See How They Run

by Ally Carter

  The stairs end, and Alexei puts the flashlight in one hand and takes my hand with the other then steps down onto a floor of solid stone. The river isn’t wide, but it’s deep and moving quickly. There’s a narrow path along its edge, and we walk until the river runs into what looks to be the side of a mountain. A kind of tunnel or cave surrounds it, and I can imagine this underground river cutting a path through the stone for centuries, leading away from this place — but to where, we do not know.

  I look at Alexei, and, wordlessly, we follow.

  “So,” he says, moving carefully along the river’s slick black banks, “how is Jamie?”

  I guess we’re going to make conversation. I guess we’re going to pretend that this is just another outing — just another day.

  “He’s upset,” I say. I’m not sure how else Jamie would want me to answer. Once upon a time, he and Alexei told each other everything. But now I’m not so sure.

  I always thought Embassy Row’s secrets were the result of diplomacy and politics, old alliances and the new world order, but now I’m walking through a tunnel in the middle of a mountain, following a river that leads away from some sort of ancient treasure chamber. Something tells me Adria was full of secrets long before the embassies were built along its wall.

  “I think the hardest part is that he wants to blame himself,” I say.

  “So he blames me instead,” Alexei fills in.

  I want to tell him that he’s wrong, but Alexei is a smart guy. Alexei already knows better.

  “How are you?” he asks next.

  I don’t say a thing.

  The cavern-like path seems to go on forever. Stalactites hang from the ceiling. Or are they stalagmites? I never could keep them straight. But now I’m surrounded by them, and I know this place is not man-made. And yet, it’s easy to imagine the Romans or Byzantines or some other ancient civilization exploring this cavern — these caves — expanding, searching, looking for a place to hide.

  My side hurts from so much walking and climbing, but the stitches hold and soon I’m shivering underground. We walk for what feels like hours. Eventually, the river runs away and the tunnel continues on. Sometimes it branches. Sometimes we find that it’s caved in, and then we backtrack and start again.

  I have the vague sense that the ground slopes down for a long time and then back up again. Then the tunnel subtly shifts.

  “I think we’re climbing,” I say. “This one’s probably caved in, too.”

  Alexei nods. “Maybe it is.”

  “I mean, it’s probably nothing,” I say, even though my heart is beating faster. Alexei grips my hand harder. “We’re probably wasting our time. I mean, it can’t possibly be —”

  The tunnel turns — and Alexei and I freeze because, up ahead, there is a door. Not a trapdoor. Not a hidden, secret wall that spins or a tunnel that spirals. No. It’s an actual door. And, well, technically, there are two. They’re wide and made of a deep, dark wood. I reach out and touch them — they’re smooth, but, most of all, they’re real.

  I want to cry, but I’m so thirsty that my eyes don’t make tears. I want to scream, but I’m half afraid someone won’t hear me.

  And I’m half afraid somebody will.

  “Do we dare?” I ask, but Alexei’s hand is already on the handle. And slowly — carefully — he turns.

  As soon as Alexei opens the door, I know where we are. I don’t recognize the room we enter or the corridor we try to creep down, but I know. From the moment Spence and I spied the symbol on the ruins, I knew that place was linked with this one. I just didn’t realize the link would be quite so literal.

  “Where are we?” Alexei asks.

  “I’m not sure,” I say, and tell myself it isn’t even technically a lie.

  Alexei’s hand is tight in mine. I try not to think about how accustomed I’ve become to the weight of it, the feel of it. It’s not a talisman, I tell myself. I’m certain I’d be fine without it, and yet the warm pressure soothes me in a way that I don’t dare consider long.

  The corridor has low stone ceilings that arch overhead. Gaslights burn in sconces, lighting the way, but I know I didn’t see this corridor with Ms. Chancellor.

  We pass old oil paintings — the kind like they have in the palace — and cabinets that are tightly locked. There are more corridors, other rooms. Alexei and I go on, following the flickering gaslight, hoping it will light the way, but the place is built like a maze, and for a second I wonder if Alexei and I have been trapped in some terrible loop — like we may never find our way out.

  “We have to find one of the tunnels,” I whisper to Alexei. “We have to get you out of here.”

  “Out of where?” he asks, spinning me to face him.

  “I think we’re back on the mainland. I bet this leads to one of the tunnels. From here, we can get you to Iran then back up into the hills.”

  I try to pull away, but Alexei holds me steady. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “Alexei, I can’t —”

  “Wait.” Alexei leans close to my ear. “Someone’s coming.”

  The corridor branches up ahead, twisting into shadow and out of sight, and that is where Alexei pulls me. He presses me into the corner and squeezes in beside me, the two of us huddling together in the darkness.

  Voices carry in these long stone halls. Footsteps echo. So I hear them long before I see them. And judging by the look in Alexei’s eyes, there’s no doubt he hears them, too. He’s listening to every word.

  “The girl is a problem.” The woman’s voice is faint but familiar.

  “The girl is a child!”

  The second woman is Ms. Chancellor, I’m sure of it. And as the two women come into view around the corner, Alexei and I squeeze farther into the shadows, and I realize why the other voice sounds so familiar.

  Here, deep beneath the city, the acting prime minister’s accent is a bit thicker. Her tone a little more severe. She isn’t trying to charm the US ambassador into making her problems go away. No. She’s arguing with the woman who, two days ago, she treated like a virtual stranger.

  They were lying. Of course they were lying. For three years, people lied to me about what happened to my mom. About what I did. About who really, truly was to blame. And they’re still lying. My whole life is a game of make-believe and no one has ever had the courtesy to tell me.

  I’m tired of everyone talking about me, worrying about me, lying about me. I’m just so tired.

  I lean against Alexei.

  “She was interested, but I talked to her, and I believe she will move on now. We have no reason to believe that she’ll cause a problem,” Ms. Chancellor says.

  “No,” Prime Minister Petrovic corrects her. “The American boy was interested. Caroline was obsessed. And her daughter will become obsessed, too. She won’t stop her digging, you know.”

  “Let her dig.” I can practically hear Ms. Chancellor’s impatience. “What harm will it do?”

  “I don’t know, Eleanor. What harm did it do Caroline?”

  It’s not a question. It’s a threat. I can hear it in the woman’s tone. I can feel it in the silence that follows. Alexei’s arms tighten around me, and when I start to shake, his hands steady me. Is this rage or terror that I’m feeling? I don’t know.

  I don’t know anything.

  My blood is pounding so hard I almost miss the sound of Ms. Chancellor’s high heels clicking across the stone floor, walking away.

  “What is this place?” I can feel Alexei’s breath on my skin. I know he’s right beside me, and yet he feels a million miles away. “Grace, what is all this?”

  Slowly, I shake my head. A fog fills my mind. “Honestly? I have no idea.”

  It’s maybe the most truthful thing I’ve said in weeks.

  “Come on,” Alexei says, taking my hand again and leading me in the direction Ms. Chancellor disappeared.

  It’s not the way she brought me. This must be the back door, but that’s okay. In fact, it’s better.
Alexei and I creep silently behind her, far enough back that she likely won’t hear us, but close enough that I can still hear the clicking of her high heels.

  Eventually, though, the clicking stops. And from a distance I see her go through a large door and into one of the tunnels. I know that’s our way out.

  “Was that your grandfather’s chief of staff?” Alexei asks. I try to meet his gaze. “Gracie, what aren’t you telling me?”

  He doesn’t sound angry; he sounds afraid, and I can’t blame him. If I had good sense — if I were a normal girl — I’d be terrified right now, but fear is a luxury I no longer have.

  I want Alexei to be okay. I want Spence’s killer found and for Jamie to be able to rest. But I’m not concerned for myself anymore. I learned a long time ago that there’s really not much use in that. I’m far too lost for saving.

  But it’s not too late for Alexei, so I open the exit and listen. The sound of Ms. Chancellor’s heels are fading into nothing, so I grab Alexei’s hand and start dragging him down the tunnel that lies beneath Valancia’s streets.

  “Gracie!” Alexei pulls me to a stop. “Do you know who that was?”

  Slowly, almost numbly, I nod. But I don’t tell him that the woman Ms. Chancellor was talking to is currently the most powerful politician in Adria. I don’t dare mention that the reason that she has the job is because Ms. Chancellor shot her predecessor, or that the world is living a lie. I don’t want to say the words society or conspiracy or treasure. No. I’m not going to give anyone else any more reason to think I’m crazy, because I know how it sounds — I know how it feels. And right now I don’t know which is more dangerous: what Ms. Chancellor did to protect me, or what these women might do to protect something else.

  I won’t tell Alexei any of the things I can’t figure out, so I just stand there. Because when you can’t lie, sometimes that means you can’t say anything at all.

  But Alexei, being Alexei, reads my silence.

  “Wasn’t your mother’s name Caroline?” he asks.

  The words are too much, too loud, too clear.

  What harm did it do Caroline?

  I’m sweating again, too hot and tired. The air around me feels like steam, and my side burns, a pain so intense that I’m afraid the fire of three years ago might still be raging, burning me from the inside out.

  “Gracie —”

  “Noah and the others are going to be looking for us. They’re going to be terrified. Now, please. Let’s go. Let’s just get out of here. Let’s —”

  “Okay, Gracie.” Alexei takes my hand again. “Okay.”

  A summer shower must have started while we were gone because water runs down the sides of the tunnel in places. Rain trickles down the corridor. I can actually see Ms. Chancellor’s wet footsteps up ahead, leading the way.

  “This can get you back to Iran,” I tell him.

  “I’m not leaving you. After what we just heard, I’m never letting you out of my sight ever again.”

  “I’m okay, Alexei. I’m fine,” I say, pulling him along.

  “No. You’re not. You’re … beeping?” Alexei looks as confused as I feel.

  “I’m what?” But then I feel the vibration coming from my pocket. I’d almost forgotten about my brother’s phone until I reach inside and pull it out, look down at the screen. We must be inside cell range now, because the phone is vibrating constantly, downloading text after text. Notice after notice of voice mails and missed calls.

  “They’re from Spence, the night of the murder,” I say as the texts keep coming. Over and over and over. Dozens of them. “They’re all from Spence.”

  You’re not gonna believe this.

  Bro, call me.

  Where R U?

  Call me ASAP.

  I think I’m in trubl.

  “I thought you weren’t supposed to be able to make calls from the island,” Alexei says, and a cold realization dawns.

  “You can’t.”

  Finally, Alexei raises an eyebrow. “So if Spence was calling and texting your brother after the party but before he died, then …”

  “Spence didn’t die on the island.”

  By the time I reach Embassy Row I am absolutely drenched. But at least Alexei isn’t behind me — or at least, he’s not supposed to be. He should be back in Iran by now. He should be dry. He should be safe, invisible and protected from the manhunt that no doubt still blankets the city. I look back, but with the fog and the rain I can’t be sure that I’m not being followed.

  Rain has driven the protestors back, and the mob is smaller, but police barricades still line the streets. At the newsstands, headlines blare in three languages about the vicious fugitive who is still on the run. The rain is heavy and the sky that was utterly cloudless a few hours ago is now dark and gray. It matches my mood.

  And yet, I can almost swear that I hear music. In the distance, there’s a procession of people dancing in the street, and I know it’s part of the festival. The War of the Fortnight ended when the sky decided to rain and end the drought that plagued Adria. I’d almost forgotten this tradition — that the people will dance in the rain as long as it lasts. Longer.

  But not me. I’ve got better things to do.

  I’m not certain how much time has passed, but I know that Alexei and I have been separated from our friends for hours. I have to find a boat and go back to the island, to tell Noah, Rosie, Megan, and Lila where we’ve been — that we’re okay. But first I have to go to the embassy. I have to see Grandpa and Jamie. I have to give them Jamie’s phone and tell them that Spence made it to the mainland. I have to make sure that they know I’m okay.

  But when I burst through the gate and onto US soil, no one notices. No one cares. And that’s when I realize that absolutely no one in this building has had time to miss me, time to worry. It’s almost anticlimactic, I think as I rush inside and up the stairs toward Grandpa’s office.

  Jamie’s phone is in my hand, and my brain swirls with Spence’s final words, with the fact that he didn’t die on the island. I feel vindicated and alive and nothing can make me stop.

  Well, almost nothing.

  As it is, I only stumble a little when I realize that my grandfather isn’t alone.

  “I’m afraid I fail to follow, young man.” Grandpa sounds confused and annoyed and maybe a tiny bit concerned. “What, exactly, is wrong with Grace?”

  Noah, Megan, Rosie, and Lila stand before him, all of them drenched. All of them terrified. They have towels thrown around their shoulders, but Rosie still shakes.

  “Sir, we hate to bother you, but time is important in these situations and it seems that Grace is …”

  “Hey, what’s going on?” I call from the doorway, my voice too bright, too happy.

  Instantly, Noah spins. Rosie drops her towel and Megan visibly exhales. Lila just looks at me with cool indifference, as if I’ve already messed up her schedule enough for one day.

  “Gracie?” someone says, and for the first time I realize my brother is here, too, on the far side of the room. “Where have you been?”

  But Grandpa keeps his attention on Noah. “You were saying, young man?”

  “Oh.” Noah’s mouth hangs open and I can’t tell if he’s furious or relieved. Probably a combination of both, I realize, as he has to mentally rewrite whatever speech he’d probably started composing on the island. “Well, sir, Grace is not spending enough time with her friends, you see. We’re worried about her. She’s new and we want to make sure she experiences all that Adria has to offer.”

  Grandpa goes from annoyed to merely befuddled. “Okay. Go. Leave. Experience with my blessing.” Grandpa stands and slaps Noah on the back. “Before you drip all over the floor and Ms. Chancellor yells at us.”

  Ms. Chancellor, I think with a pang.

  What harm did it do Caroline?

  “I take it you’ve been out enjoying the rain festival?” Grandpa’s voice pulls me back, but it takes a while to realize he’s talking about me and that I’
m as drenched as my friends. But, as usual, Grandpa isn’t really concerned about my answer. “How they get it to rain every year at least once during these two weeks I’ll never know. But somehow they do.”

  Then Grandpa shakes his head, as if in wonder.

  My brother isn’t as easily distracted. “Where have you been?” he asks.

  Noah cocks his head. “Yeah, where have you been?”

  I give my friends an I’ll fill you in later nod and move toward my grandpa’s desk.

  “The theory has always been that Alexei had to have killed Spence because he died on the island and no one else there had a motive to kill him, right?” I don’t bother to wait for their replies. “But what if Spence didn’t die on the island?”

  If my change of subject surprises them, it doesn’t last long.

  “You can’t know that, Gracie,” Jamie says.

  “Yes. I can.” I pull Jamie’s phone from my pocket and hold it out to him. “I found this. And it’s full of messages from Spence. From after the party.”

  “Is that mine?” Jamie asks.

  “Yes.”

  My brother comes toward me, takes the phone. “Where did you find it?”

  If I tell him, we’ll fight, and, for once, I’m not in the mood, so I take a step back.

  “The police think Alexei did it because Spence never left the island. Well, they’re wrong. There’s no cell service on the island. If Spence called and texted Jamie after the party, then he must have made it back. And if he made it back, then Alexei wasn’t the only person who could have killed him.”

  I’m right, and I know it. They know it. But there is something else on Jamie’s mind as he leans toward me, his voice like ice.

  “Where did you find the phone, Gracie?”

  “Where did you lose your phone, Jamie?”

  “I don’t know. That’s kind of what people mean when they say things are lost.”

  “Where did you last see it?”

  “I don’t know. Here, I guess. I remember putting it in my jacket pocket and then …”

  “Spence was wearing your jacket,” I say, but Jamie only looks at me, confused. “When he washed ashore, he was in your jacket. That’s why I thought he was you.”