The Profile Match

by Jill Williamson

  There had to be another stairwell.

  I took off and entered the same room Kimbal had. I crossed the same way he had and saw ladder spokes built into the wall in the corner. I consulted my app again and saw that Kimbal was now on the roof, moving toward the main stairwell.

  I began to climb. The ladder stretched the length of three stories, and I went as fast as I could in the dark. At the top, I was able to open a trapdoor. I peered out over the roof. I could see all the way to the little stairwell house. Kimbal was standing there, chatting up the guards.

  He knew these people. He was one of them.

  There was no way I was following him any farther. I’d run into the same problem the Special Forces guys were having. There was no way to subdue without harm unless they could shoot these guys with darts or throw out some sleeping gas. I had no means of doing that.

  I did have my laser, though.

  I took a step down the ladder and let the trapdoor fall closed. The darkness was thick, but I made my way back down until I could clearly see the opening to the fourteenth floor. Then I hooked my elbow around a ladder rung and again consulted the Schema app on my phone.

  Excitement flared in my chest as I looked at the clear layout of the fifteenth floor and counted eight red dots. Three were together in the elevator bay. The other five were inside the apartment. One was in a space connected to the entry door, another in a room at the back of a hallway, two in the room beside it, and the last one in the corner opposite the elevators.

  None of them were moving.

  I pocketed my phone and climbed up until I guessed I was inside the sixteenth floor. When I stopped and checked the app, I saw four red dots: one on the opposite corner from the elevators, two in a corner room adjacent to the elevators, the third moving along the hallway, stopping at each room.

  Kimbal, looking for something or someone.

  I recalled my vision and shivered. Kimbal had come to find me, but I wasn’t even in the apartment. Yet.

  He was going to get himself shot.

  I couldn’t think about that right now. Something else wasn’t right. There were two more people here than Isaac had mentioned. The person opposite the elevators on both floors. Guards posted at corner windows, perhaps?

  Then it hit me. I climbed back up to the trapdoor and checked the schematic on the roof. Four red dots. Three in the stairwell house, and me, in the corner opposite the elevators, adjacent to the stairs. Ha!

  I climbed back down to sixteen. There were three dots in the room down, one in the doorway, the other two moved around the room. They never touched Kimbal, and in the end, Kimbal’s dot left and the other two remained.

  If that had been the League agents, the dots either wouldn’t have moved because they were somehow incapacitated, or they would have attacked Kimbal. Since neither had happened, I figured those dots had to be Grace and Brittany.

  Kimbal went back the way he’d come, toward the stairs, and vanished. I climbed down a few rungs and checked again, found his dot on the stairs. Trying to be careful, I supposed.

  Now was my chance.

  I went back up to sixteen, turned on my phone flashlight, and used my Pop Socket laser to cut a hole in the wall that I thought fed into a closet in the first bedroom. The burning wood made thick white smoke. I tried to fan it away with my other hand, but that threw off my cut, so I prayed no one would notice the smell and kept at it. When I finished, it took a great deal of effort to pry back the outer wall, which was lined with some kind of spray insulation. No wonder it had smelled so badly. I still had to cut through the top and bottom of a couple two-by-fours and around the entire circle again, this time cutting through sheetrock. I was finally able to wrestle the wall section forward into the closet and set it down carefully so it wouldn’t thud against the floor. Once it was steady, I stepped through the hole. It was a tight squeeze and chalky sheetrock smeared over my clothes, but I succeeded. Now I just had to get the girls out.

  I rolled the closet door open and crept to the bedroom door, which had been burned half off. Maybe this was why no one had noticed the smell I’d made cutting that hole.

  My app confirmed that there were still just three dots on this level, so I jogged down the hall and tried the door. It was unlocked. I said a prayer that I’d guessed right and opened it.

  Brittany was sitting on the bed and staring at me like I had two heads. “So, when you said missionary spy, you really meant Jason Borne spy.”

  I couldn’t help but grin.

  “Spencer!” Grace flew at me from the window and grabbed me around the waist. “I knew you’d come.”

  I hugged her back, so, so relieved. “Who’s the best spy ever?” I grinned.

  But she seemed to take me seriously. “I’m so sorry.” Her eyes were glossy, her breath all shaky. “I should have told you before that Brittany found out about us.”

  Yeah, she should have. But I said, “Shh,” instead. “We’ve got to go now. Quickly.” I took her hand and saw grid marks on her arm. I ran my finger over them.

  “He said he was going to make me addicted to the drugs,” Grace’s voice cracked.

  I put my arm around her and pulled her close. “Shh,” I said again, wanting to destroy Davuth Khom and Ponnleu’s aunt. I peeked out the door, then at my app. The coast was clear. I pulled Grace after me and hoped Brittany was coming.

  We made it to the bedroom with the burned door, and when I turned around, thankfully, Brittany was right behind us. I shut the door as best I could, then approached the closet.

  “Like what I did to the door?” Grace whispered.

  “You?” I asked. “How?”

  “Standard Field Opps Kit,” she said. “They took everything else off me but missed the stick of gum.”

  “Nice,” I said, pulling her into the closet.

  “No time for seven minutes in heaven, Spencer,” she said.

  “Very funny.” I let go of her and pulled Brittany in too, then slid the door shut.

  I felt better already. I turned on the phone flashlight and shined it at the hole I’d made. “On the other side of that hole is a ladder that runs down to floor fourteen. We climb down. Then we take the stairs the rest of the way.”

  “What’s that smell?” Brittany asked.

  “Melted insulation, I think,” I told her.

  “It’s gross.” Brittany stepped up to the hole, blocking my light. “I can’t see anything.”

  “You’re going to have to trust me,” I said. “Step back and let me hold the light.”

  We maneuvered awkwardly in the small space, but I eventually managed to wedge myself against the closet door and hold my phone so that it illuminated the ladder.

  “Grace, go first,” I said.

  “Why me?”

  “Because someone has to go first, and you’re the agent.”

  “So are you.”

  “I’m holding the light, Grace. Go, quickly, please.” Girls, anyway. Man.

  Grace went, the gymnast in her easily climbing through the hole and down the rungs. Once Grace was down far enough, I sent Brittany in. Where Grace had gone like an agile cat, Brittany was an elephant. She complained again about the smell. She didn’t want to touch the stinky wall. I waited for her to pull her sleeves down over her hands, which would have taken a normal person two seconds, but Brittany was turning into a major production. When she finally poked her head into the hole, her hair caught on a sliver of wood. She cried out when it pulled—about gave me a heart attack.

  “Do you want to get caught?” I asked her.

  “Sorry!” she whispered.

  I heard a man’s voice in the distance. The bang of a door.

  “They’re coming, Brittany,” I said. “Hurry!”

  I put the phone in my teeth, which made the flashlight shine the wrong way, then I grabbed Brittany around the waist and shoved her out the hole. She shrieked and grabbed my hands instead of the rungs.

  “Put your hand on the ladder,” I mumbled over my mout
h full of cell phone.

  She finally must have, because I felt her weight lighten. “I got it,” she said.

  I let go and shined the light back on her. She stepped one foot out, then the other. Her skirt snagged on the opening. I ripped it free and shoved it through the hole.

  “Go,” I said. “Fast.”

  She started to descend. I pocketed my cell phone and reached through the opening just as the closet door slid open and light flooded the space.

  A man swore, grabbed the waist of my pants, and when that didn’t slow me down, I felt a punch to the back followed by a jolt of electricity. It seized my body. Pulsed through my limbs. I couldn’t move. I was on fire inside. Then the feeling stopped, and I collapsed.

  ● ● ●

  I woke up lying on my side on a hardwood floor, hands tied behind me, staring up at a fancy light fixture. My right arm was trembling, and I remembered the shock.

  A face leaned over me. The Rock, grinning. He held up his hand, displayed my class shock ring on his fat pinky finger. “How did you like it, kid?” he asked.

  “Not so much,” I croaked.

  “Get him up. The helicopter is about to land.” Diane’s voice, coming from behind me.

  Tito and the Rock lifted me, and I settled my feet on a hardwood floor made from different shades of zig-zagging five-inch panels.

  Uh-oh.

  Tito opened the front door. “The chopper is here,” he said, and three thugs came inside.

  “Take my things up,” Diane said. She was sitting on a white couch, dressed in a black skirt suit with knee-high boots, three file boxes and two suitcases on the floor between us.

  The men from the hall grabbed the files and luggage and headed up the stairs. Movement out the window caught my attention. A helicopter passing by. I focused on the buildings below it, recognized them.

  “You have caused me a lot of trouble,” Diane said to me.

  “You’re welcome,” I said.

  A door on the other side of the living room flew open, and Kimbal barged inside, gun in hand. “Stop!” he yelled. “Don’t hurt him!”

  The shot rang out, just like I’d seen in my vision. Kimbal flew back and smacked against the wall. He slid down it, leaving a swath of red over the white paint. He landed oddly, slouched against the wall, lying on his right arm, his left still clutching the gun.

  Tito had fired, still held the gun outright, a satisfied twist to his lips. The Rock descended on Kimbal, yanked the gun out of his hand.

  Wait. Kimbal wasn’t left handed.

  “Liam, Liam. Such a fool.” Diane stood and walked by me, approaching Kimbal where he lay. “Why did you come?”

  “I had to save my nephew,” he said.

  “But you failed,” she said, “and he’s mine now, to use as I please for as long as I decide to keep him alive.” She looked at me. “If you want to live, you will identify the First Twin.”

  “No,” Kimbal said.

  Diane lifted her foot and put her boot on Kimbal’s collarbone, where the blood was pooling. She pressed down, a sneer on her face. “Yes,” she said. “Because I always win.”

  “Not today.” And Kimbal slid his right hand from under him and fired another gun.

  Diane’s body lifted a few inches and blood spattered the ceiling. I jumped. She collapsed at my feet, her eyes wide, shock fixed in her gaze.

  Tito and The Rock gave her one look, then ran up the stairs.

  A breath shuddered from my lips as I stared at Diane’s body. I finally stepped over her and entered the kitchen, saw my cell phone on the kitchen counter. My heart beat was out of control, and my hands were shaking. I spotted a knife block and after several failed attempts, managed to pull one of the smaller knives out with my teeth. I carried it back to Kimbal, knelt on his right side, and dropped it near his hand. “Can you cut the rope?” I turned my back to him and waited.

  It took longer than I would have liked, but he managed the task. Once my hands were free, I ran back to the kitchen, pocketed my cell phone, and grabbed a dish towel. I brought the towel to Kimbal, crouched at his side, and pressed it against the wound. He winced.

  “Hold this,” I said.

  Once Kimbal got his hands on the towel, I called Isaac, told him what had happened, and asked him to send up a medic.

  “Can’t unless you can call an elevator,” he said.

  “I’ll go try.”

  As I walked out to the elevator bay and pressed the down button, Isaac told me Grace and Brittany were on the ground.

  Thank you, God.

  “Now go sit with Kimbal and make sure he doesn’t go anywhere,” Isaac said.

  Kimbal wasn’t going anywhere.

  I didn’t even make it back inside before one of the elevators opened and six Special Forces agents poured out.

  “They’re on the roof,” I said, “trying to catch a ride on a helicopter.”

  As they ran into the apartment, I ducked into the elevator, held the door, and pressed number one. I returned to the hall, waited until the doors closed and the elevation engaged, then hit the call button. Next I set my phone to record, checked to make sure the app was working, and pocketed it.

  Time to tie up some loose ends.

  I went back into the apartment, caught myself staring at Diane’s body again. I covered her with a throw I found on the back of the couch, then knelt beside Kimbal and took over holding the towel.

  “How you doing?” I asked.

  “I don’t think I’ll die,” he said.

  “I told you not to come here,” I said.

  His forehead wrinkled. “I wore a vest.”

  I couldn’t help it. I chuckled. “Nice effort, I guess.”

  “I thought she had you here. When did you show up?”

  “She never had me.” I told him how I’d followed him up the ladder and helped the girls escape. “Brittany took so long getting into the chute, they caught me.”

  Now he was laughing, or a breathy version of laughter, anyway. “That Brittany is a piece of work, isn’t she?”

  I didn’t want to talk about Brittany. “Why do they want the first twin so badly?”

  “Diane had reason to believe the First Twin prophecy was about her. I have no idea why, but she’d stolen enough prophecies to know. She thought the First Twin would destroy the FLF. She thought this person would ruin her.”

  “You’re not the First Twin,” I said. There must be something else. Something only Grace could do. “Why’d you do it? Steal the prophecies?”

  He grimaced. “You wouldn’t understand, superstar that you are.”

  “Me? I have a juvenile record!”

  “I just mean, you’re an only child. You never had to compete with a twin brother who was perfect in every way like Sander is. I thought it would be nice to make some good money for a change, and thwarting Sander felt good. I didn’t think it would matter. Some of his prophecies were so dumb.”

  “It got my mom killed,” I said.

  His eyes flooded with tears. “I met Lisa before your dad did,” he said. “We went on a few dates. I thought things were going well, but she ended it. We stayed friends, though, and I hoped over time, she might feel differently about me. Then I found out she’d been partnered with Sander in the field. It wasn’t a week and they were having dinner after work. She wanted us all to be close—actually thought that was possible. But the more time I spent with her, the more I loved her. We would have been great together, but Sander always got everything.”

  I wasn’t going to play into his self-pity. “That group that wanted to turn my mom against the Mission League, that was you, wasn’t it?”

  “Wrong,” he said. “That’s how the FO spun it. The truth is, Lisa had been investigating me. She was going to expose me to the FO. I couldn’t let that happen, so I turned things around. Started to set up my brother. I thought if Sander got arrested—if she thought he was the dream dealer—maybe she’d give me another chance.”

  “So, you framed my
dad for your crimes.”

  A sad smile. “Your mom was the one to turn in the evidence against him, though she thought she was turning in me. She didn’t know it was Sander’s fingerprints. Sander’s DNA. And Lisa died before she could clear up any confusion with the FO, so the evidence stood as a fact, even though I’d planted it. Your dad went on the run. And I remained behind to help take care of my brother’s orphaned son.”

  My chest burned. “Why didn’t you just give me to Diane?” I asked. “I’m sure she would have paid you well.”

  “I’m not a monster, Spencer. And if you think I have no guilt over Lisa’s death, you’d be very wrong. I hated that she’d turned against me—that she forced me to protect myself. I wish she hadn’t. The best I could do to make up for that was keep her son alive.”

  Outside, the elevator dinged, and the doors slid open.

  “You kept me alive out of guilt,” I said. “You took my dad from me to protect yourself.”

  Two medics rushed up to us. One nudged me aside. “We’ll take it from here,” he said.

  “I did what I had to,” Kimbal said to me.

  I pulled out my phone and held it up, so he could see it was still recording.

  “And so did I. Bye, Kimbal.”

  ● ● ●

  When I walked out of the building, my dad crushed me in a hug, then pushed me back where he could see me.

  “You did good, son,” he said.

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  It was the first time I’d called him that out loud, to his face, and it slayed him. He hugged me again and started bawling.

  It was simultaneously the strangest yet best moment of my life.

  When he finally let go, Brittney came at me next. Her cheeks were striped with black mascara.

  “Spencer, I’m so sorry you got caught!” She sniffled and hugged me, though it was soft compared to my dad. “You must think I’m a complete ninny. The truth is, I’ve never done my own stunt work. I’m actually not very coordinated.”