If Looks Could Kill (14 page)

The guard lit a new cigar and spit on the floor. “Here are rules,” he barked in a thick accent. “Work or else. That's it. Simple, no?”

“No,” Jo replied. “We don't know how to sew.”

The guard, obviously knowing how much he turned Jo on, leaned in real close and puffed his cigar. Jo looked as if she wanted to puke then and there. “Is even more simple. Learn or else.”

The guard blew a massive cloud of smoke in Jo's face. He walked away, laughing.

“I'll never wash this stink off me,” Jo moaned. “It'll be on me forever, I know it.”

“If we don't get out of here,” Theresa warned, “forever will be sooner than you think.”

The guard snapped his fingers at them.

“Guess we better start sewing,” Caylin suggested, picking up a sleeve. “How do we do this?”

“T., your mom's a designer,” Jo said. “Did she ever teach you anything about sewing?”

Theresa shrugged, awkwardly holding a piece of fabric. “As far as I know, all you do is take the sleeve, fold it over like this, and run it straight through the machine like this.”

She pressed the pedal and ran it through the machine. The needle chomped into the fabric and ate it up in seconds. Theresa held up her work so they could see.

“Nice work, T.,” Jo replied. “Olive Oyl couldn't even get her hand through that cuff.”

She was right, Caylin saw. Theresa had sewn a crooked line to the end, leaving a one-inch hole where someone's hand was supposed to come through.

“Oh, well,” Theresa said, shrugging. “That's the theory.”

They all started sewing their sleeves. Badly. Very, very badly. But Caylin didn't care. Jo reasoned that the more sleeves they ruined, the less business Lucien would have. So they kept sewing and didn't make any attempt to improve. But after a few minutes something was strange.

“Do you suddenly feel like a celebrity?” Jo asked.

“I know what you mean,” Caylin replied, creeped out.

All around them the workers stared. It must have been a big event—three American girls being brought in at gunpoint and chained. But after a while, and a little prodding from the guards, everyone settled back into their routine of ordinary, everyday slave labor. And the guards resumed their lounging and joking among themselves.

That's when the Spy Girls came to life.

“It's time for a plan,” Caylin said out of the side of her mouth.

“Any suggestions?” Jo asked, glancing at the guards.

“They took everything,” Theresa replied.

The girls spoke in low voices, not looking at each other. Caylin and the others tried to make it seem as if they were working, working, working, just like everyone else.

“Not everything,” Jo said with a sly grin.

“Really?” Theresa asked. “What do you have left?”

“My heel.”

Realization dawned on Caylin. Of course! Theresa and Jo still wore their Tower-issue shoes. Each pair was equipped with one homing beacon in the left heel. All
you had to do was slide it out—which they both did nonchalantly—touch it with your thumbprint, and slide it back into place. Supposedly a distress signal was now being sent to the nearest Tower receiver. But who knew where that was? Or if the signal could get out of the subbasement at all?

“Let's hope the cavalry is on its way,” Caylin said, sloppily running a sleeve through her machine.

“We can't count on it,” Theresa said gravely. “I have another idea.”

Caylin watched as Theresa motioned to the nearest guard. He scowled and reluctantly came over.

“Hello, sir,” Theresa said sweetly. “I hate to bother you, but you guys confiscated my glasses. I can't see a thing without them. Look at this terrible job I'm doing.” She held up some of the useless sleeves she'd sewn. “Silly me. I'm blind as a bat!”

The guard shrugged. He didn't speak English. And he obviously didn't care.

Jo grinned as soon as she heard the word
glasses.

Caylin scowled. What's going on? she wondered. What's with the glasses?

Theresa raised her voice. “Do you understand me? I need my glasses! I can't see anything without them! Blind. Do you understand the word
blind
? It means I can't see what I'm doing. I could be setting world underground sewing records if I could just see what I was doing! Where's your boss? Bring him over.” Theresa stood and waved to the big hairy guard with the cigar. “Yoo-hoo! Hairy guard! You speak English. Can you get my glasses for me? Please?”

The cigar-chomping guard shambled over, a look of supreme rage on his face. “What you want?”

“My glasses.” Theresa traced circles around her eyes and pointed at the pile of Spy Girl gear over by the stairs. “I need them to see. See?” She squinted for emphasis.

“You get glasses. You shut up and work.”

Theresa nodded vigorously. “Oh yes, absolutely. I promise.”

The guard chewed on his cigar for a moment, thinking. Then he marched over to the pile of gear. He held up Jo's fanny pack.

“No, that's not it,” Theresa said. “It's the one underneath. Yeah, that's the one. My glasses are in there. Thanks so much.”

The guard brought Theresa her glasses. She gratefully
put them on and picked up a sleeve. “Oh, what a beautiful pattern. I hadn't noticed it before.”

“You work now,” the guard growled, threatening to backhand her. “Or else.”

Theresa humbly bowed and smiled. “Oh yes, I promise. You're a very nice man. I take away all the things she said about you.” Theresa pointed to Jo. “She didn't mean it, really.”

When the guard was out of earshot, T. added, “Except the part about you
stinking
.”

“What's the big deal about your glasses?” Caylin demanded.

Theresa turned to Caylin and smiled. “Watch your feet, Spy Girl. The heat's on.”

With that, she began to laser through Caylin's shackles.

“Yow!” Caylin barked as the red beams cut into the steel around her ankles. “What's
that
?”

“That's hot,” Theresa warned, her eyes focused intensely. “So don't move.”

Caylin grimaced, waiting for the laser to cut into her flesh. But it never did. The whole process took only a few seconds. Suddenly the shackles clanked open at her feet.

Theresa quickly did the same for Jo's and her own.

They were free . . . sort of.

“What do we do about the guards?” Jo whispered. “We can't just sneak out.”

Caylin smiled. “Hey, T.”

Theresa looked at her. Caylin subtly pointed at the ceiling. Theresa saw what she meant and grinned.

“Hold on to your butts,” Theresa warned.

She fixed her laser gaze skyward and activated it. A red beam shot up to the ceiling. Caylin's smile widened as Theresa hit her target.

“What's she doing?” Jo whispered.

“Watch,” Caylin answered.

It became quite clear when the sprinkler head Theresa hit got hot enough to go off.

Within seconds the whole sprinkler system went off, drenching the whole shop.

A fire alarm sounded, and the guards scrambled around in confusion.

Caylin grinned in the downpour.

“Let's get out of here!” she cried.

Caylin looked around at the sheer madness breaking out around her. The guards were too busy trying to figure out where the fire was—and how to shut off the sprinklers—to care that the Spy Girls sprinted across the shop to the archway. The girls ran through, leaving the screaming workers pulling at their shackles as the place was soaked.

But the storm didn't stop at the exit. The sprinkler system ran throughout the tunnels, and the Spy Girls raced through them, covering their eyes and trying not to slip on the slimy stone floor.

“Do you guys know where you're going?” Caylin yelled, hoping against hope.

“Trust us,” Jo called back. “We've done this before.”

Two soaked guards met them head-on, but they didn't stop them. The confused men ran right past them.

“Did they even see us?” Theresa asked.

“Who cares?” Jo cried. “Go!”

Soon they reached the prison block. The water and screaming alarm had awakened the workers. They waved their arms and cried out to be freed. Some slammed cups and debris against the bars, trying to get their attention.

“Oh no,” Jo wailed. “The workers! We have to help them!”

“How do we let them out?” Theresa asked, looking around helplessly.

“Over there,” Caylin said, pointing to a series of levers on the far wall.

“Are you sure?” Theresa called.

“Of course not!” Caylin sprinted over and began yanking every lever on down the line. Sure enough, one by one the cell doors clanked open!

“You did it!” Jo screamed as scores of slaves poured out of their cells.

They all jumped around and celebrated in the sprinkler-induced rainfall, letting it douse them in newfound freedom. They howled their thanks to the Spy Girls in words
they couldn't understand. But the message was obvious.

Just then a pair of guards entered.

The slaves took one look at their captors and charged them. The guards' eyes bulged, and they scrambled to escape. But there was nowhere to go. Twenty slaves landed on top of them.

The men screamed, but they were overmatched. Soon they were just the bottom of a huge human pile. A twisted mass of limbs and fists.

Finally a skinny Kinh-Sanh man stood up, holding his fist high. In it he held a ring of shackle keys.

He screamed something and pointed back toward the sweatshop. His brethren roared their approval. The sea of slaves headed in that direction, no doubt intending to free all their friends and relatives on the sewing machines.

As the riot moved away Caylin noticed the two guards. They staggered to their feet and moved in a panicked daze toward the shop, ignoring the Spy Girls.

“That should keep those guards busy for a while,” Jo said, beaming.

“Keep them busy?” Caylin scoffed. “Those cowards will hightail it to the nearest horizon the first chance they get.”

“Let's go get that nuke,” Theresa said, pointing down the hall.

“And a certain trash bag, too,” Caylin added, jaw set.

They sprinted down the tunnel. When they burst into the well-lit chamber, it was empty.

And so were the tables!

Caylin's heart sank. Her fists involuntarily balled at her sides, and she wanted to throw something. Hard.

“He's got the nuke,” Jo said helplessly.

“You don't say,” Caylin responded, rage in her voice.

Theresa pointed at a doorway in the far wall. “That's the only way out. He had to go that way.”

“Let's roll!” Caylin cried, racing forward.

The tunnel grew very dark very quickly. The sprinkler system didn't reach that far, but the moisture was intense. The stone floor was as slick as ice in some places. And the smell of dead fish grew unbearable. Where were they going?

Soon Caylin heard lapping waves along with their labored breathing.

“The harbor must be close,” Jo said, puffing.

Finally the trio emerged in a stone, cavelike chamber. The ceiling was low and wet. Before them was a dock. Two massive powerboats were moored there. The water came in from the mouth of the cave, which seemed to open into the harbor. The first light of dawn made the mouth seem like a glowing portal to another world.

In a way, it was.

“Hold it right there, ladies!” came an angry voice.

Lucien stood up in one of the powerboats. He leveled a submachine gun at them.

The Spy Girls came to a dead stop, nearly sliding right into the water on the slick stone.

A black tarp covered much of the seating area of Lucien's powerboat. No doubt where he had stashed the nuclear suitcases.

“Give it up, Carruthers,” Theresa warned, stepping forward. “It's all finished.”

“Are you
kidding
?” Lucien asked incredulously. “I'm the
one holding the gun. I'm the one holding the nuclear weapon and a ton of cash. I'm not finished. I'm just getting started.”

“That's a Furious Shepherd,” Jo whispered to Caylin.

“What?”
Caylin asked.

“The boat,” Jo replied. “Both of them. The Furious Shepherd 76. One of the fastest boats on the water.” She smiled at Lucien. “I'm impressed, sleazeball.”

“How sweet,” Lucien replied, rolling his eyes. “Then you probably won't understand it when I do this.”

He turned the machine gun on the other boat and opened fire. Bullets sprayed the control panel and driver's seat of the beautiful boat, shredding it. He also raked the gun across the boat's stern, riddling the fuel tank until the gun was empty. The boat was now useless.

“You are truly a criminal,” Jo said, staring forlornly at the ruined machine.

Lucien yanked the empty clip from the gun. “I can't very well have you coming after me, can I? You know, in the big climactic boat chase? No, I'm afraid not. I'm afraid I'll just have to set sail into a beautiful sunrise. The perfect beginning to a brand-new day.”

“How can you live with what you have done?” Caylin asked.

Lucien shrugged. “It's just a boat.”

Caylin scowled. “Not that. Your students. Your disciples. Your devoted followers who have invested everything they have—financially and spiritually—just to be a part of your world?”

Caylin stood defiantly, and Lucien paused. He seemed to think about it. Really think about it.

“It wasn't fake,” he said softly, eyes distant. “They're good kids. They've learned a lot. I've helped them.”

Caylin's lip curled into a snarl. “And now you're dumping them. Do you have any idea what's going to happen to them when they find out what you really are?”

Lucien's eyes regained their focus, once again zeroing in on Caylin. “They're young. They'll get over it.”