Escape

by Francine Pascal

  Never sandwich a target, you idiots. Never sandwich a target.

  Gaia waited till the absolute last second. . . and then she dropped. She dropped flat to the floor as the gunfire flew over her head, riddling the man behind her with bullets, forcing back his oversized frame until he tripped and landed in a lifeless heap at the foot of the abandoned prisoner’s bed.

  The second the gun-toting goon had emptied his mag, Gaia pushed back up to her feet, wielding the sledgehammer with the same craft and discipline as she would a samurai sword.

  She charged at the thug’s wide psychotic eyes, knowing that mercy was no longer an option. Whoever he might have been at some point in his life, he’d now been reduced to nothing more than a rabid animal, with no intention of stopping until he’d murdered everyone left in that room. And he’d left Gaia with no choice. He dug back down for another gun, but he would never reach it.

  Gaia swung the hammer with full force. It struck his chin with a surprisingly blunt thud and drove his entire body back into the corner. He smacked up against the metal wall and then slid slowly down into absolute stillness. He was down but not out. She could still see his diaphragm moving in the slow rhythm of unconscious breathing. But he wouldn’t be conscious anytime soon. That was for sure.

  Silence filled the room.

  Gaia let the hammer hang down at her side as she turned slowly back to Sam on the floor. “Are you okay?” she asked, beginning to feel faint.

  Sam looked around at the inert bodies and then back up to Gaia. “I’m—I’m fine,” he stammered. He was obviously still a little spooked. He’d seen Gaia fight before, but perhaps not quite like this. “You just. . . how did you. . . ?”

  “I just did what I had to,” she said, helping Sam back off the ground.

  “Yes,” he uttered, still mildly in shock. “Yes, you did.”

  “Come on,” she said, motioning to Sam to join her by the man’s bedside. He was wearing only a sagging white T-shirt and institutional-grade black pants. Finally there was a face to go with all those desperate cries. But the face was nothing like she had expected.

  First, he was ancient. There was barely a hair left on his head, and any hair that remained around his ears was like the dead white wisps of a dandelion. His face was so pale, it was like translucent ivory. The deep creases through his cheeks looked like mistakes that had been made with a sculptor’s chisel. An ugly gray goatee had sprouted around his lips, and his entire frame was hunched over like an old Dutch marionette.

  His eyes were the only feature that made him look alive. Bright, ocean-blue eyes that had obviously seen more life and death than Gaia could comprehend. But they weren’t so easy to see, because they were clouded with tears.

  The old man collapsed into Sam’s arms and seemed to hold on for dear life. “You are angels,” he cried in a light Russian accent that Gaia hadn’t picked up on before. “Angels. I thought I’d heard voices in the silence, but I wasn’t sure. I thought guards, maybe, but now. . .”

  “It’s okay,” Sam said gently, looking up at Gaia as he held the man tighter. “It’s okay.”

  “Thank God,” the man repeated again and again. “Thank God.”

  Gaia stepped behind the old man and stroked his back gingerly. She was still doing her best to shake off her dizziness and stay alert. “What’s your name?” she asked.

  The moment she touched him, his eyes suddenly lit up. They opened wide, revealing every millimeter of his sparkling, ocean-blue irises. “My name is Dmitri,” he said, seemingly hypnotized by her presence. “Dmitri Gagarin.”

  “I’m—”

  “Gaia,” he said, finishing her sentence as he stared at her with that frozen, enthralled expression. “I know who you are, of course.” He smiled almost submissively. “I worked for the Organization for almost forty-five years. You and your mother. . . you know. . . you are somewhat like royalty to us. . . .”

  Gaia pulled away the moment she heard the word Organization. The Organization was synonymous with Loki. The Organization had killed her mother. She did not want to even touch a man who worked for that horrid agency, no matter how old or frail or desperate he might be. She even considered leaving the old man in his filthy cell.

  “Oh, no, please,” Dmitri begged, searching deeper into Gaia’s eyes. “Do not misunderstand. I hated Loki. I hated what he did to the Organization. I hated what he did to your mother. And what he tried to do to you. That is why he had me locked up in here. Because he knew I was his enemy. He knew how well I knew him.”

  Now Gaia wasn’t sure what to think. But she knew this much: Any enemy of Loki’s was a friend of hers. The next question fell from her lips before she could even stop it. “You knew my mother?”

  A grand, wistful smile spread across his withered face. “I knew of her,” he said. “Of course. We all did.”

  “And my father, too?”

  “Yes, of course. I knew of your father. I still know many things, you know. Many people. I am not as obsolete as Loki would have liked to believe.”

  Gaia darted her eyes up at Sam. She didn’t have to say a word for him to understand what she was thinking. Maybe they didn’t need to search an entire building full of ransacked files. Maybe they had just found themselves a virtual walking database of information. Maybe they had just found exactly what they had come for. And they had just saved his life.

  “Your mother,” Dmitri went on, sweetness taking over the anger in his voice. “She was. . . special, uh? We all thought so. Like a queen. And you, I think. . . you are like a princess.” He smiled. Gaia did not quite know how to respond to this either. “I am. . . honored, Gaia,” he said. “I am so very honored to finally meet you.”

  “We should get him out of here,” Sam said. “I’d really like to get out of here,” he added. He turned to Dmitri, who was now managing to stand on his own. “I was locked up here, too.”

  “You?” Dmitri sighed. Gaia could see the pain in his eyes as he looked at Sam’s face. “So young. . . Why?”

  “They shot me. . .”

  Sam didn’t even seem to know why he had shared this fact, but for an imperceptible moment he almost looked on the verge of tears. It suddenly occurred to Gaia that he had never actually said this out loud before. He had never been able to share it with anyone other than Gaia, but it must have taken on so much more significance when spoken to a complete stranger.

  “Loki shot you,” Dmitri repeated, years of regret pouring through his fraying voice. “Then that is two things you and I have in common, my friend.” He stared solemnly at Sam.

  “You too?” Sam asked quietly.

  “I will not show you the scars,” Dmitri said. “It is much too ugly a sight.”

  Sam turned back to Gaia with an urgent stare. “We have to get him out of here right now.”

  “Can you walk?” she asked. “Can you make it down the stairs?”

  “To get out of this place?” He smiled desperately. “Oh, yes. To get out of this place, I would throw myself down the stairs. I will go wherever you are going. Anywhere that will get me closer to New York City.”

  “Oh, I think we can get you pretty close,” Gaia said. She ducked under his arm to support him with her shoulders. Sam ducked under the other arm. “Just hold on,” she said. “It’s going to be a long walk. But once we get to the car, I think we can all be home before dark.”

  “Home” Dmitri savored the word. “That would be something. . . .”

  Slowly but surely they began to walk Dmitri down the hall, keeping their eyes peeled for any more riffraff.

  “Thank you,” he uttered, giving in to his tears again. “Thank you both.” He looked up at the two of them and then settled his glassy eyes on Gaia’s face. “You truly are a princess,” he said. “A princess. . .”

  killer of a day

  The rich scent of expensive lipstick was floating from her lips.

  Epic Proportions

  HAD ED BEEN ANY LESS DEPRESSED, HE would have noticed that Heather’s ben
efit had turned into a party of epic proportions. Tatiana and the FOHs had handled the thing like seasoned professional publicists, cranking up the hype for the last forty-eight hours, building up the buzz, and then delivering. They’d decorated the place with black and white balloons, white roses, and funky candles. Tatiana had sketched an amazing abstract portrait of Heather. It looked and felt like a very real party. Pravda seemed to be literally rocking from side to side with thumping music, a giant crowd of beautiful people, and enough alcohol to get the entire state of Rhode Island soused.

  Yes, there was a picture of Heather and a turnout that would have made the Hilton sisters envious, but what this party had to do with Heather’s blindness. . . Ed had no clue. And the fact that there was a sign-in book at the doorway, with a placard hung over it inviting guests to write “encouraging messages,” only added to Ed’s confusion. Was it some kind of twisted joke, or were Tatiana and the party-planning club so caught up in themselves that they’d actually forgotten that Heather couldn’t read?

  But Ed’s skepticism didn’t keep him from giving in to a few beers. All right, maybe more than a few. He was now officially the world’s most pathetic cliché. A country music cliché sitting at the most urbane gathering he had ever had the unfortunate privilege of attending. The lonely man hunched over the bar, drinking his sorrows away as he pined for the lady who had run off to God knew where.

  It was just as Ed had figured. There was no sign of Gaia. No sign at the party, no sign at her house, no message, no e-mail, no nothing. She was off somewhere searching for her father. Alone, of course. Always alone.

  What a shocker. Gaia disappearing on some lonely mission. When has that ever happened before?

  This was an all-time low for Ed. He was being sarcastic with himself.

  “Okay, Mr. Fargo!” Tatiana’s voice screamed straight into Ed’s ear from right behind his shoulder. He jumped slightly and tried to pretend he hadn’t heard her. Even at this close distance, that was a legitimate possibility, given the deafening thuds of house music and the penguinlike chattering of the crowd.

  “Hey!” she barked. “Mr. Fargo! I’m talking to you.”

  Ed had never in his life heard Tatiana barking like this. She sounded like a professional wrestler trying to taunt her competition. But once he turned around, he understood why he had never heard her talk like this before. He had never seen her drunk before.

  Tatiana looked at him and grinned from ear to ear. She still looked just as ridiculously stunning as she had at the impromptu fashion show. Same black dress. Same vanilla shoulders. Same movie-star hair. Ed tried not to notice. One thing he did observe, however, was that she seemed to be swaying ever so slightly from side to side as she smiled.

  “Well, it is official,” she declared, speaking successfully over the din of the party. “Gaia has reduced you to rubble.”

  Ed frowned and grabbed his beer from the bar, taking a long swig.

  “And do you know how this makes me feel?” Tatiana asked. Her voice was so animated, she almost seemed to be singing her words up and down. “Do you? I’ll tell you how it makes me feel, Ed. I am mad as hell, and I’m not going to take it anymore!” She giggled slightly as she looked into his eyes.

  Ed couldn’t help but break a smile. “Network” He chuckled. “Did you just quote Network?. That’s one of my all-time favorite movies.”

  “Mine too.” She nodded.

  Ed tilted his head slightly, staring at her with progressively increasing puzzlement.

  She tilted her head to mirror his. “You don’t really know me very well, do you, Ed?”

  “I guess not,” Ed admitted with a deferential smile.

  “Well, I am pleased to make your acquaintance,” she bellowed, sticking out her hand. “Tatiana Petrova.”

  “Ed.” He laughed. “Ed Fargo. Nice to meet you.”

  “Nice to meet you.” She nodded. “Though I must tell you. . . even though you are a complete stranger who I have never met before, I hope you do not mind my mentioning that you look awfully sad.”

  “Women,” Ed grumbled. “You know how it is. Can’t live with ’em. . .”

  “Blah, blah, blah.”

  “Exactly,” Ed agreed. “I think the only crucial point is that you can’t live with ’em.” The more Ed actually thought about this point, the sadder he became.

  “Oh, no,” Tatiana moaned desperately. “I am losing you again. Well, fear not, Mr. Fargo, I have brought you medicine.”

  Ed had been so busy wallowing, he hadn’t even noticed what Tatiana had been holding the entire time. Not until she raised her hands. In her right hand was an unopened bottle of Stolichnaya vodka. In her left hand were two shot glasses.

  “Secret stash.” She smiled.

  “Oh, Jesus,” Ed groaned, running his hands through his crunched-up hair. Four beers was already way more than his average alcohol intake. “I think I’ll pass. I’m not really a vodka man.”

  Tatiana took a step closer. “Let me tell you about vodka,” she said, shaking the bottle with pedantic authority. Drunk, Ed realized, would not begin to describe her at this point. “In my country vodka is the primary cure for all things. You need to get your mind off Gaia right now, Ed. For your own sanity. And nothing gets your mind off things like a few stiff shots of Stoli. Believe me, it works. In my country we need to get our minds off many things. And a shot of Stoli makes Prozac seem like children’s aspirin.”

  One thing about a drunken Tatiana. She didn’t mince words.

  It was a little strange to see her so out of character, but on the other hand, with four beers to his credit, Ed wasn’t exactly in character, either. And at this particular moment he didn’t really mind that so much. The truth was, out-of-character Tatiana seemed to be the only person who could make Ed smile for any decent period of time right now. She was the only person capable of taking his mind off Gaia for even a few seconds. And if he added that to her staunch advertisement of vodka. . . that could equal some rather substantial time without this pathetically clichéd case of self-pity. All in all, it was a rather tempting combination.

  “Okay, you win.” Ed threw his hands up and stepped off his chair at the bar. “Let’s be drinking buddies. Where to?”

  “Come, drinking buddy,” she said. “I have secured us a secluded spot.”

  Nervous Twitch

  THEY HAD ALREADY SURVIVED A SERIES of agonizing trials in what should have been a simple journey back to the city. The walk through the woods to the highway felt like a marathon hike, mostly due to the snail’s pace required for Dmitri’s aging, ravaged body to keep up. Once they’d finally found their way back to the car after three hours, they had neglected to consider the fact that they would be hitting bumper-to-bumper commuter traffic on the highway. That was another two or three hours of unbearable slow going—two or three hours of Gaia basically slipping in and out of consciousness in the front seat, checking on Dmitri every time she awoke.

  But there was no point in checking on Dmitri. He had fallen into a deep, near cadaverous sleep the moment he’d laid his head on the backseat. He probably hadn’t slept a wink for days, trapped in that abandoned cell, praying for his rescue. Now Gaia had a feeling that his frail old body would need about a week of nonstop sleep just to try and recuperate, if recuperation was even an option for him at this point.

  Gaia was eternally grateful to Sam for somehow being able to still stay awake and drive. He had, after all, not only been through the same life-threatening ordeal as she, and the same marathon walk through the woods, and the same traffic from hell, but he was also still recuperating from serious injury. And judging from his strained, half-open eyelids, he was just as painfully exhausted as everyone else in that rickety car.

  But that, as it turned out, would be the final dagger. The rickety car. Gaia had been so exhausted that she’d nearly forgotten about the noise. The clunking that she had noticed right after they’d left the diner that afternoon. The clunking that had turned into a rattling once S
am finally cleared the traffic and sped up.

  “Sam. . .” She spoke quietly, not wanting to wake Dmitri. Which was rather ridiculous, given the fact that a thirty-piece orchestra couldn’t have woken the old man out of his bearlike hibernation. “Tell me you hear that noise this time.”

  “Isn’t that just the highway?” Sam croaked, doing his best to hide the fact that he was driving a car while half asleep.

  “No, it’s not the highway; it’s the engine. The engine has been making that noise since we left the diner.”

  “Well, I’m sure we’ll make it back,” Sam mumbled. “We’re only about an hour away. . . .”

  As if on cue, the loudest clunk yet sounded from under the hood. And then the car began to slow down.

  “If you’re not worried, then why are you slowing down?” Gaia’s frustration was getting the better of her after this day of endless trials and tribulations.

  “I’m not slowing down,” Sam said, sitting up straighter in his seat and pounding his foot harder on the gas pedal. “The car is.”

  “What?” Gaia scanned every readout and display on the dashboard. Every needle was dropping bit by bit—most importantly, their speed. “Well, what the hell is wrong?”

  “I have no idea,” Sam whispered, his own frustration mounting. “The car is just. . . dying.” He tried to pump the gas again, but the pedal was becoming nearly nonresponsive. “We need to get off the highway, Gaia. We need to get off now before we go belly-up in the middle of the road. . . .”

  No, no. They needed to be on the highway. This day from hell had to come to an end. They needed to be home. Dmitri needed to be home. Gaia needed to get home so she could straighten things out with Ed, and Tatiana, and even Natasha.

  Sam flashed his eyes up at the rearview mirror with that same nervous twitch she’d seen earlier—that half-second glimpse behind them, just like he’d made before turning off to the diner. Was it just the turnoffs that still made him a nervous driver?