Fatal Attraction

Chapter Nine: Escape

Isla's POV

It won't take them long to poke the holes through my story. 

The perfect lie uses enough of the truth that every emotion you show is true enough to mask the twists you insert. But you can only stall an intelligence agency for so long before the actual intelligence comes through.

They pull the hood back over me and uncuff me from the chair, escorting me down hallways and elevators until I'm in another room almost identical to the first, but with no mirror. Or cameras. Time for the off-the-record business. Here they tie me to another chair, a stiff wooden one that pokes at my back, and then they shut the door, leaving me completely alone. 

How do you get out of this?

I can feel myself shaking off the dust of the recesses of my mind, teasing out the repressed memories until they're tangible again. Being here has triggered a part of me, unlocked something I had forgotten about through years of practiced ignorance: the mind of an agent. I was not a child recruit. I was born into this. 

I consider the sounds in the hallways, the floors travelled, the passing people heard. They took me high, to an isolated floor far from the rest of the workings of the agency. I'm near the end of a hallway. Does the end have a window? Unlikely. I need to get to one. 

I look around me. Soundproof and locked off from anyone who does not physically enter. I throw my body forward and back, forward and back, until I rock it enough to tip my chair backward with a hard crash. The sides come apart and I pull one arm free, then the other. I work my way out of the ropes and grab the sturdiest pieces of wood to wield as my weapons. Then I position myself beside the door and wait.

If he were on guard, the man who walked in to interrogate me would have snapped my arm in half before I'd even swung. But he isn't. I send a jab to his throat while the other arm strikes the back of his knees and he goes down, choking. I leap over him and take a single look at the hallway before dashing into the empty, open elevator and going down one floor. I step out and spy a window at the end of the hall. I smash the glass casing on a fire extinguisher and grab the fireaxe beside it, and then proceed to smash the edges of the window until I send a punch through the centre and it splits apart. Behind me, a voice yells. An alarm sounds. I climb through the window and look down at six stories of brick. 

Gripping tight to the ledge, I drop down, letting my feet dangle over air. My feet test the bricks for grip, and I find just enough purchase to inch away from the window, my hands now gripping the bricks for dear life. Every muscle in my body protests at the effort of hanging on free-handed, but the adrenaline shuts them up. I inch sideways until I reach a corner, and then I maneuver over it, to the next windowsill. I need to get down, but can my muscles hold that long without a rope? I think back to the years my dad took me freeclimbing on the bluffs a few hours out of town. You can do this.

I close my eyes and inhale deeply through my nose. I banish the pressure of time from my mind. I feel the air, pretend I'm up on one of those rock faces. You can do this. 

Then I begin to climb.

After a few minutes, two figures appear at the top of the building, and start repelling down. I climb faster. They've halved the distance between us in the time it takes to scale one storey, but I let the wind buffeting my back clear my mind, letting my hands and feet slide back into years and years of muscle memory. I guess I remember a lot of things better than I thought. 

I work sideways again, away from the pavement below where several agents are waiting, weapons drawn, until I hover over a parking garage. Then I let go, allowing myself to fall the last 15 feet.

I hit the ground and roll, not even feeling the pain, and then I'm up, weaving through the cars. Seconds later, shouts fill the lot. I take the stairs down a level, into the sheltered floors, and spy a vent in the side of the wall. I twist the bottom two screws with my nails, tearing them off, and lift the vent just enough to crawl inside, gently setting it closed behind me. I suck on my thumbs to clear the blood and then I crawl as fast as I can without making a sound. I hear the yelling increase behind me as more agents join the hunt, but I leave them behind me. Soon their voices warp and then fade as I weave and weave, until at last I come upon a vertical chute. I peer down it, but I can't see anything--the light from the vent has dimmed almost as much as sound, and I lie there, crushed on all sides in darkness with no quick escape. I take deep breaths to combat the rising anxiety at the idea of being trapped where I am. Without thinking any longer, I pull my body across the hole into the next tunnel until my feet hang down into it, and then I let go.

I realize as I'm falling that it leads all the way down. I push my feet against the sides as I drop, slowing myself enough that when I hit the bottom, I don't break my ankles. I let out a sigh of relief. From far above, I hear a yell. They've found the vent. I squeeze back down and crawl parallel to the way I came, feet first this time, until I come out on the bottom level of the garage. I look around. No one. If they've found the vent, there will be agents here in moments.

I kick as hard as I can, over and over. The grate pops off on the fourth try and then I'm out, ducking behind the nearest car. I could try my hand at hotwiring a car, but they most certainly have all exits covered. I look down at my feet. The sewers. I smash the back of a car window and grab the tire wrench, leveraging it to lift the sewer cap by my feet. Then I lower myself into it and let go, falling down into water. I have no idea where I am, but I pray there are no alligators. 

You'd be proud of me, Dad, I think as I wade through the muck. You've been training me for this without my even knowing it. I wonder where he is, if he's okay. He vanished at the same time as the South Africans found me. It has to have been a data leak they got their hands on. It won't be long until the Americans piece it together. 

The sewer hits a dead end, massive bars closing off what must be the tunnels beyond the compound. I backtrack until I find another surface access point, this one with a ladder, and I climb until I'm right below it. I squint. I'm right by the exit, in the middle of the road beside the gate checkpoint. I test the cover. It's loose. 

Two SUVs pass over me, stopping to speak with the guards. The second car stops above me. I push the cap aside and wriggle out, slide it back into place, and affix myself to the bottom of the vehicle. My muscles, exhausted from defying gravity once already, scream out as I hold on for dear life. Then the gates open and the cars pull through, speeding through the streets with me beneath them, my back inches from the pavement skipping by. I move with them through the blocks of whatever city I'm in, distancing myself as much as possible while I'm completely off the radar. When they stop at a red light, I drop and roll under the car parked beside them, and then it's green and they're gone, leaving me free. 

Under the car, I gather my bearings--I'm in a rougher neighbourhood now. All the better for me. I scramble out from under the car and take off, not stopping long enough to gather the enormity of what I've done: I've escaped the main compound of the private spy agency of the United States of America.