by Layton Green
“It is the truth, Andromeda. Whether you to choose to believe it or not.”
“I told you,” she said with a snarl, “that’s not my fucking name.”
Andie lashed out with her foot, overturning the table and shattering the glass. As wine spattered the bottom of the white robes, the Archon opened a palm to reveal a spray of dancing colored lights. The polychromatic display had a mesmeric effect, sucking in Andie’s gaze like a vacuum, but she blinked to clear her head and stalked forward, keeping the Archon’s robes at the edge of her vision. Andie’s hands were up and ready, knees bent, adopting a kickboxer’s stance.
“Intriguing,” the Archon said.
Andie stepped beside the fallen table to attack from a side angle. Uncoiling her body like a spring, she unleashed a powerful side kick, hoping to drive the Archon back, end the fight quickly, and find the exit.
Right before Andie’s kick connected, the robed figure swiveled faster than any opponent Andie had ever faced, sidestepping the kick and letting Andie’s momentum carry her forward. As Andie tried to regain her balance, the Archon slid behind her, and Andie felt a blow just to the right of her neck, above the shoulder blade.
A painful tingling shot through her body, and then she felt nothing at all.
28
“Morning, sunshine.”
Still groggy, Andie groaned as she opened her eyes. Her neck ached as if hit by a sledgehammer. The light was very dim, but once her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she wished she had kept them shut.
She was lying on the damp floor of a room whose pockmarked stone walls, spotted with grime and mildew, looked as if they had stood since the Dark Ages. Across from her, through the grid pattern of an iron portcullis set into the foot-thick wall, she glimpsed a hallway just as grim. Water plopped in the distance, and the dungeon smelled as rank as a sewer.
Steel manacles, bolted to the floor via two-foot lengths of heavy chain, secured her ankles. She managed to stand but barely had room to step away from the wall at her back.
“Over here,” Cal said. “In the guest suite.”
She looked to her left and saw him chained to the back wall of a tiny alcove connected to her cell. A pile of oversize bricks was stacked neatly beside the alcove. She took a step forward, testing her manacles. They felt as solid as they looked. “How’d you get here?”
“Someone ambushed me in Dorsoduro. They got my laptop.”
“I’m really sorry. Are you injured?”
“Just a bump on my head and my pride. What about you? Did you meet your mother?”
It was Andie’s turn for silence. “Yeah,” she said finally as the events of the night flooded back. “I met her.”
“Not a Hallmark moment.”
Andie pressed her lips together. “There was a party, a grand ball. Almost everyone was wearing masks . . . and then she walked over to me, just like I remembered her. We talked. She tried to get me to join them.” She swallowed. “She said I had to give them the Star Phone if I wanted to leave.”
“Judging by your present location, I can guess your answer. That must have been hard.”
After releasing a long breath, Andie forced away her emotions and tried to think things through. What if she had intuited the wrong rationale in the email from her mother?
What if the reference to the crystal angel was not an offer to protect Andie but a cry for help herself, from a powerful father figure who was displeased with her?
“Something’s wrong, Cal. She didn’t seem like a prisoner, but I think she’s gotten herself into something she can’t get out of. I think she needs my help.”
“Maybe she’s afraid of that creep in the golden mask.”
“You met the Archon?” When he didn’t respond, she said, “Cal?”
“Yeah. Right before I ended up here. Don’t ask me what happened, because I’m not sure. My memory is foggy for some reason. I think I answered a bunch of questions . . . though I’m not really sure why.” He sounded embarrassed. “I must have been hypnotized. I think I told them everything, then woke up chained to this wall.”
The memory of the encounter with the robed figure caused Andie to shudder. “I think the Archon tried to hypnotize me or something too, then hit me in the brachial plexus when it didn’t work.”
“The brachial plexus?”
“It’s a nerve center that if struck really hard can knock you the hell out.”
“Why do you think—”
Cal cut off at the sound of footsteps splashing through water in the hallway. Both of them fell silent as a man in a white tuxedo and a green plague-doctor mask appeared outside their cell with a tray of food. He was too short to be the Archon. It took him a moment to unlock the padlock securing the iron portcullis, which creaked as it swung open.
The masked figure stepped inside and set the tray by the door. Andie noticed a glass of water, plastic utensils, and a pile of pasta in a white sauce, which smelled delicious.
“Hungry?” the man asked her.
She glared at him.
“I’ll bring this over as soon as I’m finished.” He strode to the pile of oversize bricks next to the alcove, picked two of the bricks up, and set them down at the base of the alcove.
“What the hell are you doing?” Cal said, with a catch in his voice.
“Research has proven time and again,” the man said as he started building a wall to seal off the alcove, “that torture is not the most effective method of eliciting information. The problem is one of veracity. Most people will say or do anything to stop the pain. It’s not very helpful to have prisoners lie or embellish the truth to save their own lives. On the other hand, those rare individuals who can withstand prolonged torture also tend to lie. Invariably, they’re protecting someone or something, a loved one or a cause or a country, that compels them to remain silent or provide false information.”
The entrance to the alcove was quite narrow. The bricks were already stacked a foot high. Cal jerked on his restraints, his eyes roving side to side. “Let me out of here!”
“What has proven effective,” the man continued, “is the torture of someone who the possessor of information cares about.”
“I barely know this guy,” Andie said. “We met all of five days ago.”
The man shrugged. “Even so, we believe you’re the sort of person who will not allow his distress to continue.” She seethed in silence as he stacked brick after brick, slowly hiding Cal from view. “I’ll leave a tiny opening for air to enter, and so you can hear his pleas for help. He’ll dehydrate long before he starves to death. In this damp and humid environment, I estimate four days at most.” When Andie snarled and jerked on her chains, he turned to face her gaze. “As soon as you reveal the location of the Star Phone and we recover the device, you’ll both be released.”
“He’s lying, Andie,” Cal said.
“Let him go,” she said. “Put me in there. He doesn’t know anything.”
“Yes. We know.” He finished walling up the opening, leaving a sliver of space between the bricks and the apex of the alcove. “Let’s hope it doesn’t rain, or the dungeon will become most unpleasant.”
He picked up the tray and set it in front of Andie. She tried to kick it away, but he jerked it back at the last moment. “I wouldn’t do that, unless you want the rats to come. I advise eating everything on the plate, as quickly as possible.”
When he set the tray down again, Andie quivered in rage but didn’t lash out.
“I’ll return in the morning,” he said.
By the end of the second day in captivity, Andie couldn’t take it any longer. She wasn’t sure if two full days had passed; she was going on what their captor had told them, the regularity of the meals, and the toll the imprisonment had taken on Cal.
For the first few hours, she had talked to him, to keep his spirits up and to brainstorm an avenue of escape. As the hopelessness of the situation set in, they had stopped planning for the future, and then gradually, after the first day, stop
ped talking at all. The last time she had called out to him, his voice had grown so weak and hoarse he sounded like an elderly smoker whispering on his deathbed to a priest.
Twice a day, the man in the plague-doctor mask brought in food and water. Andie continued eating and drinking, to keep her strength up and because she believed his claim about the rats. She could hear their scrabbling in the hallway outside the cell, and at times she saw the shadows of their plump gray bodies scuttling across the stone floor. So far, it had rained twice, causing water to rise to her ankles in the cell before it settled into rank puddles. She was cramped and exhausted, and overcome with despair.
Yet she was far better off than Cal.
“He’ll be here soon,” Cal croaked in the near darkness, startling her. It was the first time he had spoken since the last visit.
“I know.”
“Don’t tell him anything. They’re going to kill us anyway. Or at least me.”
She didn’t respond.
“Andie,” he said, trying to make his whisper sound forceful. Instead it cracked at the end, causing him to choke and fall silent. It made her want to cry and scream, and tear her captor’s face off.
“Listen to me,” Cal said, when he regained his voice. “They will not let us go.”
“I’m not going to listen to you die. We’re not getting out of here on our own. I’m telling them where it is.”
“That’s selfish.”
“It’s better than this.”
“What if the Enneagon is as important as they think it is? What if they find it and use it for God knows what?”
“That’s not my problem right now. You are.”
She heard the faint rattle of chains. “Don’t, Andie. Please. They know I’ll never stay quiet, and I don’t want to die for nothing.”
Andie stared in silence across the cell.
Despite the damp conditions and her soaked feet, the cell was hot and humid. Andie had long ago removed her jacket. Each time her captor entered, he wore the same green plague-doctor mask, though he usually changed suits. This time he walked inside wearing a black tuxedo with a peak lapel.
“Are you ready to talk?” he asked her.
She glared at him.
“He won’t last much longer.” He walked over and slapped the bricks of Cal’s prison. “Still with us?”
There was no response, and Andie eyed the set of skeleton keys in her captor’s hand as she prepared for her last desperate attempt at freedom.
“You’re killing him,” the man said.
Andie was lying on her side, her field jacket bunched in her left hand and supporting her head. Though the position of the jacket looked random, it was carefully arranged, and her hand was twisted tightly around one of the cuffs. As their captor bent to set the tray down, Andie raised her head, flicked her left wrist, and snapped the jacket behind his legs, catching the thick cotton of one of the sleeves in her other hand. She almost missed, but she had practiced the movement over and over in the long dull hours of her captivity, and she managed to grasp the cuff between her thumb and index fingers. Before the man could react, she pulled the jacket taut and jerked hard, catching the bottoms of his ankles. He dropped the tray and fell, stumbling within her reach.
Andie released the jacket, grabbed his pant legs, and yanked him toward her. As he twisted to get up, she gripped a handful of hair behind the mask. He shrieked in pain as she pulled him even closer, wrapping her knees around his waist to secure the grip and feeling the hair strain at the roots as she came face-to-face with the snout of the awful mask. She didn’t have a plan except to punch and bite and do whatever else it took to get those keys. As the man bucked to free himself, she threw a straight right that caught him on the jaw, dazing him. She swung again, going for the knockout, but this time he ducked his head, causing her to connect with the top of his skull. Pain flared in her hand. She tried to headbutt him, but he had found his footing, and he pushed hard on her chest as he pried her legs apart and scooted backward, out of reach.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” he said, breathing heavily as he adjusted the mask.
“Go to hell.”
He took off his soaked tuxedo jacket and laid it across his arm. “And you enjoy the rats. I’ll be back tomorrow. Or maybe not.”
As he turned to leave, she swallowed and said, “Wait.”
He took a moment to straighten his cuffs, and she glanced at the brick wall shielding the interior of the alcove from view. The silence on the other side was ominous. “I hid the Star Phone in a restroom,” she said quietly. “On the Dorsoduro side of the Ponte dell’Accademia.”
“Where?”
“Inside a toilet. Third stall from the left. Lift the lid to the tank and you’ll see it.”
She could feel the satisfaction oozing out of him.
“Let him go now,” she said.
“If you’re telling the truth, I’ll return.”
“I said, let him go! He may die before you get back!”
“Then you should have told me sooner.”
Andie cursed and jerked at her manacles as the man spun on his heel to leave. Ever since her capture, she had harbored a foolish hope that they were bluffing, or that her mother would return for her. Andie would never forgive herself if Cal died because she had waited too late to talk.
As their captor walked out of the cell and bent over the padlock to secure it, there was a flash of movement in the hallway. Andie thought she was hallucinating when a tall, sleek form in a wetsuit emerged from the darkness and shoved something into the man’s back. Andie heard an electric crackle as he stiffened and then convulsed, his face pressed against the bars. Still applying the stun gun, Zawadi opened the latch on the iron grate and shoved him inside the cell. She pulled him to the ground, put a knee on his back, and finally clicked off the weapon. He stopped twitching and laid still, his head lolling to the side.
Zawadi ripped the keys off his belt, walked over to Andie, and bent to unlock the manacles securing her ankles.
Once Andie realized Zawadi wasn’t going to kill her, she jerked her head toward the brick wall. “My friend is dying in there! Get him out first! Please!”
“Are four hands not better than two?” Zawadi asked in a rich accent that sounded African. She found a key that fit, the manacles dropped away, and she bent toward the other ankle.
“I suppose you’re right,” Andie said, not caring how or why Zawadi had freed them. She just wanted Cal out of that death box. “Is the guard dead?”
“No. But he won’t stay unconscious for long, and I’d prefer not to kill him.”
As soon as Andie was free, they worked together to rip the bricks down and found Cal slumped against the back wall, breathing shallowly with his chin on his chest. When Andie ran to him, his eyes slowly lifted. She took his hand as Zawadi approached, reaching into a waterproof pouch at her side and handing a bottle of water to Andie. She held the bottle to Cal’s lips and helped him drink as Zawadi worked to free his bonds.
“That’s enough,” Zawadi said. “He won’t be able to handle too much. Stop and give him two white pills from the green bottle.”
“What is it?”
“Adrenaline.”
“How about a Twinkie?” Cal said, with a weak grin.
After Zawadi eased him out of his chains, she rubbed his arms and legs to invigorate them as Andie gave him two of the adrenaline pills and more water.
“The pills take a minute,” Zawadi said. “Can you walk?”
Cal took a shuddering step forward, stumbled, and fell into Zawadi’s arms.
Zawadi put an arm around his shoulder. Andie hurried to support the other side. “Can’t you just make sure the guard sleeps a little longer?”
“It’s not just that. They have strict protocols, and his failure to return will raise an alarm.”
“Where are we going?”
“Away from here. Is the Star Phone really where you said?”
Andie gave her a sharp glance, wo
ndering if Zawadi had freed them only to retrieve the device and kill them herself. Yet if that were the case, and she had overheard the location, why free them at all? Maybe she wanted Andie as insurance, in case she had been lying, and had only freed them to gain their trust.
“It’s okay,” Zawadi said quietly, as if reading her thoughts. “You can hold on to it. But we need it to help Dr. Corwin, if he’s still alive.”
Andie caught her breath. “You think he might be?”
“I haven’t seen him since the day he arrived in Bologna. But I haven’t seen his body either.”
“What about the morgue?”
“The Italian police are still conducting an inquest, and the Ascendants have contacts in high places. No one seems able—or is willing— to tell me exactly where the body is.”
“Are the Ascendants the same as the Leap Year Society?”
“They’re a rival faction. A story for another time.”
“And Professor Rickman? Why did you kill him?”
Andie was hoping Zawadi would deny the charge, but instead she said, “I killed him, yes. But not for the reason you think. He was the one who betrayed James.”
“What? Why? Who are you?”
“Come,” Zawadi said. “We must leave.”
Frustrated, Andie resisted the urge to kick the prone form of their captor on the way out, and they half dragged Cal down the dank, fetid hallway. Zawadi refused to answer more questions and kept glancing at her wristwatch. More cells appeared on either side, and rats chittered in the background. When they approached a sewer grate set into the floor at the end of the corridor, Zawadi eased away from Cal, and Andie supported him as he gripped her shoulder. She thought his eyes looked a little brighter.
Water lapped at the edges of the sewer grate and spilled onto the stone floor. Andie noticed the bolts holding the grate had already been cut. “How’d you know we were down here?”