb mosques and shoot down planes in an attempt to create such chaos that the military could take control of the government. By 2012, more than three hundred people were sentenced to prison, including military officers and journalists. They were held for years without trials, until it was proven that the evidence of the supposed 2003 coup was created with a 2007 version of Microsoft Office. The entire plot was fabricated, with most theories pointing to the Gulenist movement, which hoped to promote their own senior officials to the top ranks of the military. To date, no one has been charged for creating this conspiracy. In preparation for this novel, the author spoke with Dani Rodrik, a Harvard Professor whose father-in-law, General Cetin Dogan, was among those falsely imprisoned.
Lies That Bind Page 26
