Recall Zero

by Jack Mars

  He felt a shiver run through him and forced himself to look away, but not fast enough. Karina shot him a smile with half her mouth as she said, “What?”

  “Nothing.” Then he admitted, “I was just thinking about what’s going to happen when all of this is over.”

  Karina nodded as if she understood, but he knew she couldn’t. He’d been thinking about it the whole time that she was in the shower, and he had determined that he would have to contact Maria directly. He could stay in Kiev for a while; as long as he needed to, if he was hidden. They had no extradition treaty with the US. But even so, what kind of life would that be? What chance would he have of ever seeing his daughters again?

  He was about to lay all of that out for Karina and get her thoughts when she suddenly murmured, “Bozhe moy.” My god.

  He followed her blank gaze to the television screen. It was a Belgian newscast, in French but on mute. Zero was proficient enough in the language to read the ticker that scrolled across the bottom of the screen, which translated to: US ANNOUNCES PLAN TO TEMPORARILY WITHDRAW FROM NATO, PENDING INVESTIGATION.

  Zero frowned deeply. “What the hell? Why would we do that?”

  “It’s already starting,” Karina said quietly.

  He looked over at her sharply. “This? Was this part of it, the meeting between Harris and Kozlovsky?”

  She slowly nodded.

  The Russians were running the show. That’s what he had thought back in the stately compound just outside of DC. And Karina had mentioned that Kozlovsky had asked two things of President Harris. Now the picture was coming together: Kozlovsky played nice with Harris in public, but behind closed doors told him to withdraw from NATO. A withdrawal would mean that the US was not part of the mutual defense network that NATO stood for, which could only mean that someone was making plans, which could be anything from a seizure of assets like Russia had tried before to a full-on incursion.

  “They are already starting,” she said softly. “I thought I had more time, that the threat of a recording would delay them…”

  “Karina, they know by now that you don’t have a recording,” Zero told her flatly. “If you did, the smartest move would have been to take it to the media for immediate release and let them decide whether or not it was fake.”

  She chuckled derisively. “Do you believe I would trust such a thing to the American media? What, so that pundits could poke holes in it? So that bloated suburbanites could argue about its validity on Facebook? So that twelve hours later some school shooting swallows it whole and no one gives it a second thought?”

  Anger flared in him for a moment, but not because of her derision toward the US. “Fine, let me rephrase. I know you don’t have a recording.” To her questioning glare he said, “I looked through your clothes while you were in the shower. So unless you’re hiding a listening device under that towel, there is no recording. Is there?”

  Karina stared at the carpet, neither confirming nor denying it.

  Zero pressed his fingers against his closed eyes, irritated at the lack of response from her.

  A memory flashed through his head; his small bungalow back home, his sofa, his classic movies, a woman in the kitchen stirring a pot of Polish stew. But it was not Maria he saw in the kitchen. It was Karina, her dark hair and dark eyes and devilish smile.

  “I don’t even know who you are,” he murmured aloud.

  “I’ve told you who I am,” she insisted.

  He conjured another memory. The safe house in Rome, the apartment just beyond the courtyard that held the famous Turtle Fountain, where he first reunited with Maria back before his memories returned. He’d found her there, a mysterious and dangerous beauty who knew him even though he didn’t know her…

  But once again, it wasn’t Maria standing in the doorway, astonished to see a dead man come back to life. It was Karina.

  Fantasies and suspicions. Just like the Swiss neurologist, Dr. Guyer, had said might happen. They were manifesting in his head, messing with his memories. He could hardly picture Maria’s face anymore. When he tried, Karina appeared.

  Just another dangerous, mysterious woman to lead you down a deadly path.

  “Veronika will come for us soon,” Karina insisted. “And I don’t believe that you have any intention of turning yourself in. We will figure this out. I promise you that. I won’t abandon you, Zero.”

  You and me against the world.

  She needs you.

  “I can’t just run forever.”

  “We will find a way,” she said with a smile. “Together.” She opened the shopping bag. “Turn, please.”

  “Right.” Zero shifted himself on the bed, turning so that he was facing the open bathroom. He heard the soft sound of the towel dropping to the floor, but then only silence.

  He felt her hand on his back, soft and cautious, fingers running up his spine until they came to rest on his shoulder. An electric tingle ran through him as he felt her lips on his ear.

  “Maybe,” she whispered, “none of that matters inside this room.”

  He closed his eyes as she kissed his neck gently.

  “Maybe right now, we just live.”

  He turned to face her. She stood naked at the foot of the bed, as stunning and vulnerable as she was strong and confident. Mysterious and dangerous and beautiful. Scarred and flawed in all the perfect ways.

  She knelt on the bed, putting a leg on either side of him, straddling his lap, and then his face was in her hands as she kissed him deeply.

  Out in the world, governments schemed and agencies hunted them. Somewhere, bombs were falling and bullets were tearing into flesh and blood spilled onto sand, but none of that mattered. Suddenly nothing existed outside their tiny quilted island. He felt himself sinking deeply into the ocean of her dark eyes, let himself carnally acknowledge who he was, what he wanted, and what he should feel.

  He needed her too. And nothing else mattered.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  Sara stared at the two blue pills in her palm. Camilla had left her purse on the nightstand that stood between their beds and gone to the bathroom, and Sara had quickly dug into it and found the orange prescription bottle.

  She knew that Camilla would gladly give her one if she asked for it—but one wasn’t enough anymore, and if her roommate knew that she needed two, she’d want to talk about it. At best, she’d be concerned about Sara’s habit. At worst, she’d want to start charging her for them. Xanax weren’t cheap.

  She hoped that Camilla wasn’t counting her pills. Yesterday she’d given Sara one and then she’d swiped a second. They got her through the day at the thrift store, or at least most of it. Then last night she’d done a bump of coke to pick herself up after work. Just a little one. But then it wasn’t just one, it was two and three, and then she lost count, and then it was four o’clock in the morning and she had dragged herself to bed and slept for five hours before she had to be up again for another shift.

  Sara knew that if she took these now, the cycle would repeat. Then two wouldn’t be enough. She’d start experimenting with other things, more potent stuff.

  I don’t need them. She reached for Camilla’s purse to put them back when the doorknob rattled. She quickly stuffed the pills into the pocket of her jeans as the door to the bedroom swung open and then Camilla was standing there, a frown etched in her face.

  “What?” It came out more defensively than Sara intended.

  “Baby girl, you in some kind of trouble?” the older girl asked. “There are two dudes in black suits at the front door asking for you.”

  “In suits…?” Sara winced as a suspicion crept up on her. It couldn’t just be coincidence that she’d had a very unwelcome visitor less than two days earlier, and now two “dudes in black suits” were at the door.

  Is that why he came to see me? Was he running from something? Or someone? She groaned. This was not at all what she needed right now.

  “If you need to get out the window, I’ll distract them,” Ca
milla offered.

  “No, it’s fine. I’ll talk to them.” She huffed as she crossed the bedroom and headed downstairs, her roommate on her heels. Downstairs she noted with chagrin that Tommy and Jo were crowding the doorway to the kitchen as if some show was about to start. Sara shot them a glare as she crossed the living room to the front door.

  Sure enough, two men were standing on the co-op’s porch, on the other side of the closed screen door. One of them was tall and white and wore sunglasses; the other was shorter, broader-shouldered, with dark skin and a crew cut.

  Sara opened the screen door, but did not cross the threshold. “Yeah?”

  The one in the sunglasses smiled at her. “Sara Lawson?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “My name is Agent Ferguson, and this is Agent Rodriguez—”

  “Those are some nice generic names you’ve got there, ‘agents,’” Sara mused.

  His smile waned. “We’re with the FBI.” The shorter one, apparently Rodriguez, flashed a badge at her. “We’d just like to ask you a few questions about—”

  “I don’t know where he is,” she said sharply.

  “Hmm.” The agent named Ferguson took off his sunglasses so she could see his look of suspicion. “That’s a pretty direct answer to a question I didn’t ask yet.”

  “Yeah, well, let’s not pretend we don’t know why you’re here,” Sara said, her tone snarky. “Yes, he came to see me. It was a very short visit and I don’t know where he went from here. I don’t have any information for you.”

  “Are you aware that he’s missing?” asked Agent Rodriguez.

  “Nope,” said Sara.

  “And that he’s absconded with an interpreter who has highly classified information?” said the other one, Ferguson.

  “Nope,” Sara said again, “and I don’t care.”

  The two agents glanced at each other. “Can you describe the nature of his visit?” asked Ferguson.

  “Sure. He came to my work. I told him to get out. He asked me to come home. I called the cops. The end.”

  The two agents appeared dubious. “Ms. Lawson,” said the one named Rodriguez, “this would be better for everyone if you cooperated—”

  “God, for an intelligence agency, you guys are clueless.” She scoffed. “Do I need to spell it out for you? I’m a sixteen-year-old emancipated minor living with five roommates and working in a crappy thrift store. You think this is some kind of cover? You think he sent me here to live like this so I’d be safe? No. I left. So did my sister. We don’t know anything about him anymore… if we ever actually did. Okay? We done here?”

  “Ms. Lawson,” said Ferguson, “we just want to know if he said anything, anything at all, that might have indicated where he was going, if he mentioned travel, if he talked about anyone you didn’t know…”

  Her anger flared, frustration mounting. How many ways did she have to explain it to them? “We’re done here.” She pushed the screen door closed, but Agent Rodriguez stepped forward and stopped it with a hand.

  “Ms. Lawson,” he said sternly. “We are federal agents, and this could be construed as hindering an ongoing investigation. Do you really want to get arrested in front of your little friends?”

  Sara glared at him, stepping forward so she was right in his face. “I don’t know you,” she said quietly. “Your badge doesn’t impress me and your threats don’t scare me. You know how many times people have come up to me pretending to be who you’re claiming to be? And every time, it’s ended in me getting hurt, or shot at, or kidnapped. I won’t be your leverage against him. Not ever again.”

  The agent stared back at her. He slowly reached into his jacket, and for the briefest moment Sara held her breath, afraid that he would call her bluff and pull a pair of handcuffs. But instead, he took out an ivory business card and held it in her face with two fingers.

  “If you remember anything,” he told her. “Or if he attempts to contact you.”

  Sara snatched it out of his hand.

  “Let’s go.” Ferguson put his shades back on, and the two agents descended the cracked concrete stairs of the porch.

  Only when they had reached the street again did Sara breathe a sigh of relief. She slammed the screen door closed and flicked the card away, sending it fluttering to the floor.

  Camilla stood behind her, wide-eyed. “What the fuck was that about?”

  “It’s…” Sara was about to say “nothing,” but then sighed and shrugged a shoulder. What was the use of lying? Wasn’t that what destroyed what used to be her life?

  “My dad used to be a spy,” she said simply. “Apparently he’s gone and done something stupid.”

  “I’m sorry, what?” Camilla blinked in shock. But Sara didn’t answer. She headed for the stairs. She still had to get ready for work.

  As she passed by the open doorway to the kitchen, she heard the lanky boy, Tommy, snicker. “This is too good,” he goaded her. “Just wait ’til I tell Needle you had the damn Feds come looking for you…”

  A tempest of anger swirled inside her. Before she knew what she was doing she spun, grabbed two fistfuls of Tommy’s loose-fitting T-shirt, and shoved him backward against the refrigerator so hard it shook. The dry erase board with their names on it clattered to the floor.

  Tommy yelped, his eyes wide in surprise and fear.

  “Hey, get off him!” Jo shrieked.

  “You think you can threaten me?” Sara hissed in his face—or rather, his chin, since she was a full head shorter than him. “You just remember that the only thing keeping me from kicking the unholy shit out of you is that it’s against the rules, and I need a place to live. If I don’t have that, then there’s nothing standing between me and breaking your face. Not Needle. Not your girlfriend. Not your lawyer dad.” She let go of him, picked up the dry erase board, and stuck it back on the fridge.

  “Bitch,” Tommy murmured.

  Sara swung before she could even think twice. Her right fist connected with his lower jaw and lip. It wasn’t a particularly solid blow, but Tommy wasn’t used to getting hit in the face. His head snapped back and his body followed. He sprawled to the kitchen floor, holding his bleeding lip and staring up at her in pain and confusion as if she’d just shot him.

  Jo stared too. Camilla let out a disappointed sigh.

  Dammit. She’d just assaulted a roommate. One of Needle’s three cardinal rules.

  Without another word, she stormed into the bathroom and slammed the door behind her. She made sure it was locked and, her fingers trembling, pulled out the two pills she’d stowed in her pocket.

  Stupid. Stupid. Stupid! she told herself as she set them on the edge of the sink and used the back of a hairbrush to crush them. If Tommy told the landlord what she’d done, she’d be kicked out for sure.

  As she arranged the powder in a straight line with her finger, it dawned on her that her anger in the moment, when her fist was flying through the air toward his face, wasn’t directed at Tommy. It was directed at her father. It was his fault. Those agents never would have shown up if not for him. She wouldn’t even be here, in this mess, if not for him.

  Somehow, no matter how far she ran or what she did to get away, she couldn’t escape him. She held one nostril and inhaled the crushed pill, wondering if the ghost of her father and her past would continue to follow her forever.

  As she stood there with her head tilted back and her eyes closed, a memory swept intrusively into her mind. When she thought about him, thought about her father, it wasn’t a lying, killing secret agent that she thought of. She hardly knew him like that. No, the memories that she had were of him helping her with homework. Teaching her to ride a bike. Humming along to music as he cooked dinner. Pizza and movie nights.

  She remembered them skiing in Switzerland. Sara had taken a nasty tumble, but come up laughing it off. The three of them, her and Maya and her dad, raced down the bunny slope together. It was the last time she could remember them being happy—but they had been happy. Before everyt
hing else. Before she found out that her mother had been murdered at the hands of someone whom her father, and her sister, and she had called a friend.

  Sara looked at herself in the mirror and wiped away the single tear under her eye before it could fall. “You’re done with him,” she reminded herself quietly.

  But she hoped that wherever he was, he was okay.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  Zero slept better than he could ever remember sleeping, a deep and content and dreamless slumber. Karina had been right; nothing outside their room existed. Only the quilt and her scent and her warmth beside him mattered.

  But eventually, a dream came. A phone chimed in his mind, sharp and intrusive. He grimaced and pulled a pillow over his head.

  There were words too, a soft female voice speaking too quietly to decipher.

  He didn’t open his eyes. Not yet. Instead he reached for her, feeling the soft quilt under his fingers. But where her soft skin should have been was empty. Karina was gone.

  Zero’s eyes snapped open and he sat up. She wasn’t gone; she stood alongside the bed, pulling on a shirt. He quickly checked the time; it was barely five o’clock in the morning, still dark outside through the window.

  “I’m sorry to wake you,” Karina told him gently. “You looked so peaceful there. But I just received a text from Veronika. They are nearby.”

  He rubbed sleep from his eyes, feeling slightly irritated after being roused from what was likely the best sleep he’d had in a year. “Why didn’t they just come here for us?”

  “Because.” She smiled down at him. “They don’t know where we are. Come on, it’s only a few minutes’ walk.”