“We’re not going to the Institute?” I ask the driver when the car makes an unfamiliar turn.
“No,” the man replies. “I’m taking you to a safe house.”
“Is Obenko there?”
The driver nods. “He’s waiting for you.”
“Great.” I take a steadying breath. I should be relieved to be here, but instead, I feel tense and anxious. And it’s not just because I screwed up and compromised the organization. Obenko doesn’t deal kindly with failure, but the fact that he extracted me from Colombia instead of killing me eases my worry in that regard.
No, the main source of my anxiety is the empty feeling inside me, an ache that’s growing more acute with every hour without Lucas. I feel like I’m going through a withdrawal—except that would make Lucas my drug, and I refuse to accept that.
Whatever I had begun to feel for my captor will pass. It has to, because there’s no other alternative.
Lucas and I are over for good.
“We’re here,” the driver says, stopping in front of an unassuming four-story apartment building. It looks just like every other building in this neighborhood: old and rundown, the outside covered with a dull yellowish plaster from the Soviet era. The scent of lilacs is stronger here; it’s coming from a park across the street. Under any other circumstances, I would’ve enjoyed the fragrance that I associate with spring, but today it reminds me of the jungle I left behind—and, by extension, the man who held me there.
The driver leaves the car by the curb and leads me into the building. It’s a walk-up, and the stairwell is as rundown as the building’s exterior. When we walk past the first floor, I hear raised voices and catch a whiff of urine and vomit.
“Who are those people on the first floor?” I ask as we stop in front of an apartment on the second floor. “Are they civilians?”
“Yes.” The driver knocks on the door. “They’re too busy getting drunk to pay us much attention.”
I don’t have a chance to ask more questions because the door swings open, and I see a dark-haired man standing there. His wide forehead is creased, and lines of tension bracket his thin mouth.
“Come in, Yulia,” Vasiliy Obenko says, stepping back to let me enter. “We have a lot to discuss.”
* * *
Over the next two hours, I go through an interrogation as grueling as anything I’d experienced in the Russian prison. In addition to Obenko, there are two senior UUR agents, Sokov and Mateyenko. Like my boss, they’re in their forties, their trim bodies honed into deadly weapons over decades of training. The three of them sit across from me at the kitchen table and take turns asking questions. They want to know everything from the details of my escape to the exact information I gave Lucas about UUR.
“I still don’t understand how he broke you,” Obenko says when I’m done recounting that story. “How did he know about that incident with Kirill?”
My face burns with shame. “He learned about it as a result of a nightmare I had.” And because I had confided in Lucas afterwards, but I don’t say that. I don’t want my boss to know that he had been right about me all along—that when it mattered, I couldn’t control my emotions.
“And in this nightmare, you what… spoke about your trainer?” It’s Sokov who asks me this, his stern expression making it clear that he doubts my story. “Do you usually talk in your sleep, Yulia Borisovna?”
“No, but these weren’t exactly usual circumstances.” I do my best not to sound defensive. “I was held prisoner and placed in situations that were triggers for me—that would be triggers for any woman who’d undergone an assault.”
“What exactly were those situations?” Mateyenko cuts in. “You don’t look particularly maltreated.”
I bite back an angry response. “I wasn’t physically tortured or starved, I already told you that,” I say evenly. “Kent’s methods of interrogation were more psychological in nature. And yes, that was in large part due to the fact that he found me attractive. Hence the triggers.”
The two agents exchange looks, and Obenko frowns at me. “So he raped you, and that triggered your nightmares?”
“He…” My throat tightens as I recall my body’s helpless response to Lucas. “It was the overall situation. I didn’t handle it well.”
The agents look at each other again, and then Mateyenko says, “Tell us more about the woman who helped you escape. What did you say her name was?”
Calling on every bit of patience I possess, I recount my encounters with Rosa for the third time. After that, Sokov asks me to go through my escape again, minute by minute, and then Mateyenko interrogates me about the security logistics of Esguerra’s compound.
“Look,” I say after another hour of nonstop questions, “I’ve told you everything I know. Whatever you may think of me, the threat to the agency is real. Esguerra’s organization has taken down entire terrorist networks, and they’re coming after us. If you have any contingency measures in place, now is the time to implement them. Get yourselves and your families to safety.”
Obenko studies me for a moment, then nods. “We’re done for today,” he says, turning toward the two agents. “Yulia is tired after her long journey. We’ll resume this tomorrow.”
The two men depart, and I slump in my chair, feeling even emptier than before.
9
Lucas
As soon as I read Esguerra’s message, I radio the guards and order half of them to head to the club. None of them had noticed any suspicious activity, which means that the threat, whatever it was, had come from within the club, not outside as we’d expected. I’m about to rush into the club myself when I get another text from Esguerra:
Recovered Rosa. Follow the white SUV.
I instantly radio the guards to do so, and at that moment, another message comes in:
Bring the car to the alley out back.
I start the car and zoom around the block, nearly running over a couple of pedestrians in the process. The alley at the back of the club is dark and stinks of garbage mixed with piss, but I barely register the ambience. Stepping out of the car, I wait, my hand on the gun at my side. A few seconds later, the men radio me that they located the white SUV and are following it. I’m about to give them further instructions when the door to the club swings open, and Nora comes out, her arms wrapped around Rosa. Esguerra follows them, his face twisted with rage. As the light from the car illuminates their figures, I realize why.
Both women are shaking, their faces pale and streaked with tears. However, it’s Rosa’s state that sends my blood pressure through the roof. Her bright yellow dress is torn and stained with blood, and one side of her face is grotesquely swollen.
The girl had been violently assaulted, just like Yulia seven years ago.
A crimson fog fills my vision. I know my reaction is disproportional—Rosa is little more than a stranger to me—but I can’t help it. The images in my mind are of a fragile fifteen-year-old, her slender body torn and bleeding. I can see the shame and devastation on Rosa’s face, and the knowledge that Yulia went through this makes my guts churn.
“Those fuckers.” My voice is thick with rage as I step around the car to open the door. “Those motherfucking fuckers. They’re going to fucking die.”
“Yes, they will,” Esguerra says grimly, but I’m not listening. Reaching for Rosa, I carefully pull her away from Nora. Esguerra’s wife doesn’t appear to be hurt as badly, but she’s still clearly shaken. Rosa sobs as I shepherd her into the car, and I do my best to be gentle with her, to comfort her as I couldn’t comfort Yulia all those years ago.
As I buckle her in, I hear Esguerra say his wife’s name, his voice strangely tense, and I turn to see Nora double over next to the car.
The baby, I realize in an instant, remembering her pregnancy, but Esguerra is already bundling her into the car and yelling for me to drive to the hospital, now.
* * *
We get to the hospital in record time, but long before Esguerra comes out into the waiting room, I know that the baby didn’t make it. There was too much blood in the car.
“I’m sorry,” I say, taking in my boss’s shattered expression. “How’s Nora?”
“They stopped the bleeding.” Esguerra’s voice is hoarse. “She wants to go home, so that’s what we’ll do. We’ll take Rosa, too.”
I nod. I told the hospital I’m Rosa’s boyfriend, so I’ve been getting regular updates on her condition. As expected, the girl has refused to talk to the police, and since none of her injuries are life-threatening, she doesn’t need to stay overnight.
“All right,” I say. “You take care of your wife, and I’ll get Rosa.”
Esguerra goes back to Nora, and I follow up with our cleanup crew, giving them instructions on what to do with the guy they found knocked out at the club. From the little I pieced together via Rosa’s hysterical explanations, the maid had been attacked in the back room of the club by two men she’d danced with earlier. Nora came to her rescue, knocking out a third guy who had been guarding the room. Esguerra made it there in the nick of time, killing one of the assailants, but the other one dragged Rosa outside and would’ve taken his turn in the car if Esguerra hadn’t saved her. It was that man who got away in the white SUV—the SUV whose license plate I’m tracking now.