Seven-Sided Spy

by Hannah Carmack

  It was addressed to Ruth, and it started “Dearest, your silence worries me…” the rest was all sweet nothings of reunions to be had and times long spent together. Tim read silently. An occasional smile crept on his face while going through the pages. Nothing pleased him more than the sap-laden sweetness Ruth and Ronnie shared, even if he was certain that it would have to end and he’d be the one to end it.

  After a few read-throughs, he put the letter down and sat for a minute, letting all the words sink in. He then placed the love letter in a large stack of mail. Tim had been hoarding Ruth and Ronnie’s exchanges for almost a month now. It was as he added the newest letter to the pile that something caught his attention from the corner of the room.

  Tim jumped from his seat, sending papers from the table everywhere in the wind of motion. “Hera, have you just been sitting there?” He was more confused than upset. “How did you even get in here?”

  “What did you just call me?”

  The voice startled Tim. He thought it was Hera. He was positive that it had to be Hera, but this voice was not that of the goddess. This voice was husky and cold.

  When she came into the light, Tim saw an operative he had never met, only heard of. She was an androgynous amazon; the corners of her face were delicately angular and framed by a short champagne-blonde pixie cut. Her eyes were that of an eagle, shrewd and prepared to strike at any moment.

  “Not the goddess, but her paramour,” he chided. “Nikola.” Her name left his mouth as though it was a taboo word. “What are you doing here?” Tim could feel his thoughts racing from one point to another. How would a fight play out in this apartment? How many neighbors were home? Were these the types of neighbors who called cops? Could he handle the collateral damage alone? Did she have back up? He thought this all while maintaining his focus on her.

  She tsk’d. “Not like you’re living in Fort Knox here.” No matter how much Tim tried to remain calm, it was clear that she could see his distress. “Calm down, Dresden. I’m here with a business proposal.”

  “A business proposal from whom?” Tim moved cautiously closer, knowing that under his couch cushions was a hunting knife, and wedged in between his collection of Bronté was a semiautomatic pistol.

  “Paramour. Whom.” She rolled her eyes. “Don’t be so proper. I don’t have the time for formalities. We still have two other agents to collect before the night is through. Short and simple? I’m with the KGB now. We want the CIA’s finest thief for our own. Your options are to accept it willingly or be taken by force.” Her sentences were curt.

  “I can’t imagine this to be true,” Tim spoke uncharacteristically sweet and gave a boyish smile. “A woman of your beauty? Your stature? Your articulation? They wouldn’t send someone beautiful as you here to collect a brute like me.” Tim stepped closer to her, staring deep into her hazel eyes, his hand now hovering beside hers.

  Her face went from calculated and aloof confidence to complete distaste. “Ah, my charm and charisma from just a second ago really convinced you, didn’t it? Honestly, Dresden, we suspected you wouldn’t come willingly. It’s refreshing to see you’re still a scumbag.”

  “Still into broads then?”

  “Even if I wasn’t, your act wouldn’t have worked.” She followed Tim’s gaze around the room before speaking again. “Stop casing the room. We did a sweep. The overly decorated hunting knife is gone, as is your pistol. As well as the gallon of homemade napalm we found in your back room. What’s the story on that?”

  Tim went silent. He wanted to know how they found him. He blamed this all on Hera, of course. On his own, Tim was a spy of minor notoriety, known for his stealth and thievery, but nothing on a truly grand scale. What could he do for the KGB except provide access to her?

  “I’m required to at least allow you to hear the offer before I beat you black and blue. So hurry this up.”

  “No, thanks.” Tim smiled the same, hollow smile he’d given Hera earlier that night. “I have no interest in the KGB. I have no interest in being touted around Moscow and the Ukraine and all in its likeness, no interest in the reds, the ruskies. Unless your offer is a complete halt on the arms race and a peaceful, yet fair ending to the cold war, I suggest you look for your Judas elsewhere.”

  Nikola’s eyes sparked with mischief. “That’s all I needed to hear.” She caught him off-guard with a sudden and abrupt swing at his gut, her fist driving into his diaphragm upon landing. Tim doubled over, and within seconds, Nikola was coming in for a second hit. He barely managed to dodge the blow. His entire body swayed as he attempted to regain his balance. He didn’t bother mulling over options. He charged at her and sent her stumbling to the ground. She quickly rolled back to her feet and grabbed the nearest dinette chair. She swung at him. Head still spinning, he turned on his heel and let the chair crash against his back. Nikola held the remains of a chair leg. She jabbed it toward him. Tim spun around again and batted it out of her hand like a mother would a child. His face felt hot, but he was calm and focused. Taking this moment to regain his footing and his breath, he started to calculate.

  “We don’t have to fight,” she taunted, raising her fists in front of her face. She peeked out from behind a few stray strands of hair, and in her eyes, Tim could see a dangerous playfulness.

  He paused, partly considering the offer but mostly taken by her gaze. Women had always been Tim’s weakness, but as soon as she showed even a hint of genuine hesitance in pulling her next punch, Tim bolted for the door. As he ran, he threw the plywood from his makeshift table up in hopes of tripping her, but she lunged over the lumber and instead tackled him from behind. She wasn’t heavy enough to bring him down, so instead she wrapped her legs around his waist and locked her arm around his neck. He twisted and reached for her scalp in a controlled panic. Everything blurred as he lost oxygen. He slammed her back into the interior door of his apartment, but he could feel her grip tightening. He couldn’t breathe, and he knew if he didn’t think fast, he was likely to stop breathing altogether. Desperate, Tim threw himself to the ground, which gave him the chance to work his own hand in to pry her arm from around his neck. He rolled away from her and jumped to his feet, then ran for the door again. But as he touched the handle and pulled, nothing budged. Frantically, he jostled the handle, yanking it harder, but it still did not move. Something or someone was outside the door, holding it in place. Tim swung back around just in time to see Nikola climb to her feet.

  Blood pumping, his head cleared. There were no more options but the fire escape. He had his target in mind and was ready to get the hell out of Dodge. He put his fists out and charged at her. She spun, dodged his strike, and drove a hand into her back holster only to come up empty-handed.

  “Shit.” She looked up to see Tim pointing her own gun at her. “You—” She was cut off by the crack of gunfire. It was a small pistol, but the noise filled the apartment. The bullet barely missed her. “A warning shot, swell.” Nikola then swung for him. He quickly deflected and bashed her right temple with the butt of the gun. She ducked just a second too late as the grip of the gun smacked against her skull and a stream of blood started down her face. She groaned and plowed into him. She slammed her shoulder into his lower abdomen, causing him to drop the gun. As it fell, it went off, breaking through one of the poorly insulated walls.

  Tim shoved Nikola off him, not bothering to swing at her. He was through fighting. He picked up the gun again and shot at her twice. She managed to stumble out of the path of the first bullet, but the second buried itself into her left arm, causing blood to fan out as it exited her flesh. She doubled over, letting out a groan. He shot again, wounding her stomach. She wailed this time. She was down for the time-being. It was enough for him.

  He had her gun. She was on her way out. And more than likely, there’d be other agents coming the longer he waited. He’d rather save his energy and bullets for later. So, he made his way to his fire escape, careful to wipe off his sweaty palms before climbing out the window. He scal
ed the ladder as fast as he could and then landed on the pavement feet-first. Once he turned his back on the apartment complex, he booked it, and that’s when he was shot.

  *

  Dead. It was the first thought on Tim’s mind as he woke in nothingness. If he remembered correctly—and he always remembered correctly—he was definitely dead. He’d been shot, one bullet shattering a spinal column, another ricocheting its way into his chest, and another taking out his liver. That’s when he hit the pavement of the alleyway outside his apartment. Of course, that didn’t make sense. Since he was very much alive, conscious, and cramped in an air ventilation system.

  Tim originally mistook his metallic-hell for the drawers in a morgue, but after a brief crawl in the darkness, Tim could tell this was not a simple drawer. This was a labyrinth of vents and ducts. He was on his stomach, confined and hungry but alive and feeling surprisingly well for someone who should be paralyzed.

  He crawled through the vents, his movements were not aimless, but exploratory. For an easy escape, he needed to find an exterior vent. He kept going over the events of the night he died, the café, the car, Ruth, and the KGB agent. Her name had been Nikola, and although bits and pieces of the memory were fuzzy, Tim was pretty sure she had killed him, not with bullets but afterward. As he bled out on the pavement and tinges of pain sent his body seizing, he remembered her standing over him with long, graceful legs and a calmness in her eyes as she broke his neck. In fact, he was positive of it. He remembered trying to fight her off and the dirty copper taste of blood in his mouth. He tried to shove this unexplainable memory to the back of his mind and carry on.

  After clambering forward for eight or nine minutes, and almost falling five feet into an underground vent shaft, Tim couldn’t fight the questions and honestly, thinking about his unexplained death was easier than crawling around with no end in sight. He lay there, his face barely touching the bottom of the metal vent. He was still trying to figure out the different ways he could have survived the bullets, the injury, the pain, the bleeding, the healing. Based on how he felt, he imagined it could be months, possibly even years since he’d been shot. It was as though he’d never been injured. His back felt fine. His arm wasn’t weak. But most importantly, he wasn’t immobile. He lay there with just the dark as company while trying to figure out the how and the why behind the entire ordeal, but his problem-solving was interrupted by a familiar voice.

  “Tim? Tim?” This sorry excuse of a whisper came from an outside vent. Someone was trying to be quiet but couldn’t resist screaming out. Tim would recognize it anywhere. It was Niccolò –or Da Vinci, as Tim truly knew him. Since, apparently, codenames were no longer in use.

  “Da Vinci,” Tim responded. “Where are we?” Hearing his own voice was like listening to grinding metal. His throat was hoarse. Tim shuffled as fast as he could through the ventilation system toward the source of the noise. His heart pounded. He could feel it shaking his entire chest. “How did we get here?”

  “We’re at some kind of remote KGB facility,” Da Vinci hissed into the vents, his voice painfully restrained. “I took care of the guards. Don’t rush.”

  “So it was real.” Tim spoke more to himself than to Da Vinci. “For someone who was shot five or six times, I feel fantastic.”

  Tim could hear a shift in Da Vinci’s voice. Even though Da Vinci was a fine negotiator and a prime agent for any form of deceit, Tim knew him well enough to recognize when something was wrong.

  “Yeah, they, uh, yeah. They shot me, too. Point-blank.” There was still a soft laugh coming from Da Vinci, but its sadness was inescapable.

  Tim’s heart skipped a beat as he found himself coming upon the exterior vent. It was night, but he could still make out an incredibly roughed-up Da Vinci. He had a black eye and an abundance of bandages around his scalp. His clothes were the same as the night Tim last saw him.

  “All right, Tim, I’m going to be honest with you. When you get out here, you’re going to be startled, and you may even feel…well, knowing you…slightly irritated, possibly uneasy.”

  “It’s okay to say panicked.” The voice that cut in was Hera’s. She was alive, but Tim couldn’t see her.

  “What is going on?” Tim asked. “Do you two have a way to get me out of here, or am I kicking the vent open?”

  “No, it’s fine. We’ve got it.” Hera spoke again, this time she sounded closer. Abruptly, a hand grabbed the exterior vent and yanked it from the wall with little effort. The hand was pale and, based on the view Tim had, coated in some kind of thin resin that was chipping away.

  Moving as fast as he could, Tim pulled himself out of the vent and into the night. Once he hit the ground, his heart stopped. Before him was Hera, still strikingly tall, still clearly pissed off, but severely deformed. Her abhorrent nature gave him pause. Despite the dark, Tim could see her every flaw. Her skin was no longer smooth and peach tinted. Instead, it was dull blue and cracked. In some places, it chipped off completely, revealing membrane and muscle underneath. Tim struggled to find the right words, or any words for that matter.

  It was while gawking that Tim connected two and two. He pressed his chin to his chest and examined himself. His body shared the same blue hue as Hera’s. Around his wrists, clusters of veins were visible just beneath his skin. Underneath his sleeves, the veins carried on to his arms. He shot a quick glance at Da Vinci and then Hera. They were both silent, giving him the time he needed to accept what was happening. Tim’s torso was covered in bandages and something was jutting out of his chest. He yanked his shirt off and began ripping off the binding off. Tim’s stomach turned. More than a quarter of his heart was outside his body. Little metal tubes curled around and protected his ventricles and aorta. At first glance, the organ appeared vulnerable being out in the open, but upon pushing against it, Tim found it hard and reinforced. Although his skin did not chip away like Hera’s, there was something equally disturbing about him.

  Hera glanced over to Da Vinci, but she stopped short of any utterances as Da Vinci signaled her to wait. They stood above Tim, looking down as the waves of horror and disgust and awe all came to pass.

  “What the hell happened?” Tim spoke coolly, as though something very minor and slightly frustrating had just transpired. He pulled his shirt back on and then pushed himself up off the ground. He sized up the facility he’d just escaped. It was a large, looming building with a brick front. It was run of the mill, except for the fact that there was no fence bordering the building, nor walls, just trees among trees. They were surrounded by woods.

  “It’s a hard pill to swallow.” Da Vinci’s voice had a level tone to it. Tim stared at Da Vinci’s bandaged and covered forehead.

  “They really did shoot you point-blank,” Tim said haltingly.

  “Diana, too,” Da Vinci added.

  “Diana?” Tim shifted his attention to her.

  “Diana Riley,” she said coldly. She was mad, but Tim doubted he was the cause.

  “Tim Carroll.” He bowed his head. “Diana, goddess of the hunt. That name is much more suiting.”

  She pressed her lips together, giving the most smile she could in that situation.

  “Any idea how they managed to pull this off? Whatever this is,” Tim asked.

  “A steroid unlike any other from what they’ve told me. Something they came up with while playing with radiation.” Da Vinci started walking away from the facility, and Diana and Tim followed.

  “You’ve talked to them?” Tim kept the suspicion out of his voice.

  “I sustained significantly less injury than you. Since, ya know, bit older, bit more soft. I couldn’t put up as much of a fight. I went down pretty quick, so my recovery time was a lot less. We would have escaped sooner, but you only gained consciousness a few days ago. You probably don’t remember much of the conversations we’ve had over the last couple of days, but you still managed to find your way to the vents, according to plan.” Da Vinci presented a positive spin on an all-around awful situation
.

  “How long have I been out?” Tim’s thoughts drifted back to prearranged plans and business left unattended, of Ruth. There was a woman he’d never forget.

  “At least a few weeks,” Diana cut in, “but we can’t let that distract us. Our main objective is to get ahold of the CIA and lay low for a while in hopes of a cure. We don’t know what the KGB wanted us for, but we can’t risk them finding us again.”

  Tim nodded in agreement, but Da Vinci abruptly stopped, looking between the two of them.

  “Don’t know what they wanted us for? Neither of you listened to the proposition?” Da Vinci asked.

  Tim and Hera exchanged looks before shaking their heads no.

  “Figures.” He laughed. “You two have more in common than you’ll ever let on. It was going to be a super steroid, three CIA agents, three KGB agents, greatest spy team in all of existence, super-human strength, reverse radiation, writing history and claiming notoriety.” Da Vinci’s eyes were huge, and he suppressed a laugh.

  “Greatest spy team in history,” Diana scoffed.

  Da Vinci turned forward again, toward the sea of forest surrounding them. “Where the hell are we supposed to go?”

  “I think the bigger question is: Where are we?” Diana’s words stirred Tim’s thoughts as he examined their surroundings again. Apart from the KGB facility, there was no sign of nearby society. It was an endless abyss of hills. They couldn’t even be sure they were in the States. Tim was uncertain they had anywhere to go with their deformed appearance. Regardless, he chose to move along.