Blitzed (50 page)

The third man was a hulking brute, easily taller than Felix by two or three inches, with a face that only a mother could love. He was about twenty meters back, clearly pacing them and providing security for the other two. I glanced at Francois, who nodded. It was time.

Francois reached for the radio on the lapel of the coat he was wearing, keying the microphone twice. It was the signal to the other groups that we had encountered Felix, and that they were to hold tight. If we needed a distraction or assistance, we could call in later.

“Now,” Francois whispered, standing up from behind his bush, his Kalashnikov at the ready while at the same time I stepped from behind the tree, my own rifle ready. Our ally would stay down, and provide us cover if needed.

“Lovely morning for a run, isn't it?” I asked, stepping onto the road. I kept my rifle leveled at the woman, my finger on the trigger. “But I think you have someone that belongs to me.”

Felix and the woman stopped, both of them shocked. I was dismayed when Felix immediately pulled the woman behind him, his face confused and protective at the same time. “Who are you? And what are you doing here?”

“Felix . . .” I said, lowering my rifle as Francois came out onto the road. “It's me, Jordan. I'm here to get you out of here, to set you free.”

“Felix. . . .?” he said, his voice trembling and unsure. “Jordan . . .? Felix is dead, that's the life before Svetlana found me.”

“No, that was the life that you were taken from a month ago,” Francois said in French. “It’s me. We're here to take you home.”

“This
is
my home,” Felix stammered, his eyes clearly widening as he took in the sight of his near twin. “Svetlana is my Mistress. No . . . you must go. Whatever was in my past life, is my past life. I have a new life now. One with love.”

“You have love, Felix,” I said, my voice choking. The brute had approached, his hands going to his waist when a soft cough from our ally in the bushes stopped him, and he put his hands up. “Me. Your Jordan, remember?”

Felix's right hand came to his head, rubbing at his temples in an eerie imitation of the nervous habit Francois had begun over the past few weeks, and he started shaking his head back and forth, trying to negate what I was saying. For the first time, the woman spoke up. “Who are you? What is this talk of my Spartak? What are these lies?”

“No lies, sister,” Francois said, his rifle still at the ready. “Felix is taken. Didn't your father tell you? Vladimir always was a snake like that.”

“He is not my father,” the woman replied. Her voice shifted, going from haughty to pleading, desperate. “But I beg you, don’t take Spartak away from me. He belongs with me, and he’s happy here. I won’t betray him like his family did.”

“Even with the drugs you pumped him full of?” I spat back. “Bitch, you fucked with his mind, and tried to turn the man I love into a goddamn puppet.”

“I . . . I . . .,” the woman stammered, unable to find the words. Instead, she grabbed Felix and pulled him to her, crying. “Please Spartak, don’t listen to them! I love you!”

Felix dropped his hands and took hers in his, kissing her knuckles. “Is it true? Did you drug me, try to warp my mind?”

She blinked, tears falling down her porcelain doll face, then nodded, lowering her eyes. “I did.”

“And did you try to twist my mind to serve you?” Felix asked, just as softly. He brought his hands up, still holding hers, and stroked her cheek with the back of the fingers on his right hand, tenderness and hurt mixing in equal parts.

“I did.”

Felix let go of her hands and stepped back. “Then what about your saying you love me?”

Svetlana looked up, her blue eyes flashing with fire and conviction. “That is no lie! Yes, you were supposed to be a plaything, a boy toy that I could dispose of at my leisure, but over the past weeks, you've become something much more to me!”

Felix swallowed, his throat working as he searched to find the words. “And I love you,” he finally said, his own eyes shimmering with tears. “But I can’t stay with someone who lied to me, who twisted me and tried to make me into someone I’m not.”

Felix stepped back toward me, and I lowered my rifle more, reaching for him. “Felix . . . oh my Felix . . .”

He didn't take my hands, but instead looked at me in that same confused expression that he'd had every instant he set his eyes on me. “Your face is familiar, but I don’t know who you are,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

I shook my head, swallowing my tears. “It's okay, Felix. We’ll get you your memories back.”

I took his hand to lead him into the woods, when suddenly the brute behind Svetlana moved, faster than I thought a man his size could possibly move. The gun from his waist was in his hands even before I could turn, and the black, gaping barrel pointed right at my eyes. Felix hadn't even had a chance to turn when the hammer on the pistol fell, and fire spat from the end of the pistol.

Before the bullet could hit me though, Francois was in front of us, his arms out wide and pushing Felix and I toward the woods. At the same instant, our ally fired, his silenced rifle barely making a repeated spitting sound as his burst tore through the brutish bodyguard, dropping him to the ground before he could even make a sound of protest.

“Francois!” I screamed, grabbing him as our friend got to his feet, his rifle aimed at Svetlana. I looked at the woman, who dropped to her knees in fear. “No! Help me with Francois!”

The Romani had no idea who Francois was, he had only known him as Nicolae, his Romani name, but he understood the words 'no' and 'help,' and he lowered his rifle, running over to sling Francois over his shoulder in a fireman's carry while I grabbed Felix by the hand. “We've gotta go.”

Felix paused, looking back at the sobbing blond Russian, who reached out to him with one hand beseechingly. Felix blinked, then shook his head and looked at me. “Lead the way.”

We took off, running as fast as we could. While our rifles were silenced, Svetlana's bodyguard's pistol hadn't been, and we were sure that the shot had attracted attention. Thankfully, Felix kept up, even helping the other man when he tired of carrying Francois. I couldn't see where he'd been shot, but as the Romani talked into the radio to pull our forces back, I could see that a lot of Francois's back and side had already turned shiny and black from the blood soaking into his clothes. “Set him down, he's bleeding out,” I said, reaching a clearing. “Come on, we have to do something.”

Felix set his brother down on the pine needle carpet of the forest, and I reached for Francois's shirt, pulling it open. I didn’t know much, but if we could try and stop the bleeding, it would have to help. Slapping my hand over the hole in his chest, I yelled at our guide. “Get me a bandage!”

Francois's face was pale, but his eyes were clear as he shook his head slowly, a little smile on his face. “It's too late for me, Jordan. There's nothing you can do.”

“No,” I hissed, my eyes filling with tears. “You're going to live. I just got Felix back, I'm not losing you now!”

He shook his head again, pulling my hands off and bringing the blood stained fingers to his lips, where he kissed them. “It's okay. You already saved me. And thank you.”

I could see he was fading, and knew he was right — it was inevitable. With all my mental strength I clamped down on my tears, not letting them fall in front of him. “Thank me for what?”

“For showing me what love really is. I’d never known it until I met you.”

“I love you, Francois,” I whispered. His eyes fluttered, and I leaned down, kissing him on his bloody lips. He sagged back, his eyes losing the last of their focus as his hand fell from my cheek to collapse on the pine needles. I knelt next to him, and let the tears flow until our friend came and touched my shoulder.

“I am sorry. We go. Danger.”

I nodded, and stood up, lifting Francois's upper body. When our guide looked at me in confusion, I stared at him. “Help me! He may have made mistakes, but he deserves better than this pauper's grave.”

Our ally shrugged, not understanding me, but Felix knelt down, lifting his brother’s body and putting it across his shoulders. “I'll carry him,” he said, holding his wrist to steady his fireman's carry. “Is he my brother? He looks so much like me.”

“He is,” I said, getting my rifle ready. “You don't remember?”

“Everything is so hazy, like looking through a dimmed frosted window,” Felix said. “You said you love him, but you love me too?”

“We have a lot to talk about. I promise you, no lies, no holding back.”

He looked at me for a moment, then nodded. “Let’s go.”

I
t took
us four days to get out of the Ukraine, during which I was in a state of total confusion. I kept being greeted by people who seemed overjoyed to see me, but I had no idea who they were. I was hugged, clapped on the back, and greeted like a family member by people who I swore I had never seen before, only to have them laugh it off and clap me on the shoulder again. “It’ll come back to you,” they kept saying. “You are Romani, stronger than any drugs.”

After getting out of the country and getting into Romania, where we were greeted by members of my supposed tribe, I couldn't take it any longer. We were in a meeting room, in the basement of a restaurant, when I held up my hands. “Stop, all of you,” I said. “I . . . I need a moment.”

I left the room to walk out into the hallway, looking left and right. Up the stairs was the restaurant itself, which seemingly doubled as a nightclub based off of the thudding industrial techno filtering down from above. There was no peace, no consolation there for me. Instead, I went the other direction, toward the meat locker that had a yellow tag on the door. It was unlocked, and I opened it to find the body bag that held the body of Francois, my brother, lying on the metal table in the middle of the room.

I unzipped the bag, looking down at the frosted face that looked back at me, so like mine but slightly different. I’d been shown photos of our past, the two of us with our arms slung around each other's shoulders, with the woman Jordan between us, all of us looking happy on some beach.

But I didn't remember it. The names Jordan and Francois stirred something in the soup that was my past, but it still didn't have the same emotional connection as my thoughts of my Svetlana, who had loved me and used me at the same time. My sleep had been disturbed constantly by images of her in my mind, waking up not at the foot of her bed like I'd expected, but in a place with people I didn’t know.

Four days after my
rescue
I found myself in the basement of a techno club restaurant, staring at the body of the man who was apparently my brother.

“What the hell happened, anyway?” I asked his dead body, knowing I wasn't going to get the answers I needed. “Why the hell was I kidnapped?”

“I knew I'd find you here,” Jordan said behind me quietly. I turned and saw her leaning against the door of the freezer, her arms crossed over her chest and a kind look on her face. She was just as confusing as everything else. I could see she was amazingly beautiful, with a voluptuousness to her features, but I just couldn’t quite recall anything despite getting a feeling every time I laid eyes on her. “It's quiet.”

“It is,” I agreed, turning back around to look back down at Francois. “After four days of chaos and noise, I find myself needing more of it.”

“I'm sorry that we haven't given it to you,” Jordan said, crossing the room to stand on the other side of the table. “I've spoken with some of the doctors and psychologists that are helping us — they said you would need it, but until you’re safe, we can't seem to find any.”

“I just want answers,” I said, sighing again. “Why was I there? Why was I brainwashed? What am I supposed to do about these feelings that I have? What the hell is going to happen to me?”

My fingers trembled as I gripped the edge of the table, wanting to scream at Francois's body, demanding that he give answers.

Finally, Jordan's voice cut through my confusion. “Felix, what's on your back?” she asked quietly, her voice still tender. “I'm sure you've wondered how you got that X-shaped scar.”

“I have,” I said. “It is a strange scar.”

Jordan reached down and unbuttoned Francois's shirt, stripping it off of him. She reached across and pulled him onto his side, showing me the similar scars on his back. “There are other reasons, but I think in the end, this is the main reason why.”

“What are these?” I asked, tracing the ruptures on his back. They were obviously fresher than mine, the skin still pink and raw even in death. “Are they from our childhood?”

Jordan let Francois's body roll back and zipped up the bag. “Let me tell you the tale of two women, two men, and how forty-seven minutes total created a gulf that was nearly insurmountable.”

It took her over an hour, at the end of which we were both shivering from the cold of the meat locker, but the chill that coursed through my body was deeper than that. “All of this, over a gold crown and an apparently meaningless title, or at least one of little power?”

“I wouldn't say little power,” Jordan replied. “Twelve of the fifteen men who rescued you were relatives of yours. They risked their life for a man they had never even met, simply because he was their king and their kin.”

I shook my head, rubbing again at my temples. “Jordan . . . this is difficult for me. I know that you and I, and apparently Francois, were in love?”

She sighed again. “We were. I'll tell you the story, but not here. I'm freezing, and looking at Francois — it hurts too damn much. Come to my room, it'll be quiet there.”

We left the restaurant and made our way through the darkened streets, going back to the cheap inn that we'd rented for the night. Jordan explained their line of thinking, which was that the lower profile we traveled, the less likely we were to incur Vladimir Ilyushin's notice.

“We met when you literally ran me over in a museum,” Jordan said as we walked, the streets quieter than I'd expected. “At first you two kidnapped me because you thought that I might have been able to identify you.”

Something stirred inside of me, a few more puzzle pieces falling into place, and I blinked. “I . . . I think I remember, at least some of it.”

“Good,” Jordan said, smiling. “Let it come in time. There's no rush.”

“Why not?”

She reached up, stopping her hand an inch short of my face before dropping it back to my side. “Because you’re back, and while I can see it in your eyes you don't yet recognize who I am, or what we shared together, I'm a more patient woman than you think. Come on, let's get you some peace and quiet in order to think, you've probably had enough new information for the day.”

Jordan led me back to the inn, making sure I was safely in my room before pausing at the door. She hesitated, and I could see the conflict in her eyes. She wanted to join me, but she also knew that the man she saw in front of her was not the same man who had taken her to bed before. “Okay, well, I guess I'll see you in the morning then,” she said. “We've got a long ride in front of us. We’re going to make a straight shot all the way to Albania. Syeira and Charani are looking forward to seeing you again, and we have to bury Francois.”

“Okay. Good night, Jordan.”

I laid down in bed, thinking I'd be unable to sleep, until I woke up in the middle of the night, screaming in terror as flashbacks and withdrawals coursed through my system. I’d started the tremors two days after leaving the estate, and I wondered just how much drugs Svetlana had been pumping through me on a daily basis. At least I knew how they'd done it, with Maria the chef most likely dosing me with the twice daily supplement shakes. God alone knew how else they'd done it, but since being freed, I'd found myself jumping anytime I heard a hissing sound.

It was the hissing sound that had me scared out of my wits this time, as outside in the streets a nearby factory that obviously still used steam for something inside, let loose their built up boiler with a long, hooting hiss that penetrated the walls of the inn and crept into my sleep.

Suddenly, the door to my room crashed open and Jordan was there in her night clothes, rushing to my side and pulling me close. “Felix, are you okay?” She asked in a whispered voice, and I felt her arms coming to embrace me.

“The gas . . .” I managed to get out as two more faces, men from our escort party who we'd met just yesterday, arrived at the doorway only to be waved off by Jordan. They closed the door behind them, leaving us in the dim light and privacy. “Please, light. I need light.”

Jordan reached over and turned on the table lamp, and I did my best to hide my fear that was coursing through me. I was a broken
thing
, not a man any longer, afraid even of the darkness and the sound of a hissing steam pipe. Her skin was warm, even though her flannel sleep shirt, and there was something in her scent that helped.

“Close your eyes, I’ll sleep in here tonight if you don’t mind.”

For some reason, her words calmed me even more, and I felt my eyes slipping closed again. I awoke to find that the sun had risen and that the morning had come without any more nightmares. Jordan sat uncomfortably propped against the headboard of the bed, my head in her lap and her hips twisted in a manner that promised a low back ache later that day. Still, she was sleeping, her hand resting on my chest, a small smile on her innocent features. I felt another twinge in my chest, and even though I wasn't sure about my feelings still, conflict entered my heart.

Jordan had risked her life for me. She’d given up what I had heard was millions of dollars in family money to get into the Ukraine and get me back, and cashed in honor debts that stretched back generations. And there was no guarantee that my memory would come back, or that once it did, I would have the same feelings for her that I once had. Still, there was something about the way she looked in the morning light, innocent and pure, that pulled at me.

Her face pinched, and she blinked her eyes, waking up to see me looking up at her. “Good morning, Felix. Did you sleep well?”

“Much better after you joined me,” I acknowledged, taking her hand in mine and stroking the back of it. “But you must be in pain with the way you’re sitting.”

“Don't mention it, and I hope that some morning stretches will work out the worst of it,” she said with a light groan. I lifted my head from her lap, our fingers lingering on each other as she pulled her legs the rest of the way up onto the soft surface of the bed and bent forward, stretching her low back and hamstrings slowly. I was mesmerized by her fluid movements and wondered if the flexibility had always been there, or if it was the product of the long hours of training I heard she'd done to prepare for the mission. After a moment, Jordan looked over, a smile on her lips. “You're staring.”

“Uhm, I think I should get a shower,” I said, letting go of her hand and getting up. I stopped at the door, turning back and trying probably unsuccessfully to hide the growing desire building inside me. “Jordan, it's not that I don't find you beautiful. It's that . . . well, I guess you deserve the truth. I still haven't remembered our relationship. I get little feelings around you, but for now, that’s all I can remember.”

Jordan blinked, then nodded, smiling. “Thank you for your honesty. Go get your shower, I'll make sure our breakfast is ready. We have a long drive, and your mothers are eager to see you again.”