When I opened the door, Caden sat on the edge of the bed in fresh clothes, his face serious. I thought that maybe he’d regretted what he said last night, or perhaps the fact that we slept together—even though, strictly speaking, that was all we did.
“Ember,” he said, “I just finished checking my email. We’ve already received our first mission. It’s today. In five hours.”
After Caden left, I opened my email and clicked on the message marked “Tonight’s Mission.” It detailed where I’d be going, who’d be there, and what I’d be doing.
Tonight’s location: Palacio de Bellas Artes
About: One of the most important cultural centers in Mexico, the Palacio de Bellas Artes houses a historic theater and a series of murals created by some of the most prominent Mexican painters in history. Make sure to spend the day reading up on the Palacio de Bellas Artes, Mexican history, and famous Mexican painters, as conversations will revolve around this subject. Because this is an international gathering, English and Spanish will be the primary languages spoken. Be conscientious of language barriers and cultural differences. Please refer to your etiquette textbook for additional information on how to appropriately conduct yourself.
Goal: Meet Emilio Santoro, develop rapport, and keep his attention while the other teleporters extract information.
Name: Emilio Santoro
Age: 29
Sex: Male
Height: 5’ 11”
Weight: 185 lbs
Notes: Emilio Santoro is the head of a Colombian cartel. He’s committed several international crimes, including sex trafficking, drug trafficking, kidnap, murder, and torture. He’s wanted in several countries, but he’s managed to elude capture. He’s known for his ever-fluctuating personality. Use extreme caution when interacting with him.
An image had been attached to the email. I opened it up, and Emilio Santoro took up my computer screen.
The man who smiled for the camera didn’t appear dangerous whatsoever. He was also fairly attractive. Maybe this distraction thing wouldn’t be so bad after all. Or maybe, just like Emilio, looks were deceiving.
Five hours later, and about half as hung over, I was escorted into a lab where Dane Richards waited.
Dread pooled in my stomach. What was he still doing here?
Unlike the room where the simulations took place, this room held several beds, all but one of which were filled with other teleporters.
Caden was already seated and getting his wrist swabbed. This was the first I had seen him since we parted that morning. The expression he gave me now was unreadable.
Occupying some of the other beds were a few other students from my classes. My eyes landed on Desiree. She gave me a mean smile. I hadn’t seen her in a while, and from what Caden had told me about her life, she’d actually kind of grown on me. I’d almost forgotten that things hadn’t changed between us.
I sat down on the last remaining bed. A technician came over and discretely swabbed my arm.
“Everyone,” Dane said, “tonight it is extremely important that plans unfold exactly as we discussed. Jeff, Lydia, and Bryce,” he said, looking at the individuals to my left. “You’re going in first. You three will be setting up the cameras.”
He turned his attention to the other side of the room. “Candice and Martin,” he said, pointing to some of my other classmates, “your job is to locate the briefcases containing the money and the classified documents, and bug them if possible. Desiree, your job is to distract Sasha Zhirov, the man who is moving the documents.
“Ember,” he said, meeting my gaze, “your job is to distract Emilio Santoro, the man receiving the documents. And Caden, your job is to bug these men and to watch their movements.
Richards rested a hand on one of the occupied beds. “Do you all understand your roles?” He glanced at the room and we nodded. “Any questions?” When no one spoke he said, “Good. We’ll be meeting tomorrow morning at ten a.m. to debrief. And now let’s get this evening started.”
Three individuals in white coats moved in and administered a sedative to Jeff, Lydia, and Bryce. They fell asleep within minutes, and I watched, transfixed, as each winked out and their vacated clothes drifted down to the empty beds.
All was quiet in the lab for five minutes. Then out of the many screens that were mounted on the wall, one flickered and footage appeared. Jeff smiled and waved to the camera. Once he moved away, I caught my first glimpse of our destination, the Palacio de Bellas Artes.
I bit my lip as I took in the marble floors, the glittering chandeliers, and the regal attire of men and women. Large canvases lined the walls of this place, and guests clustered in front of each, casually sipping from flutes of champagne and talking with one another.
Another screen flickered, showing a grassy lawn and the manicured gardens beyond it. More screens flickered, each shot capturing a different angle of the dinner party.
Then, in the order that they winked out, Jeff, Lydia, and Bryce returned. All three were completely nude and deep asleep. You’d never know that just seconds before they were completely awake. One of the doctors shook out a folded blanket and covered them one by one. A few minutes later they were wheeled out.
And just like that, their role in the mission was over.
For a long time the rest of us watched the guests on the monitors, nothing much happening. Then, on one of the screens, a car pulled up to the front and a scary looking man stepped out.
“There’s Zhirov,” Richards said.
Two bodyguards stepped out with him, one carrying a briefcase. “And there’s the briefcase.”
“What’s in it?” I asked.
“Documents,” Dane replied, not taking his eyes off the screen.
“What kind of documents?”
Dane’s gaze broke away from the screen so that he could scowl at me. “That’s classified information.”
“If we’re putting our lives on the line, shouldn’t we know what we’re risking our lives for?” I persisted.
I glanced over at Caden, who shook his head.
Dane Richards came over to where I lay. He leaned in close. “What part of ‘classified’ is unclear to you? You’re not here to know the secrets of the world; you’re here to protect our national security.” He straightened and walked away.
Richards turned to the doctor. “Send the rest of the team in now.”
Chapter 23
Wine. It was the color of my long dress. I had to give props to whoever was in charge of costume design. The dress was gorgeous. I’d also arrived with a matching clutch. I opened the clutch and pulled out a ticket and a sheet of paper with instructions I already knew. Thankfully, nothing else rested in the bag.
“You look … amazing.” I looked up to see Caden staring at me, his eyes wider than usual.
I smiled and gave him a once-over. “You clean up pretty well yourself.” That was an understatement. He looked like sex in a suit. But I wasn’t about to inflate his ego any more than it already was. After all, I had to deal with him all of tomorrow and every day after that.
I checked out our surroundings. We had strategically arrived behind some shrubbery in the back courtyard of the new museum, hidden from view but visible enough for us to assess the guests.
“We should go,” he said.
I nodded and we casually walked out from behind the shrubs. If anyone noticed our strange entrance, they didn’t let on.
After we handed our tickets to the teller, we passed through the entrance.
“Okay, this is where we split,” Caden said. He grabbed my hand and gave it a tight squeeze. “You got this Ember.”
I gave him a tight-lipped smile and squeezed his hand back.
With a parting glance, he let go of my hand and walked away.
I looked around the mus
eum. Waiters carrying trays of champagne flitted through the walkways, offering them to the guests. I walked over to the nearest one and snagged a glass. I needed something to preoccupy my nervous hands. Not to mention that technically it was legal for me to drink in Mexico. So much for my earlier promise to never drink again. That lasted for what, five hours?
Now that my hands had something to do, I began to peruse the art displays hanging along the walls.
How was I going to possibly attract attention of a certain cartel boss?
“Bienvenido.”
Or I could let one fall into my lap. I turned and saw Emilio Santoro, the Columbian drug lord and perpetrator of several international human rights violations. He’d come right to me like a moth to the light.
“Hola señore,” I replied in what I thought was broken Spanish. I smiled and twirled the champagne in my glass.
“Cómo estás esta noche?” The photos had not done Emilio justice. He was hot. That was something I should’ve been warned about. It was hard to label someone as bad when they looked so good.
“Muy bien, gracias—el arte es maravilloso. Y tu?” I’d just used up about the extent of my Spanish vocabulary.
“The art is beautiful, but it is not what caught my attention,” he said in a thick Spanish accent. His eyes twinkled.
Dang it, he was a bad guy. Bad. Bad, bad, bad.
“You are American?”
I nodded, smiling coquettishly. I took a healthy swig of my champagne, cringing as it hit my stomach. A wave of hangover-induced nausea swept through me.
“But your Spanish is very good. I am impressed.”
“Hardly!” I said, trying hard to keep down the champagne and still act the part. “But that’s nice of you to say. I did have some incentive to learn it,” I admitted. “I have a thing for Latin men.” I let my eyes linger on his for a beat longer than was necessary, just to make sure he got the message.
He tilted his head back and laughed. “I thought American girls were shy. But you, you are una pirata.”
“I’m a pirate?” I smiled as I gave him an incredulous look, just to let him know that I was flirting and not judging. Even though—let’s be real—I was judging. Still, I’d pass on pissing off the drug lord.
He smiled, showing off his pearly whites, made even whiter by their contrast to his caramel skin.
“I hope you’re not expecting me to surrender the booty, because we pirates take our treasure very seriously,” I said.
That got another hearty laugh out of him.
“Mi pirata, who are you?”
I began backing away, knowing I had to vanish soon. I was supposed to hide in a restroom stall before that happened to prevent anyone from witnessing my disappearing act.
“That’s for me to know and you to figure out.” I think I swiped that line from a movie, but it seemed to do the trick.
“Wait—”
I threw a look over my shoulder, and flashed him what I hoped was a mysterious smile before concentrating on the bathrooms. I frowned at myself as I moved through the museum. That whole interaction left me feeling dirty and used.
As soon as I rounded the corner for the women’s restrooms, I noticed the line snaking out the door. Shoot. What was I going to do? I maybe had a minute left.
I let my gaze wander. I could find an empty corridor … wait, nope, there’d be guards. How about a broom closet? Nah, they were almost always locked. I could try to make it to the shrubs, but I wasn’t sure I had enough time left.
Obviously I should’ve seen this coming. There were always lines for women’s bathrooms. Lucky men. They didn’t have this problem.
The men’s bathrooms. Duh.
I crossed the hallway and entered the men’s restroom. Other than a lone man, who looked highly confused by my presence, I was alone. I walked to the nearest stall and closed the door.
Now this, this was my typical situation. Twenty seconds later, I dissolved.
There was a knock on my door. Before I could get up to open it, Caden sauntered into my room, flashing me his dimples. “Figured you’d be up.”
“When did you wake up?” I asked from where I rested against my headboard. I’d been sitting like that for some time, lost in my thoughts. The alarm next to my bed said it was 4:10 a.m.
“Just now,” Caden said. “You?”
“About an hour ago.” The sedatives from last night’s mission had screwed up our biorhythm. I wouldn’t be sleeping anytime soon.
He sat down next to me on my bed, and my body was painfully aware of the heat that seeped into me where his leg touched mine.
Caden turned to face me. “Congratulations on completing your first mission,” he said. “How’d it go?”
I shrugged. “Fine. You?”
“Same as always,” he said.
I studied his face. “You’ve been doing this for a while now, haven’t you?”
“Since I was eighteen.”
That wasn’t an answer. “And when did you turn eighteen?”
“Almost a year ago.”
My eyebrows rose in surprise. He was almost a year older than me. What had I thought? That because we were pairs we were born on the same day?
“Why had you gone on missions so much sooner than the rest of the teleporters in our class?”
“I volunteered to go on missions—most don’t, not until they’re drafted into it.”
“Is that what all of those simulations were? The rest of our class getting drafted into these missions.”
Caden nodded.
“Why would you volunteer for this?” I asked.
He stared at the ceiling. “I was bored here, and the missions gave me a rush. I’ve lived here since I was thirteen, and the project’s been training me since my arrival. I was ready to try out my skills.”
Thirteen. He’d been here for over five years. I wondered if they’d ever let Caden outside the facility other than to go on missions. I doubted it.
I played with a loose thread on my comforter. “How long has everyone else been here?” I asked. “Did they all come after they turned eighteen, or did they arrive when they were still minors?”
He shrugged. “I’d say roughly three fourths came before they were eighteen, and a fourth came after. Why?”
I chewed on my lip. “I’m just wondering how the government found us all.”
“Well,” Caden said, “for those of us who were minors, usually our parents found out about our abilities and contacted the Project. For me, I got shot.”
I glanced up sharply, but he wouldn’t look at me.
“That’s how my parents figured out my ability,” he continued. “As soon as they did, they called up the government and shipped me out,” he said, his eyes sad.
“For others, it was teleporting in front of their parents—for instance, falling asleep on the couch in the middle of a movie then disappearing. Things like that.”
I’d always been paranoid about my abilities, I just hadn’t realized how useful my paranoia was. I’d made a habit of going to bed last, avoiding sleepovers, and planning out excuses and explanations in case someone did see me teleport. My ability had made me an excellent strategist, but it had complicated my morals.
“I also think they’ve kept tabs on the families involved in the project after they discovered that our ability was tied to puberty,” Caden said.
I thought back to my own family, the continuous moves and their uneasy attitudes around the time I turned eighteen. Either they were being cautious, or they knew the program would look for me. I’d been so angry with them for all our moves, for never being able to make long-term friends. If only I’d known it was to prevent this.
“How does the government find teleporters who are adults?” I already had some vague idea
that I’d somehow fallen into a mission or simulation of theirs when they found me, but I couldn’t figure out just how that came to be.
“You really want to know?” Caden asked.
I nodded.
He scooted his body so that his back faced me, and he began taking off his shirt.
“What are you doing?” I asked, my eyes widening. Having a half naked man on my bed was not exactly going to make me more focused.
He ignored me as he pulled his shirt over his head. I took in bronze skin speckled with scars, some long and white, others round—bullet and knife wounds. It was still strange that someone so friendly could be exposed to so much violence.
He brushed aside the wavy locks of hair that kissed the nape of his neck.
“Reminding you of this,” he said. “Our imprints.”
I stared at the same black, twisted lines I’d seen on him earlier. They discolored the skin of his neck and the top of his back, looking for all the world like tree roots.
“Your tattoo hides this, doesn’t it?” he said.
I nodded. “How exactly do these imprints tie into the government finding us?” I asked, absently reaching out to trace the strange markings.
“I’ll tell you, but you’re going to have to be really open about the explanation I give you.”
“Okay …” I trailed off.
“I talked to Dane about this once, and he said that the marking actually helps guide each teleporter to their destination.”
“Huh?”
“It acts like a magnet—this helps the project guide us to various locations across the world.”
“Magnets?” I raised my eyebrows. “That’s kind of an insane explanation.”
“How do you think homing pigeons get around so well? Same concept. I’m not saying I understand how it works. I’m just saying that it was part of the bioengineering that went into us.”
The Vanishing Girl Page 16