Extraordinary Lies

by Jennifer Alsever

  Finally, after what seemed like forever, we landed on a concrete floor and Sabrina led us silently down a tubular hallway lit by buzzing lights that reflected sunbursts in my eyes. I wondered if there was enough air down here. Just thinking about the question made my brow sweat and my chest constrict.

  “Where is everyone? Where the hell are we?” I asked.

  Sabrina hushed me with a flick of her hand, and Julia slowed her pace to walk beside me. She looked confused too. “Just trust her,” Julia said quietly.

  Nerves spun a sticky web around me, when three men emerged from a wooden staircase leading deeper into the earth. Holy smokes. This thing goes further down? The men nodded to Sabrina, and we followed them without a word, each step creaking like a crumbling bridge. My pulse quickened. This was not smart.

  “What are we doing? Where are they?” My voice sounded loud in the small, crowded space, and again, Sabrina hushed me. Maybe Julia liked this woman, but I didn’t. At all.

  Finally, at the base of the stairs, Sabrina pointed down a narrow hallway. It was darker than it was upstairs, and the buzzing sound of the lights swelled in my ears. “Charley, go that way and you will find this Cord person you want. Julia, come with me.”

  I looked at Julia, hesitant to separate from her in that underground maze, but I couldn’t not run to find Cord. I had screwed him big time, taken a piece of lovely pure goodness and just kicked it into a pile of crap.

  My legs moved fluidly, as if they weren’t even connected to me, and skidding around the corner, I came to a metal door with a glass window. Inside a tiny room, a jail cell really, sat Cord on the ground. His hands were tangled in his hair, his elbows resting on his knees.

  I banged on the door, calling his name, but he didn’t look up.

  5

  Katerina

  The trunk door lifted, and cool air swept over me. Stark sunlight bled through the gray clouds, and the two men hovered above me.

  I was not a traditional spy; I hadn’t pursued the KGB, like so many other children of my village. My parents were Party members, and my brother and I were expected to be Party members. Albreight Borek, a friend of my father’s, had approached me when I was eighteen, and invited me to dinner amid porcelain plates and violin minstrels. He told me I was a natural leader, like my father, and that I had a unique opportunity to be part of the elite KGB. I’d be privy to information before it was shared with the public, he’d said, part of a special endeavor to put Marx’s theory into practice and finish what Lenin started. He told me I could help make the world free of oppression. His enthusiasm was infectious.

  My handler took me to the Ukraine, where the Soviets had built an “American town.” There, we were taught how to live secretly as spies in the U.S. I was the nontraditional one, who wouldn’t try to blend in as an American. I could never kick the accent.

  We studied Morse code, cryptography, secret writing with invisible ink, and the art of using microscopes to create microdots—a negative no larger than a square millimeter that could be hidden under a postage stamp. I’d used all of those skills, but obviously I was a terrible spy, because a kid like Henry had spotted me.

  I studied the art of sambo—self-defense without weapons—just like my classmates. The sport entailed moves in which anything went—chokeholds, throws, striking, whatever it took to win.

  Little did I know sambo was going to be the skill that would prove most vital. The skill that could possibly save me in that parking lot in who-knows-where, California. And it wouldn’t be something I used against the Americans. Rather, it would be used against my own comrades.

  Viktor and Ivan knew sambo too, but I had excelled at the sport, winning most matches against men twice my size. Perhaps they had forgotten this when they decided to put me in the trunk of a car instead of simply shooting me in my apartment. Perhaps they weren’t expecting me to spring out of the trunk so quickly.

  I struck Ivan first in the throat with my knuckles and quickly elbowed Viktor in that horridly rounded nose of his. Another punch to his groin made him double over.

  I clambered out of the trunk and jumped to the ground like a cat, light on my feet, taking in my surroundings within the blink of an eye—a paved parking lot somewhere on the outskirts of the city. My adrenaline surged, but I steadied my breath and focused on my mission. Survival.

  Ivan reached for me, and in one swift move, I side-kicked him, jabbing the blade of my foot into his ribcage, a move that allowed me to keep a safe distance from him. A moaning Viktor emerged from the ground holding his testicles, which surely were bruised. A momentary pride soared through me. That is, until a sharp blow from behind seared my neck and brought me to my knees.

  It felt as though a wrecking ball had swung through the air, and like a toppled building, my body crumpled to the ground.

  Ivan hovered above me. I could feel him sneer as he slowly removed a pistol from his hip. Dizzy from the blow, I managed to roll over, wrap my legs around his and pull him onto the ground with me. The move was swift and strong and took him by surprise. I spun over him, grabbed hold of his wrist, and then shoved him down on his back on the pavement by his shoulder, pinning him down with my knee. His strength, for being so short and stout, was remarkable, and my muscles trembled. I struggled and grunted to hold him down.

  I never once believed that the seconds of my life would be numbered—despite the fact that Viktor was rising from the ground behind me. I believed I was going to win. I truly did.

  I tried prying the gun from Ivan’s fingers and dug the nails of my free hand into his collarbone as he attempted to throw me off of him. I bit down on his hand—so hard I heard the crunch of his skin and tendons beneath my teeth—and he dropped the gun.

  Gripping it, I turned and fired two shots at Viktor, who was moving in on me from above. Before he could stand up, I fired one last shot into Ivan’s stomach. The gunshots rang in my ears.

  Ivan grunted and blood spurted, splattering my face. The smell of burnt flesh and gunpowder mingled in the air, and my blouse felt damp with warm, wet blood. Without processing what had just happened, I scrambled to my feet and loped unevenly across the empty parking lot into the hazy sunlight, toward a cluster of skyscrapers in the distance.

  I staggered for miles. Toward the city, blood on my blouse, one heel broken. Past Nob Hill to San Francisco’s gritty Tenderloin neighborhood. Beneath an awning announcing Live Nude Girls and past a sign that simply said bar. Gasping, I brushed past a man in heels and a sparkling miniskirt and breezed past alleyways with shadows that stretched like arms. Then, finally, the familiar white building came into view amid crumbling bricks and the urine-stained sidewalk.

  I climbed the stairs to the apartment. Breathless. Bloody. Desperate. I banged hard on the wooden door, igniting pain from the open wounds on my knuckles. Following the sound of a few uneven thumping steps, the door creaked open.

  Dr. Carrillo smiled. Her lips were chapped and one of those canine teeth poked over her lip. I hoped I was safe.

  6

  Julia

  Sabrina ushered me into a tiny, square room with a low ceiling and one light bulb above. It smelled of wet earth, and my feet scuffed the concrete floor. I still couldn’t understand why we were there.

  Sabrina finally spoke, introducing the men. “This is Sgt. Hansen, Comrade Nikolay Vasiliev.” She tilted her head toward the hallway. “And Dr. Strong.”

  I paused with my mouth open as the burly scientist appeared from around the corner. He leaned in the doorway, and relief shot through me.

  “Oh my God! You’re here!” I said. Everything was going to be okay.

  But he looked different, as if someone had wiped all expression off his face—like my aunt. Surely, he had come to find the others.

  “Julia, you are finally going to be on the right side of history,” he said, clapping his hands. He motioned for me to sit on a metal chair in the middle of the room. Slowly, feeling beyond confused, I did. What could he possibly tell me that was we
irder than this?

  “Where’s Charley?” I asked with sudden concern.

  “She’s with Cord,” Sabrina said.

  “I’m sure you’re curious, kiddo,” he said, still leaning against the doorjamb. Sgt. Hansen and that Vasiliev guy stood on either side of my chair, and the hair on my neck rose.

  “You see, I spotted you early on. At least a year ago. I waited for the moment you might show signs of your psychic abilities,” he said. “Your aunt had already informed us of you. But I made sure that I was there the day you had your parking lot episode.”

  The air squeezed my chest. He watched me?

  “We wanted to see you display your skills in a safe environment, learn more about the Americans.”

  Confusion settled over me. He was American. I looked to my aunt, my flag of Cavanaugh strength and kindness. But she stood like a statue watching me, offering no comfort, no explanation.

  Then things fell into place. A puzzle picture that wasn’t clear until that moment. This was a plan. A plot?

  “What the hell is going on?” I asked. My voice didn’t sound like me. Not the usual feather sound, but rather a roar.

  He didn’t respond to my question. “We made sure you’d come.” He waved his hands like a conductor before pointing to Aunt Sabrina dramatically. “It has been spectacular to see your growth and how you’ve been so brave.”

  “I don’t get it.” I pursed my lips and began to stand up. The firm hand belonging to that Vasiliev guy held me down. Fear traced crooked lines across my neck.

  The two men beside my chair shifted their feet and the gravity of what Dr. Strong said settled in.

  They were serious.

  Aunt Sabrina leaned forward, her voice was lower, harsher than I had ever heard before. Unfamiliar. “You are now property of Mother Russia. Just like your friends.”

  Every truth and reality I knew crashed together in my mind. Lightning. That’s all I felt inside. An unfamiliar and sudden shock.

  “What?” I asked. That was the most intelligent thing I could muster.

  I didn’t understand her transformation. I’d always seen inside her a powerful woman and the last person to change her stance, change her opinion of the world. I couldn’t imagine how she’d change enough to kidnap her own niece. It made no sense.

  A small smile climbed up the side of her cheek.

  “Sabrina!” I called to her, pleading. She gazed back at me with no emotion. Unfamiliar. Stoic.

  I tried to stand up again, struggling against the two men’s grip. They lifted me by my armpits and dropped me onto the concrete. Pain pierced my back.

  This was crazy. I had come all this way to save her. Sabrina had lied. She’d stolen my trust. Why?

  “What are you thinking?” I asked. “Sabrina! What happened to you?”

  Her jaw looked hard. She was made of stone. “You will work for Mother Russia and you will use your gifts to destroy the scourge of capitalism.”

  This seemed to be an imposter, not my Aunt Sabrina. Ungrateful for her rescue, a completely different person than the person I had known as a girl. “You’re my family. I came to … help you.” I sputtered the words and the room spun.

  A flurry of emotions rode on a freight train through me: confusion, then understanding, then betrayal, and finally anger.

  The silvery stars appeared, those little flecks in my vision, a preview of another psychic episode. It went beyond humiliation and anger. My emotions roiled into a windstorm.

  A misty heat flushed my skin, pulsing and rushing from my heart to fingertips to cheeks, to the crown of my head. I gritted my teeth and willed my psychic abilities to rise to the surface. The light overhead rattled and then shattered with a loud crack. The room went dark, and I growled with a deep fury that rose from my chest. I wanted to breathe chaos into everything.

  But my psychic tantrum came to a screeching halt. My ears! Unbelievable pain pierced and stabbed like needles through my eardrum. I yelped, covered my ears, shut my eyes, threw my head to my knees.

  After a few seconds, the pain dissipated and something dripped from my right ear. I touched my cheek with my fingertips and looked: dark red blood.

  “Your psychic abilities are pretty good, Julia.” Sabrina’s voice sounded far away, like she was in another room. “But mine are better.”

  She pointed to a small black box in the corner of the room. “We’ve got the latest silicon technology. It detects changes in seismic pressure. If the ground trembles, even the tiniest bit, I’ll know. That means a big earache for you.”

  She leaned forward again, inches from where I sat on the ground. Her breath smelled stale. “Be a good girl.”

  7

  Charley

  Completely freaking out. That was me. I banged on the window hard with my fist, but Cord didn’t seem to hear me. Why in the hell didn’t he hear me? Eventually, he happened to glance over, and I was so relieved that I let all the air out of my lungs. He was okay.

  “Cord!” I said through a smile. His face shined in response, but then his expression shifted. His eyebrows scrunched together and his mouth twisted up. I wondered for a second if he was still mad at me.

  Then he jumped up and ran to the door, slamming his hands onto the glass. Startled, I didn’t really get the chance to make sense of it all because two hands touched me from behind, and I craned my neck to see who was there.

  A man—gangly and smelling like some sort of chemical—grabbed both my arms tight. Questions flew from my mouth, a waterfall of emotion. “What’s wrong with him? Do you have a key? Where are the others?”

  He didn’t answer me, and instead he just yanked me down the hallway. His grip ate into my arms, and I yelled. “Hey! What the heck are you doing? Let me go!”

  “Come with me.” His thick, guttural accent told me that this was all wrong. We hadn’t come here to save these people; Julia and I came to join them. Now, we were going to die.

  I was caged just like everyone else, held in this dark, damp, concrete room. Of course I completely lost my mind over the fact that we were actually in this hole, stuck, held hostage. How did this happen? How were we so stupid? I held my head in my hands and tugged at my hair. Guilt was everywhere. That remorse crawled all over me, tickling and itching my skin. For a moment, I thought I might puke. I’d sent good people here because, as usual, I was all about me. Only me.

  Henry. I thought of him and wondered where he was, if he was on some jet with loads of cash by then. I’d only seen a flash of his true aura in that first moment we kissed. Henry was no amateur psychic. He was sneaky and skilled. I saw his mother’s abandonment, the scorching fire that burned his heart down to a mere charred vessel. I’d seen a bunch of those foster homes he’d been stuck in. The creepy guy with the hairy chest who put him a cellar instead of sending him to school. The lady with the polyester pink suits who smothered him with questions, sitting too close on the sofa and trying to get him into her bed. Those people were supposed to be parents, and they totally messed with him.

  I’d seen those things that night, but he had abilities way beyond me, because he blocked me from seeing anything else. He’d yanked down a psychic wall so I couldn’t see all of him.

  Sure, I knew he was bad, but bad always jerked me by the collar and pulled me in. I only knew cutdowns and nasty comments, those sideways verbal slaps that left you questioning if it really happened or not. I was drawn to hot and bad and dirty and wrong. And that was Henry, and he made sense.

  I thought of Cord, and worried for a moment that he really hadn’t heard me when I knocked on his door, that somehow along the way he’d grown deaf. What. In. The Hell. Are. We. Doing. Here?

  That stupid guy with the big, biting hands passed my little cell and I scurried to the door, banged on it, yelled for him to let me out. As if it would do any good.

  For being psychic, you’d think we would know how to get out of this hole. Who was behind this Fairmont Industries? And why did they want us here?

  My only
hope was seeing Henry and convincing him to let us go, digging in to his subconscious of weird abuse and mommy issues. I had to figure out how to get out of here. I had gotten us into this mess. I had to get us out.

  8

  Henry

  Dammit. I had waited a good forty-five minutes. The guys were late. If I hadn’t had so much cash waiting, I would have skipped out of there right then. I’d provided Annie with the goods. I’d managed to take Katerina’s place and gather intelligence on SRI and the CIA using Charley’s and my own skills.

  Now it was time for them to pay me for the last haul.

  It was a bonus, tacked onto the job I was originally hired for by Annie. She had caught wind of my abilities and found me in Chicago. She recognized, even back then, that I was way better than these other fools trapped by SRI. But I didn’t buy in to her offer easy. I snubbed her. Of course, unless I had at least an extra five hundred thousand dollars cash. Now I’d have an extra bonus from the Commies Viktor and Ivan, too, for collecting all that killer American intelligence.

  I looked at my watch. Did I get the time wrong?

  Finally, two shadowy figures emerged down the street. I stood up straighter, trying to opt for a spy swagger, as the two men grew closer. Like Abbott and Costello, one stumpy and squat and the other tall and lean.

  Except they weren’t Viktor and Ivan. They were some other guys dressed in dark suits. They passed me, and I leaned against the light post again. Viktor and Ivan were really goddamn late. And I was pretty goddamn mad.