Close Quarters

by Emma Harrison

  12

  VAUGHN STEPPED OUT OF the elevator and walked down the hallway toward Marianna’s room, cursing his own incompetence. Just yesterday he’d been preening over his success, letting his head swell over Betty’s phone call and President Toscana’s thanks. What had he given them in return for their confidence and pride? Total obliviousness.

  At least we know now, Vaughn thought. It’s not too late to catch this guy. But first on his list of priorities was making sure Marianna was okay. Once her safety was secured, he would find out what the suspect had said to her earlier at the rink. A man who got that close to his mark in a public place was getting sloppy. He was getting desperate. Maybe he’d slipped up and said something that could give Vaughn a clue to his identity or his whereabouts.

  Vaughn went around the corner, took one look at the door to Marianna’s room, and stopped. The hallway was empty. There were no guards stationed at Marianna’s door. The absence of their hulking bodies made the wide hall feel like a black hole. Vaughn was filled with a dark, poisonous fear.

  What had happened to the guards? Why had they deserted their post? Were they also agents of La Rappresaglia who had somehow slipped under the radar? And if so, did they already have Marianna?

  If she’d been taken again, Vaughn had no one to blame but himself.

  Vaughn drew his gun from his holster and started toward the door, stepping as lightly as possible. With his back against the wall right next to the door, Vaughn reached out his right arm and carefully, quietly, tried the doorknob. He held his breath, not sure what to hope for.

  The doorknob turned in his grasp, unlocked. Not a good sign. Vaughn opened the door a crack, pressing his eyes closed as a rivulet of sweat ran down the side of his face. He had to stay calm to face whatever or whoever might be inside that room.

  Just let her be alive, he thought. Please just let her be alive.

  Vaughn turned and pushed through the door, holding his gun at shoulder level, half expecting to be jumped by two huge guards. Instead, Marianna turned to look at him, surprised, from across the room. Instantly Vaughn relaxed. She was here and she was fine. She was standing next to the small dining table in a glittering ball gown, her makeup done, her hair swept up, and she was fine.

  For a split second, Vaughn experience unadulterated relief. Then his brain slowly took in the details.

  Marianna was standing with her foot resting on the seat of a chair, strapping something to her thigh with invisible tape.

  Vaughn’s stomach churned.

  It was a gun.

  “Marianna, what’s going on?” Vaughn asked, his mouth dry as bone.

  She lowered her foot to the floor and gazed at him, a mixture of triumph and sympathy in her eyes. Vaughn felt the sickening sensation of betrayal—felt it all over his skin. He was repulsed by the glimmer of condescension on her face as well. It was as if she was mocking him—mocking him for how easy it had been to scam him.

  Vaughn took in the rest of the room. Two guards slumped against the wall, unconscious, probably dead. He saw the blood trickling down the side of one of their necks, soaking the white fabric of his collar—saw the unnatural angle at which the other man’s arm hung to the floor.

  Sweet, vulnerable, fun-loving Marianna had killed her own bodyguards.

  “I don’t understand,” Vaughn said, not wanting to understand.

  “I’m the assassin, Michael,” Marianna said, taking a few steps toward him, the silken fabric of her dress swishing as she walked. “I’m the bad guy.”

  This isn’t possible, Vaughn thought, desperately clinging to a lie. Not Marianna.

  She took another step closer to him, and Vaughn’s survival instinct kicked in. He mustered up all his strength to fight against the emotions swirling through his heart, lifted his gun, and trained it directly on Marianna’s beautiful face—the face he’d daydreamed about holding and kissing goodbye later this evening.

  “Don’t move,” Vaughn told her. “You’re going to have to come with me.”

  “I don’t think so,” Marianna said. Her eyes flicked up and over his shoulder, telling Vaughn that there was someone behind him. He began to turn, but it was too late. Something large and heavy hit him on the back of his head. The last thing he saw before blacking out was the smirk on Marianna’s soft, perfect lips.

  * * *

  Vaughn’s first sensation was that of blinding pain. His head throbbed whenever he moved, whenever he blinked, whenever he took a breath. His arms were suspended above him, linked together with a pair of metal cuffs, and his shoulders ached from strain. He realized as he came to that he must have been hanging like this for a few minutes in order for his arms to feel like dead weight. A loud, roaring sound reverberated in his ears and surrounded him, coming from all sides. Some kind of heavy machinery was running nearby. From the intensity of the volume, he would have guessed it was a plane engine, but that wasn’t possible, was it?

  “He’s waking up,” a male voice said nearby.

  Vaughn opened his eyes and two figures hovering over him came into focus. He saw the glittering colors of Marianna’s gown swim before his vision. The scent of her perfume filled his nostrils.

  “Agent Vaughn,” the man said, moving closer, coming in to sharper focus. “We meet at last.”

  Vaughn stared at the X-shaped scar on the man’s chin, and the sight of it made something inside him snap. He shook himself awake, pain radiating from the lump on the back of his head, and scanned his surroundings. He was in a large room with harsh white walls that were peppered with cracks. Soft white sacks were piled up and spilled from rolling bins, each with a pink tag dangling from its closure. A row of industrial-sized washing machines lined the wall behind his captors, flanked by a row of dryers, which were creating the deafening noise.

  They were in the hotel’s laundry room. Vaughn looked up and found that his wrists were cuffed to a huge metal shelf packed with bottles of detergent and fabric softener and piles upon piles of towels and sheets. He struggled to his feet, wincing as his shoulders adjusted, his knees unlocking from the position they’d been crooked into on the floor.

  “Who are you?” Vaughn asked the man, gritting his teeth against the pain.

  The man smiled slowly and stepped away from Vaughn. He stood next to Marianna, and together Vaughn’s kidnappers faced him.

  “Don’t you see the resemblance, Michael?” Marianna asked. “This is my brother, Emilio. The founder of La Rappresaglia.”

  “I’m the founder, but she’s the real leader,” Emilio said, reaching out to squeeze Marianna’s shoulder like a proud brother. “Mari is the brains of the family.”

  Vaughn’s blood ran cold. He studied their faces. There was no denying they were related—the square jawline, the deep-set eyes. When Emilio’s hair was long, it had had the same wild curls that Marianna’s had now. Still, something inside Vaughn resisted. It just couldn’t be.

  “President Toscana doesn’t have a son,” he countered.

  “Or so the world believes,” Emilio said, a shadow of anger passing over his features—a shadow Vaughn recognized. It had transformed Marianna’s features just two nights ago when he had mentioned her only-child status. Suddenly Vaughn understood the anger he’d seen on her face then. She was not an only child—that was just a lie her father let the world believe. But somehow, Marianna had found the truth.

  “You see, I was illegitimate. The product of one drunken night the young future president had in Sicily thirty years ago,” Emilio explained. “My mother told him he was going to be a father and he rejected her. He was a statesman, bound for great things. She was nothing but a poor factory worker’s daughter. He could not be connected to her. To me.”

  “When Emilio first contacted me a few years ago, I couldn’t believe it,” Marianna put in, looking up at her brother. “I couldn’t believe my father could ever do anything as cold as abandoning a child. But it all checked out, Michael. We had tests done and the results were definitive. Emilio is my brothe
r.”

  “And he’s the one who asked you to join La Rappresaglia,” Vaughn said, everything falling into place.

  La Rappresaglia wasn’t a revolutionary movement, it was a kid trying to get back at his deadbeat father.

  “I’m sorry I lied to you, Michael,” Marianna said, walking over to him. “I know that I owe you an explanation, so if there is anything you want to ask me, this is your chance. What do you want to know?”

  Vaughn stared back at her, wishing she would get out of his sight. Looking at her reminded him of how stupid he’d been, how gullible. She’d played the poor-little-rich-girl routine on him, and he’d bitten. She’d talked about how concerned she was for her father, how he didn’t deserve to die, and Vaughn had swallowed it whole.

  Now he was trapped in the basement. Marianna was going to leave him here, go to the UN, and kill her own father, and there was nothing he could do about it. By this time next week he’d be chained to a desk, pushing papers for the duration of his career at the CIA.

  If he lived that long.

  “I see,” Marianna said. “You’re too proud to ask questions. But I’ll tell you anyway.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest, holding them to her for warmth, and paced in front of him, her high heels clicking against the concrete floor.

  “First, the kidnapping,” Marianna began, looking at her feet as she walked. “I knew you were a smart man, Michael. I knew it the moment I met you. I wasn’t sure if even I was going to be able to convince you that I was an innocent, ignorant girl. So we engineered the kidnapping to throw you off. The men you captured were not some of my best.” She paused and looked him dead in the eye. “I assume they cracked within five minutes of being in custody.”

  Vaughn looked away, basically confirming this. His mind worked over the kidnapping carefully. It all made sense now: why there had been so few men guarding them with so few weapons, why their escape had been fairly easy. Vaughn had realized at the time that the men were bad shots and counted himself lucky for it. Now he realized that they were probably trying to miss. They didn’t want to take out their boss, after all. They couldn’t kill the assassin who was here to achieve their ultimate goal.

  “He’s your father,” Vaughn heard himself say. “How can you kill your own father?”

  Emilio scoffed, but Vaughn ignored him. He felt a lump form in his throat over his own words. He would give anything to have his father back again, even if it were just for one day. His murder still kept Vaughn up some nights, tossing and turning and wishing there were something he could have done.

  “He is an enemy of the people,” Marianna said flatly, her eyes seeming to darken. “My people. They are supposed to be his people, but he does not care for them. All he cares for is his own pocketbook—his own glory. I shudder when I think about how ignorant I was before Emilio came into my life.”

  She smiled slightly at Emilio, and his dark eyes glittered. Evil, Vaughn thought. Pure evil. This guy had brainwashed Marianna, plain and simple.

  “Emilio taught me about the neighborhood where he grew up and the hundreds of other neighborhoods like it,” Marianna continued passionately. “There are people in my country, good people, who are out of work and starving, and yet my father takes his private jet all over the world to visit his friends, go deep-sea fishing off the coast of Australia, play golf with your president in North Carolina. His government jails men who steal to feed their families and lets wealthy business owners who embezzle money from their employees go free. Entire neighborhoods are crumbling while government money goes to building schools for the rich. The man is not worthy of his title.”

  “So don’t vote for him in the next election,” Vaughn said sarcastically.

  Marianna’s body tensed and she got right in Vaughn’s face. “This is not a joke,” she said, her breath hot against his skin. “You think everything is so simple? So black and white? His rich friends will get him elected again, and the country will only fall further and further into ruin. You think democratic elections are actually democratic? You have a lot to learn, Michael Vaughn.”

  Emilio laughed and walked up behind Marianna, placing his hands on her shoulders. “I’ve taught her well, haven’t I?” he said proudly.

  These people are nuts, Vaughn realized, replaying Marianna’s words in his mind. No wonder he’d been so snowed by her. Crazy people always made the best actors.

  When Marianna turned to face Vaughn again, she looked like herself once more. Her face was sweet and girlish and kind. Vaughn’s heart constricted as she reached out to touch his face. He tried to pull away, but there was only so far he could go. Her soft fingers finally cupped his cheek and she looked into his eyes.

  “Thank you for my time in New York, Michael,” she said softly. “These may have been my last few days, and I’m glad I got to spend them with you.”

  “It’s almost over.” Vaughn heard her voice in his mind. Those were the words she’d said at Wollman Rink that afternoon. He’d thought she meant that her trip was almost over, but she had been talking about her life. She knew that if she murdered her father, there was a good chance she would not live.

  And her big brother, the heart and soul of La Rappresaglia, was just going to let her do it. He was going to let Marianna take the fall and most likely take a bullet as well.

  “He doesn’t care about you, Marianna,” Vaughn said, his voice thick. “He’s just setting you up—using you.”

  Emilio’s face hardened, and Marianna shook her head. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Think about it! He wants to punish your father. What better way than for him to see you, his beloved daughter, aiming a weapon at his head?”

  Emilio stepped forward and punched Vaughn across his face, slamming into the same spot that the kidnapper had softened up two days before. Vaughn’s head snapped to the side and his eye felt as if it were about to pop out of his skull, but he lifted his face and glared into Emilio’s eyes.

  “Do not attempt to poison my sister’s heart,” Emilio said.

  “You’re the one who’s poisoned her,” Vaughn spat back.

  “Enough,” Marianna said. “We have to go.”

  “You don’t have to do this, Marianna,” Vaughn said. “You have a choice.”

  Marianna’s lips trembled slightly and her skin flushed. He gazed at her steadily, hoping to get through to her—hoping to make her see what she was really doing. For a moment he thought he had her.

  “Marianna!” Emilio barked, seeming to sense the shift in the air.

  Marianna blinked rapidly. “It’s too bad we are on opposite sides, Michael,” she said. “We could have really had something.”

  Heads bent together, Marianna and Emilio talked in low tones. Vaughn could tell from the intensity of their expressions that they were arguing over something—most likely trying to decide what to do with him. For a split second he almost hoped they would kill him so that he wouldn’t have to face what was coming next—the tragedy, the humiliation, the shame.

  That split second passed, however, as Vaughn told himself to focus. He had been trained to handle every situation. He had been trained to never give up. President Toscana wasn’t dead yet. That meant there was still a chance. He had to stop thinking about himself and start thinking about his responsibilities—his duty to his country.

  “We must go,” Marianna said finally, turning to face him once more. She picked up a black evening bag and slung it over her shoulder.

  “I would kill you, but there’s no point,” Emilio added matter-of-factly. “Whatever happens tonight, we are both turning ourselves in when it is over. I will stand by my sister like family should.”

  Vaughn didn’t believe Emilio for a second. Maybe he was going to spare Vaughn’s life now to keep his sister’s trust, but he was not going to turn himself in. Vaughn could see the lie in his eyes. As soon as the president was dead, Emilio would disappear. Of course, he’d probably come back to the hotel first to murder Va
ughn and tie up loose ends.

  Marianna walked over to Vaughn and touched her lips to his. Nothing in him responded to her. He didn’t close his eyes; he didn’t move his lips. He felt nothing but revulsion.

  “Goodbye, Vaughn,” Marianna said, pulling away, for the first time addressing him with his last name.

  Emilio turned the lock on the doorknob and held the door open for Marianna.

  “Don’t do this, Marianna,” Vaughn said calmly, firmly. “They’ll kill you. If you do this, you’re dead.”

  Marianna paused in the doorway and cast one final, unreadable glance back at Vaughn. He yanked at his handcuffs, succeeding in nothing but knocking a few washcloths off the shelves.

  But it was too late. The door was already swinging closed, and with a click that sounded morbidly final, Vaughn was left alone.

  His mission had failed, he’d been duped, and now there was a very good chance that the president of Italy was going to die in front of the entire UN on United States soil.

  13

  VAUGHN BRACED HIS FEET against the floor, tightened every last muscle in his arms, and pulled with all his might. He strained against the pain of the metal cutting into his wrists, holding his breath until he thought his lungs were going to burst and all the tendons in his body were going to tear. Nothing happened.

  The cuffs were unbreakable, the shelving sturdy. He relaxed his body and collapsed forward into the side of the shelf, resting his forehead against his elbow. As he gasped for breath, he thought about calling for help, but it was pointless. The noise generated by the machines would drown him out. Until some hotel worker decided to come in and check on the laundry, he was stuck. By the time anyone showed up, he was sure it would be too late.

  “Come on. Think!” he told himself through his teeth. He looked around the room for anything that might inspire an idea, but there was nothing. Nothing but towels and sheets and detergent.

  Okay, I don’t need to get out of the cuffs, I just need to get out of this room, Vaughn thought. Emilio had locked the door from the inside—the only lock the door had. That would prevent anyone from getting in easily, but Vaughn should be able to walk right out. All he had to do was figure out a way to Houdini himself out of his handcuffs.