6: I Swim
I accept the metal-armed man's suggestion that he drive with little resistance. The truth is, as I stumble into the passenger seat, I feel like I can barely stand. The adrenaline is slowly draining from my body, leaving exhaustion and a muddled brain behind it. And what if we get pulled over? It's not like I've taken a Greek driving test recently.
The metal-armed man slides into the driver's seat and summons the car to life with ease. I buckle myself in, preparing for the inevitably bumpy trip back to something like a road, but he steers the car with such deftness I barely feel any jostling at all. He finds a road within half an hour, and only a short time after that, we're speeding through the picturesque countryside. He never consults a map, and seems to barely glance at road signs. For a man who has no memory of his childhood, he navigates the area as if he's been here his entire life.
I make a stab at conversation when the silence finally starts to get to me. "Been here often?"
"Once," he replies.
"Do you have some kind of memory chip in there, too? And I was just thinking, what do we do if they're tracking the car?"
"Why would they be tracking the car?"
"Isn't that what shadowy spy organizations do?"
He shoots me what I think is a look of pity," What a waste of time. This is just a rental. Besides, they don't need to track the car to find me."
"Oh my gosh, do you have a tracker? I didn't see anything like that in your arm, but I might have missed it…."
"Calm down," he orders," Take a deep breath. It doesn't matter if they're tracking us."
"It doesn't? But if they track us, can't they, like, send assassins to take us out?"
His expression is absolutely pity this time," We've got a couple of hours' drive. Go ahead and sleep; you clearly need it."
"Just because you're rescuing me doesn't mean you can tell me what to do," I cross my arms defiantely.
"Let's get something straight," he replies, and although neither his expression or his tone changes, he is suddenly back to the intimidating assassin from the bunker. He doesn't look at me, eyes locked on the road ahead, as he continues," If you want to survive, you're going to do exactly what I say. No hesitation, and-" he glances at me from the corner of his eye," -no questions. You may need to run, or you may need to take my lead and play along. My instructions are all that stand between you and certain death. Do you understand?"
"Yes," I say, a chill creeping beneath my skin despite the warmth of the summer day just outside the car," Though… you're essentially asking me to trust you blind. You realize that's a tough thing for me to do, right?"
"I do," he nods," And I understand that I'm also asking you to promise that, should something happen, and I tell you to run and leave me behind, that will be tough for you to do as well."
I open my mouth to argue, but realize he's right. Just like I couldn't bring myself to blow him heavensward back in the bunker, I'm not sure I could abandon him to fate, even to save my own skin.
"I'd make a horrible assassin, wouldn't I?"
"Well," he gives me a small smile," I'm not a very good mechanic."
I don't mean to sleep. Regardless of his actions, I still don't know the metal-armed man's motivations for saving me, and I do my best to resist the exhaustion overtaking me, but sleep I do, and suddenly I'm curled up against the corner of the passenger seat, and night surrounds the car. I drowsily sit up, rubbing my eyes. "How long have I been out?"
"About eight hours," the metal-armed man says," We should be at the safe house shortly."
Dawn peeks out over the empty streets as we slide into the outer limits of the city. Beside me, the metal-armed man seems completely relaxed, gently guiding the steering wheel with only one hand, his free arm propped against the open window, as if we're some absurdly mismatched road trip buddies. I steal a sideways glance at him. In his simple zip-up hoodie and with his dark hair pulled back, he's a different kind of intimidating-the kind that reminds me I stammer very badly on first dates.
The car moves through the quiet city like a hammer against glass, engine roaring in the provincial silence. Shops are just beginning to open, pushing up their grates and sparring us hardly a glance. I would have thought a foreign car zipping through the streets would attract some attention, especially as the metal-armed man takes yet another corner with a sharp turn, gunning the ignition.
"Shouldn't you slow down a little?" I blurt out as he nearly collides with a fruit stand," I thought we were being conspicuous?"
"This is conspicuous," he replies, ramming the throttle again," Only non-natives you see here are rich assholes. Gotta blend in." He throws me a wide, mischievous grin and my heart gives a strange lurch. Who knew he had that many teeth? I shift nervously in my seat, uncertain if it's his change in mood that unsettles me, or the way I notice that his canines are just a little too long, sinking into the soft tissue of his lips when he smiles.
"You're oddly cheerful for a man on the run from a shadowy spy organization. With a civilian tag along, no less."
He gives his one-shouldered shrug; at least that much hasn't changed.
"Don't tell me this is fun for you," I say, baffled.
"Most fun I've had in ages-I assume," he grins again. I make a deliberate choice to stare at the road ahead instead of the way his mouth curls into a little smirk at the corners.
"I don't get out a lot, except for-"
"Yeah, got it," I interrupt quickly, glancing around at the buildings we pass. They are getting progressively nicer as we move further into town-newer, taller and covered with cool-colored stone instead of bright, chipped paint. There are still shops, but there are wide balconies on the windows. "Where are we going?"
"Told you-safe house."
He's decelerating now, sliding down a hill road carved right into the side of a steep cliff. I follow the road with my eyes, wondering if I can spot this top-secret assassin hide-out. At the bottom of the road, beside a sandy white beach, is a lone house, three stores and sprawling beside a pool and a lush patio the size of my entire apartment. Probably costs more than my life savings, as well.
"Is the safe house hidden along the cliff?"
The metal-armed man indicates the beach house with a jerk of his chin," That is the safe house."
I let out a low whistle," Why couldn't we have fixed your arm here?"
"Gunfire would be more noticeable here," he replies, and I am unable to tell if he's making a joke or not.
He pulls the car into the expansive driveway and climbs out, totally at ease.I clammer out of my side, trying to drink in every feature without betraying what a lost little lamb I seem to be at the moment. The front of the house is beautiful sandstone, with a wide double front door made of deep mahogany wood. The doors on the second story are open to the sea breeze, light curtains fluttering out onto the shallow balconies. The house is silent; we seem to be its only guests.
He swings our bags onto his back, and comes around to my side of the car.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" he asks softly. He's moved so close to me I can feel his breath on my cheek. He leans even closer," I'm really looking forward to the next few days with you."
"What-?" I am about to cry out, but just as I open my mouth, he rests his hand at the small of my back. I was wrong about his easy manner. I can feel intense tension through his touch. He's alert, and already spotted something I can't begin to sense. This is some kind of game, some signal he's giving me. Play along, he said.
"Oh yes," I reply breathlessly, plastering on my best smile," It should be very…. memorable."
He grins at me, but his smile has lost all of its former warmth. His eyes are weary, already slipping back to the man I'd first met only a few days ago. Back on mission-but what's his mission now?
He casually loops his arm through mine and leads me into the house. At such a close range I can feel how rigid he is, as if he expects to leap into movement at any moment. I do my best to keep my eyes straight ahead, the same stupid smile frozen on my face.
"Like it?" he asks playfully.
"Oh no, it's a complete shack. I'm ashamed just looking at it," I snort. He laughs, and suddenly he's dropped the bags and swept me up into his arms. I cry out in genuine surprise and -I'll be honest- embarrassment, as he cradles me against him, carrying me up the front steps to the door. He pushes open the doors with his hip, not bothering with the handle. No lock, open windows… was someone expecting us? He carries me over the threshold, and sets me gently on the tile floor of the entryway. The interior of the house is still dark, not yet touched by the early morning sun creeping over the cliffs. I take advantage of the shadows to shoot him a questioning look, and hold up my left hand, ring finger extended.
He shakes his head. "Weekend fling," he mouths, with a small smirk.
I roll my eyes, and then exclaim loudly," Wow, it's so big!"
He can't help a small chuckle, and responds, just as loudly," You haven't seen anything yet, babe. I'll get the bags." He steps back out into yard, giving me a moment to collect myself. I'm glad; already I feel keyed up and anxious, unsure if I should even venture further into the house without him. Maybe the place is booby-trapped, and that's why no one bothers with locks. I can't help but laugh at myself a little. I would make a horrible spy; the paranoia would do me in before I'd even completed a mission.
He reappears in the hallway with the bags slung over his shoulder. Pointing deeper into the house, he says," There are three bedrooms upstairs. There's a bathroom on this floor, if you, uh… want to freshen up."
"Thanks," I hesitate for a moment, then say," Before you and I started…. hanging out, I was visiting with my friend Hannah. I really miss her. I hope she's okay… with me ditching her."
He gives a small nod of understanding. "I'm sure she's fine."
My heart lifts. It's good to know that she didn't somehow get mixed up in all of this, beyond just a missing phone. "I… wonder if she'd be okay with me calling her."
There's a long pause before he answers. "Service can be kind of spotty out here. But-I might be able to help."
"Thank you," I say, completely genuine. Before I can loose my nerve, I throw my arms around his neck for a quick hug. He seems as genuinely surprised at my action as I am. I quickly release him and, grabbing my bag, hurry down the hall, securely closing the bathroom door behind me. The bathroom is small, but peaceful; exactly what I need.
Turning to the mirror, I gaze in shock at my reflection. I look a damn mess, my hair going in every direction but inward, my skin greasy. The t-shirt hangs awkwardly awkwardly around my shoulders, as if I've stumbled onto a few extra pounds to add to my frame. My pique at my appearance is nearly forgotten as I step into the shower, though. The pressure of the warm water is perfect, massaging the stress from my sore muscles and washing away the sweat, grime and disorder of the last few days. The bathroom comes fully stocked with top of the line shampoos, skin creams and fragrant bath bars. Who would have guessed an assassin hideaway was so luxurious? As I debate my options, I lightly ponder if maybe I picked the wrong line of work.
Until I recall the vacant expression of the dead guard's eyes.
The thought comes unbidden. I wonder if he's still there, still laying motionless on the ground in that silent tomb. Will the shadowy organization give him burial, send him home to his country and his family, or will they simply burn the place to the ground and let him lay for eternity where he fell?... where the metal-armed man put him. Despite the warmth of the water, I shudder violently, and I stand beneath the stream until the hot water runs out.
Clean at last, with my haie in some kind of order, I emerge from the bathroom in a tank top and shorts, already feeling the wet heat of the house. I wander past dark room after dark room, my footsteps echoing against the wooden floors. I panic momentarily that the metal-armed man had abandoned me, yet am too stubborn to call out for him. It's strange; he's seen me look like I just did, and cry, and sleep, and yet I still shy away from letting him see any more weakness in me if I can help it. Maybe he just has that effect on people.
I find him at least in an office type room with double doors leading out onto a patio, and beyond, there's a perfect view of the beach and sea.
He looks up as I pad in, smiling slightly," You look refreshed."
"You mean you can finally tell the difference between me and a pile of refuse and twigs," I flop down onto a plush couch across the cozy room. He's seated at the desk, absorbed in a laptop, still dressed in his jeans and hoodie. Apparently he doesn't need to be clean to look good-his tangled, tousled mess of hair only seems to heighten his physical appeal. With his metal arm hidden, it's almost too easy to fool myself into thinking I'm on some fantastic vacation with a guy whose eyes match the color of the crystal-like ocean beside us.
"So whaca doing?" I ask, mostly to distract myself from my thoughts.
"Spy stuff."
I peek over his shoulder. "That's Solitaire."
"Only while my program is installing," he says a bit defensively, pulling up a second program window," In a few minutes, the IP should be secure enough that you can message your friend without being recorded.
I glance cautiously around the room. "Aren't they recording us now?"
"No need in most of the safe house, though there are cameras outside, so try to resist any streaking-unless that's your thing." He stands and offers me his seat. "Your friend probably is being monitored, though, so do your best to act normal."
"I'll be sure to avoid mentioning shadowy organizations and kidnappings. Wait, where are you going?"
He pauses as he reaches the doorway. There's a grim set to his jaw as he glances back at me. "To work." Then he disappears into the dark hallway.
I shake my head as I turn back to the computer screen. Maybe one of the biggest appeals of spy work is getting to be a giant drama queen.
I manage to fend off most of Hannah's questions about my disappearance by insinuating that I had met a European guy and run off with him; details aside, not a total lie. Although it wasn't at all like me, I was able to assuage her suspicions easily; she said it was clear how crazy I was about the guy. I had never known my acting skills were so impressive.
As for the guy I'd actually run away with, I saw little of him for the next day. I looked all over the house for him come lunchtime, ready to offer my admittedly amateur cooking skills in the fully stocked kitchen, but he was nowhere to be found. His bags and the car were still exactly where I expected, so I eventually gave up, and set about amusing myself.
The place was eerily quiet. Even with the distant sound of the waves crashing on the shore, it was difficult to avoid the claustrophobic feeling of loneliness. My fingers itched to be useful, and my brain yearned for stimulation. I found that, whenever I wasn't feverishly occupying myself, dark thoughts would trickle into my head. The memory of the dead guard. The self-destruct button in his metal arm. Would I ever see home again? By the time night finally settled onto the house, I was a nervous wreck. Scavenging sleeping pills from a hidden drawer I'd rummaged through earlier that day (and why the house came with such an impressive stock of them, I forced myself to avoid wondering) I locked myself up in one of the upstairs bedroom, and passed out onto the queen size bed with the high thread count sheets.
I woke up in the morning determined to get my head on straight. All I could do was trust the metal-armed man, wherever that might lead me. Until then… I was still technically on vacation. Throwing on a swimsuit, I grabbed the trashiest book I had brought with me ("Age of the Machine: How Humans Became Obsolete") and settled myself onto a beach towel beside the ocean, letting the sun and the surf seep into me as I spread myself out onto the sand.
The metal-armed man appears just as the sun reaches its highest point. He moves so quietly I don't even glance up until I feel a shadow pass over me, nearly yelping in surprise.
"Holy cow, scared me half to death," I push my sunglasses up onto my forehead, glaring at him. He shoots me a wide grin. He's in swim trunks and a tight surfer top, perfectly camouflaging his metal arm. His legs are as well-built as the rest of him, the picture of a Californian beach bum. "Just wondered where you'd gotten to."
"Is it okay for me to leave the house?" I ask anxiously.
"Of course," he settles down onto the sand beside me, tipping his head back to take in the sun's warmth. My breath catches a bit in my throat as I take in his profile, from his well-shaped nose to the sturdy elegance of his throat.
"Any progress?" I look away quickly, stupefied by my own errant thoughts.
"Some."
"Oh, well, when you lay everything out like that, I can't help but be reassured."
"I'm afraid you really might need to relax," he glances at me with a raised eyebrow," And that's coming from me, which says something. I don't think I've ever met anyone who wanted to get away from this so quickly."
I sigh and pull my knees up to my chest. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't put so much pressure on you. You've already done so much for me."
"And you for me," he interjects quietly," Though I suppose you're aching to be back at work. Have you always loved working with machines?"
"Oh yes, ever since I was young."
"Where did you grow up?"
I smile a little proudly. "Brooklyn. My parents were very encouraging-well, no wonder, my mother's sewing machines were always breaking down, so my early interest in mechanics was absolutely a boon to her."
He tils his head, studying me with his intense blue eyes, as if trying to puzzle something out. "You said… they owned a shop."
"What?" I glance at him in surprise," No, both of my parents were teachers."
"Oh," he says, glancing out over the ocean," My mistake."
I follow his gaze, letting my thoughts drift as I watch the waves slowly ebb in and out. "I probably could stand to relax. I don't take a lot of vacations, and hardly ever to places like this."
"Where was your last vacation?"
"Tahiti," I sigh contently," It's a magical place."
He stands, brushing the sand off himself, and offers his hand. "You may be here a few more days. But you absolutely cannot go until you've swum in the Mediterranean."
I make a face up at him. "Swimming's not really my thing."
"Ah," he nods in understanding," That is too bad."
Without warning, he scoops me up, flinging me over his shoulder as if I weigh no more than a kitten. I cry out in exaggerated outrage as he carries me out into the sea, his soft laughter nearly drowned out by the sounds of the waves. When the water reaches his waist, he flips me down into his arms and, with a wink, tosses me bodily into the drink, completely soaking me. The moment I find my footing in the swirling ocean, I spring back at him, splashing him with whatever water I can reach as he easily dodges my attacks. It's easy, so easy, to forget who he really is and why we're really here, when his arm is covered and he smiles at me like that.
So, maybe for a few days, I will.