Free Fall

by Christa Roberts

  This isn't supposed to happen, she thought, panicking, as Greg's words about SD-6 losing their investment flashed into her brain.

  “Sydney!” Paul cried from above.

  Sydney let out a strangled screech, scrambling wildly for something, anything, to hold on to. By a small miracle, she managed to clutch an exposed tree root. Her bare legs swung in the air, banging hard against the rock, and her heart was thumping out of control. “What's wrong with Bristow's harness?” she heard someone scream from below.

  It seemed like hours that Sydney clasped the root before Paul navigated the cliff and helped her slowly climb back down.

  “What the hell happened up there?” Greg demanded as Agent Sinclair went to help Paul with his harness and the rest of the group gathered around her. “You scared the crap out of us!”

  “Out of you?” Sydney took a gulp of air. “One minute I felt secure and the next I was falling through thin air,” she said, her legs wobbly on solid ground. She put her hands on her thighs and bent over, trying to regulate her breathing. The rush of blood and fear combined with the bright sun overhead had made her feel nauseous.

  “If I were you, I'd give him hell,” Maureen said as Paul made his way down and over to them. “Milk it for all it's worth.”

  Stephanie blinked back tears as Paul went right to her and gave her a hug. “I can't believe this,” she choked out, squeezing her hands into fists. “It's my fault.”

  Paul brushed a lock of hair from Stephanie's face. “It's not anybody's fault,” he said firmly, gazing into her eyes. His behavior was professional and consoling, but Sydney got the feeling from his body language that something else lay below the surface. Was something going on between Stephanie and Paul?

  She tried to smile as Paul let go of Stephanie and came over and gave her a pat on the shoulder.

  A hug for Stephanie, who was on solid ground, and a pat for me, who dangled in midair. Okay, what's wrong with this picture?

  “Man, Sydney, you really had me scared up there,” he said, pulling back and shaking his head.

  “Ditto,” she said shakily. “Good thing I'm not going dancing tonight.” Her legs were covered with bruises and bits of blood.

  Paul smacked his forehead with his palm. “What am I standing here talking to you for? Let me go get the first-aid kit,” he said. “That's the least I can do.” As he jogged off, Stephanie wiped away a tear.

  “That could have been me up there,” Stephanie whispered so only Sydney could hear, her face drained of color. More tears slid down her white cheeks. “It should have been me. Someone did something to the equipment. Someone wanted this to happen.”

  “Don't be stupid. It was just an accident,” Sydney insisted, wondering what she meant. “Just my dumb luck that it was me.”

  “And your dumb luck that saved you,” Greg told Stephanie.

  His words made Sydney pause.

  Maybe dumb luck wasn't what had saved Stephanie. What had seemed an ill-timed moment for Stephanie to take a bathroom break had almost cost Sydney her life.

  And she's more than a little upset about it. Her friend seemed almost guilty.

  As if she had known something like this would happen all along.

  After a shower to soothe her aching muscles, and then pizza and shop talk with Agents Henry and Sinclair and her fellow trainees later that night, Sydney begged off the game of Monopoly Greg was setting up in the hotel lobby. “I'm going to go for a run,” she told him, gesturing to her blue nylon shorts she'd pulled on over an old pair of gray leggings and her red T-shirt covered with a nylon outer shirt in case it got cold.

  “Do you think you're up to it?” he asked, eyeing her legs. “You took quite a beating today.”

  “In a day or so, I'll be as good as new,” Sydney said.

  Maureen stopped organizing the little piles of paper money to rub her hands together in anticipation of the competition. “All right, then that gives us an even number. Girls against the guys?”

  Stephanie was lining up the green houses and red hotels. “Are you sure?” she asked, patting the empty space on the floor beside her. She looked disappointed. “Greg ordered chicken wings, and they're supposed to be really good here.”

  Sydney smiled but shook her head. “Maybe another night. I'm in the mood for a run. I'm weird like that—when my body takes a hit, I want to prove that I'm stronger than ever.”

  “You didn't get enough exercise today, huh?” Paul asked, sitting on the floor and leaning his back against a couch. He had the little metal top hat game piece on his pinkie.

  “I want to make sure I'm thoroughly exhausted,” Sydney joked. “Get my money's worth from this trip.”

  She wasn't surprised that Paul thought her reason for running was for exercise. Most people made that mistake.

  The fact was, Sydney simply loved to run. Francie was always telling her that she was in great shape, that she didn't need to run as much as she did. That was because Francie wasn't a runner (or a swimmer or a cyclist, for that matter). She didn't really understand the nature of the sport. What Sydney loved about running wasn't so much the physical benefits, though that was part of it. Instead, it was the competition: with other runners, like her friend Todd from track, and with herself.

  After a few minutes of leg lifts and other warm-up exercises in the hotel parking lot, Sydney headed out onto the bike path-cum-jogging trail that ran alongside the main boulevard. Before she became an agent, the idea of running by herself in a strange place would have made her nervous. But now, after almost a year of training that included self-defense and a variety of martial arts, Sydney had no doubt that she could more than protect herself against anyone unlucky enough to pick her as a target.

  As her sneakers thudded against the pavement, Sydney's mind wandered back to the rock-climbing expedition. She knew she could have been hurt, really hurt, if not for her quick thinking and Paul's stepping in to save her. But there was something more on her mind.

  Why was Stephanie so upset? she wondered, blowing a strand of brown hair from her face. I know she likes me and wouldn't want to see me hurt, but it was almost like she was scared for her own safety.

  Stephanie was the one who was supposed to have been in the harness. Would she have managed to grab that tree root if she had been in Sydney's place? Or maybe Chris was wrong and I did mess up, Sydney thought. She'd never know for sure.

  But Stephanie's blurted-out comment kept racing through her mind. . . . It should have been me. . . . Someone wanted this to happen. . . . It was as if her roommate thought she had avoided some predetermined outcome by switching places with Sydney.

  Chris had thoroughly checked the equipment and found nothing wrong.

  So how could her accident have happened? Did someone tamper with the equipment, as Stephanie had tearfully mumbled—someone so good at it that Chris couldn't even detect a problem?

  As her muscles loosened and warmed, Sydney regulated her breathing and continued down the bike path. She wasn't going to worry about sabotage. She had seen how meticulous Stephanie was in everything she did—not to mention how ready she'd been to believe that someone had compromised their room.

  Maybe it was just in her nature not to trust people. Given her mother's death and her father's cool demeanor, Sydney knew just how difficult it could be to do that.

  Stephanie was just overreacting, Sydney decided, following the bike path as it wended its way through a grove of trees and over a footbridge. It was just an honest accident—one that she'd just as soon put behind her. She closed her eyes for a second, letting the cool evening air sweep over her clammy skin.

  Her best guess told her that she'd easily covered her first mile by now.

  By the time she'd completed her second, any thoughts she'd had about someone undermining the day's events were swept free, replaced by the methodical thud of running shoes hitting blacktop, the sound of cicadas chirping hidden in the trees.

  The Maple Leaf Lodge was quiet when she got back, the lobby
deserted except for the check-in clerk, who gave her a tired wave as he sat hunched over a crossword puzzle.

  “I wonder if they saved me a chicken wing,” Sydney said to herself as she walked down the interior hall to her room. “Not that we have anyplace to heat it up, but—”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” came a loud male voice from around the corner.

  Sydney couldn't make out what the female voice said in return, but whoever it was, was crying.

  “That's so typical. Turn on the waterworks at the most minor thing.” Now the man sounded like he was approaching where she was standing.

  Looking quickly around, Sydney ducked into the ice-machine area. Getting caught in a romantic quarrel was not how she wanted to end her evening.

  “So you tell me. Why do things like that keep happening? You're saying I'm just imagining it?” the girl managed to say between sobs.

  Sydney shrank back as someone punched the wall. “You know what?” the guy went on. “You're crazy. Crazy! And I'm tired of it, Stephanie. If you know what's good for you, you'll back off.”

  Sydney blinked, her heart pounding. Stephanie?

  “I'm not kidding,” the voice that Sydney now recognized as Paul's continued. “So don't push it.”

  Sydney pressed her back against the wall and listened as Paul strode past her down the hall.

  What the hell was that all about?

  Sydney waited until she was sure Paul was gone, and then waited a few minutes more to give Stephanie a chance to compose herself.

  She walked the twenty feet to her room and made a big production of retrieving her card key from her waist pack. “Where is your key when you really need it?” she said loudly, adding a cough or two to make her presence known. At last, she inserted the card key into the slot, the green light lit, and she pushed the door open.

  “Hello? Anyone home?” she called, glancing over at the sitting area near the TV.

  “You missed a butt-kicking game of Monopoly.” Stephanie stood in the bathroom doorway clad in a huge white towel. Droplets of water glistened on her arms, and her long blond hair was wrapped up turban-style on top of her head. Her face was only a tiny bit blotchy, easily explained by a hot shower.

  “I did?” Sydney said, swallowing. Obviously her roommate wasn't going to let on that anything had just occurred.

  Stephanie grinned. “Yep. Maureen was the Donald Trump of board games. She brought Greg and Paul to their knees.”

  “Speaking of Paul, is he around?” Sydney said, watching Stephanie's face carefully. “I thought I heard a guy's voice when I was walking down the hall.”

  “Nope. Just me.” Then Stephanie laughed. “Maybe you heard me singing Broadway show tunes in the shower. I'm so off-key, karaoke bars close when they see me coming.”

  A large red welt was swelling on Stephanie's left shoulder. “No—no, I don't think that was what I heard,” Sydney stammered, her eyes glued to the bruise.

  Stephanie followed Sydney's gaze. “Silly me,” Stephanie said, taking her robe down from the bathroom hook and slipping it on. “I spend the whole day doing death-defying moves on the rock wall and then stumble when I get inside the shower stall.” She gave her forehead a mock slap. “Bonehead with a capital B.”

  “Do you want me to get some ice?” Sydney offered. I know right where the ice machine is, she thought, swallowing. “It might help stop the swelling.”

  Stephanie shook her head. “No, I'll be fine.” She rolled her blue eyes. “I'm infamous for my klutz moves back in the dorm.”

  But as Stephanie went back into the bathroom and turned on the blow-dryer, Sydney wasn't so sure about that.

  Bonehead? Klutz? Uh-uh. Sydney wasn't buying that for a minute.

  She walked over and sat on the bed, slowly unlacing her sneakers.

  What was going on between Stephanie and Paul?

  7

  AFTER BAGELS AND HAZELNUT coffee on Friday morning, Sydney was eager to finally have the chance to check out the falls. She was hoping for an opportunity to break off from the group and look for Sanderling's notes. This is my third day here—I've got to get moving! she'd scolded herself as she'd put on a pair of shorts and a navy blue polo shirt. She hadn't given Sanderling more than a cursory thought since her arrival, and that had to change. And she had wondered again if she was the only agent to have a mission. So far, no one was sharing any details.

  For now, she and Stephanie walked with the rest of the group, minus Agents Henry and Sinclair, covering the considerable distance from the lodge down the Niagara Parkway, which led straight to the falls. Stephanie had worn a white shirt with three-quarter-length sleeves, so there was no way to see if the welt Sydney had noticed the night before had turned into a full-fledged bruise.

  Just forget it, Sydney told herself as her roommate bounced along beside her, her hair in a tight braid, her cheeks glowing. If she wanted you to know about it, she'd tell you.

  Waist-high metal railings lined the vast viewing area on the Canadian side of the falls, and despite the early hour, there were already hundreds of tourists milling about, cameras and camcorders in tow. Large manicured grounds bloomed with flowers, and shuttle buses dropped people off along the scenic route. Sydney leaned against a railing and gazed out over the Horseshoe Falls as the water thundered around them.

  “It makes you feel pretty small, doesn't it?” Stephanie said from beside her as the mist rising from the roaring water deep below coated their skin. “Insignificant.”

  Sydney nodded, her toes perched on the small curb below the railing. They were on a steep cliff that dropped sharply down to the water. “Can you believe that people actually went over Niagara Falls in barrels? Now that's insane.”

  “And they lived,” Paul chimed in, running his hand through his damp hair. “I read that a woman in her sixties voluntarily took the plunge in a barrel. Even more insane.”

  “No one has ever survived going over the American Falls,” Stephanie said, gazing down at the gorge. “With or without a safety device.”

  Maureen took out her camera and snapped a picture. “For once I'll have a souvenir of a trip.”

  “See that boat down there?” Greg said, walking over to them. Sydney could see a blue and white boat bobbing in the turbulent water. “That's the Maid of the Mist. I remember riding it as a kid on vacation with my family.”

  The closest Sydney and her father had ever come to a vacation was when he took her to Disney-land when she was eight. He'd ridden It's a Small World and the Matterhorn with a grim smile plastered on his face, his body stiff with discomfort. Sydney couldn't wait for the day to end.

  “See that gift shop over there?” Sydney asked, pointing to a large brick building several hundred yards behind them. She was itching to get to work. “I'm going to go check it out. I'll catch up with you later.”

  “I'll come,” Stephanie said, pushing a wet strand of hair from her cheek. “I need to dry off.”

  And within seconds Sydney's plan to sneak off was effectively over as the entire group joined her on a bathroom stop/postcard-buying expedition.

  “We've got a little time left,” Maureen announced, checking her watch twenty minutes later. “Let's go up Clifton Hill.” Clifton Hill was an area filled with chain motels, low-quality high-priced restaurants, and plenty of tacky gift shops.

  “Can you say tourist trap?” Greg asked as they walked slowly uphill, stopping in front of a store selling miniature barrels and maple-leaf magnets.

  “I know it's cheesy, but I have to admit I think it's fun,” Sydney said, fingering a light blue T-shirt that said YOURS UNTIL NIAGARA FALLS.

  “My friend Ingrid would love that shirt,” Stephanie said wistfully.

  “Not like we can bring home souvenirs, though,” Sydney said, resignedly putting the shirt back in its pile.

  “Hey, guys, check this out,” Paul called, motioning to them to catch up. He stood in front of a garishly decorated gray storefront. A skeleton stood on one side of the do
orway, while on the other was a purple octopus. Inside the cavelike entrance was an admission booth, with a sign that read, THE WILD! THE WACKY! THE UTTERLY GHOULISH! ALL IN DELUXE WAX FORMATION. ONLY $8.00 PER PERSON! above it.

  “Eight bucks for this?” Maureen said skeptically, poking the skeleton with her finger.

  “Eight bucks Canadian,” Greg clarified. “That's only six real dollars.”

  “Our Canadian friends wouldn't like to hear you say that.” Maureen tsk-tsked.

  “Whoever's dollar it is, it's my treat,” Paul said, pulling out his wallet and handing several twenties to the cashier.

  Sydney was stepping forward to go in with the others when she realized Stephanie was pulling back. “Come on, it'll be a goof,” she told her.

  Stephanie hesitated. “I'm—I'm not really into this kind of thing.”

  “I would die for my country, but please don't make me go into a haunted house,” Greg mocked, clasping his hands as if in prayer.

  Paul touched Stephanie's arm. “Don't worry. The ghosts and ghouls only come out at night.”

  Sydney watched as Stephanie gave Paul a frosty look. “I guess there's nothing to worry about then,” she said, sidestepping him and grabbing Sydney's hand.

  There was definitely something going on between them. I wish Stephanie would fill me in, Sydney thought restlessly. I could tell her about Noah and we could compare notes on having boyfriends who happen to work for the CIA.

  Shaking off her thoughts, Sydney stepped inside the haunted house. The air was stuffy and moist, and it was difficult to see as they navigated through the twisting turns.

  “Looks like we lost them,” Sydney said, peering over her shoulder in the dark. “Do you want to wait?”

  “And get teased at every turn?” Stephanie sniffed as they shuffled along. Weird moldy wax creatures sat behind iron bars, their ghoulish faces twisted into evil grins. “No, thanks.”

  “You know, we could kick some serious wax monster butt in here,” Sydney said under her breath as a couple of boisterous boys pushed past them. “I mean, how often do five CIA agents hang out in a place like this?”