by KB Anne
But his expression didn’t change. Not even one hint of comic relief
Flashes of Mission Impossible, 007, and Bourne Identity movies rushed through my mind. The main characters were muscle-bound grown men, not seventeen-year-old girls. I was supposed to go to college. I was supposed to go into politics someday. That was the plan. Not this.
“You want me as an assassin?” I repeated what he told me, still not entirely believing him, still waiting for my friends to leap out at me. He clapped his hands together. Each clap echoed down the hallway, bouncing off the closed doors and scuffed tiled floors.
A thousand dreams destroyed with each thunderous clap. I wanted to collapse in a heap on the floor and cry my eyes out. I wanted to run as fast as I could in the opposite direction and keep running until I got home. I wanted to throw up.
I backed away from him. “Me? An assassin? No way!”
“It’s too late. You’re committed,” he said.
Anger surged through me. I grabbed hold of the emotion and wielded it. “I am not committed. I didn’t commit to anything. I showed up to take a test.”
“Exactly.” His steel eyes matched the firm set of his jaw.
I raised my chin to him. “You can’t force me to do this.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Can’t I?”
His confidence, his overwhelming, ironclad confidence attacked the very fiber of my being. Tiny chinks of my armor fell to the floor. I felt my world crashing down around me. I knew, I knew, I knew I had fight. I knew I had to show this man, this General, who he was dealing with. I breathed in and out through my nose to steady myself. I pulled my shoulders back and kept my chin raised. “No! My family and my friends know where I am, and I am not interested in becoming a part of your organization!”
He grunted to himself. A pleased sort of sound that made me realize that no good would come from what he was about to say. “Your “parents” will be contacted,” he said using air quotes. “They’ll be informed that there was an accident.”
I swallowed the bile forming in my mouth. He knew secrets about me I’d never told anyone. “An accident? What are you talking about?”
“When you were on your way home with your friends, the car blew a tire and careened into Lake Ontario. There were no survivors,” he said, his voice void of emotion.
“But,” the hairs on the back of my neck rose up, “but I didn’t go home with my friends.”
“Precisely.”
Realization dawned on me. I didn’t want to ask the question, but I had to. “Did you kill Sami and Jovie?”
“Accidents happen all the time,” he said. His calculating, detached gaze studied me. He anticipated pain and suffering. He wanted pain and suffering.
I knew I couldn’t provide him with any emotional reaction. I couldn’t let him think he had control over me or had the ability to manipulate my emotions, but, but, he just killed two of my best friends.
I brought the heels of my palms to my eyes and tried to push back the tears. I took deep breaths in and out. He couldn’t take my control away. I took another deep breath and felt calmer, steadier. Together. Almost.
“How could you?” I managed to ask, but the question extinguished any fight I had left. Tears streamed down my cheeks, and I didn’t have the strength to keep them back any longer.
“I represent a very powerful and very private organization.”
“Why?” I whispered.
“We operate under zero exposure,” he shrugged. “Necessary sacrifices for the greater good.”
“Necessary sacrifices?” I asked in disbelief, before my rage boiled over. “You killed my best friends!”
“The war never ends.”
“You’re insane!” I spat at the hateful man with enough venom to take down a horse.
“Just determined,” he replied.
“Well, so am I, and I’m getting out of here!” I gripped my backpack strap. I turned away from him and marched off.
He grabbed me from behind and wrenched me around. The motion threw off my balance. Gasping, I struggled to stand. He seized my shoulders and jerked me toward him. His face hovered inches from mine. The stale coffee on his breath made me wince. “You’re not going anywhere! Do I make myself clear?” he bellowed in my face. I cringed at the sheer force of his voice. My heart stopped beating, and I was unable to respond.
“Do I make myself clear?” he growled.
My survival senses kicked in. My body stiffened. I nodded my head in obedience.
He put me down. “Good. Now, let’s get the rest of your team and head out to the landing strip.”
Chapter Eight
He headed back to the classroom, expecting me to follow, expecting my obedience. I was typically a rule follower, but I wasn’t always obedient, especially with psychotic men who wanted me as an assassin and claimed that I was something other than a seventeen year old girl. I calculated my chances of getting out of the building. I had minutes before the helicopter came to fly us to Headquarters. I ran a quick inventory of my situation and resources available to aid in my escape.
KNOWN:
4th Floor of Building
Elevator doesn’t work.
1 classroom containing approximately 18 new male recruits.
At least 2 adult males, the test proctor and the General
Helicopter arriving soon. At least 1 more adult
ONLY POSSIBLE ESCAPE ROUTE: Windows
CHANCES OF SUCCESS: Slim to none
“Excuse me sir?” I asked, careful to keep my tone respectful.
He stopped and turned to me. The lines of his forehead bunched together. His eyes clouded with suspicion. “Yes?”
“May I use the restroom before we fly out of here?” I flashed him my best “please sir, I’m a sweet little girl and won’t do anything wrong” smile.
“Sure. We’re not completely unreasonable,” he said. He gestured to the bathroom we happened to be standing in front of. “But Starr,” he said as he yanked my left arm. All five of his squared off fingernails dug into my flesh. I gasped, sure I was caught. “If you’re not out here in two minutes, I will come in. You haven’t even begun to witness what I’m capable of.” He tightened his grip.
“Yes, sir,” I managed to say. He released me, and I stumbled into the bathroom.
I closed the door behind me and rested against it. My heart pounded in my chest. Taking giant gulps of air, I tried to calm down. The General terrified me more than anyone I had ever met. He killed Sami and Jovie. Oh my God! Sami and Jovie. A loud sob escaped before I slapped my hand over my mouth. Tears streamed down my face. I felt myself unraveling. Soon, I would cry myself into oblivion and my life would be over, but his promise of pain rocketed through my arm and returned me to the present. I needed to get out of here. NOW.
I inventoried the bathroom:
3 stalls
3 sinks
2 large windows
I quietly locked the door, careful not even to breathe too loud. Sprinting over to the far end of the room, I checked the first window. The hinge was broken off with the clasp in the lock position. I tried to force it open with my fingers, but it took too much time—time I didn’t have. I moved over to the second window. My fingers reached for the locked clasp. I tried to slide it open, but it didn’t budge. I pushed again with a little more muscle, mindful that if the clasp broke, I was out of luck and time. It still didn’t move.
Stopping to think, my eyes scanned the room and fell on the sink. Water lubricates. I ran over and twisted the nozzle. The spout hissed and moaned, pushing air through the pipes, annoyed that I had woken it from its slumber. I turned the faucet a bit more and water finally spurted out. I cupped my hands to catch some water and ran over to the window, dripping water over the clasp. I tried the lock again. It hesitated. I wiggled the handle a bit and pushed again. It slid open.
I put both hands on the bottom of the window frame and pushed. The window didn’t budge, but I refused to admit defeat because if I lost, the Ge
neral won and I couldn’t let that happen. I pushed hard against the window—so hard that it flew open. My head cracked against the glass.
Without waiting to see if the General heard me, I poked my head through. Ten feet separated me from the rooftop of the other wing. I swallowed hard. The good guys always jumped out of windows and leapt from rooftop to rooftop, with extraordinary feats of athleticism and acrobatics. I was no Jason Bourne, but I was left with no other option.
I ducked through the window, but my backpack caught on the frame. The aftershock of my momentum knocked me back into the room. I stumbled forward, trying to find my footing. My hands fumbled with the straps of my backpack, but I couldn’t get them off. I cinched the buckles too tight when I talked to the General, and now, I was stuck. The seconds raced by as I struggled with the pack. I could feel the noose tightening around my neck. My life couldn’t be over, not yet, not due to an equipment malfunction. I rethought my strategy and fought with one strap and loosened the buckle. The pack slipped off my left shoulder. In one fluid motion, I shrugged it off my right and dropped it to the rooftop below. Before it landed, I shimmied through the window and jumped. The rush of air soared through my limbs. I imagined what it would be like to have wings, to catch the sudden updraft of wind and soar off the roof and away from the General and the Organization. For one fleeting moment, my wish came true, and I flew across the roof, but then the fantasy disappeared, and I plummeted to the rooftop below. I softened my knees in a weak attempt to ease impact. My feet crushed into the hard, unforgiving surface. My legs buckled, pitching me into a forward roll. Tiny, sharp stones dug into my back as I rolled again and again, finally coming to a stop after the momentum of my fall evaporated as quickly as my jump.
I laid still for a second, not believing that I survived. I ran a quick inventory of my arms, legs, hip, back, and head. No shooting pain stemmed from any major body part. No bones protruded out of my arms or legs at an unnatural angle. No giant gaping wounds emptied blood or internal organs onto the pebble roof. My heart was pounding, so I knew that still worked. I wanted to lie still to gather my thoughts and to figure out what I should do next. Then I heard the helicopter. It sounded close. Scary close. Panic reared its ugly head, determined to consume me, to paralyze me to the rooftop until the General caught me and trained me to become a killing machine.
I couldn’t let that happen.
I refused to let that happen.
Somehow, I pushed the panic deep down inside of me. Sprinting over to the edge of the roof, I searched the shoreline for a way to escape the island and quickly realized no mad dash on land would save me. The late day sun lit the sky with brilliant shades of orange and red, reflecting even deeper shades of the colors on the water.
People swam the English Channel, right?
I could swim this.
Fifteen feet from where I stood hung the top rails of a fire escape. Pure adrenaline flung me down the ladder and to the ground. Either I landed soft, sprouted wings, or my body was too numb to feel the impact.
Several football fields of lawn and beach separated me from Lake Ontario. An impossible distance I needed to cross before the helicopter arrived. I sprinted toward the shoreline, but no matter how fast I ran, the lake didn’t get any closer. The small waves, rolling in and out of the shoreline, mocked me, as if pulling the water farther and farther away from me with every step I took.
My body moved in slow motion. My arms, legs, and thighs screamed for reprieve. A hard, strong wind whipped across the lake, fighting me every step of the way. My throat burned as I inhaled and exhaled. I crouched down and pushed my aching quads and calves to greater speeds, speeds faster than I ever dared to go before. My arms beat back and forth in time with my legs. I willed myself to relax, to fall into the easy, familiar rhythm of a cross-country run, but my muscles refused to cooperate. They seized up instead, making it even more difficult to move.
Sweat pooled on my lower back. I left my backpack on the rooftop, but I was still overdressed for the swim. With one mighty tug, I tore off my beloved Georgetown sweatshirt and dropped it to the ground. All my future hopes and dreams collapsed into an unremarkable heap in the tall grass, hidden from view but not forgotten.
Never forgotten.
I kicked off my sneakers without breaking stride. No socks to bother with, since I ignored Jovie’s suggestion. Jovie. Poor, sweet Jovie. She was dead because of me.
Because of me.
My legs stopped moving.
My arms stopped swinging.
My body refused to take another step.
Jovie and Sami were dead because of me. Because of me. A tear streamed down my face. Then another. Then another.
The loud thrumming of helicopter blades thundered through the air reminding me what was at stake.
Sprinting to the water’s edge, I dove in without hesitation. Freezing water rifled through me. I gasped and coughed, but I kept moving forward. I breathed in and out of my nose and focused on my stroke. Arm in. Kick. Kick. Arm out. Kick. Kick. Arm in. Kick. Kick. Arm out. Kick. Kick.
Cold tricks the mind into stopping, so its vicious icy tendrils can wrap around warm muscles and yank your body down into its oxygen-deprived depths. If I kept swimming, I would survive.
Arm in. Kick. Kick. Arm out. Kick. Kick. Arm in. Kick. Kick. Arm out. Kick. Kick. I fell into the steady rhythm of the crawl stroke as easy as breathing. Unlike my sprint to the lake where I couldn’t catch my breath or find my stride, the water soothed me. It reminded me that I was most at home surrounded by miles of deep blue water.
Arm in. Kick. Kick. Arm out. Kick. Kick. Arm in. Kick. Kick. Arm out. Kick. Kick.
A lone swimmer in choppy water should be impossible to see this late in the afternoon. How long would it take them to realize I was missing? Five minutes? Ten minutes? Were they searching already? Eventually, the General and the test proctor would figure out I swam for it. Just as that thought entered my mind, the helicopter came in close hearing range. In a few minutes, it would be scanning the lake.
I changed to a low breaststroke, fanning my arms and legs through the water, without lifting my head above the chop. When the helicopter swept across the lake, it extinguished any sound that wasn’t the thunderous beating of its blades. The water churned up, creating giant swells that devoured everything in their path and made it impossible to swim. I took three deep breaths, then a short one and dove under. The helicopter flew above me, and I could see the lights.
The hours of practice, the early mornings and afternoons, the laps upon laps to qualify for districts needed to pay off. Never once in all my years of swimming did I imagine the race I was in right now. I was no longer swimming to win the race; I was swimming to save my life.
A few air bubbles escaped from my mouth. I watched them float up to the surface toward the helicopter that moved much too slowly, as if the General ordered it to hover above me until my breath gave out, and it might not take long. The cold water squeezed the air out of my lungs. Blackness rimmed my vision. Explosions of white fireworks danced across my eyes. As the last bits of oxygen bubbled up to the surface, I survived on sheer will and plain old stubbornness.
Finally, after an eternity, the helicopter swung around and circled back to the island. My head broke the surface, and I sucked in giant mouthfuls of air. My arms and legs threaded in and out of the current, as I caught my breath.
The closest shoreline tempted me to find respite in its wooded coast and hide among its fat old pines. The General expected me to head there. He would send out field agents to canvas the streets and sweep the neighborhoods. He wouldn’t rest until I was back in his clutches. I had no doubt about that. I saw it in his eyes.
Far to the north, a large peninsula jutted out from the mainland. Steep cliffs and jagged rock outcroppings kept most people from exploring the shorelines, afraid they’d damage their expensive fiberglass hulls and inboard motors, but the locals knew of a small cove with a sandy beach that offered easy access to the mainland. I w
ould think twice about swimming the incredible distance on a good day with the sun shining and flat seas, but today I had no choice. Power surged within me.
Arm in. Kick. Kick. Arm out. Kick. Kick. Arm in. Kick. Kick. Arm out. Kick. Kick.
I kept heading for that small, barely there beach, really a heartbeat between dangerous rocks and deadly cliffs with the singular purpose of making it there. But then what happens? Where do I go?
Jovie’s grandparents lived on the other side of the peninsula, but I couldn’t go there. I couldn’t tell them their only granddaughter, their little Princess J.J., was killed by a psychotic general because he wanted to train me as an assassin and their little J.J. and her best friend, Sami, were just insignificant game pieces who had to be eliminated in order for him to call checkmate. No, I couldn’t do that, but who could I go to that I trusted and who wouldn’t be on the Organization’s radar?
Di… Of course… I trusted Diane.
Chapter Nine
The helicopter reappeared two more times, but each time I held my breath, dove deep into the water, and waited for the enemy to pass by. Each time I wondered if it would be my last dive and Lake Ontario would claim me as its own. Stroke after stroke, I moved across the lake, edging closer and closer to the shoreline, but I was still so far away. My mind wanted to return to Jovie and Sami, but the intense physical exertion of the swim combined with the freezing water left no room for sadness. The General would pay for what he did to them. Revenge would be mine.
After hours of swimming, my feet finally found the mucky bottom. Careful not to slip, I climbed over the rocky shoreline. In the distance, the bright lights of a lake house tempted me to ask for help, but I ignored the impulse. A soaking wet teenage girl knocking on a door in the middle of the night would ensure a call to the police. The General and the Organization might be government. If I went to the authorities, they would know, and I didn’t swim this far to get caught.