Face, The

by Hunt, Angela

  I enter the IP address in the search box, click Submit, and wait. Within seconds, my screen has filled with details and a map of the area where the intruding computer is located: Sagunto. It’s a small town a few miles north of Valencia, but something tells me we won’t have to search every house.

  “Judson?” I raise my voice. “Roll yourself over to the phone and find Dr. Mewton.”

  “You got something there?”

  “I think I’ve found Aunt Renee. After you get ahold of Mewton, see if you can get us a list of any and all Sagunto properties owned by Saluda. I’m thinking they would take her someplace quiet, maybe on the outskirts of town. A small office complex or a storage facility. Maybe near the beach.”

  Judson picks up his cell phone and talks to Dr. Mewton, then returns to his station. Within two minutes, he has sent a list of Saluda-owned properties to my monitor.

  “Do you see anything?” he asks, one hand on his headset. “It’s taking too long for me to listen to this list.”

  “Got a likely prospect.” I focus on an address on the beach. “A Saluda-owned commercial building, but no tenant listed.”

  I glance up as Dr. Kollman strides through the door with a distracted look in his eye. “Dr. Kollman?” I try to contain my excitement as I wave for his attention. “Did you hear? I think we may have found her.”

  “I know,” he says, reaching for the briefcase he dropped earlier on a table. “I’m going with the rescue team.”

  And as he broadens his shoulders and hurries toward the elevator, I realize that I am not the only one who has been touched by love at the convent.

  And I am glad for it.

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  Renee

  The man staring at me is no stranger; two weeks ago I met him and his skinny moustache in the convent’s conference room. Only yesterday I heard he’d been murdered.

  The man I know as Espinosa retreats as abruptly as he arrived. He’s not leaving the building, however, because shouts fly thick and fast as he rails at the men in the next room. I don’t have to understand Spanish to know that he’s accusing them of being stupid and they’re proclaiming their innocence. How were they supposed to know they grabbed the wrong woman?

  How were we supposed to know Espinosa was double-crossing us?

  When he has finished berating the thugs in the front room, Espinosa stomps down the hall and curls his hand in my hair. I wince as he yanks my head back and bends low to breathe in my face. “I never expected to find you here, señora. Why are you playing this dangerous game?”

  I meet his glare head-on. “I can’t hear you. You’re in the morgue.”

  “I would not joke about such things. As for what you heard about me—” a self-satisfied grin sneaks onto his face “—a little fake blood, a quick photograph, and a bribe to the local officials makes dead look easy.”

  When he releases me, I lower my chin long enough to rub my bruised jaw. “I may not know much about the spy business, but I do know that double agents aren’t well-regarded by the agency. When the CIA finds out what you’ve done—”

  “They are not going to find out. Agent Espinosa is dead, wiped out of every database, every record. Or he will be, once we get your niece. I have no doubt she can accomplish what I need her to do. She will do many things for us.”

  “What things?”

  He ignores me, but my hulking bodyguard steps forward. From the deferential way he approaches Espinosa, I realize I’ve been mistaken. All this time I thought Espinosa a scraping beta underling, but in reality…

  I wait until the sweaty hulk retreats, then I catch Espinosa’s gaze. “Who are you?” I ask, threading my voice with insistence. “Tell me the truth.”

  His answering smile sends gooseflesh creeping over my arms. “I was born Alejandro Oscar Espinosa y Rios.” He tucks his thumbs into his belt, drawing my attention to the handgun tucked inside the waistband of his jeans.

  “You are related to Adolfo Rios?”

  “I am his son. By a woman he could not marry.”

  I close my eyes. Sarah once told me something about how Spanish surnames don’t correspond to the American pattern. So…some officer of the CIA had the misfortune, or the audacity, to recruit Adolfo Rios’s illegitimate son. I can understand how a novice might make this mistake, but how could Glenda Mewton miss the connection?

  She wouldn’t…unless she’d been distracted. And I’ve been distracting her for months.

  Espinosa glances at the computer screen, where I have done nothing but type the ping command and Sarah’s IP address. He lifts a brow. “You have been busy. Did the girl respond?”

  I shake my head. “She’s probably safe in Washington by now.”

  “I doubt that. But an extraction team is undoubtedly on its way, so we must wrap things up.” He moves to the doorway and shouts an order to the men in the front of the building. Immediately they come into the room and begin to unplug machines.

  I pinch the bridge of my nose and try to think clearly. Espinosa seems confident that he can get to Sarah, but surely Glenda has taken precautions by now.

  He is back, gesturing to the monitor in front of me. “Why did you do this? Anyone who knows anything about computers would see what you have done.”

  “Your thugs didn’t seem terribly bright. I knew the leader of this group would not be the sort to hire men who would outshine him.”

  Anger flashes in his eyes. “You risk your life, woman.”

  I think of Sarah, waiting at the convent. Of Kollman, who will take good care of her. And of Kevin, who died in this room. He died bravely; I know it. Does that kind of courage run in families?

  My grandmother had it. She faced cancer and died with a hymn on her lips.

  I’d love to follow her example.

  “Save your breath,” I tell Espinosa. “You have nothing to offer me, and I have nothing to fear from you. My niece is safe.”

  “You forget, I hold your life in my hands.”

  A smile tugs at my lips. My life…what is it, really? A daily succession of chores and patients, steadied by the love of a good dog. A friend or two. An ex-husband who hasn’t called since the divorce papers were filed. And an unwavering belief in my life’s purpose.

  I rub my aching jaw and smile. “My life isn’t yours.”

  “But I can take it.”

  “Not really. You can kill my body, but you can’t touch my soul.” I squint at him in amusement. “I wish that were original, but someone else said it first.”

  “You think I am kidding, woman?”

  “No…in fact, I’m hoping you’re not. I’m counting on it.”

  Espinosa’s hand swings to his belt, and for the first time I notice the oversize bull’s head buckle. Compensation, no doubt, for the stature he will never achieve. He wraps his hand around the weapon, withdrawing it, and with pulse-pounding certainty I realize that my faceless life is finished.

  Yet the life I’ve wasted can be redeemed.

  Across the room, plastic creaks as one of the men lifts a monitor, but my eyes are filled with Espinosa and the circular barrel of his pistol. How like a toy it is! In my peripheral vision, one of the goons turns his head, probably to escape a spray of gore, and my hand—pale now and forever because I will never take that beach vacation—swings up and catches the gun.

  Espinosa’s eyes widen. He probably thinks I intend to wrestle the weapon away from him, but instead I lift the barrel, pulling against his superior strength, until the muzzle is aimed not at my chest, but at my forehead. For Sarah’s sake, my heart must keep pumping.

  Espinosa’s finger bends, pulls the trigger. The flash blends with the odor of burning and a sudden surge of light that fills the room, and I am free.

  Before departing, I swoop down and study my features—they are calm, almost serene, the lips curved in a slight smile. Aside from a small nick near the right eye, the face is undamaged.

  Satisfied, I stretch gossamer arms toward the heavens and ascend to the Li
ght of Love.

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  Sarah

  I want to listen to the rescue team’s progress on coms, but Dr. Mewton refuses to allow me to remain in the operations room. With Judson and Jeff at the controls, she orders me to bed. When I tell her I won’t be able to sleep, she gives me a sedative and stands in front of me, unyielding and unrepentant, until I swallow the yellow pill.

  I go to my secure cell and lie down, fully intending to get up within an hour or so, but four hours have passed when I open my eyes again.

  Judson is sitting by my bed, a blank look on his face.

  I prop myself on one elbow. “Jud?”

  He starts at the sound of my voice. “Sorry—you caught me off guard.” He pulls his cell phone from his pocket and presses a button on the speed dial, then drops the phone into his lap.

  “Did they find my aunt?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did they bring her back?”

  His face twists in an expression I don’t think I’ve seen in any of Aunt Renee’s photographs. “Dr. Mewton is waiting to see you.”

  “Is that who you alerted just now?”

  A rueful smile crosses his face as he slips his cell phone back into his pocket. “Yeah. We’re supposed to go upstairs and meet her.”

  I sit up and swipe my hand through my hair, bracing myself for bad news. “Aunt Renee…did they reach her in time?”

  When Judson hesitates, I know the news is not good. “Almost. Her heart’s still beating.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Come upstairs. The doctors are waiting to explain.”

  Rather than wait with Judson for the elevator, I run up the stairs to the third floor. Dr. Mewton has posted a guard at every landing, but I run past them without slowing. The building seems to have filled with people since I fell asleep—more guards, more personnel, more doctors and nurses. The third floor hums with activity, and the noise fills me with dread.

  I find Dr. Mewton and Dr. Kollman outside the operating room. When I peer through the window, I can see Aunt Renee on a gurney. She’s been hooked up to a respirator and her color is good. A green-gowned nurse stands beside her, making notations on a chart.

  I stare at my aunt’s smooth brow, then turn to Dr. Kollman. “Judson said you didn’t reach her in time. What’d he mean by that?”

  Dr. Kollman opens his mouth to speak, then his expression changes. Something softens his eyes; a thought or emotion twists his mouth. He brings his hand up to shield his face and looks away.

  “Sarah.” Dr. Mewton tucks a folded surgical gown under her arm and touches my shoulder. “Your aunt was shot. The bullet went through her eye and took out the back of her skull.”

  Dr. Kollman turns to face me, and in his face I recognize clear marks of grief: lines beside his mouth, shadows in his eyes. His blue eyes shimmer with threatening tears as he takes my hand. “I’m so sorry, Sarah. We got there as fast as we could.”

  “And you found her.”

  “Only a little while after the shooting. We were able to bring her back, and some of the men even confiscated equipment. We’ll find the people who did this. They won’t get away with murder.”

  “So…she’s dead?”

  “Brain-dead, yes, the brain is clinically dead.” He speaks slowly, tonelessly, as if he’s channeling Dustin Hoffman as Rain Man.

  A few days ago, I would have given anything to feel this man holding my hand; now I’m only sorry that he’s not Aunt Renee. I squeeze his fingers and pull my hand free, then turn and walk through the swinging doors of the surgery.

  The nurse moves away when she sees me approach.

  My aunt looks as though she has fallen asleep. Her rosy face is composed and smooth, her hair tousled as though she just rolled out of bed. A bruise marks her cheek, and there’s a bit of raw skin at the corner of her right eye, but aside from that…

  “How—?” The question dies on my tongue when I see the red stain on the sheet covering the gurney. The area beneath her head is soaked with blood, all of it spilled for me.

  I press the thin edges of my mouth together as my chin begins to quiver. Why on earth did she come here? Whatever possessed this woman to go with those people? She isn’t an agent; she knows nothing about computers. Any woman who could refer to a wireless receiver as a whatchamacallit has no business even owning a laptop.

  But I know why she went with them. I know why she came to the convent, and I know why she didn’t tell her captors where to find me.

  And I’ve never known that kind of love before.

  I stand in silence, my shoulders shaking, until Dr. Kollman walks up behind me and wraps his arm around my neck. “Sarah,” he whispers in my good ear, “I can help you, if you want. Do you want me to give you the propranolol?”

  The question shimmers on the air in front of me. Take a drug that will dull this pain? For a fleeting instant the word yes flutters to the tip of my tongue, but then I hesitate. This is an exquisite agony, but if I cut the cord between the memory and this pain, will I not lose the warmth that comes with the feeling of being loved? The pain, the love, the loss are all braided together, and I don’t think I will ever be able to separate them.

  I turn to look Dr. Kollman in the eye. “Would you take the drug?” I gesture toward the lovely woman on the gurney. “Would you take a pill to dull your feelings—and all of your memories—about her?”

  His eyes glaze as he studies Aunt Renee’s face, then he lowers his head. “She was right even about this.” He gives me a tired smile and slips his hand around the back of my neck, then pulls me close.

  I cling to his arm and fall to pieces as he rocks me back and forth, murmuring quiet assurances in my ear.

  At some point I look up and realize that he and I are not the only ones crying. Outside the swinging doors, as she ties on her surgical gown, Dr. Mewton weeps without making a sound.

  When I am too spent to cry another tear, Dr. Kollman takes me by the hand and pulls me into his office. “We’ve kept Renee on the respirator to keep her heart pumping,” he says, his eyes searching mine.

  I nod. “I…I suppose I’m the next of kin? Do I have to give you permission to pull the plug or something?”

  He blows out a breath and takes a folded sheet of paper from his coat pocket. The page has been folded before; I can see several creases in the paper.

  “We found this in the pocket of her pajamas,” he says, his voice clotting. “Apparently she found a way to write while she was being held. Her wishes are quite clear, so we’ve already taken the necessary measures.”

  For what?

  I blink at him. Did Aunt Renee’s captors force her to sign some kind of confession? Was she writing a will?

  Dr. Kollman clears his throat and begins to read:

  “Dear Vincent:

  Sorry to make this short, but I haven’t much time and I doubt I’m leaving this place alive. Even if I could, I’ve decided not to, because now I know how I can most help Sarah.

  Funny, how this decision has given me courage. I am beginning to behave like a Hollywood spy.

  I want to be Sarah’s donor. Being relatives, we should be a good match, right? I’ll do all I can to make it work. With much love,

  Renee.”

  “No.” I shake my head. “Absolutely not—I won’t accept it.”

  Dr. Kollman lowers the page. “It’s what she wanted, Sarah.”

  “But I can’t take her face! How could I look in a mirror and see her? I can’t do it.”

  “You won’t see her, you’ll see you.” Dr. Kollman leans toward me, his eyes frank and pleading. “She loved you. You were all she was thinking of in her last moments.”

  “But I can’t, don’t you see? I can’t, because it’s my fault. If it hadn’t been for me, she wouldn’t be dead!”

  Dr. Mewton steps into the room, her eyes pinning me like lasers. Apparently she’s guessed what we’re discussing, and she must have anticipated my reaction.

  “Sara
h,” she says, setting her jaw, “you can’t blame yourself for what happened. Sometimes innocent people are hurt in our line of work, but we’re not the ones who hurt them—”

  “In this case, we are. I am.” I lift my gaze and plead with Dr. Kollman. “Saluda didn’t attack the convent because Espinosa ratted us out. They attacked because of me.”

  When Dr. Kollman frowns in confused disbelief, I lower my head into my hands. “I sent Adolfo Rios a message because I wanted to know about my father. He must have tracked it. He came here because I practically sent him a map and a gold-plated invitation.”

  I turn away from both doctors and hug my bent knees. “I don’t want Aunt Renee’s face, I don’t want the surgery. Tell the CIA what I did. Let them send me to prison. I’ll go. I’ll do whatever I have to, but I don’t deserve a new life, not when Aunt Renee is dead.”

  Dr. Kollman clears his throat. “Sarah, our time is limited.”

  I clap my hands over my ears. “I’m not changing my mind.”

  Overcome by the horror of it all, I close my eyes. When I open them again, Dr. Mewton has pulled off her surgical cap and is motioning to someone in the hall.

  Two guards. They look at me, their eyes blank, their posture erect as she gives an order: “Take this woman down to the secure cells. Post a guard. Keep her there until we have a response from Langley.”

  Something in me is a little amazed to hear the words, but confinement is far less than I deserve. I stand on shaky knees and follow the guards to the elevator, then lean against the wall and keep my face blank as we descend into darkness.

  An hour later, Dr. Mewton is staring at me through the tiny window in my cell door, and I’m wondering if I’ve ever really known the woman. She taught me to walk, to read, and to be self-reliant. She’s been everything to me, but I’ve never felt less connected to anyone in my life.

  The door opens with an electronic beep. I lie back on my bed and fold my hands across my chest. I don’t want to talk to her; I don’t want to talk to anyone. But right now, I don’t think anyone cares what I want.