Heart of an Assassin (Circle of Spies) (8 page)

Two days later, I sat in my chair, like a steel rod had been shoved along my spine. If I slouched the tiniest bit, the cane rapped on the floor and that cane scared the hell out of me. At Janelle’s instructions, I tilted my head just so and plastered on a smile. My emotions were tucked away in a secret place that I could visit when I wanted, but for the most part I stayed away from that place because I couldn’t bear to think about what could’ve been.

Edith sat in an overstuffed chair in the corner of the room, her cane at the ready, while Janelle sat directly across from me at a tiny glass table in a sunroom. Light poured through the skylights and windows, creating a happy glow. Potted ferns and exotic plants crowded the walls and corners of the room. A serving tray lay on a table laden with cucumber sandwiches, fruit salad and tiny cookies. And I’d thought I’d seen all the rooms in the house.

Janelle spoke in soft tones, elegance draped on her like a fancy woman’s scarf bought from Paris. Instead of telling me to act, she was showing me and expecting me to respond. I felt kinda silly.

“Have you enjoyed the weather recently?” she asked, her teacup poised between her fingers.

“Um.” All I could think about were my midnight sprints in the rain the past few nights.

The cane rapped on the floor.

I sat even straighter if that was possible. “Why yes, it has been rather wet.”

“What kind of nonsense is that?” Edith called out. “Wet?”

“Well, except when I’m inside and then it’s quite dry.” I pinched a sandwich between my fingers and a cucumber plopped to the floor.

Janelle rubbed her temples. Edith mumbled and grumbled about dumping me in the Mediterranean, which seemed to be her constant threat.

“Okay, dear,” Janelle said. “Never mind about the sandwich. Pretend you’re sitting with a friend, chatting casually about school. Don’t think of this as a performance.” She tapped her chin. “Think of this as survival.”

Huh?

“You slip at these luncheons or dinner parties,” a fake smile crept onto her face and her eyes turned cold and heartless, “and it could mean your life and in your case that could also mean the life of your mother and father because without you they have no protection from us.”

My hand trembled and the tea sloshed around in my cup. The emotions from my hidden place leaked out and reminded me of all I’d lost and the anger I felt against this family who controlled my life. Even though I’d accepted Will’s deal, he’d played me like a lovesick fool.

“Oh, yes.” Janelle sipped from her iced tea. “Emotion will happen. Messy heartbreaking emotion that makes you want to crumble and cry right there on the spot. Because if your enemy has done research, he’ll know who you are, he’ll know your weak spots, your Achilles’ heel. He’ll use that and purposefully jab into those soft spots with his words. Because if you’re unnerved, he can best you. You’ll screw up. And that’s what he wants.”

The cane rapped. “Start again.”

Janelle crossed her legs and folded her hands in her lap. “What brought you to Athens? I see you’re not a native.”

“Well, you see,” I paused, desperately seeking for the right words. “I’m here on summer vacation.”

The cane rapped and Edith snorted. “It’s spring.”

I hunched over. “I can’t do this.”

Janelle reached across the table and held my hand, not grimacing at my sweaty palms. “Yes, you can do this. You must.” She pulled her hand away. “So what brings you to Athens?”

I hesitated, crippled with fear at the stupid words I might utter. For a brief second, I closed my eyes and breathed deep, searching for something to say. “I’m visiting my uncle.”

Janelle’s eyes lighted with approval. “What does your uncle do? Maybe I’ve heard of him.”

I laughed even though it sounded a bit forced. “I’ve been trying to figure that out myself. He keeps his business private.” And this was the truth. I was visiting them for a brief stay and I couldn’t break through to their secrets for the life of me. Maybe that was what I needed to do. Take my truths and twist it for the situation with vague answers that don’t reveal a thing. Easier said than done.

“What about holding silverware and that kind of stuff?” I asked, twisting my napkin in my lap.

Janelle waved her hand. “No time. Small etiquette mistakes will slip by unnoticed but a show of nerves by bumbling your speech will be the death of you.”

Bartholomew barged into the room. “Did I hear something about death?” Then he noticed me. “Are you two giving her a hard time? You know what Will said.”

Janelle smiled, stood, and gracefully approached her husband. “Of course, we’re giving her a hard time, dear. That’s what we do, right?”

He winked at me. “Let me know if you need any info. Edith is a sucker for love, and my wife here loves a challenge. That would be you.” He pointed to Edith. “Are you behaving yourself, Mother?”

“Of course.”

Edith had it down pat. The confident answers. The lies. The image. She emphasized and took advantage of her ornery nature and her age. Janelle was a middle-aged mom who could sweet talk a cactus into giving up its needles. Both of them, inside, were tough. They had to be. I had to be.

“I’ll be in my office. I’ll catch you at dinner.” He kissed Janelle and squeezed her butt. Not what I wanted to see.

She swatted his hand away, then patted her hair. “Are we set for our dinner plans this weekend?”
 

 
Bartholomew nodded. “Everything is set.”

They closed the conversation. I didn’t feel rejected that I wasn’t invited. I saw opportunity. To sneak inside the office and look again for clues, something that betrayed their plans.

A few days passed as I waited for the weekend and the opportunity to snoop, but it felt like forever. I followed the same meticulous routine over and over of running in the morning and at night. Only one other midnight run but I was beginning to adjust to those. I'd get up, run, then fall back into bed and sleep. I maintained a strict diet of only healthy food, except when I sneaked down to the kitchen in the middle of the night for cookies.

I took out my frustration and poured it into training. It was all business. I started every morning exhausted and I ended each day exhausted. And just like them, I learned to keep my private thoughts and emotions, my heartache, my fear and anger, tucked away inside where only I could access them. No longer were they written on my face like a child's messy sidewalk chalk drawing.

After just the past couple weeks, I was stronger. When I made a muscle in the mirror, a little bump formed. My whole body was more toned and ready. For what? I wasn’t sure. They weren’t telling me anything. And something was brewing. I could tell by the stormy looks that crossed Bartholomew’s face at odd moments of the day when he thought no one was looking. Edith attacked her knitting like a dog with a raw bone, making some god-awful puke green sweater. And Janelle baked up more cookies and treats then the family needed for a year. Oh, yeah, something was up. And they weren’t telling me a thing.

I quickly learned that Malcolm’s family was more than fun and games. In fact, there hadn’t been much joking since that first breakfast together. Who knows what went on after I collapsed on my bed at night? They probably sharpened their collection of knives hidden away in some secret closet or they practiced torture techniques using kitchen tools. But I couldn’t complain. They kept their end of the bargain. My family was safe. I was safe. And Constance was safe. No poison in the whole-wheat pancakes Will offered one morning. And I was being trained to protect myself.
 

The weekend finally came. The whole family went out for dinner. Even though they were gone, it took quite a bit of pacing outside Bartholomew's office to gather the courage to even open the door. The afternoon light was fast fading, and I wanted to get inside before I'd have to use a flashlight. Even though I hadn’t seen evidence of henchman, I suspected that was due to their skill in keeping with the shadows. They were sure to suspect a bobbing light inside the most important room in the house, and I didn't want to find out what they'd do to intruders. Even if I was a houseguest.

With a hand on the knob, I listened to the quiet. It was unnerving not hearing Edith complain or the pans rattling in the kitchen or Bartholomew's booming voice. But this was my time. I might not get another chance.
 

I gripped the doorknob and opened the heavy oak door. The moon shining through the glass doors that opened into the garden spotlighted Bartholomew’s desk. What was I looking for? A file or a locked cabinet? A photo? Something. But they were too smart to leave evidence lying around. I ran my fingers around the bottom of his desk in search of a lever. I opened his desk drawers but found nothing but office supplies. There was nothing but damn office supplies.

At first, the office seemed like a real place to work: the desk, a photo, office supplies like Staples was a candy store. But something was missing. Other than the family photo there was nothing personal. Like the set up could be in an office decor magazine. They were one step ahead of me. This was a fake office.

So where was the real one? The one with all the hidden papers and scribbled notes that revealed their nasty plans for Constance. I might’ve left my mom behind but I liked to think about it as more of an undercover role. I mean, yes, I was training in exchange for safety but this wouldn’t last forever. At some point the sweet cookie would crumble and we’d go back to being mortal enemies.

Before that happened, before I left, probably running for my life with a family of assassins hot on my trail, I’d find some info on their plans.

I circled the desk and went straight to the fireplace and the panels next to it. I pressed, pushed, pulled.

Nothing.

I ran my fingers along the edges where the panel met the wall, searching for some kind of button or oddly shaped lever. Nothing. I faced the wall and studied every oddly colored brick and grouting around the fireplace.

Something nudged the back of my legs and I jumped.

“Prince!” I rubbed the top of his head as my pulse relaxed. “You scared the crap out of me.”

He tilted his head and looked at me as if puzzled, questioning my decision to spy on his owners.

“You don't get it, Prince. It's complicated and I don't have enough time to explain. But, someday, you and me, we'll take a long walk along the seashore and I'll tell you every bit of my complicated life.”

He flopped to the floor, his large head resting on his paws, and watched me. I moved my attention from the panels to the fireplace. Yes, I went back to my Nancy Drew days. The bricks felt rough under my fingers but I felt each and every one, pressing and pushing. Until I heard a slight click and a door slid open to the right of the fireplace. I sucked in my breath. I was in.

After several glances toward the door and peeks out the window to assure myself the family had not returned, I flicked on my mini flashlight. It barely penetrated the blackness, and I crept inside, with Prince at my heels. I pulled on the string, which turned on a naked bulb hanging from the ceiling. It was a little disappointing. I didn't know what I expected but the room was kinda boring. Filing cabinets. And more filing cabinets. A couple of chairs and a small table. That was it. I'd been hoping for an open file labeled Constance. Not happening.

Prince growled as if warning me to leave. My neck prickled as I slid open the first cabinet. I flipped through the files until I found the G section. And sure enough, the first one was Constance Gerald. Hungry for knowledge on him, I opened it right there.

My eyes widened. The file held every little factoid about his life: birth date, address, weight, height, and eye color. It ran down a list of addresses he'd called home. A date was highlighted in yellow so I ran my finger along the date line. Seemed he came into quite a bit of money a few years ago, quit his job and purchased his current home. Interesting.

One name caught my eye. It was scribbled underneath the highlighting.

Robert Yertsky.

I searched the rest of the file but there was no explanation of his connection to Constance or Will’s family plans on assassinating Constance. Prince barked and jogged from the room. I took that as my sign to go. They were too smart to leave the details of their future crime in the folder in the secret room. I slipped out and pressed the same brick for the door to slide shut. I'd go back to my room and read. I didn't need to tiptoe but for some reason I couldn't help it. Maybe all my midnight trips to gorge on lemon bars had created a bad habit. I flicked the light on in the kitchen. How much time had I spent in the secret room?

“Good evening, Savvy.” Bartholomew stood behind the kitchen counter. His greeting wasn’t the friendly kind of good evening. More like a Darth Vader kind of greeting.

I froze mid-creep, the blood draining from my face and the feeling of ultimate doom flushing my body. Damn. I was losing my touch.

Bartholomew pointed to a chair against the wall. I stumbled over to it, wondering if I should make a break for it. Janelle and Edith gathered around him with stony faces and hands clasped. A plate of lemon bars lay on the kitchen bar.

Edith focused on me with a sickly sweet smile. A heat rash spread like wildfire across my neck. My mouth went instantly dry and I stuck my hands under my legs to hide the trembling. Every few seconds I glanced at the hall, hoping Malcolm would enter.

“Would you like a lemon bar, Savvy?” Edith rubbed her fingers over the top of her cane. “We know how much you like them.”
 

“Um, no thanks. I'll pass,” I said a little too quickly, my words sounding breathy. From my shaky words to my trembling fingers, I might as well plead guilty. Did they know what I’d been up to? Infiltrating their secret files?

Edith spoke. “No really. We know you're dying to.”

Janelle hid her smile.

“Hush.” Bartholomew scolded but I saw the corners of his mouth turn up. He cleared his throat and straightened his back. Any humor left his expression, and his eyebrows drew together and his lips pressed into a straight line.

Edith cleared her throat in a loud and intentional way. “Savvy, you are on trial for stealing lemon bars.”

I glanced at the steel in Edith’s eyes, and the firm set of Bartholomew’s jaw. Sweat broke out on my forehead. I prayed to the spy gods they didn’t know I’d broken into his secret room.

“That's right you should be scared,” Edith stated.

Bartholomew coughed. “I'm the judge. I'll make the comments.”

But Edith wasn't done. “You should just thank your lucky lemon bars that Will wasn’t a part of our plan. He'd have sliced your throat in the middle of the night without blinking an eye. No questions asked.”

I swallowed down fear but it lodged in my throat. My eyes darted between all of them, searching for a bit of empathy, but my gaze slammed up against a stone cold wall.

“Squirm away,” Edith said with a grin like the Cheshire cat. “Last week, lemon bars were missing and the remaining ones carefully rearranged. There’s only one person in this house who eats lemon bars.”

“And that’s Edith,” Bartholomew stated.

Edith gave me a rather pointed look with a disapproving scowl. “No one else eats lemon bars without my permission. Especially company.”

“What did you expect?” My words were clipped as anger overtook my fear. “I’ve been eating nothing but raw grains and veggies.” Seriously. I was almost one hundred percent positive that if I’d been allowed some normal food, like cupcakes or cookies, I wouldn’t have even glanced at the lemon bars. Or, at least, only taken a bite.

Bartholomew nodded. “We can understand to a certain degree. But rules are rules.”

“Enough with the lemon bars.” Edith narrowed her eyes. “Anything else you'd like to admit to?”

This was a trap. I knew it. And maybe if I threw myself at their feet and begged for mercy, they’d let me off with a warning. But I couldn’t do it. The stubborn side rose up, the part that resented their family and their role in my family not being together and happy. “No.”

“Wrong answer. Continue, Bartholomew.”

“Last week Edith devised a plan. A time when we'd leave you in the house alone. A test you might say.” He shook his head. “And sadly, you didn't pass. You were just sneaking out of my office,” Bartholomew said, directing his comment to me. “And that is the only piece of evidence needed to conclude your guilt.”

“No one enters the secret room,” Edith said, her eyes flashing victory as if she loved this moment of going in for the kill and humiliating me.

“Very true.” Janelle shook her head and kept her eyes down, focusing on the patterns in the granite countertop.

Bartholomew stood and paced. “Instead of executing you on the spot and dumping your body in the Mediterranean, we've decided to up the mission you must perform in exchange for your stay with us. An addendum to the contract between you and Will. Honey?”

Janelle took over. “Now there are two missions you must complete. Edith?”

She rapped her cane against the floor in final judgment. “And we've moved up the date. Tomorrow, your training ends and your mission begins.” Her voice sounded like tiny rock fragments blocked her throat. “And no more lemon bars.”

The hope in my chest wilted and the prickles of fear reached down and encircled my heart, making it extremely hard to breathe. How could I not have seen their set up? The devious way in which Bartholomew let it slip a few days ago that they were going out for an evening. I fell for it like a complete sucker. Somehow I didn’t feel anywhere close to ready for any kind of mission they might throw at me. Crap. What had I done?
   

The next morning I awoke after a terrible night spent tossing and turning. I pulled the pillow over my head, trying to ignore the growing pit in my stomach and the fear that over time I'd become one of them. A part of me regretted not running away with Malcolm when I had the chance.

“Good morning!” Janelle chirped as she burst through the door.

I sensed the flash of light as she opened my shade. I groaned and pulled the pillow over my head.

“Figures,” said Edith. “We bring her breakfast in bed and she complains. I knew it. Ingrate.”

“Huh?” I scrambled to the surface and threw my pillow aside. A T.V. tray stood next to my bed with several plates of food. Blueberry pancakes drizzled with syrup. Scrambled eggs. Bacon. Orange juice and hot chocolate. I got lost in the swirling steam.

“I don't get it. What happened to unsweetened oatmeal and apple slices?”

A big smile spread across Janelle's face. “Your first mission is this afternoon. Training is over.”

I squinted at the sunlight, my eyes still not adjusted. “Did you run this past Will? I mean, I haven’t seen him in a while.”

“Will, schmill,” Edith stated. “He's not God's gift as he thinks.”

“Oh, shush,” Janelle said, glancing around as if Will was listening. “Our family wouldn't be what it is without him. Don't forget that.”

Edith snorted. “I can't forget it. He reminds me all the time.”

Janelle focused on me. “Will arrived early this morning. He’s just fine with it.”

Will? Was home? Any safety I’d felt with this family dissolved. Had he left behind a trail of dead bodies on his travels? I sank my fork into the pancakes, forcing my appetite back. “Thank you.”

“Well, dear. It's a tradition.” She hummed as she laid out several fancy sundresses for me to wear.

“Yeah, tradition all right,” Edith said. “The one in the most danger gets the biggest breakfast because it could be their last.”

I choked on a piece of bacon.

After breakfast Janelle fussed over me like I was her daughter attending prom. I couldn't even remember the last time my mom brought me breakfast in bed or called me pretty.

“What's wrong, dear?” Janelle ran a brush through my hair. “You seem sad.”

I plastered on a smile. “I'm fine.”

I pushed those sad feelings back where they belonged in my secret hidden place I'd developed since living with them. I was getting pretty good at this and that scared me the most.

“Why don't you try on the dresses and we'll see which one fits best.”

“The bra. Give her bra.” The cane tapped on the floor.

A bra?

“That's right,” Edith said. “Women need to use their God-given tools to distract their enemy. It could save your life.”

Somehow I couldn't quite imagine that but I didn't argue. I spent the next hour or so trying on dresses. It was a delicate balance between what looked best on me but wouldn’t attract too much attention. My secret mission was to remain a secret. Even from me.