Proof of Lies (Anastasia Phoenix)

by Diana Rodriguez Wallach

  He rolled his eyes. “Sure. Which law enforcement agency would you like to call? The Italian police who are still loyal to my uncle, the one your parents left for dead; the FBI who thinks your parents were terrorists; the Boston police who want you on the first flight home; or the CIA who is willfully ignoring this entire situation?” He tilted his head like he was speaking to a toddler. “Please, tell me, because we have agents working in every branch. I’ll have someone give you a ring. It’ll save you some trouble.”

  My body felt like a hot air balloon on descent, all the oxygen being let out as it plummeted to Earth, or in my case, reality. How could I fight an entire corrupt global system? I was a teenager. But how could I not try? Doing what they say might be the only chance my sister has.

  “Is Keira even in Rome?” I asked, sounding hopeless.

  “Maybe.” He pumped his thick brows, amused by my reaction.

  “Is she okay?”

  “She was last I saw her.” Then a new vicious glint entered his eyes. “But some of my colleagues are a little…lonely. And she’s such a pretty girl—”

  I swung. It was a reflex—one second I was feeling desperate, the next I was fighting a professional spy. I rushed at him, my right elbow connecting with his jaw and a splatter of rain. He took the hit with barely a jolt. I threw another quick punch with my fist, but he smiled like he expected my choreography, grabbing my arm and twisting it behind my back. He shoved my chest aggressively against the hood, rain cascading down my cheek as he bent me over, yanking my arm higher, pain ripping through my shoulder, the joint threatening to dislodge. White light filled my eyes as my free hand reached out, stretching for the windshield, slipping aimlessly as raindrops fell harder. I grabbed a wiper blade with my clamoring fingers, yanked it free and thrust it backward toward his head, stabbing him in the throat.

  He let go.

  I spun around. “What have you done to her?” I shouted, rolling my sore shoulder as his black eyes glared, seemingly entertained. He stepped toward me, and I jumped, the heel of my sneaker connecting with his chin in a massive uppercut. Then I watched as he spat blood, a tiny tooth fragment plinking into a puddle below.

  “Not bad, little Phoenix,” he growled, wiping his mouth and almost sounding impressed. “Your sister was too scared to break a nail.”

  Then he charged.

  In all my years of martial arts training, I’d never been in a real fight—not outside of a mirrored room with an audience and a regimented scoring system. I doubted Luis Basso was the first person I wanted to test my skills on. At best he was a spy, at worst he was an assassin. But I wasn’t being given a choice in partners, and we weren’t sparring.

  He threw a punch at my head, and I blocked it, pivoting sideways and jamming an elbow into his kidney. Not a wince came from his lips. Then he turned with such force it was clear he hadn’t been trying before, like I’d just now pissed him off and he was done playing Karate Kid.

  His hand clenched my throat like a vise, squeezing all air as he slammed the back of my head into the hood of the car. My vision blurred, rain speckling my eyes as pain shot from my skull all the way to my toes. Then he hoisted my body into the air like a cheap plastic doll from a drugstore and slammed me onto the road by my throat, a deep puddle splashing, soaking my hair.

  This was it. I’d lost. My life, my sister, everything.

  I prepared to die. My head swelled with dizzying heat, ready to explode, as thunder roared overhead.

  Then I heard the tires.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I might have passed out. I could remember floating, letting go, then suddenly I was jolted back to consciousness by the feel of a knife on my right biceps. The pain was sharp, but it returned the air to my lungs.

  I breathed. Coughing, hacking, gulping at the rain-clogged air, my fingers clawing at my slick throat.

  Then I heard the screaming male voices. “Stop… Get away… I already called the police!” The voices sounded far off in the distance, but when I fluttered my eyes, I saw Marcus looming down, directly above me. “Are you all right?” His words sounded warped. Was it the rain? My ears?

  He lifted me to my feet. “Can you stand?”

  My legs straightened underneath me. Apparently, I could.

  Luis. Where was Luis? My head darted around, and a nausea-inspiring bout of wooziness took over. I clutched Marcus’s shoulder to remain steady and saw the blood pouring down my upper arm. Then I spied Luis standing calmly by the passenger side of his car; a pocketknife dripping crimson hung by his leg. He’d cut me.

  I glanced at my wound; it didn’t look deep. Marcus had saved me. How?

  “A little something to remember me by.” Luis nodded to my bleeding gash, grinning like he’d had a blast on a roller coaster—despite a missing tooth. “See you in Rome.”

  Then he winked.

  I blinked, trying to think of what to say, trying to process what had happened, but Marcus was already shoving me toward a motorbike idling a few feet away. “Can you hang on?” he asked as he threw me onto the padded leather seat, hopping in front and revving the engine. It didn’t seem like he was waiting to find out.

  I reached my hands around his sopping waist, noticing for the first time that my messenger bag was slung around his chest. He must have grabbed it from the ground. Keira’s ring. My eyes futilely searched the ground for the tiny gold bit of my sister, but I’d lost it. I’d almost lost my life.

  Marcus peeled off, the air reeking of rubber as tires kicked up a cloud of wet gravel. I looked back expecting to see Luis’s car in pursuit, threatening to ram us off the cliff, only as I peered through a haze of grit and raindrops, warm blood streaking my arm, through my fingers, I caught Luis standing motionless beside his grimy car. A gun was pointed at our heads, a smile on his face, rain dripping from his features.

  But he didn’t fire. He let us get away.

  ...

  We raced down the mountain through the pelting rain in a manner almost as frightening as my battle with an assassin. I kept looking back, searching for headlights, but we were alone on the road. Luis never followed.

  We returned the bike to where Marcus had “found” it (its rightful owner unaware), and ran back to the hotel. The bleeding on my arm had begun to slow as we threw our stuff into suitcases (most of which we hadn’t unpacked). Then we changed into dry clothes, and Marcus washed my wound, applying Band-Aids as I told him what had happened. Apparently, he’d watched as Luis’s white car darted past the café’s plate-glass windows. Its speed drew his attention, and when I didn’t return from the bathroom, he went searching. This led to him “borrowing” the motorbike and tracking our whereabouts up the mountain via two unsuspecting tourists who’d witnessed the speeding car. When he’d pulled up, Luis was strangling me with one hand and carving me with his other. Marcus had saved my life.

  “Why did he let us get away? He had a gun. He could have killed us.” My fingers lightly feathered my sore windpipe as Marcus hauled our bags into the first taxi we saw. We were getting out of town. Immediately.

  “I have no idea. But he didn’t challenge me at all. He backed off as soon as I showed up.”

  “It makes no sense.”

  “Let’s not question miracles.” Marcus squeezed beside me in the taxi’s back seat. “What happened up there?” he asked softly, his eyes concerned as he rested a comforting hand on my leg.

  I shifted away, abruptly yanking my phone from the messenger bag on the car’s dirty floor. “Omigod, I have to call Charlotte.” I punched in her digits as I gave Marcus a “she’s not going to believe this” look.

  “Keira’s alive!” I shouted as soon as she answered, not waiting for hello. “She’s alive! Really, alive!”

  “What?” Charlotte gasped on the other end. Marcus looked at me, breaking into a dimpled smile as we both absorbed the joy pulsing through the phone line.

  I blurted the story, from Luis’s words, to the DNA test, to Keira’s ring, to Rome. Only I left out th
e blood match. Charlotte couldn’t do anything to change what happened on the top of that mountain, so why worry her from across an ocean?

  “Holy shit!” Charlotte yelped when I finished the recap. “She’s alive…” I could hear her soaking it in, basking in the glory of those two little words. “Anastasia, I’m so sorry. I should’ve believed you. I mean, I did believe you, deep down. I was just scared to admit it, you know? Scared to get my hopes up. I was trying to be realistic, listen to the cops… I can’t believe it!”

  “I know.” I rested my head on the back of the taxi’s leather seat and winced. I’d forgotten about getting my skull crushed against a car. From the purple handprint on my throat to the two-inch slice in my arm, my head injury seemed like a paper cut. Until I touched it.

  “You okay?” Marcus mouthed, clearly worried as he saw my reaction.

  I nodded, trying to shrug it off. Because I was okay. I was alive. And so was my sister. That made any battle wound not only worth it but insignificant.

  We approached the rural train station with one lonely track and only a handful of people occupying the outdoor platform. The rain had stopped.

  “Anastasia, you’re not seriously thinking of going to Rome, are you?” Charlotte asked.

  “What choice do I have? They said it was the only way to find Keira.”

  “Of course they said that. It’s a setup. The guys practically bought you a ticket.”

  I thought of Luis’s final words, “See you in Rome,” followed by a not-so-subtle wink. “I know. But I can’t exactly go back to Boston. Not now. Not when I know that they brought Keira to Italy.” I stepped out of the taxi and walked toward the trunk where Marcus was already grabbing my bags, afraid I was too fragile to lift them. He was probably right. “They think that Keira was communicating with someone in Rome, and that this person would only be willing to talk to me. Though I have no idea who they mean.”

  “Well, I think I do,” Charlotte said, sounding reluctant to add to the turmoil. “You’re not the only one with news.”

  “What?” We walked into the station, and I stared at the departures board. Rome was the next train out.

  “That photo you texted of Aldo Moro, Luis is right, it’s all over the internet, and your parents aren’t in it.” I could hear her tapping on her laptop, fingers speeding. “But they’re not the only ones who are missing. If you compare the pictures side by side, you’ll notice there are two additional figures deleted from the crowd. So I sent it to a hacker friend in Norway. He has access to facial recognition software with an international database. It’s sick…” She sounded jealous. “Anyway, he scanned the two faces. And you’re not gonna believe this, but one of the men, standing not three feet from your parents, is the deputy director of the CIA. I mean, he wasn’t the deputy director then. He’s only, like, twenty in the photo, but still. He eventually grew up to run the CIA.”

  I stopped at a bench and shoved a balled wad of cash at Marcus. I was too tired to stand in line. He stepped to the ticket window as I sat. “Luis said he and my parents didn’t work for the CIA. I have no idea who they actually worked for, but he claimed that if I called Langley, he’d have a double agent intercept it. Maybe it’s this guy.”

  “I have no idea, but he’s in the photo. That can’t be a coincidence.”

  I sank against the back of the wooden bench. As much as I wanted to cling to the hope that my parents weren’t evil country-betraying murderers, I was nearly strangled to death by their godson, an admitted spy. If their close family friends were psychopathic killers, it didn’t bode well for them being on the side of the right and just. Who knew what type of espionage they were involved in or how high this madness went? Maybe the director of the CIA was in on it? Maybe the president? The pope?

  My head hurt.

  “That’s not all,” Charlotte continued. “The other man in the photo is all over the internet, too. He’s a former chemical engineer,” she emphasized the words. “Now he’s a published author and a current professor at the Sapienza Universita di Roma.”

  “Rome,” I repeated, the word sinking in.

  “His name’s Allen Cross. He’s listed as faculty. I’m gonna try to see if Keira ever contacted him but, given everything we’ve learned, I’d bet my laptop this guy’s a spy.” I heard her crack a soda can and take a gulp. “This is who they want you to meet in Rome. I’m sure of it. They practically gift wrapped this picture for us. They knew we’d figure it out.”

  I stared at the cypress trees in the farmland across from the station, everything so serene it made the situation more surreal. “Allen Cross,” I repeated. “The name doesn’t sound familiar. Luis said the guy would be ‘more receptive’ to me, like I knew him.”

  “Study the picture. Maybe it’ll jog your memory.”

  I rubbed the throbbing lump on my head. I doubted anything would make sense in my brain right now, but I couldn’t say that to Charlotte without divulging the fight, which she really didn’t need to know about. “Maybe when I see him, it’ll click.”

  “When you see him!” Charlotte snapped. “You can’t go there alone. Wait till I get there. I’m hopping a flight tomorrow.”

  “You don’t have to do that. I have Marcus.”

  “Unless Marcus has SEAL Team Six training you forgot to mention, I don’t see what protection he can offer.”

  “And you’re so tough?”

  “I’m legally responsible for your well-being. I have to be there.”

  “I’m not sure foster families are required to dive in front of bullets—”

  “There were bullets?” she yelped, horrified.

  “No! I’m kidding! Of course not,” I lied, remembering how Marcus stopped a man with a knife and drove the getaway bike while a gun was pointed at our heads.

  But he didn’t shoot.

  I was alone with Luis on top of an isolated mountain for a long time; he could have whipped out that gun at any time, but he didn’t. If I’m to believe him, he didn’t kill Keira, either. They changed their plans. Now they wanted me in Rome, and I had to assume they wanted me alive. Both of us alive. Otherwise, we’d both be dead already. Easily.

  “Look, I’m calling Detective Dawkins. Screw Luis and his claims about crooked cops, we need help.” Charlotte sounded determined.

  “You’re right,” I admitted. For all I knew, Luis could have lied about having police connections to deter us from contacting them.

  “And don’t do anything until I get there. I’ll text you my flight plan.”

  “I’ll try,” I said, though we both knew I wouldn’t be able to sit in Rome waiting patiently for Charlotte’s flight to land while Allen Cross was down the street. Every minute could cause Keira more pain. “She’s alive.” I sighed dreamily.

  “She’s alive.” Charlotte reciprocated as if it were a standard good-bye.

  Marcus plopped onto the bench beside me, two tickets in his hand. I could smell the stale sweat dried on his skin. He’d defended me against an armed attacker. He had no weapon, and he still got off that bike. He’d risked his life for me. “So, Rome?” He looked at me right then like he’d follow me anywhere, and for once, I believed him. A familiar flutter swept through my belly, and I shut my eyes, trying to force it away, but I was so tired.

  Aches pulsed everywhere. Thankfully, the cut on my arm was shallow. It didn’t need stitches. And my throat and head just needed time. Everything would heal eventually, but maybe next time I wouldn’t be so lucky or, more accurately, we wouldn’t be so lucky. Marcus risked a lot for me today. “Thank you,” I said honestly. “For everything. You saved my life.”

  “You would have done the same. You are doing the same for your sister.”

  “Yeah, but she’s my sister. I’m nothing to you.”

  He cupped my face and looked into my eyes. “You are a lot more than nothing.” He emphasized the words.

  I didn’t pull away. I let his hands linger, feeling warm and comforted. It was a welcome sensation for once.
>
  “You know, I’ve never been to Rome.” His hands slid toward my shoulders then lightly drifted down my arms. “Maybe we can visit the Vatican or the Sistine Chapel while we’re there.” His tone turned teasing.

  “Oh, sure. Then we can tour the Coliseum, see some Caravaggios…” I didn’t take my eyes off his.

  He reached for my hand, and I didn’t pull away. I laced my fingers with his.

  “Or we can walk the Roman Forum.” His dimples flashed.

  I knew he was trying to distract me from the constant string of fears that plagued me since we’d left Luis. “Your sister could be dead already. Luis is a professional liar. He wants you in Rome. They could have something horrible planned. These could be your last moments on Earth. You could be walking to your grave…” But as I sat here with Marcus, our faces close, our fingers entwined, for a just a moment, the panicked voices lulled.

  “It’s gonna be okay.” Marcus nudged closer.

  “But what if it’s not?” I stared into his eyes. “What do they want? Why do they want me chasing her?”

  “Maybe we’ll find out in Rome.”

  “You really want to go?” I asked, in awe of his commitment to two girls he barely knew.

  “Yes. We’re in this together.”

  I tried to read his face, studying him for some underlying motive, until suddenly, as if on autopilot, my hand reached up and touched his cheek, my finger lightly stroking the skin near his ear. He closed his eyes and leaned in to my palm. It was as if the adrenaline from earlier had heightened my senses; I could smell his skin, see his pores, feel his warmth. Slowly, my face inched closer, a heat growing between us. This pull I’d felt since the day we’d met, I was too tired to fight any more, too tired to overthink, too tired to push him away.

  We could have died today.

  These could be my last moments of life…