“Well, who the hell would want to go downstairs? If it’s anything like you’ve described . . .”
“And it also sounds like someone who’s trying hard to give just enough information to stay out of it, but not enough information to really say anything of value.”
By now, Annica had thoroughly examined the room, or at least as much she could examine from her cramped corner seat. An increasingly desperate search for any semblance of a weapon. Or better yet, an escape. Or just any basic tool she could grab and wield for either purpose. There was the old-school computer monitor on Roger’s desk. An inoperable-looking stapler that seemed to be used as paperweight. Was it weighty enough to do damage to the pockmarked face of Roger?
How about the cracked-open window to her left? Would it be low enough to survive the fall? And onto what matter of industrial bric-a-brac would she be landing?
What about the simplest equation: the door? Would Roger be a pal and let her pass by?
“What else can I tell you?” she said, trying not to eye the door so intently. “What do you want?”
“First,” Roger said, “you’ll have to agree that it’s been a bit of an odd morning. No?”
“I agree,” she said, knowing before even saying the words how easy it would be to come across as utterly genuine. But should she have dialed it back? Annica may have just given away a benchmark for the rest of her answers, just like the seemingly innocuous opening questions of a lie-detector test.
“I’m glad we can agree on something,” he said finally, after his eyes had thoroughly consumed her. Despite the man’s small size, she felt even smaller in his gaze.
“I had no intentions,” she said, “of coming here.”
“So what was it? How did all this begin?”
“There is no ‘all this.’”
His eyes narrowed on her. “Laura, or whatever your name is . . . You broke into our facility, crawled through the ductwork, then somehow crashed through the ceiling and almost landed on one of our employees at the sorting belt. That’s what I mean by all this.”
What could she say to that?
What could she do?
Computer monitor. Paperweight. Open window . . . What else?
A crooked smile came from Roger when her eyes met his. “So why don’t we try again?” he said.
“Fine.”
“And we can start off generally, if you’d like.”
Annica nodded. “Fine.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I’ve got the hots for him.”
No reaction from Roger. Had he heard this one, too?
“That’s all it is,” she added.
“You have the hots for who?”
She looked at Sharky, his cold, hard face suddenly blushing. Dark eyes not so dark anymore. It was amazing how quickly his demeanor kept changing with her. He’d gone from mysterious and sexy, to scary and threatening, and now: puppy dog.
Who the hell was he?
“Who?” Roger said again.
“Him,” she said, looking at Sharky enough that he’d averted his eyes, looking down at his feet, chuckling to himself as if he’d known all along. “Him right there.”
Roger checked his armed guard, who shrugged innocently in response.
“That’s why I’ve been a little . . . evasive.”
“Because of your husband,” Roger said.
“I’m married,” Annica said, keeping her eyes on him. “Happily. I’ve got no business following around some stranger like this, following him here especially.”
“I’d say. You have absolutely no business here.”
“Of course.”
“I think you finally understand that now,” Roger said.
“I always understood that.”
Roger frowned and said, “So do you know him?”
“No, I just saw him. On the street.” Annica’s mind sputtered to find the right lie. Though it wasn’t really a lie at all. She had just seen him. And, yes, there definitely was . . . “Just something,” Annica said. “Just something about . . .”
“Something about what?” Roger said, head tilted to the side. “You know this sounds a lot like pure bullshit.”
“I just wanted to talk to him. It wasn’t supposed to be a big deal.” She almost laughed at how ridiculous it all was. But then she remembered what promises lay in store for her in the basement.
“Does this happen to you often?” Roger asked.
“Never.”
“I wish I could believe you.”
“It really doesn’t.”
“I’m talking about the whole story.”
“Call the cops then.”
He chuckled. “You seem like a bright girl. You know that’s not an option.”
“What other options do we have?”
“Laying you out on the table,” Roger said. “Maybe starting with the live wire, run that from a car battery. We’ve got all kinds of options down there.”
“Are there any—” Her words were cut off by a hard, dry swallow. Her mouth almost felt too dry to form proper words. “Are there any up here?”
“Any options, you mean?”
“Anything.”
“It depends on what you tell us, and how close it is to the truth. That will decide the options for you.”
Annica stared at Sharky for a moment, his posture having relaxed against the door frame once again. “And if I tell the truth, you’ll just let me go on my way?”
“It depends what kind of truth you’ve got. I’m just keeping it real with you, Laura, or whoever you are. No bullshit. That’s the kind of courtesy I’m showing you right now. You’ll be wise to do the same.”
“I am,” she said. “I am doing the same.” She looked up at Sharky one last time, pleading with him, using her eyes to pierce through that rough exterior, pierce and stab and tug at his heartstrings—if he had any. Please have some. Please.
“Alright,” Roger said. “Maybe we’ve gone as far as we can with this.” He looked at Sharky and said, “What do you think?”
“I think she needs a tour.”
“Yeah.” Roger was nodding. “Yeah, maybe a tour might be the best thing. What do you say, Laura?”
“What?”
“You want the tour, right? That’s what you came here for?”
“I came just to . . . I came to get his phone number. That’s all I wanted.”
“Well, I’m sure he can give it to you during the tour. Isn’t that right?”
“That’s right,” Sharky said.
“And he’s single,” Roger said to him, that smile going crooked again. “Isn’t that right? Single and looking?”
“Always looking,” Sharky said, not smiling at all.
Annica, with the vague sensation that their meeting was about to wrap, urged Roger with a wide-eyed glance. Her chair was slightly lower than his and she’d been staring up at him the whole time, pleading. “Wait,” she said. “Please. I don’t need a tour.”
Roger shrugged.
“I don’t want a tour,” Annica whimpered. She didn’t know the specifics of what the tour entailed. She just knew that she wanted no part of it. No tour. No basement.
“Well,” Roger said, standing from his chair, “Let’s hop to it then.”
“No.”
“You got this?” Roger asked his guard.
Sharky said, “The . . . tour?”
Roger showed him Annica’s phone. And then tossed it underhand at him, the phone bouncing off Sharky’s chest and into his clasped hands. “Let me know if he gets anywhere with that,” Roger said.
“Will do.”
“And let me know her name when he gets it.”
“It’s Laura,” Annica said, watching how he looked at her, how his face frowned almost sympathetically. “Laura Graziano.”
“It’s Jane Doe.” Roger gave one last chuckle to Sharky before walking out of the room. No last words for Annica. Not even a sideways glance. It was the type of dismissal a judge giv
es to a convict headed for death row.
“Alright, Jane,” Sharky said, pointing to the open doorway. “You ready?”
“No.”
“You need help again?”
She waited for a moment, making sure he wouldn’t approach her for any “help.” Her eyes were trained on his feet. One step forward and she’d go screaming into him, punching and kicking, and biting, and doing it all with the ferocity of a cornered animal.
But he stayed relaxed against the door. “You ready?”
She felt her hands unconsciously grip the armrest, fingers curling around, Annica clutching on for dear life. She looked at Sharky. “Are you going to kill me?”
“No.”
“What’s happening?”
“Nothing,” he said. “I’m walking you out of here.”
“That’s what ‘the tour’ means?”
He didn’t respond. No words or body language. Just that classic cool demeanor of a man, a guard, named Sharky. The man who would be giving Annica her tour. She hated the idea of it, of him and what he might do to her.
“You don’t have to do this,” she said, finally.
“You don’t have to make it so difficult. Let’s just get up, walk through this door, and I’ll show you out of here.”
There was no other choice, really.
Annica got up and made her way, slowly, to the door.
“Ladies first.”
He walked behind her in the hall, giving directions for each turn and each door. Nothing had looked familiar to her first tour, when she was unguided and alone. When she was still somewhat free, and most definitely alive. Now, it was dead man walking.
“Just relax,” Sharky said from behind her. “Please.”
“What do you mean?”
“What do I mean? I can see you shaking from here.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re not visibly shaking? Take a left.”
Annica took a left and was faced with another hall, the interiors all looking the same and melding together in one jumbled mess. She would never be able to find her way out. She might never even get loose to try.
“I’m not scared,” Annica said.
“There’s nothing to be scared about. You just got yourself in a little over your head.”
“Yeah,” she said. “I know.”
“And now we’ll just have to get you out.”
“I’m sorry I followed you.”
“Alright, listen,” he said. “Hold on. Stop.” His hand was on her shoulder.
She stopped and turned to see his mournful expression. “What?”
“He’s going to find out who you are. So there’s no need to keep lying.”
“I’m not lying.”
He sighed, his face moving from sadness to disgust. “Come on, really?”
Nothing made sense to her. Especially how he was looking at her. “What?” she said, her face and inflexion still the same. Still confused. Still scared.
“Alright,” he said. “Let’s keep walking.”
She stood still. A memory forming. Those numbers.
“Come on. It’s clear there’s no point in talking.”
“Are you my contact?”
“What?”
“For my story. My interview.” She waited, watching the tension across his face. His Adam’s apple bobbing hard with what seemed like an unplanned swallow. She checked his eyes again, waiting for that flicker of aversion. Deception. But he held strong.
Finally, Annica gathered her strength. “Are you the whistle-blower?”
No reaction. He took a step forward and said, “Let’s get moving.”
“Are you?”
“Move,” he said, pushing Annica backward, spinning her around. She could almost feel the nervous energy through his hands. When he held them against her, she could feel the vibrations. Annica had vibrations of her own. She was sure of that. But together, their bodies formed a nervous ball of energy. Was he as frightened as she was?
His hands pressed harder, shoving her, Annica almost spilling over onto the floor. “Alright!” she cried, speeding up her stride, separating himself from him and his chaotic energy. She was moving quickly, like he’d instructed, and navigating the building as he’d instructed. And for once, she kept her mouth shut. But she might have already received her answer. In the quiet of her mind, Annica played and replayed his reaction to her question. There was a look of suppressed terror about him.
As they climbed a set of stairs, her thoughts went to Jackson. Did he ever feel this sort of anxiety on the job? Could he feel her now? Although their relationship now was drastically different than what it once was, there was still at least some sort of connection between them. She felt it the first time she was in danger with him in Virginia Beach. When she was separated, he was there somehow, and then he found her. It was almost like a tracking device. It saved her life back then, back in that cage. Locked away and waiting. Facing death.
What would she be facing this time?
Another cage?
Or would Sharky somehow do the impossible and release her?
Sharky’s boss made the “tour” sound like a death march. A short walk that wouldn’t end in a cage, or an exit door, but a bullet to the head. Fuck . . .
Maybe Jackson could pull it off one more time. He’d always been so great with timing, with saving her ass with seconds to spare. She tried to forget the exact amount of time left on the bomb’s timer in Virginia Beach. She tried to only remember what fresh air felt like after the cage. It felt like the first time, her first breath. Her first kiss.
Everything about Virginia Beach, the good and the bad, had been wrapped up with Jackson. He’d become synonymous with rescue, with so many of her raw emotions. Her memories, the knots of worry in her back muscles, had all taken years off her life. They would also take years to even begin the process of shedding, of growing away from. Being so wrapped up still with Jackson or being captured or killed in some random Hawaiian processing plant were moves in the wrong direction.
She peered into a small room, perhaps the last she might ever see. It was certainly the last of her “tour.”
“Step inside,” Sharky said.
The wrong direction, indeed. This fucking room. This cramped, green-walled cell.
“Step inside,” he urged her, putting a little more venom in the words.
She stepped inside. Then she spun around quickly to keep an eye on him, to keep an eye on the next set of developments. Again, she’d become the cornered animal. She was ready to pounce at the first sign of trouble, the first twitch of his muscles toward his holster. It wasn’t much, but it was the only thing she had left.
“Can you take a seat?” he asked.
She didn’t want to.
It was a room just like the site of her first interrogation with Roger. Small. Two chairs, one table. Only this one had on the wall what seemed to be a trap door similar to the one she’d originally used to get in so much trouble.
Annica motioned to it and said, “What’s behind that door?”
“Just sit please.”
Sitting would take some of the spring out of her attack, quite literally. She needed to stay on her feet. Stay loose and limber and mobile. “I’ll stand.”
“Fine. Can I have your password?” He pulled out her phone and swiped it on, and then looked up at her. “I understand how someone wouldn’t trust Roger. But I’m different.”
“Different how?”
“I’m just different.”
“That means nothing to me right now.”
“Okay.”
“So you get a paycheck from that asshole?”
He shrugged.
“This is how you make your living? An armed thug?”
“No.”
“And what’s so special about this place that they need armed thugs? What are they making here?”
He shook his head. “I’m not going to comment on the business.”
“Can you comment about me? Wha
t’s going to happen to me?”
Sharky reached back for the door, pulling it tightly shut behind him. “We just need your password, to check your identity. That’s all this is.”
“Hand me the phone, then.”
“Excuse me?”
“The phone,” Annica said. “You don’t need some hacker. I can open it right now.”
“Why can’t you just tell me the password?”
“It’s my lucky number, that’s why. It’s a secret.”
Sharky smiled. “Of course it is.”
“I’m very spiritual,” she said to his blank face. “Numbers are important to me.”
“And you’re quite the bullshitter,” Sharky said.
“Yeah, and what are you good at? Hustling in pool halls?”
“Huh?”
“With a name like Sharky.”
His eyes narrowed.
“So maybe I’m not bullshitting,” she said. “I know you.”
“How do you know me?”
“I watched you.”
“On the ship?” His eyes relaxed open, softening. “On the deck?”
“What were you doing out there?”
“I don’t know.”
“Over the rails like that . . .”
“I don’t know,” he said again, this time looking even more sheepish about it. Embarrassed, almost.
“Maybe you need to talk to someone.”
“Yeah,” he said, chuckling quietly. “That’s what they tell me.”
“I mean, someone who might be able to tell your story.” She watched him take a big sigh as he evaluated her, and her proposition. She was getting to him. It would be the only way out of this, needling through the softer parts of his psyche. “You can’t honestly tell me that you’re . . . happy.”
Sharky laughed, but it was grim.
“Especially with this.” Annica had her hands held up, palms outstretched, motioning them gently around the dingy little room. “How can you be happy living like this?”
“Living, in general,” he said, “is the problem.”
“Only if you can’t change things. Only if you lack the courage.”
“I do lack the courage,” he said, “as you saw on the deck.”
“There’s nothing courageous about killing yourself.”
“I wasn’t really going to do that.”
“What were you trying to do out there?”
DARC Ops: The Complete Series Page 130