Beneath the Surface

by Amy McKinley

  I was right.

  The door opened with a loud thud as it banged against the wall. I jerked awake, my heart thudding painfully against my rib cage. Elsa yelped and backed into a corner of her bed, with fear reflected in her wide eyes.

  My hands formed into fists. I wanted to fight back. Yearned for it. They warned us it would do no good.

  I’d worn sweats, a T-shirt, and socks to bed each night, as I didn’t know when they’d come. I’m glad I did. Or I thought I would be. It didn’t matter. They did what they wanted to regardless.

  Held between the too-tight grip of two men, they dragged me along the hallway. We turned right then left down another hall. The steel doors along the corridor lacked windows. No sound was heard from behind the entrances to other people’s hell. They were different than our living quarters. We were in an area of the school I hadn’t been in before. How many others are here? And do I really want to find out?

  Yes. I wanted to know everything. Knowledge was power.

  We stopped in front of a steel door that was identical to others lining the hallway. The door was opened, and they dragged me inside. I wasn’t going to make it easy for them. They wouldn’t for me.

  I was thrown onto a chair. I took inventory quickly. The chair was bolted to the floor. Along the side of one wall was a long, horizontal mirror—most likely to observe me . A very large bucket filled with water, a plastic jug, and… Oh, shit. A box sat against one wall, with frightening, ominous wires and clamps sticking out of it. Is that an electric torture machine?

  One of the men grabbed my hands and secured them with a plastic tie. The other grabbed my ankle and tore off one of my socks, then the next. Then they removed my sweats, and as he yanked at them, I fell to the floor painfully. That part was psychological—I hoped. Once all of my clothes except my underwear and sports bra were off and my pulse was hammering, the first guy lifted me back into my chair.

  I knew they’d done it to shake my confidence and put me at a disadvantage. It was psychological. I hoped to God it wasn’t because of the electrical torture device. I knew where the clips would go. I’d watched videos, read textbooks, and been tested on the most effective ways to administer the sadistic practice. I’d yet to experience it myself.

  I refused to entertain that thought. I would cross that hurdle if I had to. I would survive.

  The lighter-haired guy went over to where the door was and leaned against it, his arms crossed over his chest, no expression on his face.

  I studied him in the few seconds I was allowed before all hell would break loose. I needed another name, an identity to build and focus on. Whatever they wanted, they couldn’t get it from me. That had to be the point to the exercise. The instructors had been dropping clues in class all week. They’d said to memorize different identities but not why, giving us random names and facts that didn’t fit into the work we were doing.

  What were they? I wracked my panic-stricken brain for a name. Rebecca. Easy. Last name… last name. Shit! The darker-haired guy was coming. Slovinaugh. Math… I think she was a foreign exchange student going to school for an advanced degree in math. That’s who I would be, who I think they wanted me to be. I would believe it with every fiber of my being.

  “Who are you?” the dark-haired guy asked.

  I locked down on my escalating emotions. “Rebecca Slovinaugh.”

  The slap against the side of my cheek knocked my head to the side. The sting to my skin was the least of my concerns. The water jug and electricity were what horrified me.

  “You’re lying. You’ve come to this country under false pretenses. You’re a spy.”

  I met his gaze unflinchingly. “I’m not. I’m here for a degree in math. I’m a student.”

  Pain exploded along my jaw as he struck me again. “Tell the truth. Who are you? What is your purpose here?”

  I would not break. Blocking the throbbing along my jaw, I again met his cold eyes. “I told you the truth. I’m here to get a degree in math. My name is Rebecca Slovinaugh.” I was cold in my response. A part of my brain screamed at me to pay attention. What would Elsa do? She would sell it. She would be emotional. She could act. I vowed I would too.

  I believed the lie—the false identity—completely. Dark-haired guy continued the same line of questioning for what felt like hours. I answered the same, never deviating. At times, I begged and pleaded. Tears welled in my eyes—that part wasn’t hard.

  When he said my real name, I didn’t react. I wouldn’t. Couldn’t. I had to believe the lie enough so they did too.

  I hadn’t changed my answers, but they changed their tactics. I was yanked from my chair and thrown to the cement. Dark-haired guy grabbed me by the hair and pulled me to the bucket of water then lifted me to my knees. Each hair follicle on the top of my head was screaming when he shoved my face into the water. I held my breath and could for a long time. They didn’t know that because I didn’t want them to.

  I struggled much earlier than I needed to. They had to believe I couldn’t breathe. As he lifted my head, I gasped for breath. He repeated the process. I did too. It didn’t scare me, not really. The other possibilities did.

  Over and over, they did the same thing: attempted to drown me, let me catch a breath, then did it again. In between every two or three times, they questioned me. I gave the same answers.

  It wasn’t too horrible until he punched me in the stomach. I couldn’t hold my breath. As I gasped for air, he shoved my head underwater. It filled my mouth, my nose, and my lungs. When he yanked me up, I hurled water, sputtering and coughing.

  It wasn’t the first time they did that. I thought I might die.

  It was small, but I was given a reprieve. They peppered me with questions again. They wanted to know where I went to school and where I learned to be a spy. I never told them. Rebecca hadn’t done that. For my duration with them, I was she.

  I was dragged back to my chair.

  Time ceased to make sense. The questions came, then the hits, then the pain as I slammed into the ground too many times. Fighting back wasn’t an option, not with the plastic zip ties around my ankles and wrists. My odds were not good. I was not there to fight back, but to endure. That much had been drilled into us about the exercise. There were other times when we’d been instructed to retaliate, to escape, to do things differently, but that particular exercise was about the cover—about persevering and surviving.

  My vision blinked in and out. Mental and physical exhaustion chased me. How long have we been at this game? It feels like a week.

  They’d switched roles. The light-haired guy pushed away from the door. He shoved me from my seat, wound a rope around my arms, and tied it to the chair leg that was bolted to the ground. Dark-haired guy grabbed my ankles and yanked. I was stretched along the floor.

  Holy hell. This sucks worse than the beating. Over and over in my mind, I replayed my cover. I clung to it like the lifeline it was.

  Light-haired guy lifted the jug full of water. He gripped my chin between his thumb and forefinger and yanked my mouth open. Then came the water.

  In a heavy stream, it flooded my mouth and nose. I will survive this. If I learned only one thing, the thing that was drilled into me from that horrific ordeal was the importance of assuming my cover and refusing to forget it.

  Without the ability to close my mouth, I couldn’t keep the back of my throat shut for long, and I choked. Tears streamed from my eyes, mixing with the avalanche of water. They gave me small breaks, and I was lurched to my side where I coughed and heaved up water. Questions were asked and the process repeated. It was so much worse than before. They were drowning me. There was nothing I could do that day. But one day, I would.

  Chapter 26

  Hannah

  The click of Hannah’s heels echoed along the Pentagon’s hallway. The unnatural glare of florescent lights illuminated her way along the empty corridor. It was obnoxiously early in the morning, but that’s when she told Henry she could meet to debrief and to assur
e herself with her own eyes that he was truly okay.

  She pushed open the door that led to her office and Henry’s. The familiarity of the environment caused a shiver to skate down her spine. With a soft rap of her knuckles, she entered Henry’s office.

  A stack of papers sat before him, and he set down his pen as she moved to stand at the front of his desk. She drank in his complexion. Her worry eased when she saw that the gray pallor from their time in Colombia was no longer. “How are you feeling?”

  A smile curved his lips, and he chuckled. “My dear, that’s what I should be asking you.” He waved at the seat before his desk, and she sat. His brow wrinkled with concern. “Are you well? Do you need to visit with the counselor after the ordeal you suffered?” He ran a hand through his white hair. “I don’t even know—”

  “I’m fine. I promise. Nothing too terrible happened to me.” She relaxed back in her chair.

  A real smile flashed across his aging face. “I’m relieved. You have no idea.”

  “I do. I was equally worried about you.”

  He nodded, the sparkle in his eyes dimming. “Well. That brings us to the reason you’re here.”

  Her spine stiffened. Jack had assured her that Rich had covered for her, feeding the story of Chris aiding her escape to her boss and any others who needed to know. Could it have backfired?

  “It doesn’t look good, Hannah. I’m telling you that off the record, as a friend. I think it’s best to keep a low profile until things settle.”

  “What doesn’t look good?”

  “The fact that the prototype is still missing. You and Chris were the only ones not accounted for. That puts the blame on the two of you.” He raised his hand to stave off her words. “Right now, no one is saying anything, but there are rumblings. I think it’s best that you don’t come into work for now.”

  “You don’t want to do the debriefing?” Something was odd, but it was Henry. He and Jack were the only two that’d slipped past her mental shields. She trusted him as her boss and, in a way, as a father figure.

  “I think what just transpired here—and what Rich shared about Chris finding you and pulling you from captivity elsewhere—will count as an informal meeting. We can reconvene at a later date, preferably after the sonic weapon is located.”

  One less complication to extend my return.

  “I’m going to recommend you take some time off to recover from your ordeal in captivity. We will connect after the UN Security Council meeting.”

  “All right. If you think that’s best.”

  Henry’s brows furrowed. “I do.” He paused as she rose to her feet. “You still have the key I gave you?”

  The key? “Oh… yes. I’d forgotten you gave me that on the plane. Was there something you needed me to retrieve from the box? Actually, I don’t even know where the box is.”

  “No need to worry about anything right now, dear. I may need some papers at some point, but it’s not important. I only wanted to make sure you still had it in case I need you to run a document to me.” The harsh sound of his phone shrilled, and he paused, excusing himself to answer it. He greeted whoever was on the other end of the line then waited, obviously listening to what the other person said. When he hung up, he caught her gaze with a frown marring his features.

  “Well, my plans have changed yet again. I will need your assistance at the meeting in New York. I’d planned to use a new personal assistant while you were out, but it didn’t work out as planned. He didn’t show, so I’ll need you to fill in. Why don’t you head to New York ahead of time? I’ll find you at the meeting. Afterward, you should be able to return to normal hours here—that should be enough time away for the rumor mill to die down. I can’t imagine news about the weapon won’t have turned up by then.”

  She extended her hand across his desk and clasped his raised one. “That sounds wonderful. I look forward to getting back to work and will utilize the time off to recover. Thank you, Henry.”

  “Of course, my dear. Take all the time you need and enjoy New York—until the meeting, of course.”

  After Hannah’s agreement to accompany Henry to the UN Security Council meeting, she and Jack had flown to New York and checked into a hotel. It made sense. They’d suspected the assassination would occur at that meeting, and it worked for them to be there ahead of time. Besides, she was determined to take the list off Sergei’s hands. They’d tracked his recent movement to New York.

  It was the start of the day, and Hannah and Jack set out to grab some coffee. In New York, there was a coffee shop on every street. Heaven. She pulled out a chair and sat in the crowded coffee house with her back to the wall. Conversation buzzed around her, creating the perfect buffer so she and Jack could talk. The place was packed. Even better. It made it less likely for them to be spotted, but they could still see out the large windows and inside the store from where she’d chosen to sit.

  She did a quick check for Jack’s location. Still in line. Her mouth salivated for the caramel macchiato she’d requested. It was an indulgence, but she had a feeling she would need it with what was to come.

  New York’s fast pace toyed with her desire to act. Her body hummed with energy. The need to confront Sergei burned inside her, but Jack wanted to wait and see where he went and if he met with anyone else. Jack’s game plan conflicted with hers.

  Over and over, she replayed her conversation with Sergei. I should have confronted him then. She frowned. Her reaction to the situation was unexpected, and she was unaccustomed to her lack of control. It wasn’t the right time. Escalated emotions were involved, and she needed to hold tight to her façade so he would believe her. After verifying that the codes to the briefcase had worked, she’d hoped Sergei would have given her orders to close the gap between her and the weapon. He hadn’t. Her gut said the time of its unveiling would be soon. Especially when zealous excitement flashed in Sergei’s eyes. That alone was confirmation enough.

  Jack moved up in line and finally ordered for them. One of his hands palmed his cell, and every now and then, he alternated checking it and looking out the front window.

  It wouldn’t do for the two of them to be seen together, and she wondered at the riskiness of their actions. With a visual sweep of the room, she scanned the other patrons for anything suspicious. A scraping sound snapped her focus back. Jack slid a mug across the table to her. Dropping into a chair next to her, he leaned back, calmly sipping his black coffee. Curling her hands around the cup, she let the warmth seep into her numb fingers and ignored the occasional brush of his shoulder.

  He tipped his head at her drink. “Not your normal drink.”

  “Not a normal day.” Not since I moved to the States.

  Caught in Jack’s gaze, the room faded. There was only the two of them. His eyes met hers, and she froze in his penetrating stare. He had an ability to see into her soul, rendering her bare to him. In those occasions, she granted him access to the part of her that she hid away from the world. Blinking, she turned away in an attempt to break the intensity of the moment, and their surroundings rushed back to her with blaring intensity.

  “We should move. Too much time, and Sergei could disappear,” she murmured. He’d insisted they leave the hotel to get coffee and said that she needed to trust him. There was a plan. She wasn’t in on it. That bothered her to no end.

  “Mike is trailing Sergei right now, and Rich is tracking with facial recognition. We know exactly where he is.”

  “I take it Mike is another guy on your team?”

  “Yes.”

  Relying on his team annoyed her. She wasn’t used to it. “Sergei hasn’t met with anyone.”

  Jack nodded in agreement. “We had to be sure.”

  Her gaze pierced his steady one. “He won’t. We know he’s involved with the weapon, and we’re running out of time. It’ll be used soon. Someone will die.”

  “We aren’t waiting. We’re doing some recon, and then we’ll move in. We needed time for Connor to double-check to ma
ke sure there weren’t other contacts and that Sergei didn’t make additional stops. Connor is also looking into where else Sergei could’ve gone. Remember, Sergei only recently arrived in Washington. So where was he in the time between when he left Colombia and when he arrived here?” He checked his phone again. “And now we’ll intercept him.”

  Hannah sat straighter in her chair, her fingers bloodless from their tight grip on the cup. “Where is he?”

  A slow smirk spread across Jack’s face, and his fingers brushed the top of her thigh. “Finish your coffee. He’s close.”

  Heat exploded through her with the simple touch. Lifting the cup to her lips, she downed the last few swallows, not even tasting the sugary goodness. He stood and helped her to her feet. With that simple gesture, her heart ached. It was all she needed from him—one look, one touch, and their surroundings melted away, leaving the two of them and a longing for what could’ve been. She forced herself to pay attention to their objective as much as she could while they were touching. With their fingers entwined, he pulled her behind him with one hand. It wasn’t necessary, but she liked the connection and the protectiveness he showed her.

  There was so much she wanted, so much she never allowed herself to think about. He had changed things for her back when they were dating. He made her want what she could never have and what she wasn’t allowed to hope for. It was almost as if a forbidden life was within her grasp.

  But she was kidding herself.

  An opportunity to fulfill her promise to her sister and her family really was within reach, and so was severing the hold the Russian agency had on her.

  Chapter 27

  Hannah

  Adrenaline spiked Hannah’s blood as she and Jack passed through the doorway and left the heady scent of coffee behind. She was willing to do whatever it took to get answers and to assume possession of the list from Sergei.