Fear (10 page)

She dropped back a couple of steps and dug her notebook out of her bag. It was hard to see in the failing light, but she could still see some of the words she had scribbled down that morning on West Fourth Street.

Woman. 40s. Dark hair. Brown leather coat.

Man. 20s. CD player. Two earrings on left.

Man. Gray sweater. Brown hair.

And again at the Fifty-ninth Street subway station:

Man. Green army coat. Beard.

Woman. Blond. Velvet blouse.

Man. Brown hair. Sweater and khakis.

He was there in almost every entry. Somehow this one guy had been with them through all the twists and turns they had made through the day. It was way more than Gaia's standard for coincidence. There was no doubt:
this guy was following Gaia.

Tatiana put away her notes and dropped in behind the guy with the gray sweater. She had found her spy. Now what was she going to do about him?

While she was looking at the notes, Gaia had kept walking into the gloom of the park. The distance between them was back up to a hundred yards or more. Tatiana would have to hurry to catch up. Together the two of them could handle this guy. Tatiana speeded up her steps and started to close on Gaia again. She was getting closer to the spy, too. Ten paces behind him. Five.

If Tatiana was going to reach Gaia, she was going to have to pass the spy. The guy was right in front of her now, close enough to touch. Once she was past him, she wouldn't be able to see him. Tatiana would have to keep walking, facing forward, until she reached Gaia. Which would mean that for several seconds at least, the spy would be behind them both. Out of sight. If he knew that they were on to him, if he saw Tatiana talking to Gaia, he might run for it. He might get away. After working all day to get to this moment, was Tatiana willing to take the chance of throwing it away?

She stepped to the side and moved up beside the spy. He was walking along no more than five feet to her left. He didn't seem to be in a hurry, didn't seem to be going anywhere.
It was almost like he was wearing a sign that said Nothing Special. Ordinary Guy. Move Along.

Tatiana squinted ahead. What should she do? What was the right move? Should she yell for Gaia, keep walking, or try to stop the spy herself?

Tatiana glanced over at the spy. Could she handle him? Tatiana had some martial arts training. It wasn't like she was a black belt or anything, but she knew how to take care of herself.

The spy noticed her staring at him and looked back over at Tatiana. In an instant a flash of recognition crossed the man's face. He stopped and a slight smile came to his lips. “Hey, I know you,” he said. “Don't you go to the Village School?”

Tatiana staggered to a halt.
“Uh, yeah.” She felt confused. She had never expected that the spy would start talking to her.

“Right,” said the man. He took a step toward her. “I work in the office there.”

“You do?”

He nodded. “I've seen you around. You're the exchange student. From the Ukraine, right?”

“Not really.” Tatiana shook her head. “I'm from Russia. And I'm not an exchange student—my mother came here for a job.” She felt dizzy with confusion. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe this guy wasn't a spy at all.

“Is that right?” He waved a hand at Tatiana. “So what are you doing in Central Park this late? Don't you know this place is dangerous?”

“I was following a friend,” said Tatiana. “I. . .” She started to turn her head toward Gaia, and only then did she realize the size of her mistake. It didn't matter how normal this man seemed; he had to be a spy. Her notes proved that much. And now he would know that Tatiana was working with Gaia. “You're right,” she said quickly. “I should really get out of here.”

“Let me go with you,” said the spy.

Tatiana flashed the man a smile. “No, that's all right. Thank you. I can—”

His fist caught her in the stomach so hard that it drove her breath out between her teeth.
Tatiana fell on the hard path. Her notebook flew from her hands and bounced on the concrete.

The spy looked left and right, then leaned down and snatched up Tatiana's book. He flipped open the pages. She could see him struggling to read in the dim light. “I'll be damned,” he said. “Some little girls have been way too smart for their own good.”

Tatiana struggled to get back to her feet. The spy was paging through the book. He didn't seem to be looking at her at all. Tatiana took a step up the path, but the man's hand suddenly clamped around her wrist. He pulled her back against his chest with brutal force. The spy's arm
slipped around Tatiana's throat and pressed hard against her windpipe.

“Oh, no, you're not going anywhere.” He pressed down until sparks began to flutter across Tatiana's vision. “You were looking for me,” he said. “Well, now you've found me.”

IT WAS AMAZINGLY SIMPLE. NOTHING
much to look at. Just an old wooden chair, some auto batteries, four cables that had probably once been jumper cables for starting stalled cars, a few cloth straps, a roll of duct tape. It was something that could be built by a couple of kids, really. But the pain it caused was. . . Tom didn't even have the words.

Tom had been tortured before. More than once, actually, and by people with a lot more experience. Compared to some, Carlo and his men were rank amateurs. Just some brutes with a few batteries. But Carlo and crew had one big advantage over the intelligence agents that had tortured Tom in the past—they didn't want to know anything.

Through his long hours in the chair, one of the two muscle guys had put the cables on Tom's hands, his feet, his face. Again and again he had touched the cables to the batteries and Tom had been treated to the thrill of watching his own body dance and twitch out of his control. The pain was something like the worst charley horse in the world and something like being cooked from the inside out.

Through it all, Tom was not asked a single question. They didn't seem to want to know anything about Gaia or his work with the government. They didn't ask about how he had found Loki's organization in the Caribbean or who had helped him. The purpose of this torture session was just that, torture. Information was not a part of the game.

The current came on again and Tom's neck snapped back so hard, he thought it might break. His heart floundered in his chest, jumping and hammering like an animal desperately trying to escape from his rib cage. He tried to talk, but the only thing that came from his mouth was a long, meaningless moan. Tom wondered if this time, he might actually die.

After what seemed like an hour but was probably no more than seconds, the power cut off. Tom sagged against the straps and tried to catch his breath. He didn't think that he could take much more of this. But that wasn't completely true. He could. They could torture him all night long and all through the next day and he'd probably live through it just fine. He might wish for death, but it wouldn't come. He would just hurt like hell.

There was a sound of footsteps in the hallway. Tom struggled and managed to raise his head in time to see Carlo come into view. “Well,” he said. “Have you and Bruno had a nice chat?”

It took an effort, but Tom managed to squeeze out a reply. “We were talking about you,” he said. “About what a baboon-faced jackass you are.”

Carlo's lips curled beneath his dark mustache. “I think you must have been having fun in here.” He stepped into the small cell and slowly circled around the chair. “That's good. That's very good.” He stopped in front of the chair and took a painful grip on Tom's chin. “I'm glad you've been having fun in here, because I've been having a really good time down the hall with your lady friend.”

Tom twisted away from his hand and surged forward. The chair rocked slightly, but the straps held him firmly in place. “You leave her alone, you son of a—”

Carlo delivered a sharp, backhanded slap that knocked Tom's head back and brought a bright taste of blood to his lips. “Shut up,” said Carlo. He turned to the man who had delivered the torture to Tom. “Go down to the west room and get the woman. Take her back to her room until next time.”

The broad-shouldered man gave a quick nod and hurried out of the room. Carlo turned his attention back to Tom and sneered. “You don't even understand what's going on here, do you?”

Tom flexed his fingers and felt carefully along the straps leading to his wrist. They were tight, but not too tight. Given enough time, Tom was sure he could get his hands free. “No,” he said. “Why don't you tell me what's going on?”

Carlo picked up one of the cables from the floor and examined the bright copper end. “Loki's done with you.”

“Glad to hear it,” said Tom. “Then you won't mind letting us go.”

Carlo gave an ugly, twittering laugh. “Not exactly the plan.” He raised the cable and brought it closer to Tom's face. “Loki may be done with you, but I'm not. You broke my nose.”

“Twice,” said Tom. “And don't forget the spear I put through your foot.”

The end of the cable touched Tom's cheek, and he jerked as the electricity played over his face. Carlo drew back the cable and made another of his unpleasant laughs. “I can torture you for as long as I want. Then, when I've paid you back for everything that you did to me”—he brought his face closer and lowered his voice to a chilling whisper—“I get to kill you any way I want.”

Tom moved his fingers over the straps. A few more minutes and he thought he could get his left hand free. “What about Natasha?” he asked. “What's supposed to happen to her?”

Carlo smiled. “She's beautiful, isn't she?” He shook his head and put on an expression of obviously false sadness. “It's too bad a woman with a face and body like that has to die, but orders are orders.” His smile made a quick return. “Doesn't mean I can't have a little fun first.”

A shadow moved in the hall. At first Tom thought that the bodyguard was returning, but the figure that appeared in the doorway was a lot smaller than either of the two men. Natasha stepped softly into the room. There were bruises on her arms and scrapes on her face, but there was fire in her eyes. In her right hand was the stun stick.

“You know,” Carlo continued. “Maybe we can combine two good things into one great one. Next time Bruno gives you one of these little talks, I'll take your woman in the same room. Doesn't that sound like fun?”

“Not to me,” said Natasha.

Carlo started to turn, but he had moved only a few inches when Natasha drove the business end of the stun stick into the small of his back. There was a loud crack as the device delivered half a million volts into Carlo. The man's arms flew out to his sides and his eyes rolled back into his head. He gave a final shiver and fell to the floor.

Tom knew exactly how Carlo felt, but that didn't mean he had even a drop of sympathy for the man. “Natasha!” Relief scrubbed most of the ache from Tom's muscles. “How did you get away?”

She hurried across the room and started working on the straps around Tom's arms. “Men like this Carlo, they have no respect for women. They think we are just something they can play with.” She finished setting free Tom's hands. “He was so distracted, he forgot to lock up his toys.”

Tom quickly removed the straps around his chest, neck, and legs. He stood up and stretched out his shocked limbs, then he hugged Natasha. “Are you all right? What did he do to—”

She put a finger over his lips. “That's not important. He won't be hurting either one of us again.”

On the floor, Carlo groaned. He shook his head and started to get to his hands and knees.

Tom let the man get partway up, then he delivered a hard, straight kick right to the center of Carlo's face. There was a very satisfying crunch as the bandage across Carlo's nose turned red. “I guess that's three times,” said Tom. He took Natasha's hand and left the room.

The scream tore out of her mouth, raw and hard and so forceful that Josh didn't know how she could make such a noise and live.

BAITING SPIES—GREAT IDEA FOR A
Movie of the Week. But nobody would ever make a movie about the day Gaia spent leading Tatiana on an aimless odyssey around Manhattan any sooner than they'd make one about spending the weekend stuck at the airport. It was just plain boring.

Gaia scowled as she stomped toward the reservoir. It was going to be dark soon, which would put some pretty big limits on the spy-spotting game. Not that the game had been working so well even in broad daylight. As far as Gaia could tell, the day had been a total loss.

On the plus side, walking around all day meant she hadn't had to talk to anybody.
Gaia was tired of talking to people.
Strangers weren't so bad. You could give a stranger any BS answer and they would buy it. It was people that she cared about that were causing the real pain—people like Ed, who expected Gaia to tell the truth, and the truth was one thing she couldn't give.

Don't talk to me, and I won't have to lie to you. A motto to live by.

On the downside, walking around all day gave Gaia way too much time for thinking. She could worry about her father and Natasha. She could wonder what her nutball uncle was going to do next. She had plenty of time to get angry and sad about the situation with Ed.

A day at the chess tables would definitely have been better. At least it would have kept her mind occupied.

Gaia took a glance over her shoulder to see if Tatiana was in sight. No overly enthusiastic Russian roommate was visible, but that wasn't a surprise; Gaia hadn't seen much of Tatiana during the day. They had been pretty close to each other on the subway. The rest of the time Gaia just had to trust that her
enthusiastic blond shadow
was back there.