Love & Lies

by Julie Johnson

  I called Istvan back and agreed, promising to be there within the hour.

  Before I got out of bed, I flipped onto my stomach and buried my face in the pillows, smelling Wes and smiling at the thought of seeing him again tonight. If this — him and me, together — was the new normal, I certainly wasn’t complaining.

  Fifteen minutes later, I’d shrugged into a tank top and jeans, stuffed a clean uniform into my messenger bag, scribbled a note for Margot, and was out the door.

  Just the start of another normal day in Budapest.

  * * *

  I was alone. Terrified. Running for my life.

  How did it come to this?

  Ashes drifted like snowflakes in a hot, hellish blizzard. I choked down smoke as I ran through the blackened maze of passages. Hands thrown out to the walls for guidance, my fingertips were soon coated in ebony dust. I could feel the heat radiating beneath the pads of each fingertip ― the fire raged just inches away, on the other side of a perilously thin barrier. The smell of charred furniture and smoldering wood stung my nostrils and made my eyes water as I stumbled along, praying for salvation of any kind. I wondered vaguely if I’d make it out alive. If I’d ever see the ones I loved again.

  Wes’ face flashed in my mind and abruptly my eyes were stinging from more than just the pungent smoke.

  I pushed all thoughts of him away, knowing they’d only torment and distract me.

  Despite my disorientation, I knew where I was. The Hermes office — I’d been here a million times. I knew these corridors like the back of my hand. On a normal day, I could walk them blindfolded.

  Today wasn’t a normal day.

  Today, I was lost. There were flames licking at my back, as a bright inferno tore through the space which once housed the fifty or so wooden lockers in the staff room. My cubby was burning into ash behind me, the fire consuming everything with greedy, white-hot tendrils that raced up the walls to the ceiling overhead.

  Blinded by the thick smoke, I blundered through the dark until I’d left the fast-creeping flames behind. I rounded a corner and dragged in a gulp that was equal parts smoke and oxygen. Bitter and toxic, it hardly soothed my screaming lungs, but I was relieved to be breathing at all.

  My relief was short-lived. I was all too aware that even if the fire didn’t burn me alive, the noxious fumes entering my lungs with each labored breath would kill me just as quick. Thick smoke swirled in the air above me, gathering in a roiling, poisonous cloud on the ceiling and turning once-familiar corridors into an unnavigable maze of passages.

  I didn’t have time to think.

  I ran.

  My mind raced with fear and adrenaline pumped through my veins like a narcotic, fueling my flight. I could hear men yelling in the distance, though it was hard to tell whether their cries were of pain or anger.

  My coworkers.

  Trapped. Burning alive.

  The sizzling fire still roared at my back and, more terrifying, I now heard the foreign crack of gunfire, ringing out every few seconds like a macabre metronome. The bullets whizzed closer as the blaze chased me down hallway after hallway.

  It didn’t make any sense. It was Sunday — no one was supposed to be here this early, except me, Istvan, and a skeleton crew of other employees. When I’d arrived, the front doors had been unlocked but the offices seemed totally abandoned. I’d made my way to my locker with a secret smile on my lips, thinking of Wes and the things he’d said to me last night.

  Not ten minutes later, I’d been half-changed into my uniform when the offices literally combusted. Flames devoured the building faster than any natural fire had a right to. My thoughts turned briefly to the lingering scent of gasoline that laced the smoke around me, but I was soon distracted by more pressing dangers.

  Crack, crack, crack.

  Gunfire.

  Because apparently the actual fire was not enough to contend with today.

  For a moment, I stood frozen with fear. Every instinct I had was shrieking to run for the exits, to take my chances with flying bullets over flames.

  I reached up and rubbed at my stinging eyes, placing the sleeve of my thin uniform back over my mouth as soon as I’d blinked away some of the smoke. My throat burned with each breath I gulped down and my lungs ached, but I pressed onward.

  The voices were closer now, as were the sounds of gunfire ― definitely coming from the front lobby. I could see the swinging door that led into the atrium from here, maybe thirty feet down the hall. Men yelled in guttural Hungarian and, as I edged closer, I could make out some of the volleyed words despite my limited grasp on the language.

  A familiar voice called out, his pitch panic-stricken. It was Marko, I realized, half-stunned by the thought.

  “Who is it, the fucking CIA? How did they find us here?”

  Another man answered in a raspy, authoritative tone I recognized immediately. Istvan.

  “I don’t know. One of the girls tipped them off, maybe.”

  Marko spoke again. “You think they’re in the main compound, too?”

  A scoff. “No way they’re getting in if Szekely has anything to say about it.”

  There was a loud curse, then a short silence. The gunfire ceased for a moment. I glanced behind me at the hallway I just traversed — smoke was creeping around a corner and saturating the space around me. In a few moments, the passage would be fully engulfed in flames. There was nowhere to go but forward.

  Advancing slowly, I strained to hear more. Marko was speaking again.

  “Are all the files destroyed?”

  Istvan’s voice was calm, considering the circumstances.

  “I did what I could. The fire will take care of the rest.”

  The sharp staccato of gunfire again filled the air, and I flinched to a standstill. Feet locked in place, eyes wide with fear, I listened intently.

  Shots firing.

  Glass shattering.

  Screams of pain.

  Body pressed tight against the wall, my heart pounded double-time in my chest. I didn’t want to die here. The thought of leaving this earth before seeing Wes one last time was unbearable.

  I pinched the fleshy part of my palm, hoping to wake myself from this nightmare. This wasn’t my life. Things like this didn’t happen to normal people.

  I was a freaking history major. An American tourist. A twenty-one year old student who wanted a year abroad in a magical, fairytale city with cute boys, lots of medieval buildings, and plenty of cheap drinks.

  I certainly didn’t expect to die in an accelerant-fueled office fire surrounded by flying bullets and angry Hungarian madmen.

  Sparks crackled and hissed. Men cursed loudly, yelling about ammunition and exit points. Stray bullets flew and ricocheted. For a split second, I wished for a weapon to defend myself — but quickly realized that even if I had a gun, I’d have no idea what to do with it. In truth, I’d probably end up shooting myself and saving the bad guys a wasted bullet.

  I glanced back at the corner I’d just rounded — more thick, black smoke was funneling into the hallway. The inferno couldn’t be far behind.

  I looked forward to the doors ahead — the sound of rushing footsteps, heading quickly in my direction, was unmissable.

  Paralyzed by fear, I was caught between two very different foes and utterly out of options. Waiting for one to round a corner and kill me.

  I knew, with absolute certainty, that I was going to die. My eyes pressed closed as I accepted it without a fight.

  Wes had been wrong — I wasn’t brave. I was a coward.

  But then, his voice was in my head.

  Fears… either they own you, or you own them. Whether you let them rule you — that’s your choice, Red.

  I couldn’t shut him out.

  Faith Morrissey, you can do anything. Anything. Don’t let the world convince you otherwise.

  His words were my salvation.

  Five seconds of fear, or a lifetime of regret.

  Suddenly, I knew exactly what I
had to do. I pretended Wes was there with me — staring into my eyes, cupping my face. Counting down the fear.

  One.

  Two.

  Three.

  Four.

  Five.

  I wasn’t going to die here.

  My eyes snapped open and I started running for the exit. I’d almost reached the door when it swung wide and two figures burst from the atrium, nearly colliding with me in their rush to escape.

  For one brief, fleeting moment I was relieved as I realized that these weren’t the bad guys, come to banish me to an early grave. I knew these men — I’d worked alongside them, under their protection, practically every day for the past three months. Marko and Istvan wouldn’t hurt me. They’d help me from the flames, guide me to safety, away from whatever madness was transpiring in the lobby beyond.

  As Istvan lifted the weapon and trained it on me, I felt my eyes widen in disbelief. Stunned, I stared into his familiar eyes — eyes now fixed so coldly upon me, I couldn’t imagine they’d ever held an ounce of warmth or welcome.

  I wasn’t sure what the two of them were more surprised to see — me, standing there in the hallway, or the wall of smoke at my back, blocking every other viable exit. Marko opened his mouth to say something but before he could get a word out, Istvan grabbed hold of my wrist and pulled me in front of his body. With his free arm banded tightly around my ribs, he pressed my back to his front like a human shield. His other hand, still firmly gripping his gun, lifted so the barrel was poised against my temple.

  Marko muttered a string of panicked Hungarian in Istvan’s direction, his voice laced with terror. I made out only a few words as I fought off the increasingly strong urge to cough up the smoke in my lungs. I held my breath and tried not to move.

  “We don’t have time for this,” Marko hissed. “We have to get to the surveillance room exit before the fire does. Leave her, let’s go.”

  Istvan turned me in his arms, gun still pressed against my temple, and looked into my eyes with such hatred it made my heart falter. Was this the same man who’d offered to take me to dinner only a week ago?

  “Please,” I whispered. “Let me go, Istvan.”

  “It was you,” he said, his voice cold. “You sold us out.”

  “What?” I breathed, more confused than ever.

  “You did this. That night after hours — I let you go. I should’ve known, then.” His eyes were crazed with fury. He shook me so hard my teeth rattled in my mouth.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I squeaked.

  “How long were you working for them?” Istvan yelled in my face, spittle landing on my cheeks.

  “Istvan, please.”

  “Istvan,” Marko said, tugging at his partner’s sleeve.

  “Shut up! Just shut up! Let me think.” Istvan had slipped over the edge of sane — I could see the madness in his eyes. There would be no reasoning with him. I heard the sound of splintering wood, and knew the fire was practically on top of us.

  “Screw this, I’m getting out of here.” Marko sprinted down the hall into the smoke without another word.

  Istvan watched his friend flee, then turned back to me. Lifting his gun, he brought it down on my temple so hard I fell to my knees and nearly lost consciousness. Dark spots exploded behind my eyes, even as I lifted them to look up at Istvan. Awaiting the final blow that would knock me out and seal my fate.

  But he wasn’t even looking at me. His head was cocked to the side, as if listening for something. My mind, still reeling from the blow, felt sluggish as I tried to tune my ears to whatever he was hearing. I blinked a few times and the fog cleared.

  Footsteps.

  A lot of them, growing closer by the second. If I had to wager a guess, I’d say they were just on the other side of the door, crossing the atrium quickly. Whether they were bringing me help or harm remained to be seen.

  Before I could so much as regain my feet, Istvan was gone — running toward the flames as Marko had done mere moments earlier. I scrambled upright, ignoring the pounding in my head, and cast my gaze back and forth from the door to the gathering smoke. Everything seemed to slip into slow motion as I stood there like the ghost of a girl — waiting, coughing, dying. It played out before my eyes like I was a spectator, watching the act from the sidelines.

  The guard sprinting away, a cloud of smoke engulfing him like death’s embrace.

  The door swinging open, men in black commando gear rushing into the hallway.

  The sharp crack of bullets, loosed from the swinging barrel of the fleeing guard’s handgun.

  The men shouting orders, taking cover from the fire.

  The girl reacting too slow, too late.

  The shock of pain, searing into flesh like a hot brand to the gut.

  The blood, hot and sticky, flooding over her fingers like a river as they tried uselessly to stem its flow.

  The girl, falling to her knees in a hallway, clutching her stomach with grim acceptance as the world weaved in and out of focus.

  It couldn’t be me. Surely, I wasn’t that girl. Not the one there, dying in the hallway. Bleeding out on cheap carpet.

  I heard more shouting, but it seemed distant now.

  “Thompson! Go after those last two guards. Renley, watch his back.”

  “This place is a powder-keg. Time to bail, boys. It’s too late — anything that was here won’t be salvageable. Bastards torched everything with gas as soon as they saw us coming.”

  “We need body bags — we took out about six of Szekely’s men in the lobby.”

  “Someone call Abbott.”

  “Looks like there’s a civilian down over here. We need an ambulance.”

  Someone was prodding at my stomach. It still hurt, but not like before. Everything seemed numb. Dull around the edges, like listening to someone yelling messages deep underwater.

  “How you doin’ down there, darlin’?” The new voice was closer than the rest, but still seemed far away. I tried to open my eyes to look at whoever was speaking to me, but I couldn’t quite muster the strength.

  “Don’t worry, we’ll get you out of here,” the voice said. Hands were squeezing my abdomen like a vise. I heard the sound of fabric ripping.

  I tried to nod but the tiny movement was lost as I felt my body lifted off the ground into a strong set of arms. I tried to remain conscious but I was tired — so, so tired. I was drifting away, a balloon without a tether. Everything on earth was fading as I floated into the sky.

  “Please,” I mumbled incoherently, wishing I could sob but lacking the energy for it.

  “What is it, darlin’?” The voice asked gently.

  “Wes,” I managed to whisper, before the rest of the world faded away and I lost the battle to remain conscious.

  Chapter 33

  Weston

  MY FAULT

  * * *

  “Abbott.”

  “It’s Renley. Calling to report on the Hermes raid.”

  I paused, catching my breath. We’d finished our sweep of the compound only moments before and I was still winded. “Proceed.”

  “As soon as we got there, they engaged us. By my count, there were eight men. Only six at first, but two more showed up after we’d been trading rounds for a few minutes. Unfortunately for us, they’d been in the back rooms pouring gasoline and dropping matches like candy wrappers.”

  “Fuck,” I cursed quietly. “They knew we were coming.”

  “Sure as shit seemed that way, sir.”

  My eyebrows pulled together. “No one knew about this op except the guys on our team and Benson.”

  We were both silent as we considered what that meant.

  A leak.

  Neither of us voiced our suspicion, but the implication was there, hanging heavy in the dead air between us.

  Without another word on the subject, Renley cleared his throat and finished his report. “We took down six in the lobby but the two who’d torched the place skipped through the back doors.
We pursued into the building, but we lost them in the smoke.”

  “Did they make it out?”

  “Not unless they were Olympic swimmers who can hold their breath for five minutes. That smoke was so thick, one good gulp was enough to kill ‘em.”

  “So we have nothing.”

  Renley sighed. “Essentially.”

  “Fuck.” I gripped the phone tightly in my hand. “This is exactly why I wanted to wait. The whole fucking op was rushed because Benson and some pencil pushers at Langley wanted results.”

  “I assume you didn’t find Szekely or the prototype at the compound, then?”

  “No. Empty as a fucking church on Halloween.” I blew out a frustrated huff of air. “We’ll regroup back at base and debrief in an hour. Any injuries on your end?”

  “No, all our men are fine.”

  “Good,” I clipped, preparing to hang up.

  “There was a civilian casualty, though.”

  “Are you sure it was a civilian?” My mind spun.

  “Well, they left her behind. And shot her. So I’m assuming she wasn’t with Szekely’s men.”

  She. He’d said she. I felt my heart begin to pound.

  “The offices weren’t open,” I said, sweat beginning to bead on my forehead. “No one should’ve been there.”

  “Well, she was.”

  “It was a woman?”

  “Yeah. Young girl, maybe twenty. One of the couriers, I think. She was wearing a uniform. Probably just got caught in the crosshairs.”

  “What happened?” I asked through suddenly clenched teeth.

  “We sent her off in an ambulance. I think they’re taking her to the hospital by City Park. Thompson’s with her, in case she wakes up. Pretty doubtful she will, though. She was covered in ash — she’d been baking in that oven for a while. Wouldn’t be surprised if the smoke inhalation killed her before the bullet in her stomach did.”

  “What did she look like?” I forced the question from my lips.

  “Thin, pretty. It was hard to tell with all the smoke, but I think her hair was reddish-brown.”