Seven-Sided Spy

by Hannah Carmack

  She finally stopped screaming just in time to start bubbly laughing as they slowed and came to a stop behind her van. She was still laughing when she gave Marco back his helmet and sighed with stars in her eyes.

  “That is one groovy ride you’ve got.” She smoothed out her dress and took a moment to really hold Marco’s gaze. “If you find yourself free tomorrow, a couple friends and I are going out to the Typhoon Club if you’d want to tag along.”

  “Thanks, Ruby. Keep it real, all right?” Marco dug into his wallet and pulled out a few bills. “And just take this, please.”

  She grabbed it casually, and Marco revved his bike back up, then pulled out into the road. It was when he’d traveled maybe a few yards that he faintly heard her call his name, but he continued riding. He suspected she’d looked down and realized that he’d slipped her two hundred-dollar bills in a sandwich of singles.

  The fun was over and the hunt was on. Marco wasted no time getting his bike parked and hidden. He hiked back into the Hazel Creek backcountry, knowing that he was in for a long night. In his riding bag was a collection of park maps and facility blueprints the KGB had given him. He had a good hunch she was somewhere in the rhododendron marshes atop the mountain. They were dense, far from the facility, and would offer coverage from aerial searches.

  Given who he was dealing with, he suspected he’d fall victim to at least one or two misdirection tactics—a false path, multiple foot trails, decoys. However, she’d be limited in resources and time. Marco hoped that maybe she’d be easier to find because of this. He was wrong. After a few hours of searching, Marco was still empty-handed, having eliminated eight false paths and nearly fallen over a trip wire. It was getting dark, not dusk but truly dark. It seemed as though the mountains now grew around him and the only sound left was the chirping wildlife of the woods.

  He was exhausted and sleep tempted him, but he kept moving and marked his path along the way. He kept his head down and his footsteps quiet as he listened. There were crickets off in the distance, frogs all around him, and crackling leaves, not under the foot of a spy but the paw of a bear. All hope seemed lost until a scream cut across the woodland.

  DIANA’S SCREAM REVERBERATED through the woods, echoing off tree trunks and riverbanks until there was nothing left of it but a whisper in the night’s sky. Hundreds of feet below ground, at the bottom of one of the mountain’s many caverns, she was sprawled out, broken, and already healing. Da Vinci and Tim stared in horror.

  “Shit.” Tim said, gaping as a shell reformed from membrane and her previously bashed-in face regrew into her features.

  Diana forced herself off the ground, pressing her arms up and then her feet. Chips of old shell fell off her. “I survived,” she groaned, rocking her head from one side to the other until it gave a satisfying crack. “Guess you were right.”

  This troubled Da Vinci. Before she began to climb up, Da Vinci had told her of a night terror he’d had where she’d climbed the cavern wall and fell from it. He’d seen her fall before it happened. And then, despite the warning, she had still fallen. He’d been right about an odd amount of many things since leaving the facility. Da Vinci was full of either lucky guesses or accurate intuition brought on by serious night terrors and epileptic fits.

  “Catch your breath. I’ll scale it.” Tim took the rope from Diana and began to climb the wall, his bare feet not bloodying on the way up.

  Once Tim was up, Diana followed shortly behind.

  FROM THE TREE line, Marco stared in horror as a pale creature rose from what he could only assume was an underground cave. It was a man but deformed with a bulging chest growth and veiny skin. Marco’s stomach churned. He stood completely still and quieted his breathing, praying he lived through this nightmare.

  The goddess rose next, like the living dead. Her arm, more muscle than shell, lurched out of the cavern opening. The peachy-skinned and angelic-faced woman Marco expected to find was nowhere to be seen. She had skin so pale it was nearly translucent. Her legs and face were cracked like porcelain, and any seductive nature people had reported was replaced with a tired and defeated appearance. Marco almost didn’t recognize her, but upon taking a second look at those famous curls, he clapped his hands over his mouth; his heart sped up and beat so loudly that Marco worried she might hear it.

  This was the goddess. Who was with her? The KGB hadn’t mentioned any other agents. He held onto the nearest tree trunk for support, no longer caring about the mission. As soon as they left the clearing, he was going to bolt. But they weren’t clearing out. It seemed that they were waiting for another of their macabre party. Marco could hear this third member scaling the cavern, and once he spoke, Marco knew why he was the KGB’s prime candidate, why they said there was no one else for the job. Ascending from the cavern was his mentor, Da Vinci.

  Marco let out a weak moan before collapsing.

  When he finally came to, he could hear Da Vinci’s faint and familiar voice. “Rigan, no. No, no, what are you doing here?”

  Rigan. The sound of his given name was enough to shake him from his groggy state. He opened his eyes hesitantly and found Da Vinci and the monsters around him.

  “Who the hell is he?” the goddess asked.

  Coming back to consciousness, Rigan managed to mutter, “Niccolò, what the hell are you doing here?”

  Although nothing was said, there seemed to be as much uncertainty on Da Vinci’s part as on Rigan’s. “Rigan, it’s fine, everyone here is on a first name basis.”

  “Oh, pardon me,” Rigan groaned. “Da Vinci Moretti, what are you doing here?” He let his head fall back onto the grass.

  Da Vinci was just sitting there stunned. Rigan was expecting a reply, but it would appear Da Vinci couldn’t think coherently enough to give him one.

  Tim answered for Da Vinci, “It’s a long story, Rigan.”

  Upon hearing the familiar voice, Rigan flinched. He propped himself up on his elbows and laughed when he set his eyes on the vein-ridden one. It was Tim. “Holy shit, you look rough.”

  “I believe you have seen better days.” Tim gave a begrudging reply.

  “You know him, too?” Diana crossed her arms now.

  “Yeah, he’s our old partner. Codename’s Marco.” Tim said something else, but Rigan was too focused on Da Vinci. The old man looked rough. His beard was unruly and the bags under his eyes were dark.

  Eventually, Da Vinci spoke. “Rigan, what are you doing here?”

  “The KGB sent me.” He answered. “They didn’t say it was you, Da Vinci. You know I wouldn’t have taken the job if I’d known it was you.”

  “Did you know it was me?” Tim grumbled. Rigan shot him a dirty look in response.

  Da Vinci helped pull Rigan up to his feet and then spoke to the boy in Portuguese. “Did anyone follow you?”

  “No one.” Rigan grew more uneasy. He and Da Vinci rarely used Portuguese, since Rigan’s was substantially better than Da Vinci’s. If Da Vinci opened with it, it meant he wanted to exclude other parties from the conversation. “What have you gotten yourself into?”

  Da Vinci ignored the boy’s question and switched back to English. “Rigan’s going to help us,” he told Diana.

  Well, that might be an overstatement. Rigan was all for helping Da Vinci. His partners on the other hand? He could do without them.

  “I don’t think so.” She crossed her arms and looked at Rigan coolly, her brows pinched with skepticism. “We can’t let him go back. What if the KGB find him?”

  “The KGB aren’t going to find him, and even if they did, Rigan’s not going to sing.” Da Vinci placed a hand on her shoulder. “Trust me. Let him go and get help.”

  Diana shook her head. She didn’t need to speak for her answer to be understood. “Rigan stays with us. Letting him go is too much of a risk. If he’s found out, we’re found out.”

  Da Vinci looked disappointed, but resigned and accepting. Rigan was used to seeing him with more fire to him. It was weird to see him so complia
nt.

  Tim, on the other hand, was full-on livid. “Why? So, we can keep walking around in the woods?” he spat. “Fuck that, Diana. Rigan is our best shot. Let him go.”

  “Fuck you,” she snapped back.

  “He’s our best shot, Diana. What other options do we have?” Da Vinci pleaded.

  She bit her lower lip and paused. It was clear she was thinking this through.

  “Rigan is a trustworthy source,” Tim added. “He’s a freelancer, no alliance but himself.”

  She inspected Rigan, meticulously, calculatingly. “If you turn us in, know that when this is said and over, I will hunt you down and I will kill you.” Diana’s words left nothing open to interpretation.

  “Your reputation doesn’t do you justice. Christ.” Rigan held back a scowl, giving Da Vinci a quick look before replying. “You’ve got nothing to worry about with me, goddess. I’m not turning you in. I’m getting you out of here.”

  Diana began to walk him through her plan. “You will leave here within the next hour and hike back down the mountain. When you get back to your car, I want you to get to the nearest phone and contact Adams at his emergency number. Do you have that?” She paused long enough to let him confirm. “Tell him Hera, Niccolò, and Dresden are trapped at our current coordinates. Tell him about the KGB kidnapping us. Do not tell him about our deformities. You’ve got until sunrise. If you’re not back by then, we’ll already be on the move.”

  Rigan’s heart pounded as his night began to unfold in front of him. These stakes were high, but Da Vinci was worth it. He owed it to him to get him out of there. “All right. That sounds smart. Hang low. I’ll come back after I talk to Adams.”

  Da Vinci gave Rigan a quick hug. There was something rigid about him, something Rigan couldn’t ignore. It made him uneasy.

  “Make sure you have your gun.” It was a sudden change in topic that added to his nerves. “Don’t stop until you know you’re safe, Rigan.”

  “I’ll be back,” Rigan assured him before rushing back to his bike as fast as he could. Something was wrong, and it wasn’t just the obvious. Da Vinci was uncomfortable, and seeing Da Vinci without a calm and cool exterior was a rare and dangerous thing. When he made it back to his bike, Rigan quickly mounted and then tore through the winds and curves of the road, not waiting for the safest phone but the closest. When he found one, just getting the coins into the payphone’s pay slot was nearly impossible as his hands shook. The image of Diana with a broken arm rising from the depths of the cave was etched into his mind. The dial tone hummed and then rang.

  Finally, a tired voice came up on the other end of the line. “Hello?”

  “Adams. It’s Marco. Hera, Niccolò, and Dresden are in trouble. They need an airlift fast.”

  There was a pause. The man gave a warm laugh. Something about Adams’ voice had a naturally calming effect on the people around him.

  “You’re running around with Niccolò again?” he asked.

  “That’s not important.”

  “Suppose not,” Adams groaned as he audibly crawled around his bed. “That explains the enormous bounties on their heads. All right, pen and paper in hand. What’re their coordinates?”

  The words were on the tip of Rigan’s tongue, but before he could get them out, there was a loud clatter. He was being shot at. The first bullet cut right through the payphone, destroying its insides and ending Rigan’s call. The second bullet went right for Rigan, grazing his right arm.

  Across the parking lot, in the pale moonlight, Gulliver stood, Rigan’s KGB contact, the man who swindled Rigan into taking this job just a few days prior. He hated that spy’s crooked, thin-lipped smile.

  “Marco.” Gulliver’s English-accented voice sounded musical, as he approached the boy, gun still in hand. “Something the matter? Realize the old man is in trouble?” His closemouthed laugh was high in pitch.

  “You knew.” Rigan gritted his teeth until the inside of his cheek tore open. The copper taste of blood filled his mouth.

  “You were the only agent we knew who wouldn’t be killed on sight once finding Hera and her teammates, and we were right, no? Pops didn’t let her pull the trigger, so to speak?” He oozed a snarky confidence.

  Rigan wanted to talk his way out of this before it could escalate any further. “Are we going to talk about what the hell you did to them?” his words were acidic.

  “Are you referencing the pleasantly corpse-colored ones?” Gulliver replied coyly.

  “You’re sick.”

  “I’m doing the best I can.” Gulliver shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels for a moment before taking a firm stance. “So are you coming willingly?”

  “I’m not a canary.” Rigan sized Gulliver up. He was as tall as a tree, vision impaired, and skinny as a rail. With Rigan’s muscle and agility, he would win the fight, hands down, but few physically weak agents traveled alone. Rigan scanned the tree line surrounding the area. “Where’s your muscle?”

  “He’s around.” Gulliver smiled, appearing relaxed at the thought.

  Rigan contemplated running at the exact moment Gulliver jabbed out his talon-like hand to clench onto Rigan’s forearm. Rigan shoved Gulliver back easily and twisted away from his grip. Then, Rigan turned on his heel, ready to run for his bike when he saw the six-foot-three-inch wall of pure Soviet strength blocking him.

  “Let me leave here alive!” Rigan shouted.

  “Sorry, comrade.” The brute had a thick Russian accent and an unapologetic expression that read shit happens.

  Rigan reached into his jacket for his gun, only to find that it was missing. He’d put it in the seat of his bike when he and Ruby went riding. Since finding Da Vinci, he’d been in too much of a hurry to grab it.

  All he had now was a pocket knife. It’d have to do. Summoning his courage, Rigan charged at the man. Rigan was thrown back like a rag doll. He ricocheted and rolled across the asphalt. Gulliver grabbed for him, but Rigan instinctively kicked, knocking the wind from Gulliver in one hit.

  Gulliver wheezed. “Kal,” he called for his partner and extended his arm to help balance himself.

  Rigan scrambled to his feet, knife out and ready to charge again. Kal wasn’t fazed. He walked over and scooped Rigan up from the pavement, brushing off the few punches he landed.

  “You should’ve done the job.” Kal threw him to the ground.

  Rigan’s head bobbed and his ears rang. He wasn’t made for this. He scrambled to get to his feet, but with all the soreness, he fell right back to the concrete. His tailbone seared with pain.

  Kal picked him up by the collar of his shirt.

  “No! Stop! Stop!” Rigan thrashed back and forth. He kicked and screamed for help. He needed to save himself and Da Vinci. That’s what kept him going. The idea of repaying a debt made long ago. He pried at Kal’s hand. “Let me go!”

  Kal drew his fist back, preparing to hit, but released him when Rigan sank his teeth into the callused skin on Kal’s hand.

  Rigan dropped to the ground, the taste of Kal’s and his own blood turning his stomach. He attempted to move away.

  “Good try,” Kal kicked.

  Rigan’s rib cage made a loud crunching noise when Kal’s blow landed.

  “Fuck!” Rigan wrapped an arm around his chest. He couldn’t move.

  This was how Rigan went out, crumpled on the ground, hugging himself, choking on his own blood, and listening to the sound of his bones breaking with each kick.

  Human

  SEPTEMBER 8, 1963

  Even the lord couldn’t move Da Vinci. He was a lump of a man, hunched over himself with his head buried deep in his callused hands. Since Rigan failed to return, the spies had wandered through the woods seemingly directionless, mostly moving just to avoid being caught. Yet somehow, no matter how far they traveled, they always seemed to end up back at the cavern where they’d met Rigan at nights before. Da Vinci was still holding on to the hope that Rigan would return. Diana and Tim were too wrapped u
p in themselves to take notice of their partner’s declining morale until the time came that they needed him. They had an escape plan, and it required Da Vinci to be more than the emotionless husk he currently was.

  Tim sat beside Da Vinci, staring down on a bluff steep enough to kill a man with one misstep. There were snares, vines, and an overgrowth of brush just below their dangling feet.

  “Come on, Da Vinci. We have to get going. He’s not coming back.”

  “But he’s not dead.” Da Vinci’s words were deliberate and he believed them fully. “I know he’s not.” He tipped his chin up and looked out into the fog of the mountains. There was a feeling gnawing at him from the inside, tearing away at the soft, fleshy lining of his stomach. “Tim, I’m not so sure we can make it out of here alive.”

  That was a fast way to kill the already dying mood. “Don’t say that.” Tim placed a cold hand on Da Vinci’s back. “Everything you have said thus far has come true, and that is one premonition we cannot afford to see through.”

  Da Vinci inhaled loudly and then exhaled even louder. He moved backward until his head touched the ground and his legs still hung over the bluff’s edge. “Oh, Tim, it was just an expression.” Da Vinci gave a breathy laugh, more wheeze than harmony. “I’m just rambling on. There must be some way out of here.” On his back, Da Vinci could see Diana’s legs. She was gradually making her way over to them.

  “We need to get moving. If we keep standing still, we’ll be caught out.” Diana kneeled next to Da Vinci, twisting herself so she was able to look into his eyes. “You’re our main guy here. This plan will fail without you.”

  Still processing her words, Da Vinci glanced at Tim, who nodded in agreement. There was an undeniable somberness taking hold of Da Vinci. Every night, he had seizures, fits of the future, fits of the past. Some things he told them, other things he didn’t. Regardless, the things he saw were destroying him.