by Aisha Tritle
She stared at the earpiece that was now resting on the laptop. That was it. Her only thread of communication was severed. She had no way of knowing what was going on.
Except that they hadn’t taken the gas. She was certain that was what Jonathan had started to say.
Sophia bit her lip and looked at the black plastic cases on the floor. She couldn’t stand by and do nothing.
Kneeling down, she opened one of the cases, pulled out another knife, and strapped it to her forearm. She couldn’t really carry any other gun besides the handgun she already carried. There was nowhere to put it.
“Here we go,” she breathed.
She stepped out of the van and slid the door closed. Pulling down her head, she ran back to the Royal.
The streets were getting more crowded. The current of people streaming away from the hotel grew stronger. As she neared the hotel, she saw why.
The power was out, and an angry alarm met her ears.
Sophia elbowed her way through the people filtering out the front of the hotel. She could barely see anything in the darkness, but a few of the employees had pulled out flashlights and were guiding the people out.
Sophia grabbed a spare flashlight off the reception counter and headed towards the stairs. It would take her a while to reach the 27th floor, but the elevators were down, so she had no choice.
The flashlight was narrow and offered little light as Sophia flew up the stairs. Her hoodie became unbearably hot. Her breath quickened, her cheeks flushed.
Finally, the light fell on a sign emblazoned with “27.” Taking a deep breath, Sophia cautiously pushed open the door.
There was nobody to be seen. Her feet quietly padded along the hall towards the conference room when muffled voices met her ears. Then, the faint sound of silenced gunshots.
She froze. Was it Jonathan?
A loud whir resounded, and the lights went back on. Sophia’s fingers went to the handgun in the back of her waistband.
There was a pillar to the left, surrounded by potted plants, and she took shelter behind it.
Sophia slowly peered around her cover. The door to the conference room swung open.
A handsome man, aged about 50, exited. His face was slightly weathered, but the suit he wore was undoubtedly expensive. He was flanked by four younger men, their aesthetic and demeanor all reminiscent of Lund.
The handsome man’s face was familiar. Sophia drew in a sharp gasp. The man spotted her, but she didn’t move. Her feet were glued to the ground, and a chill ran down her spine.
“Dad?”
30
Sophia stepped out from behind the pillar. Every part of her seemed to go numb as she stared at the man in front of her. He looked different from the last time she’d seen him, and not just because of age. His eyes were different; where kindness once shone, there was now a tortured harshness.
He wasn’t surprised; he looked at Sophia as if he’d been expecting to meet her there all along.
The suit, the slicked hair, the new Walther in his hand…he looked suave. He’d never been suave. What happened?
Her father put out a hand to calm the four men around him, who had gone on high alert. “It’s alright,” he said.
If Sophia hadn’t been so stunned, she would have burst into tears. But all she did was stare. No words came out of her mouth. Her almond-shaped eyes shifted back and forth, studying her father, looking for some kind of explanation.
She heard rushed footsteps behind her. Her gaze didn’t leave her father. It was probably Jonathan.
The footsteps stopped.
“Owen,” said Jonathan.
The sound of his voice gave Sophia the courage to speak. “You were dead,” she said.
Owen handed his Walther to one of his men and stepped forward. His face was hard to read; his demeanor that of a stranger. “Hello, Sophia.”
She could feel Jonathan’s eyes burning into her. He’d known this whole time. And he hadn’t said a word.
“What’s going on?” she asked, voice hoarse.
Owen sighed and turned to Jonathan. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
He turned back to Sophia. “This really wasn’t supposed to happen.”
A wave of confusion and anger overtook Sophia. “You mean I wasn’t supposed to know you were alive?”
“Sophia—“
“Tell me what’s going on.”
Owen sighed again.
“We could have handled this on our own,” said Jonathan.
“Of course,” replied Owen, his voice acerbic.
Jonathan turned to Sophia. “I could’ve executed the gas just fine if he hadn’t gone in and shot everyone.”
“If you failed, my daughter’s life would’ve been put at incredible risk.”
“I took her out of the program without your help,” breathed Jonathan. “Don’t talk about risk. Her life was put at risk because of your actions and associations.”
Sophia stood stock still, waiting for an answer from her father. Owen finally complied.
“Well, obviously, I’m not dead.”
Sophia scoffed. “Obviously.”
Jonathan cleared his throat. “He’s—“
Owen cut him off. “Unlike you, Jonathan. I can handle things on my own.”
He refocused on Sophia. “Norbert was a bit of a thorn in my side.”
“What do you mean?”
Owen turned to his men. “You all can leave now; I’ll meet you at the plane before midnight.”
The four men dispersed, disappearing one by one down the staircase. Unease rumbled in Sophia—why did her father have so much control over them?
“Who were those men?” asked Sophia.
“I own them,” said Owen, cracking a smile. “They belong to me.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Sophia saw Jonathan shake his head. Owen saw it too; the smile vacated his face.
“They belong to me…” The words spun in Sophia’s head; she rubbed her hand across her forehead, trying to make sense of them.
For the first time since she’d seen him, Owen’s nonchalance broke. A look of guilt crossed his face. “Not an ideal occupation for your father, I know,” he said.
Jonathan took a step towards Sophia; she wished he wouldn’t come any closer. If anyone touched her, she was liable to scream…or cry, she wasn’t sure which.
Thankfully, Jonathan went towards her father. “Why don’t you explain how—“
“I said I didn’t need your help,” snapped Owen.
Jonathan held up an apologetic hand and backed away.
Owen tugged at his cuffs and pulled back his shoulders. “I left to save you, Sophia.”
Sophia blinked back tears, desperate for it to be true. The scoff she heard from Jonathan did nothing to help abate her tears.
“I’d discovered some of Norbert’s illegal dealings. He’d been developing new weapons tech for the U.S. Government—tech that was being made purposely faulty after a generous deal from the Russians. The U.S. Government wouldn’t have been able to detect the faults right away; they were only back doors which the Russians could use to penetrate their network. But I confronted Norbert about it, told him I couldn’t just let him do that…I was a fool. As I’m sure you’ve learned by now, you don’t cross Norbert, not if you value your life.”
Owen continued, “I faked my death to save you and your mother. I thought it would work; I didn’t know Norbert had started work on Program Occidis. His recruitment of you was his final piece of revenge, even though he thought I was already dead.”
He waved toward Jonathan. “Jonathan knew I was alive. He was a great help…at the time.”
Sophia’s hands clenched into fists. “You told him, but you didn’t tell us?”
“I had to keep you safe.”
“Well, you did a shit job of it.”
“You’re alive, aren’t you?”
Sophia bit her tongue. There were too many things that she wanted to say. But it was better to say nothing
. She was too angry, too frustrated, too hurt…
“I was keeping tabs on you,” said Owen. “With Jonathan’s help. But I knew I couldn’t take you out of the Program. When you were recruited, I was in no position to keep any of our family safe.”
“But that changed,” muttered Jonathan.
Owen shot Jonathan an annoyed glance. “A few years later, I started the firm. I was determined to get into a position where I could destroy Norbert.”
Sophia’s heart stopped.
“But things escalated,” said Owen. “And it never seemed like the right time…”
Jonathan chimed in, “He cut ties with The Society; no one knew what he was up to.”
“Except you,” sneered Owen. “You cut ties with me.”
“Look at yourself, Owen!” exclaimed Jonathan, his voice rising. “Look at what you’ve turned into. You tried to kill me before you realized I had her.”
“You’ve been undermining the firm.”
“Because what you’re doing isn’t right, Owen. You’re no better than the man you just killed.”
“Undermine me again, Jonathan, and I swear that I’ll kill you myself.”
“This isn’t who you are, Owen.”
Owen scoffed. “Your attitude is tiring. What you do isn’t any different. Stop being so self-righteous.”
“My life is different now.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” said Owen. “Maybe you’ll believe it eventually.”
A painful silence fell. Jonathan’s cheeks flushed out of frustration. So, Owen’s men had attacked them at the chateau.
Too many emotions flowed through Sophia. It all felt like a dream. But there was one thing that she definitely had to do.
She stepped forward and took her father’s hand. Owen tensed up.
“Leave this behind,” she said. “Leave everything you’ve done behind, and let’s go home. Norbert’s dead. We can be a family again.”
Owen didn’t reply; he stared at the hand that rested in his.
Sophia shifted awkwardly. “Dad…”
“I can’t go back, Soph.”
His words cut Sophia like a knife. “We can go back,” she pleaded.
Owen shook his head. “Everyone is better off without me.”
“That’s not true.”
“You’re better off without me.”
“No—“
“Yes, you are, Sophia.”
He tore his hand away. “We should go,” he said.
“Dad—“
“I love you, Sophia,” said Owen, his voice hoarse. “But I am the worst thing for you.”
Tears streamed down Sophia’s cheeks; she couldn’t hold them back anymore.
Owen stared mournfully at her as he set a hand on Jonathan’s shoulder. “Take care of her,” he said.
As the door to the staircase closed behind him, Sophia sunk to the ground. The tears fell silently down her face.
“You didn’t tell me either, Jon,” she whispered.
It felt like her heart had been wrenched out of her chest and torn in two.
“I’m sorry,” said Jonathan. “I wanted to keep you from the truth.”
“That’s all anybody seems to do.”
Jonathan’s hands covered his face in guilt. “It was wrong of me. I know that now.”
He knelt in front of Sophia, his gaze earnest.
“I’m going to make you a promise.”
“I don’t need promises.”
“But you deserve this one,” said Jonathan.
He took a deep breath before speaking. “I promise that there will be no more secrets between you and me; and if you ever need help with anything—anything at all, I will be there for you.”
Sophia blinked at him through her tear-stained lashes…that wasn’t quite what she had expected. But her tears stopped.
“That’s a good promise,” she said.
“I know.”
Jonathan offered his hand to her and pulled her up. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
Epilogue
Sophia put on her sunglasses on and stared at the port. People milled around, chattering in countless languages. The sun was hot, but Sophia’s seat outside the cafe partially shielded her from the heat.
It was the first time she’d been outside in three days, and she was inclined to think she’d made a mistake. There were too many people, a whole sea of faces, and yet not one that she wanted…
Ilya was gone. Benny had searched for any sign as to where he went - or rather, where he’d been taken. But there were gaps in the surrounding CCTV footage they had scoured. Someone had made sure to erase all traces of him, but who?
“If you don’t eat that soon, it’ll melt,” said Jonathan.
Sophia picked up her long-neglected cup of gelato. She could feel Jonathan’s gaze searing into her.
“What?” she asked.
Jonathan raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Sorry?”
“There’s obviously something on your mind,” said Sophia. “What is it?”
Jonathan cleared his throat. “I’m glad you decided to come out with me today.”
Sophia shot him a glance. Good, dependable Jonathan. He was dressed in an impeccable suit yet again; Sophia wondered how he didn’t burst into flames.
“But there’s something else on your mind,” she said, allowing a small smile. “That’s why you brought me out for ice cream. I’m not a kid, Jon. I know the play.”
“Yes, of course,” said Jonathan.
But a minute of silence followed, forcing Sophia to speak.
“Jon?”
“We weren’t able to find your mother.”
Sophia’s heart dropped. “I see…”
“When Benny got to the place in Norbert’s files, it had been cleaned out. She wasn’t there.”
Sophia knew the implication. “You think my father took her.”
“Yes,” said Jonathan. “I believe it was Owen.”
A slight wave of relief swept over Sophia. Even if she couldn’t see her mother, if Owen had taken her then that meant her mother was safe.
Jonathan leaned forward. “Look, Sophia. I know you wanted to leave that life behind—and you still can.”
Sophia said nothing; she could feel what was coming.
“I’ll provide you with a new identity,” said Jonathan. “You’ll have a generous amount of money at your disposal. You can do whatever you want, live where you want. Just tell me what you desire, and I’ll make it happen.”
Sophia took off her sunglasses and met Jonathan’s eyes. “What’s the other option?”
Jonathan reached into his briefcase. With a sigh, he pulled out a blue file and set it down in front of Sophia. “Dubrovnik” was typed neatly in the corner.
“You could come with me,” said Jonathan, his voice hoarse.
Sophia knew he was torn. He wanted to save her, but maybe she wasn’t meant to be saved…
She picked up the file and ran her hand over the smooth surface. She could practically hear Jonathan’s heart beating from the opposite side of the table.
“Davey was offered the same thing,” said Jonathan.
Sophia looked up. “You got him out?”
“Saren and Yasuo did.”
“What did he choose?”
“What do you think?”
The idea of a normal life had been nice; Sophia had wanted it ever since it had been stripped away from her at the age of nine. But she had no one to live that life with; she didn’t even know if she was capable of living like that anymore.
“And Kristin?” she asked.
“I promise she’ll be given the best care.”
“What does that mean?”
Jonathan cleared his throat and nodded towards the file. “She can’t have a life like this. It’d kill her in the end.”
“You think it won’t kill me?”
“If anyone’s going to survive, Sophia, it’s you.”
Sophia took a deep breath in. Then, she
curved her fingers around the edge. She’d made her choice.
She opened the file.
About the Author
Aisha Tritle is a novelist, playwright, actress, singer, marketer and tea fiend. Spending her childhood in Arizona, she was active in the performing arts - which led to her moving to Los Angeles at the age of eighteen to pursue a career in acting. She has studied with famed acting coach John Kirby, and at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art in London. Turning her hand to plays, she completed two One-Act Comedies in 2016: of which, one was recently performed and published in the U.K.
Aisha spends her days in sunny Los Angeles producing films, marketing for innovative tech startups, and working on her true passion of writing novels.
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