Chapter 42
We’ve been driving in silence for some time now. It doesn’t seem like we’re being followed, but Sam’s making sure we are driving just at the speed limit. Though we’re both still naked, the air conditioner is on, and I don’t feel cold. Also, I am so distracted by my thoughts that being naked in a car is the last thing on my mind.
It was obvious, of course, right there in front of me the whole time.
I was just too blind to see it.
I close my eyes.
I can still see the dark red hole on the man’s blank face. Just like that—he was gone. I shudder involuntarily.
“Are you cold?” Sam asks.
“No . . .”
He nevertheless adjusts the heating.
Another minute passes in silence.
He takes a breath, but there is a moment of hesitation before he says, “I told you, Jane. I’m not who you thought I was.” His voice sounds cold and distant. I can barely recognize it.
The chills spread through my body and I automatically move away from him toward the door.
He tightens his grip on the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turn white. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “You will need to stay with me until you’re safe again.”
I don’t look at him. I lean my forehead against the window, and although it feels cold, I don’t move away.
The scenery has changed, and now we’re driving between gentle hillsides covered with a fine layer of snow. Cypress trees extend in the air like dull black arrows pointing to the red sky, as the sun disappears behind the horizon.
“This wasn’t the first time you’ve killed a man?” I say it like a question, but it really is not.
“No.”
“How many?”
“Jane, you don’t need to—”
“How many?”
First, silence. Then: “Many.”
“Why?”
“I had orders.”
I turn to him. “And you just killed because you had orders?”
He doesn’t respond.
I turn to look at the road again. Every now and then a car passes by, but the people inside never look at us. Nevertheless, Sam says, “Let’s get dressed.” And he pulls over at an empty rest stop. He turns to the back seat and opens the backpack, taking out our clothes.
He somehow managed to pack everything: my shirt, my shoes, my old jeans, my jacket. Even my underwear.
He dresses quickly while I’m still looking dully at my clothes. Then I turn to him. “What are you, Sam? Who are you exactly?”
He stops in the middle of putting on his shoes. Then he leans back. “I’m a . . . I’m a special agent, Jane. I track people. I gather information from them, and . . . sometimes . . . orders come to eliminate them.”
“Eliminate . . .” I repeat flatly.
“It means—”
“I know what it means!” I shout.
The silence that follows is even louder.
Sam sighs, then looks at me. “I’m an assassin, Jane. And I’m very good at what I do.”
I stare at him, bluntly. I feel like I’m in a dream where I am aware that I’m dreaming and I expect to wake up.
But I don’t wake up.
And this is not a dream.
“Have you ever refused the order to . . . eliminate someone?”
“No.”
I hoped for a different answer, but I don’t say anything.
“I’m sorry, Jane.” He looks away. “I wish you never had to find that out.”
I look at him. A beautiful body, amazing power and grace, a courageous and compassionate heart. But right now, he feels like a stranger.
I don’t know him as a special agent, as a person who can kill other people. I know him as brave, strong, sacrificing, funny, loving person. How can these two people be in the same body?
“What is Sentinel?” I ask.
He looks at me, seemingly surprised by my question. “It’s an organization.”
“What kind of organization?”
He glances at me. “That’s classified.”
“Well, I told you about my confidential work, didn’t I?”
He smiles, the first one in several hours. “Yes. Yes, you did.”
“So?”
“The full name is the International Sentinel Agency. They are powerful and extremely well connected. The group was founded by three men: a very experienced former special operative, a savvy business owner, and a computer scientist. They were all . . . unhappy with the general level of international coordination to prevent terror attacks. So this became their role, their mission: to identify, to track and to assess any suspected terrorist activity. Worldwide. And then, if required—to intervene, with a group of trained special agents. Before a bomb goes off. Before a group of terrorists slaughter innocent people.” He looks at me. “Before someone releases a dangerous strain of bacteria in a crowded place.”
“How come I’ve never heard of them?”
He shakes his head. “You wouldn’t have. Our existence is a closely kept secret. No one outside of Sentinel knows about us. Which is also part of the reason why we are so effective. Even national intelligence agencies can’t interfere.”
“Oh,” I try to joke. “It seems I just became a liability.”
He sighs. “So it would appear.” He doesn’t seem to think it’s funny. “And I just broke the first rule by telling you about Sentinel.”
“Well,” I say with new vigor in my voice. “I’m not going to tell anyone. I promise.”
He nods and attempts a smile. “I know that, Jane.”
After a few moments of silence, I continue, “So, how come you work for Sentinel?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Then, looking down at his lap, he says, “They recruited me.”
“Why you?”
“Ah, it’s, um . . . it has to do with something that happened in my life, before.”
I expect him to continue, but he doesn’t. Finally, I ask, “Would you mind telling me about it?”
He opens his mouth and I expect him to say no, but instead he says, “I had just turned eighteen. My mom and sister were killed when the Twin Towers went down….”
Oh, no! This is horrible! I shift in my seat away from the door and turn toward him.
“My dad died soon after. He just . . . lost his will to live. And I—after denial and depression—got stuck in anger with only one goal in mind. Revenge.”
He gives me an empty smile. “I quit school, joined the army, made it to the special forces. And then soon got noticed by Sentinel.”
“Do you know why they noticed you?” I ask quietly.
He shakes his head and looks through the windshield. “I don’t know. I think it was because… because I didn’t treasure my own life anymore. It wasn’t important. What was important was to stop the terror. To stop innocent people being killed.” He looks at me. “Like my mom. My sister.”
I bow my head, still looking at him. “I am so sorry, Sam.”
He looks down at his lap again. “When they recruited me, they explained their vision, their goal, and I realized that Sentinel was exactly where I needed to be—because their goal was my own.”
He takes a deep breath and straightens in his seat. “I’ve been a member of Sentinel for ten years, and although many terrorist attacks still happen in the world, we have been able to prevent many, many more.”
I guess it all makes more sense now. “So, all the people you killed—were they bad people?”
“Yes. That’s what the agency thinks. That’s what I think.”
“Sam, why didn’t you tell me that on the plane, when I asked you?”
He looks at me, arching his eyebrow. “Something like ‘I kill people but for a good cause’? Would you have believed me?”
I smile. “No. Probably not.”
He chuckles and looks down again. “That’s what I thought . . .”
There are several minutes of silence as I slowly adjust to this new reality. “I’m sorry, Sam. When I saw that man die. And—and the bullet hole . . .” I shudder once more. “I was just shocked.”
“I know. I wish you didn’t have to see that. I’m sorry…” He looks into my eyes, but then his gaze drifts downwards. He blinks, then looks outside. “Why don’t you”—he coughs into his fist—“get dressed? We should get going.”
I look down and realize I’m still completely naked. “Yes, of course. Sorry,” I say, trying to hide my smile, then quickly put on my clothes.
As soon as I click on the safety belt, Sam starts the car and we drive off.
“So, you were put on the Crazy Gro project?”
“Yes. Sentinel had some information on the project, but not a lot. Still, something didn’t feel quite right. So they sent me to investigate. Find out what it’s all about.”
“Why didn’t you try and get the information from David? Why pick me?”
“I did find things out from David. But it was clear from the start that he put all his faith in you, so I knew I needed to observe you most of all. But . . . me moving in next to you wasn’t part of the assignment. In the beginning, I told myself it would help me keep better track of you, but I could have done that from anywhere in the city. That’s how I would normally do it, anyway.”
“So, why did you move in next to me?”
Sam doesn’t answer right away. He is looking at the road, eyes fixed, as if he didn’t even hear me. Just before I want to repeat my question, he asks, “Do you remember asking me about the best photo I ever took?”
The photo. I snort in my mind. Yes, I remember the photo. Why on Earth is he bringing this up? I had almost managed to delete that from my memory. “Yes, I do. Why?”
“I wanna show it to you.”
I raise my eyebrows. “The photo? You have it? Here?”
He smiles, a soft, warm, and gentle smile. “Yes. Always.”
I stop my sigh before it escapes my lips. The pang jealousy bubbles up all the way to the surface again.
Who am I kidding? Assassin or not, I’m totally, completely into him.
“Could you get out my wallet, please? It’s in the backpack.”
I purse my lips but do as he asked. I push my arm into the backpack. The binding at the top touches my chin as I root around at the bottom of the bag. Once I find his wallet, I take it out, then sit back again and look at him. “And?”
“There’s a flap on the inside. Can you open it?”
I open the wallet. There’s quite a lot of money inside—euros. After a bit of trying, I find the flap and open it. The photo is reversed, showing the white back, so I take it out and turn it over.
And my mouth drops.