I suggested Julia and I hitchhike to get to her aunt faster. Just when my thumb began to ache from holding it out to passing cars, one finally took mercy on us.
A man in his sixties, driving a square-looking orange car, stuck his head out the window, twisting to see us behind him. A ring of wild white hair encircled a balding head.
He chatted nonstop about President Nixon and the upcoming opening of the new Walt Disney World theme park in Florida. We drove past grassland, wild horses, and farm equipment that sat beneath a bending blue sky that curved like a globe.
My heart pounded, nervous that we’d never find the secret place her aunt had suggested.
“It should be just ahead,” Julia said. I had no idea how she knew where she was going.
But just as she predicted, the silhouette of a young woman interrupted the vast blue horizon. We asked the driver to stop, and he did with no questions asked. Julia practically tumbled out of the car and I scooted out after her. We raised our hands to shield against the sun and gazed at the woman. No way.
The smell of dust and alfalfa swirled in the air and the sun burned my skin. She waited in the vast open prairie, wearing a plain dress. A breeze blew her brown hair across her face.
I didn’t need Julia to tell me. It was Sabrina.
Part II
Lies
HENRY
For most of the pathetic people of the world, lies and secrets eventually eat away at your soul, gnawing into your core like a bunch of hungry cockroaches.
I call bullshit. I mean, clearly, telling the truth is easier. You don’t have to remember anything. See, the world rewards the cunning. And I’d like to think I was a genius at just that—hiding who I was, getting people under the ether, manipulating the mind with a single touch and a few choice words. In fact, after enough years, I didn’t even know what the truth was. I created my own truth.
That gave me a unique power. Made me a sort of king. A commanding touch. An invincible power. A supernatural king, sitting atop a throne of beautiful lies.
1
Julia
I ran, squealing, to Sabrina on the dusty road with arms outstretched. I wrapped my arms around her body, thin and wilted. It was so strange to see her in person, to feel her. To be as tall as she was. To see the smooth skin replaced by weathered dry patches. To smell the sleep and dirt and chemicals on her wiry hair.
“You’re exactly where you said you would be!” I gushed.
When I released her from the hug, something flashed across her face. A grimace? A sneer? “Are you okay? Did they hurt you again?” I asked.
“Yes.” Her voice sounded like the thud of a heavy block.
Not more pain for her. My chest squeezed tight, guilt thrashing against my ribcage. I let go and scanned her visible skin. Arms. Legs. Neck. Cheeks. Searching for bruises and blood, scrapes and abrasions.
But I saw nothing. Still, I needed her to get to a hospital. I couldn’t imagine what she’d been through. I wondered if I’d ever know the secrets of her story.
“Well, we’ll get you home,” I said. It was so bizarre to be the grown-up. The one to assure her she was safe. I only knew her as a child looking up to her. Glowing, youthful, strong. “You’re safe now,” I whispered.
I searched her empty eyes, and she nodded slowly. She stood stock still in that drab, cotton dress that hung to her shins—it looked so much like a nightgown. She gazed at me with that vacant expression, as if she couldn’t believe I was real.
“You’re safe!” I said again, jumping up and down. A giggle escaped me, and emotion curled inside my throat. I just reunited with my aunt after ten years!
“Where are the others?” Charley asked.
Sabrina looked at Charley and squinted, as if it never occurred to her someone else was standing here the whole time.
“This is Charley,” I explained, gesturing. Charley raised a single hand and looked my aunt up and down.
The boxy orange car containing the man with white hair drove off, and the three of us watched silently as he left us alone on the dusty road. I hadn’t considered what would happen next.
Standing there in the hot sun, something struck me about Sabrina. Her stoic nature, her lack of enthusiasm. She’d been found! I stumbled over that thought, watching her examine Charley. She had just walked out of captivity after a decade. How, after all these years? It was too easy.
“So… Where are the others?” Charley repeated slowly—and patronizingly.
“Others?” Sabrina asked. She blinked slowly.
A profound sadness opened up inside me. She wasn’t the same. When I was a girl, my aunt had this light in her eye, an easy smile. Now, she looked right through me. She was broken, like a forgotten doll. Could she be fixed?
After a long moment, in which Charley waited impatiently for her to answer, Sabrina nodded again. It was as if her mind moved at a different speed, twice as slow as ours. “Yes. The others. I’ll show you.”
Sabrina led us to a Jeep that I hadn’t noticed was parked amid tall grass. Relieved we weren’t simply standing there with no ride, the revelation of the Jeep still made me uneasy.
She was held captive but yet she had a car.
Charley and I exchanged a hesitant look and followed slowly. This was Aunt Sabrina, after all. We had to trust her. I had no idea how someone was expected to react after years of captivity.
Aunt Sabrina drove, and we had no idea where we were going and what we’d find.
For several minutes, we crossed the barren, bumpy landscape in the Jeep, the roar of the engine making it too loud to talk. Dust billowed up behind us.
I had so many questions. How had she even arrived in this situation? Who had been holding her hostage, and where? Relief tangled with questions and doubts like a knotted silk sash.
After a few miles, she stopped the car. We were still in the middle of nowhere.
“What’re we doing?” I asked, suddenly regretting the fact that we told no one what we were doing—not Dr. Carrillo, not our parents, not the police, not the Army.
There, amid the grass, sat a large metal disk. It looked like a manhole cover for a sewer.
My aunt pointed. “Your friends are down there.”
2
Katerina
I had inklings that I was in danger that first night Charley came to the club and Viktor and Ivan arrived, demanding answers. But even when I knew my death was imminent, I pretended not to notice.
I had told Charley that I’d been kicked out of the program and that I would go home to Bulgaria, but the truth was Dr. Strong knew I was a traitor. And I soon knew my life would be over if I didn’t run. I had planned to obtain a fake passport and leave immediately—dissolve, anonymously, into the bustle of American life.
I had known Julia was at risk, and when I couldn’t reach her by phone, I tried Charley and warned her about Sabrina. I told her not to call the police; Mother Russia had moles everywhere—including the American police force.
My suitcase in hand, the telephone receiver in the other, I never had the chance to run. Someone had grabbed me from behind, covered my mouth with a cloth, and the world vanished.
When I woke up, I was trapped in a very dark place. The smell of dust and plastic felt familiar. I sat up and banged my head on something hard. The space rumbled and jostled me, and I realized I was locked inside a trunk.
I felt consumed by terror. Viktor and Ivan would take me and kill me, somewhere they could easily dispose of my body.
This was what we were trained to do as KGB spies.
In Bulgaria, I’d held all of the correct beliefs. And initially I’d been thrilled to be part of the mission to infiltrate the SRI study. I learned the magic tricks as a way to imitate psychic abilities, but my handlers decided that I should keep my Bulgarian culture authentic. At first, my enthusiasm about savoring the freedoms found in America was false. Somewhat like a role on a stage.
But soon I had begun to enjoy the true joys of such freedom. I had my first Coca-Cola and b
ought my first American cigarettes: a pack of Kents. I enjoyed the endless shows on television. The variety of music. The rows of stores with clothing. The ability to go anywhere without anyone checking or monitoring what you say or do. The American people, too, were so welcoming, and I reveled in intellectual curiosity.
A year into my U.S. assignment, I was no longer acting; I’d grown truly enamored with this new country. The prospect of completing my various missions and returning home to a Communist regime made me feel as if I would be going to prison for life.
I had stopped sleeping. I stopped eating. I had started to feel guilty for my work and even my most recent weeks of infiltrating SRI. I didn’t trust Henry, but I got to know Dr. Carrillo, Julia, Charley, Minnie, Samuel, and Cord, and I liked them. The Americans were not bad people, as told to me by my country’s fathers.
Of course, I wasn’t your typical KGB recruit; I’d become a spy in a most nontraditional way. My father was a member of the Party and socialized with the uppermost echelons of the organization. I was indoctrinated in Marxism-Leninism, taught that through Communism, the working class had taken its rightful leadership role in the Soviet Union and the Eastern Bloc countries.
Throughout, doubts had hovered deep within me, a beautiful coral reef I was told never to view, never to dive down and explore. Those ideas were to stay hidden below the surface of my mind.
Yet, my leaders seemed so unintelligent and boring. They had no convincing answers to the question of the meaning of life.
During my training, however, I never looked down, never saw the beauty of freedom. I kept my gaze on the horizon, seeing only my future path in Communism.
Though my father sung the praises of the Party, his sharp tongue and even sharper hand made him a woefully unpleasant man—ultimately a poor representative of those philosophies. And the impoverished, fearful, and silenced Bulgarian people failed to give me much hope.
Marxism-Leninism was what I had been taught, yet these ideas never cemented inside my soul.
Eventually I had stopped delivering classified documents and photos. I stopped doing my drops for Viktor and Ivan. I knew that it would come back to haunt me, but I felt affection for Dr. Carrillo and the team. I became fond of the jovial baker down the street. My cranky landlady next door. The man who walked his dog past my window every morning. The hippies dancing in the park.
I thought of all this as I lay curled up in the trunk of the car, listening to the squeak of the brakes, the rattle of the metal trunk door, and the hum of the engine. I waited for the telltale sound of tires grinding on gravel or dirt, the slowing of the car, the engine halting, the doors opening and slamming shut, the sound of men’s footsteps growing closer, and finally the click and the squeak of the door to the trunk.
My decision to switch sides had finally caught up to me.
3
Henry
Sometimes life was won by serendipity. That, and a bunch of horseshit.
I had thought about this idea the day I ditched SRI and gathered my sunglasses and the manila envelope off the desk in my room. My phone had rung again. The shrill sound irritated, just like Charley.
Finally, on the fourth ring, I had picked it up.
“I thought you left town or something. You just disappeared.” Her voice had sounded so needy and whiny.
“Charley, I gotta go.”
“What’re you gonna do with the information I got you from those generals?”
“Listen, I’ll come get you in a few hours,” I had lied. Hanging up the phone felt like wiping a chalkboard clean. That little slut was finally outta my hair. But of course, I would miss banging her.
Charley had been easy to manipulate, just like the others. Over the years, Ma and I had gotten people to sell their houses for cheap by causing orbs to fly in their bedrooms. That had been my whole thing for a long time, just freaking people out. I was a walking poltergeist, scaring them into heart attacks, leaving jobs, whatever it took to make us a buck.
Ma knew how to use people and toss them out once she’d squeezed enough out of them. I never thought that would’ve included me, too. But when she got caught up in some deal with the Chicago mob and the police pressed her, it was me she blamed for the death of that judge. I was twelve and ended up living in juvie for six months.
After that I was on my own, in and outta foster homes. I’d shake things up when I didn’t get what I wanted. You know, cash for some dope, or if they tried to put a bunch of rules on me and punish me for skipping school or shaking down neighborhood kids. I’d pull the old poltergeist, and the foster parents would turn me back to child services. I’d go to a new house full of bleeding-heart dimwits or asshole pervs. No other house could replace Ma’s, but she’d disappeared with no forwarding address.
While other kids studied science and practiced baseball, I focused on getting better at what I had inside me. I had learned to block other psychics from seeing my aura, and had gotten pretty good at seeing people’s weaknesses through dreams. But the one that paid off handsomely for me this time was mind control, the pinnacle of psychokinesis. It was what all those nerdy scientists were looking for, what the spy agencies wanted, what everyone wanted. And I had it.
All it took was a hand on the shoulder and—wham—I put my thoughts into their tiny pea brains. It had worked on all of them at SRI—except Julia. She only got the inkling at times, like when I had to nudge her along during the episode at the park.
When I took the job at Fairmont Industries, they had told me Julia Cavanaugh was the prime target, perhaps the biggest find. But I had to check out the others, too, to ensure I wasn’t missing a good one.
The plan was to get close to her, to get her “under the ether,” or into that fuzzy state where she would be a mix of emotions. At that point, her intelligence wouldn’t matter—I would be able to simply touch her shoulder and implant my thoughts inside her brain.
Psychic manipulation was a lot like acting. I played a character, anyone you’d want me to be, and I’d be legitimate. Confident. Or maybe, even, clueless. And I had to admit, she was so submissive and quiet that I figured it wouldn’t take long before I got her. The telltale sign of a mark falling for my touch: their voices would get high-pitched and squeaky. When I’d hear that, I knew I’d won.
But Julia didn’t react. Didn’t submit initially. She brushed off my hand, and for a minute I wondered if maybe I had lost it. If I just couldn’t pull off this job for Annie at Fairmont. Turns out it was just Julia. She wouldn’t budge. Cold as ice, that girl.
I had to shift course and get to the others.
I knew Fairmont was working with Katerina, and I was surprised the others didn’t see her as a liar right away. The signs should have been easy to spot: the long pause after you asked her a question. Or when she’d hide her mouth or swallow big before answering a question. The way she’d move a few strands of hair behind her ear when she spoke.
Katerina became my next target. I knew she was failing to deliver secret data on SRI, so I figured I’d zero in on that and get a piece for myself, prove my value as more than a Fairmont catch-and-release pro.
I took advantage of the little break-in the kids arranged to use the Faraday cage too. Inside Dr. Carrillo’s office that night, I found myself a pile of great documents about SRI, the research, the plans with the CIA, the Army’s interest in creating an entire psychic division for spying. I copied it all down. All I had left to do was to figure out who Katerina’s point person was. Then I’d sell my information to her people and put her out of a job.
Opportunities presented themselves everywhere. The human collection job for Fairmont. Cashing in on Katerina’s ineptitude. Charley’s touch giving me a little extra data to play with and sell to the highest bidder. It had been so incredibly easy.
At four o’clock the next day, I arrived at the meeting place, which Katerina gave up without knowing—with just a touch. I stood by the lamppost, waiting. Like a real goddamn spy. I chuckled to myself and lit a cigare
tte.
The fog smelled salty like the ocean. Classic San Francisco. I’d run lots of psychic cons over the years, but this one had worked out more perfectly than any other. I zigged and zagged as I saw fit, and now here I was, waiting for freaking Russian spies Viktor and Ivan to deliver my cash for the data on SRI, the CIA, and the Americans. My goddamn Americans.
I took a few drags on the cigarette before dropping the butt on the sidewalk. I stamped it with the heel of my boot and looked at my watch. They were late. I thought spies were always punctual.
4
Charley
Julia obviously trusted this woman with her whole heart, and Julia was psychic after all. But something was off with Sabrina, and I didn’t like the idea of going underground to find Cord and the others.
We stood above the manhole cover, the sun beating down on our skin, baking us. Julia and I looked at each other warily, unsure of what to do. This wasn’t what I expected. At. All.
“I don’t know…” I said, squinting at the dusty metal disc on the ground.
“Why down there?” Julia asked, glancing between the opening and her aunt.
Sabrina shook her head, only replying: “They’re there.”
But really, Julia and I both knew. We had no other choice. No one else knew where our SRI friends had disappeared to—no one but Henry.
One by one, the three of us climbed down hot metal rungs of a ladder that stretched far beneath the ground. Soon I couldn’t see my hands in the dark, and the overwhelming smell of body odor nearly made me puke.
I breathed through my mouth to avoid the stench and followed Julia and Sabrina. This was weird. Flat-out weird, and not at all what I’d expected. I had hoped that the others had gone off to some beautiful, sunny building with rose gardens and benches. A place where pretty scientists fed them ice cream and they watched romantic movies at night with popcorn, cuddled on cushy sofas. That’s what I had wanted to believe, what I tried to convince myself when I was doing Henry’s underhanded deeds.
Extraordinary Lies Page 25