Wiser Than Serpents

by Susan May Warren

  She stopped in front of a room as another Sergei in black walked by, and bent her head as if checking the list on the clipboard.

  Please, Mae, be waiting at the elevator like you promised.

  So far, their supersleuthing plan seemed to be going off without a hitch—other than the fact that they hadn’t indeed found Ina. But Gracie hadn’t had to dive off any buildings or climb out of any windows or even slam her cart into the knees of some greasy thug and take off for the stairwell.

  It was true that her imagination had done that already half a dozen times. But who was counting?

  Mae had taken a room on the fourth floor and Gracie snuck up the stairs into her room. After Mae had swiped a housekeeping uniform and a cart—Gracie hadn’t asked, and Mae wasn’t telling—Mae had added a couple sweaters for padding, zipping up the uniform so tight Gracie started to sweat before she even left the room.

  Then again, that might have had nothing to do with the extra padding.

  Mae had then gathered her hair into a net and put on a hideous black wig that smelled like it had been in mothballs for sixty or so years, yet covered up her now black-and-green bruise.

  “You act like you might know what you’re doing,” Gracie said.

  “I watch a lot of television,” Mae said, then held out a small white card. “All the rooms are accessed by this, the master key.” Mae had held out the card to her. “The lady who had it is gone on lunch break, so we have a ticking clock here. I’ll be right behind you, and if I see anyone on to you, you won’t even have to blink, I’ll be there. But running is always a really good option.”

  Gracie took the key card, shoved it into her pocket. Ina, here I come. For a second, she’d felt downright heroic.

  Now, she’d never felt more stupid. Good thing Vicktor wasn’t here to see her. Her cell phone battery had died at the hospital, and she’d left it in Mae’s hotel room to charge.

  This phone-tag communication system she and Vicktor had going made her want to scream.

  But maybe she should count her blessings that Vicktor wasn’t here to give her one of his signature what are you thinking? looks.

  Maybe she did know him. Or at least the protective part of him.

  A door opened down the hall. She turned into her cart, crouching, checking her supply of towels. Head in the game, Gracie. But she could feel her courage begin to dribble out. The man passed, and Gracie stopped at Room 68 and knocked. When she didn’t get a reply, she inserted the key card into the electronic lock.

  Of course it couldn’t be this easy, that Ina was still here, after all these days, that Gracie might just open a door, find the girl watching television…

  Ina looked up from where she sat on the bed, wearing a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt. Her golden-brown hair hung limp and greasy, and she was barefoot. Her mouth opened, disbelief streaked her face.

  Oh, c’mon Gracie had a better getup than that, didn’t she? Apparently not.

  “Gracie?”

  And that’s when Gracie saw the black eye, the bruised, swollen lip.

  “I knew it.” Gracie closed the door behind her, latched it. “Get your stuff.”

  Ina’s eyes widened, and she appeared as if she might cave in on herself, simply vanish right there in the middle of the mussed double bed. “No, I can’t.”

  Gracie picked up her tennis shoes, plunked them on the bed. “Now. We’re leaving—”

  “You don’t understand….” Ina’s voice came out in a whisper. “I can’t.”

  “Your parents are safe.”

  This seemed to make a difference because Ina’s entire face changed. She went from scared and withdrawn to the Energizer Bunny. Grabbing her shoes, she opened them and shoved her feet in without socks. “Where? What do you mean? How did you find me?” Tears rushed out, and she brushed them away the palm of her hand. “How’s my papa?”

  “He’s going to be okay. And they’re safe. I promise. But they’re worried about you.” Gracie reached out to help her from the bed. “We need to leave.”

  But Ina didn’t move, or maybe couldn’t move, caught right then in the memory, the horror. “I…I just stood there, while they hit him. And I didn’t care what happened to me. I just wanted it to be over.” She emitted a full sob now, and covered her mouth with both hands.

  Gracie stared at her, not sure what to say. But she knew, oh, she knew exactly how it felt to watch someone you love hurt, even dying before her eyes, and not know how to stop it. Yeah, she knew the shock, the disbelief. Her throat tightened. “He understands, Ina. They both do. And I’m going to take you to see them, but we need to leave. Right. Now.” She turned to the door.

  But so much for their flawless mission, because the lock had already disengaged, and the door clicked open.

  “Jorge,” Ina whispered.

  Gracie simply…reacted, as if on autopilot. She rushed the door as it began to open. Just ran straight past Ina, and with all her strength, rammed both hands into the door. It slammed on the hand of whoever had tried to enter and Gracie heard a howl, and some nasty Russian words on the other side. Retaliation came next, full out and more than Gracie expected because the door banged open, pushing her to the floor, right into Ina’s arms.

  It wasn’t Jorge. Which might have been good news except for the fact that Gracie recognized this man. She’d already met tall, creepy Kosta Sokolov and she desperately hoped he still had a nasty bruise in the well of his neck where she’d speared him hard enough to make her getaway.

  Confirming, once and for all, that her disguise hadn’t fooled a soul, he smirked. Either that, or seeing his terrified captive cowering behind the housekeeper made him downright giddy.

  Gracie hadn’t notice before, but Sokolov had silver teeth. Two of them, right where his eyeteeth might have been.

  “Going somewhere, Ina?” he asked in Russian.

  Surprise, surprise, the girl had some fight left in her because she stood up and spit at him.

  Sokolov slapped her, hard, right on all those bruises, spinning her. She smacked against the wall and went down.

  Oy.

  Gracie looked up at him. If Vicktor decided to walk in right now, she’d never ever again complain about his overprotectiveness.

  Some time to see the light. All the same she offered a prayer, something short and to the point, to that effect as Sokolov advanced on her.

  Gracie held up her hand—she wasn’t sure why, maybe in some feeble gesture to ward off one of those head-pounding slaps he’d just given Ina. The girl still lay crumpled on the floor, holding her now-bleeding face, whimpering.

  “Get away from me,” Gracie said in English, scooting back, then bouncing to her feet.

  Sokolov laughed.

  Gracie kicked at him. Yeah, she’d taken a couple self-defense classes when she got stateside—part of her therapy—but this came from pure adrenaline, and two-hundred-percent panic.

  It might have worked if Sokolov hadn’t taken karate or something of that nature, because he reacted fast and deflected her kick, knocking her off balance.

  He brought his hand backward, and Gracie saw jewelry and a fist.

  This was going to hurt. Gracie didn’t bother holding back a scream.

  Wonder of wonders, it worked. Because as Sokolov lunged for her, as she fled, the door opened and there was Mae.

  Holding a gun.

  A gun?

  “Stop!”

  Mae got Sokolov’s attention—she’d probably gotten the entire hotel’s attention with her volume. But mostly she got Gracie’s attention because she leveled the gun straight at Sokolov’s head.

  He glared at her. She didn’t even blink.

  Mae was Gracie’s hero, hands down. She definitely wanted to be like her when she grew up.

  “Gracie, come here.”

  “When did you get a gun?”

  “It’s mine. I keep it in my car, for emergencies like this.”

  Emergencies? This qualified. But Gracie didn’t move. Because, she
calculated all of about six inches on either side of Sokolov and the wall, and even she saw worst-case scenario in that move. She glanced at Mae.

  Mae apparently could also read minds. “Get over against the wall and sit down in that chair.”

  She wasn’t talking to Gracie, and Sokolov knew it. Gracie climbed over the bed, rushed to Ina as Sokolov obeyed.

  “Get up, get up.” Gracie grabbed the girl by the arm, and hauled her to her feet and then they were past Mae and out the door, running. Because, as it turned out, that was really good advice.

  Mae caught up to them at the stairwell. “Down, down!”

  “Where is he?”

  “Probably taking the elevator. Run!”

  Gracie tore down the stairs, feeling fat and jiggly and hot in the uniform. She tore off the wig, dropping it in the stairwell. “We can’t go out into the lobby!” She heaved open the fourth-floor door, pushing Ina through.

  Mae grabbed her arm. “Not our room, either—they’ll find it!”

  Gracie slumped against the wall and hauled in breaths. Ina still cupped a hand to her bleeding face. “Now what?” Ina asked, her voice tinny.

  Mae looked past Ina to Gracie, breathing just as hard. “We’re waiting, Brains. Now what?”

  Now what? Now what?

  Gracie’s hand went up and rubbed against a little red box secured to the wall. She turned, looked at it and yanked.

  Yeah, two hundred crazy, scared guests, sirens and enough noise to peel the lime-green wallpaper from the wall would effect a very slick escape, if Gracie did say so herself.

  Ina looked at her with wide eyes.

  Mae gave her a smile.

  “Now we find someplace safe,” Gracie said.

  Do you trust God, David?

  The question came to him last night as David had sat on the roof terrace of the Yungs’ three-story home. The breeze had been warm, rustling the spider plants draping from the terra-cotta-and-blue plastic pots. He’d put his feet up on the solid cement railing that ran along the deck, leaned back in the wicker chair and stared at the stars. He knew that he didn’t deserve God’s trust.

  Not after the way he’d practically pounced on Yanna. All these years of cultivating their friendship, of showing her how much he cared about their friendship, and he had to blow it in a moment of…weakness.

  Lord, I told You that was why You needed to keep Yanna on the other side of the world. Because every time I’m with her, I’m just angry and frustrated and—

  Sometimes, he wondered why God even bothered with him. He only made things worse.

  I’m sorry I kissed her.

  Boy, was he sorry. Because if he ever hoped Yanna might see a hint of God’s love for her in the way David treated her, the way he respected her, he’d trampled that hope into tiny crumbs. Her expression, the cold lilt of her voice as she’d told him…thanks? It was nice? Ouch. Only, it had told him exactly how much he’d hurt her so long ago. He felt like crawling back into the hole from whence he came.

  Do you trust God, David?

  He’d traced the sky, identifying the stars in this section of the world, smelling fried dumplings and rice coming from the nearby houses.

  Did he trust God? Enough to let Him have His way in Yanna’s life without interfering?

  He’d closed his eyes. I’m sorry I counterfeited Your love for Yanna, that I didn’t wait for Your yes. I’m sorry that I didn’t trust You enough to love her more than I love her. Please, help me not only keep her safe, but show her Your love.

  He’d heard footsteps then, and a door open. His friend handed him a bottle of lemonade and sat down in an adjoining chair.

  Roman sat in silence, staring at the stars with him. Finally, “You know, when I asked you that question about who is for you in heaven and earth? That’s not my brilliance.”

  “I know,” David said. “It’s from one of the psalms.”

  “Yeah. Psalm 73 to be exact. I love that psalm because it’s about defeat. King David knows God is on his side, but he looks at the world and all that people have, and he wonders if he’s kept his way pure in vain.”

  David said nothing as he drank the lemonade. It contained just enough bite to make him wince.

  “These thoughts sap his energy, and confuse his focus. But then he goes to the house of the Lord, and suddenly, he realizes. He’s been looking at this entire thing from an earthly perspective. There is an ending, and guess what—God’s on the winning side.”

  David began to peel the lemonade sticker off with his thumbnail.

  “‘Surely their way is slippery’, David says, meaning that someday, those who are opposed to God are going to fall. Hard. And permanently. And then King David realizes that even though he’s stumbled into all this negative, false thinking, and probably done a few things he’s not real proud of because of it—”

  David didn’t look at him, just took another drink. But it burned all the way down.

  “—Yet God was still on his side. David calls himself a brute beast—and then says that, even so, God held his right hand. He was with David even in his dark, cluttered, futile thinking. And he’ll be with him all the way to the end.”

  “He says, ‘There is nothing I desire on this earth but the Lord. He will guide me and then bring me to glory.’ King David confirms that though he might make mistakes, even die, God was his portion and strength.”

  David closed his eyes, making himself hear Roman’s words. His portion—enough, and everything David needed to help him be the right man. His strength. The ability to stay the course and do what was right for Yanna, for eternity, instead of the now.

  Roman’s words seemed to be enough, at least then, to remind David of his higher priorities, give him perspective.

  Until, of course, tonight on the way to the opera. In fact, Yanna was surely trying to torment him.

  What was worse, he probably deserved her punishment.

  Right now, he’d rather be letting Kwan and his goons take their best shot at him than be holding out his hand for the very shapely and devastatingly gorgeous Yanna Andrevka to take as she got out of the taxi to the plaza in front of the Taipei concert hall. It had to be some diabolical plot that her black dress fit her like a waterfall, sliding down her lithe body, revealing exactly what he was trying not to notice.

  Hopefully, Kwan wouldn’t notice, either.

  David didn’t like this plan, not at all. But he didn’t have a full hand of choices at the moment. Even Roman had agreed to Yanna’s plan, reinforcing it by agreeing to follow them to the opera with the scooter. Should things go south, David would have a plan B.

  That had clinched it.

  But David wasn’t going to slip again. He had complete focus on keeping her alive, and he wasn’t going to compromise it by getting in the way. Regardless how difficult that might be.

  David let go of her hand and paid the driver.

  Rain had recently fallen, puddling in the cement, and turning the air fresh as it groomed fragrances from the multicolored azaleas in the lush garden outside the concert hall.

  Across the plaza, beyond the booths of hawkers selling trinkets and souvenirs, the Taipei concert hall rose glorious, regal and gleaming with its two-tiered pagoda-style roof, the columns flanked with red sash that ringed the wide hall. It gave David the sense of stepping back in time, to the realm of the great Chinese dynasties, and reminded him that Taiwan and China still fought over who had control, really, of this fourteen-thousand-square-mile island.

  Then again, maybe something so lush and beautiful, so exotic and dangerous and fragile as Taiwan could never truly belong to anyone.

  Yanna hooked her arm around his. “Reminds me of that time we went to Sleeping Beauty at the Bolshoi,” she said.

  Yeah, he remembered that, and how she’d smelled and looked just as incredible then as tonight. How they’d strolled through Red Square, talking about their dreams and plans. How even then, as the wind had played with her dark hair, he was jealous and wanted to put his arm
around her, maybe twine his fingers through all that silk. Tonight, her platinum wig shimmered under the bright lights as they approached the wide steps of the concert hall.

  She gripped his arm, not at all unsteady in her heels but perhaps of the task before them.

  “You ready for this?” Yanna asked through her smile as she retrieved a program from the usher by the door.

  And right then, with the chandelier lights twinkling against the faux-diamond earrings, with her smile so brilliant, her hair like a halo around her, her eyes bright and full of hope, he saw it. Why he was waiting for God’s plans for Yanna. Because Yanna might be beautiful now, but when God took over her heart, she’d be radiant.

  So very worth the wait.

  He took a program. Blew out a breath. Was he ready for this night? Definitely not. Because if he found Kwan, well, he’d have some hard choices to make. Like, did he drag Kwan into a back alley and pry information out of him the old-fashioned way? Or did he do it Yanna’s way—tagging the man with the Velcro-backed transmitter she’d concocted from her bag of tricks, and follow him back to his lair, and hopefully, Elena. What if David caught Kwan talking to Bruce? Who did he strangle first?

  “I don’t know,” David said in answer to her question.

  Big questions, all of which made him pause as they went inside. Yanna turned toward him, putting her hands on his chest, as if fixing the lapels of his suit. “I don’t see Kwan.”

  He put his hands on her bare shoulders, aware of how smooth and soft her skin felt under his touch. “Nothing to the north, either. Maybe he’s already in his box seat.”

  “It’s hard to know what alias he booked the tickets under,” she said. “We’ll have to search the boxes during the performance.”

  She finished smoothing his suit. “You look nice tonight, by the way.”

  He glanced at her, surprised at the approval in her eyes. It made his stupid heart sit up, take notice. “Thanks,” he said, trying to keep happiness out of his voice.

  “I like the blond hair. I’m glad you dyed it back.” She reached up to touch the hard bristles behind his ears. “I’ll never forget your pirate look, however, sea dog.”