Seven-Sided Spy

by Hannah Carmack

  “You’re not worried.” Da Vinci took his hand in hers. “Curious, but not worried,” he said fondly.

  “There’s something knowing about that smile of yours.” She lifted their hands and spread her fingers out, toying with his, a coy smile pulling at her lips. “What aren’t you telling us?”

  “Hiding something from you? I could never.”

  “You’re worrying me.”

  “Beautiful, I know you well enough to know there’s not an ounce of concern in you right now.”

  “Oh, what a shame,” she replied, trailing her hand up his arm. “Trapped in the woods with no known salvation, and I’m not allowed even an ounce of concern?”

  “Not an ounce, at least not yet.” He grabbed her hand again, lacing his fingers with hers.

  “You’re saying there’ll come a point…where I will be allotted an ounce of worry?”

  “I’m not sure.” Da Vinci shrugged nonchalantly. “From this point on, I don’t know.” He leaned his head back to gaze at the sky and breathed deeply, taking in the sharp smell of pine. “No idea anymore. It’s freeing. Before a few nights ago, we were doomed, but I took care of it.”

  “You took care of it?” She chuckled. “What was our fate before?” She tilted her head, her limp curls falling to the side.

  “Death for most of us.”

  “For Tim and me,” Diana corrected him. “That’s why you were acting so peculiar, wasn’t it? If you were going to die, you’d have told us. You’re modest like that.” She paused for a moment, but Da Vinci sensed no need to weigh in. He was happy to watch her. “But you took care of it,” she repeated. “Well, then, aren’t you just my hero?” She craned toward him, and their foreheads briefly touched. “Well, thank you for saving us.”

  “I do what I can,” he teased, then rolled his eyes and offered a crooked smile. “You should sleep. You’re only this affectionate when you’re drowsy.”

  “I don’t get drowsy. Old women and housewives get drowsy. I get tired.” She shook her head gently, sensually. “Wake me up if anything happens while I’m out. And wake Tim up if he sleeps past six hours. He can function just fine off five.” Carefully, she pushed herself off the ground, little chips of the skin on her hand sprinkling the ground. She headed toward the bright clearing where Tim lay.

  As she walked away, Da Vinci took in the moment the sun hit her golden hair. He protected his partners like a shepherd. For once, his mind was silent. There was no anxiety about the future. There was no anxiety about the past. For a moment, it was serenity, and then it was pain. Every nerve in his body was burning and the neurons in his brain fired with an electric intensity. Tim and Diana slowly vanished from his vision and all the colors around him fogged and blurred together into a fuzz. His entire body shook, and then he was on the ground, face planted into the yellowing grass and dirt. His cheeks scraped against rocks and branches. The only thing he could hear was white-static noise feeding in from the universe. Da Vinci was still struggling to come back to reality when Diana and Tim finally got over to him.

  “I’m stabilizing his neck.” Diana’s thumb was pressed firmly against his jaw, stopping him from biting his own tongue. Her knees were at the base of his scalp to prevent his head from smacking against the ground. Tim nodded and then got to work turning Da Vinci on his side.

  Da Vinci’s words curdled at the back of his throat, coming out in half-audible groans. At last, there was a screeching sound and an urgency deep in Da Vinci’s system that made his heart palpitate. His entire body felt as though it was coming back from numbness with pins and needles buried as deep as the corpus callosum. There was a war in the jungle. There was a plague of blood. And then there was Rigan. The boy was alive.

  Da Vinci didn’t come out of his fit gracefully, nor gradually. He shot up from his convulsions like a swimmer surfacing for air, with a loud, dramatic inhale and then mania.

  “They’re back for us. The whole team.”

  Diana and Tim both jumped the instant the words left Da Vinci’s mouth. Their days were about to get a lot harder if they couldn’t fight the KGB off.

  “Where?” she asked. “Are we safe for now?”

  “We’re going to find them first, not the other way around.” Da Vinci wiped the dirt from his face and cringed as his hand grazed many healing scrapes. “They’ve got Rigan.”

  There was an instant standstill. No one needed to speak. It was a fact universally known that they were at a very high risk of fighting one another. There was no way they’d walk to the enemy, but there was also no way Da Vinci was going to carry on with Rigan alive and hostage. Diana kept her gaze steady and on Da Vinci. Tim watched Diana.

  “Come on, Diana. That drop from a few days ago should have killed you, and Tim should have hypothermia with how drenched he got out in the storm yesterday, but you’re both still alive. You’re fucking superhuman. Are you really going to let the KGB scare you?” He egged them on. “You two are practically invincible! And it’s just the three of them down there. They sent three field agents to come collect two super-humans and a semi-pro negotiator. And if this adds any merit, I can guarantee that we will be fine afterward if we go down there and fight. I’ve seen it. Mother-fucking prophesied.” Da Vinci was bubbling with excitement, building their showdown. He was unafraid for once. Now, he just needed them to be, too.

  Tim and Diana both exchanged a look with each other before Diana spoke, “We’ll be fine? You’re sure of this?”

  “Yes. It’d be embarrassing if we weren’t fine after this. We will be fine, and we will get Rigan back,” Da Vinci confirmed, already standing and packing up what little they had.

  “How do you know they have, Rigan? What did you see?” Tim helped Da Vinci shuffle their few meager supplies away and cover their tracks as they prepared to take off.

  “I saw him. He’s okay. I saw them, too, just glimpses, but I did see them.” Da Vinci was almost giddy. Rigan was never a part of the original massacre he’d seen. Things were changing. He was certain of it. He was saving them.

  The three spies wasted no time taking off down the side of the mountain, carelessly stomping through the trail and moving with purpose.

  “So, from what I saw, they are at the cavern where we met Rigan the other night. We shouldn’t count on him for help. They’ve got him either knocked out or heavily sedated, but as I said, we are more than capable of handling this. I’m going to lure out their weakling first, you know, old gentlemen’s duel. We’ll talk around each other so it doesn’t look like we’re about to kick ass. Then, when the first punch is thrown, you two can jump on out and we’ll start this blitz.” Da Vinci raced ahead of them.

  “The cave?” Diana moped. “That’s a good hour away, even at your speed.”

  Da Vinci hadn’t realized it, but he was traveling embarrassingly fast. He’d burn out fast at that rate.

  “At least we’ll have plenty of time to figure out our line of attack.”

  “We show up. We kick them into last Tuesday. Our line of attack is perfecto.” Da Vinci nearly slid down the side of a bluff in his hurry, but Tim grabbed him before he could lose his footing.

  “Slow down.” Tim’s brows were knit, and he looked at Da Vinci as he’d look at a child.

  “Oh, let him be,” Diana toyed, the corners of her lips cracking. “How old was Rigan when he was assigned to you? I’m going to guess you two go pretty far back.”

  Da Vinci had prepared this entire speech about morality in the spy business, but before he could talk, before he could even begin his incredibly well-thought-out monologue, Tim cut him off.

  “Rigan was not assigned to him. Da Vinci demanded him. The kid was supposed to be put on a work farm or prison or something dastardly.” Tim kept his eyes on Da Vinci, likely to make sure he didn’t take a nose-dive off a cliffside.

  “Really?” Diana laughed. “You never struck me as the kind of man to demand something, Da Vinci. You’re always such a gentleman.” She picked up her pace just enough to be
beside Da Vinci rather than behind him. “You also don’t strike me as the mentor-protégé type.”

  Tim audibly snorted. “Da Vinci used to demand a lot. He was a primadonna. As for the prodigy—”

  “Rigan was just a really nice kid.” Da Vinci talked over Tim, hoping to drown out the conversation before it could carry on.

  “Rigan was a kid, period. Da Vinci couldn’t watch him go to the rack, so he saved him.” Tim scoffed.

  “The rack?” Diana sounded pleasantly surprised. “What’d he do?”

  “You will love this,” Tim said.

  “You are not telling this story. If anyone is telling it, it’s me.” Da Vinci spun around to stare Tim down.

  Diana let out one soft, melodic laugh. There was a chemistry of happiness in the group that Da Vinci hadn’t seen in a long time. He and Tim continued to bicker over where to start the story and how to tell it, but once the two of them got into a rhythm, they started to explain how Rigan came to be known as Marco.

  *

  “What? What, What, What is so, so, so important that I have to miss game five of the series?” Da Vinci plowed through a small side hallway in a downtown DC holding building. He wore an expensive suit jacket and a scowl. His partner, Tim Carroll, followed close behind him, moving quieter than Jupiter missiles. The hallway was poorly lit, metallic in style, and highly secluded from the rest of the city. Despite its soundproofing and depth, there was no doubt that Da Vinci’s complaining could be heard throughout the building.

  “I ask for one chunk of time off a year and it’s the goddamn series. And this time around, my team is in the finals. But am I at the bar with my happy ass watchin’ the game? No. I’m here, on some run-of-the-mill negotiation-room bullshit with your mangy ass.” Da Vinci chewed the ear off their escort, Adams. “And you know what? I couldn’t help! Because he spoke Swahili! I speak eighteen goddamn languages and Swahili ain’t any of ’em!” A hint of an Italian accent could be heard on his tongue as he got increasingly frustrated.

  Adams was a calm, narrow fellow from the Bronx. He was experienced and always smelled like citrus and pepper. The CIA considered him one of the few people able to handle Da Vinci and his beastly demands.

  “Who’d have guessed the vet from the slums would be so high maintenance.” He spoke flatly but rolled his eyes. This is how most of Da Vinci’s and his exchanges went.

  “Ya know what, Adams? If we were not friends, I would have said no, but because we are friends, I hauled ass from Manhattan so I could make it to DC in time to do your stupid interrogation, and it wasn’t even that important. So, forgive me if I am upset that I missed what was apparently a perfect game for a case I can’t even work.” Da Vinci had his hands on his hips and his feet firmly planted like two strong tree.

  “Is he always like this?” Adams turned his attention to Tim who only smirked in recognition of being talked to.

  Tim rarely sided blindly with Da Vinci, but Da Vinci knew for a fact that he’d also been watching the game. He suspected nothing short of unyielding support.

  “He is,” Tim replied, “but he does his job well. Is that not what matters, Adams?”

  Adams bit his lip for a moment before turning his back and scanning the area. He dropped his voice. “You two are so irritating and ungrateful it pains me. You really think this Swahili guy is why I called you here?”

  Da Vinci and Tim both stared at him with deathly glares. “I swear if it was for something lesser I’m going to be really angry,” Da Vinci muttered under his breath.

  “Of course, this Swahili guy isn’t the real reason I called you.” Adams leaned in and kept his head down. He now had both Tim and Da Vinci’s attention. “There’s a mob here, and I think you’re our best connection in, but it’s a high-level case.”

  “Wait. Is it…?” Da Vinci held his hands out and bit his bottom lip, eagerly waiting for Adams to fill in the blank.

  “Yeah, it is, but you’ve got to give me more time to see if I can get you in on it.” Adams’s gaze shifted from Tim to Da Vinci. He leaned in closer. “Wait here. I think she just went on break. I’ll go talk to her.”

  “You know her?” Da Vinci gushed. “You know the goddess?”

  “Please.” Adams tsk’d. “I helped Hera make her name. Of course, I know her. If I can get her approval on this, you’ll both be in on one of the biggest organized crime busts to date.” At the sound of heels clicking on tile, Adams jetted off, offering Da Vinci and Tim only a wink in assurance that he was setting his plan in motion.

  Turning to Tim, Da Vinci was oozing excitement. “Adams knows the goddess and we’re going to get to work with her.”

  “Calm down, you remember what happened with her last partners? And we are only going to get to work with her if he can pull through.”

  “When has Adams ever not pulled through?” Da Vinci hissed.

  “You were about to crucify him just a hot minute ago.” Tim probably criticized him further, but the door swinging open down the hall caught Da Vinci’s attention. Out of it came Agent Stroud and a tall, dark boy.

  “I can’t work like this. The kid’s impossible. He can barely speak English, let alone Thai!” Stroud strutted down the hall, screaming to no one. His target waited in the doorway of the negotiation chamber, still handcuffed and looking appropriately despondent.

  “How old is that kid?” Da Vinci narrowed his eyes with laser precision as he walked toward Stroud. “Stroud, calm down. What’s the problem?”

  “Thank god they brought in an expert. Niccolò, get this fucker on the rack.” Stroud growled. “Kid from Thailand. Broke into a goddamn embassy. Can’t seem to understand any language I fuckin’ utter. He’s got secrets in him, but we’re gonna have to beat ’em out.”

  “How old is he?” Irritated, Da Vinci physically barricaded Stroud from walking past him.

  “How the hell should I know? Seriously, this is ridiculous. They’re giving old-timers like us cases like this in favor of a broad!” Stroud perked up as he saw Tim waiting down the hall. “Hey, Dresden! You seein’ this?” Stroud pushed past Da Vinci toward Tim. “Man, you’re not gonna believe this!”

  For a moment, the boy and Da Vinci made eye contact. He was young. Fourteen, fifteen couldn’t be far off. After taking a moment to peek around, Da Vinci approached.

  He spoke to the boy in English. “Did Stroud really try and talk to you in Thai? No offense, but it doesn’t strike me as your native tongue.” Da Vinci leaned up against the doorframe opposite the boy. His tone lazy and his shoulders slumped.

  In response, the kid offered out a jumbled combination eh and hms, his eyes wide and falsely confused.

  Da Vinci scoffed. “Cut the bull, kid.” Da Vinci switched his language to Portuguese, picking it up from the kid’s unintentional dialect.

  The boy instantly snapped his head up and looked at Da Vinci suspiciously.

  “Don’t play stupid with me…” Da Vinci grabbed the kid’s wrist. The boy attempted to yank away, but Da Vinci held on with a lion’s strength. He thumbed for the boy’s plastic identity band and read it before pronouncing it semi-correctly. “Rigan Hevel. Don’t play stupid with me, Rigan Hevel. Stroud may be dense, but I know a faker when I see one and you are fucking faking. Besides, how am I supposed to know what to get you for lunch if you keep faking?” Da Vinci let go of the kid’s wrist and continued speaking in Portuguese. “Personally, I was going to grab some burgers from Mel’s, but if you’re more of a pasta guy, I can swing by Gio’s. The restaurant, not the agent.” Da Vinci spoke with a campy, cocky rhythm, unintentionally bobbing his head with it.

  “Right, because a person of my clearly not-Taiwanese background has had access to burgers and pasta my whole life,” Rigan replied in Portuguese, but the eye roll he gave was universal in meaning.

  “He speaks,” Da Vinci whooped. “So I’ll cut to the chase. Why’d you break in?”

  “Shun told me to.” Shifting to a slightly more comfortable position, Rigan cracked his neck, cur
ls falling every which way as he swayed. His jaw tensed.

  “Shun. The Dragon?” Da Vinci’s interest was piqued. “You worked for the Dragon?”

  “You know another mob boss named Shun?” he snapped.

  “What is he like?” Da Vinci encouraged him.

  “You’d be surprised.” Rigan spoke offhandedly. “Where are these burgers you mentioned?”

  “Hmmmm…” Da Vinci inspected the boy up and down for a moment. “Portuguese, dark as night, let me guess. A Brazilian son of slaves? But the real question is, how did you start out there and end up working for the Laotian mafia?”

  “Your friend has a lot of work to do if you’re his competition.” Rigan dodged Da Vinci’s accusation.

  “Yeah, Stroud’s a crummy negotiator. You never answered me, though. Did he really try to talk to you in Thai?”

  Rigan smirked deviously. “I speak fluent Thai.” Rigan flipped from Portuguese to Thai, as did Da Vinci. They carried on their conversation.

  “Stroud’s incompetence has sent more than a few pleasant souls to the rack. You gonna be one of ’em?” Da Vinci crossed his arms and leaned in close, truly propositioning Rigan with a chance to avoid punishment.

  “What the hell is the rack? You say that like it means something to me. I don’t have a clue what that is.”

  Da Vinci laughed to himself and then sighed heavily. “Well, you can talk, or I will personally peel all of your fingernails off with rusty pliers and unmatched enthusiasm.”

  *

  “Of course, Rigan decided to talk once he knew what the rack was. They were going to lock him away after that, but you know he’d have been iced by Shun’s insiders before he could even leave the States, so I took him under my wing. Ended up helping raise one of the best navigators in the industry.” Da Vinci breathed heavily on his fingernails and pretended to wipe them off on his raggedy button-up.

  “So you two were the ones I handed the mad bomber off to,” Diana mused. “You guys really did an exceptional job on that case.”