Mr. Nice Spy by Tiana Smith

Author:Tiana Smith [Smith, Tiana]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2024-11-05T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

It was easy to lose track of time in the catacombs. Had we been here hours? Days? Weeks? I couldn’t remember how many times I’d slept. My natural body rhythms were already thrown off by the different time zone, but I couldn’t even see the sun down here to get a reset.

In all honesty, I knew it had been weeks, but I couldn’t say for sure how many. Chan’s second set of hearing aids still worked, but they wouldn’t for much longer. Sure, we’d still be able to sign, but once Holt learned we could communicate that way, he’d bring someone down here to watch our every move. If we had to rely on writing everything down, Holt could easily gather up our written communication to keep tabs on our conversations. It wasn’t like we had a fireplace or some other way we could easily dispose of the paper. I didn’t think the toilet’s plumbing could handle regular paper products. Holt would get suspicious if we suddenly started eating the stuff. Although, with how long we’d been down here (weeks? months?) maybe I could claim it was some kind of vitamin deficiency.

Holt had probably chosen this as his evil lair on purpose. Like a torture tactic. Disorient your enemies and see how long it takes to break them by locking them in a room without a clock. I wouldn’t be surprised if he started blasting endless circus music over some hidden speakers or took away our pillows and blankets until we became unhinged. It wasn’t like we had any books to read or phones to waste away the time.

It probably hadn’t been a month total yet. It only felt that long because the CIA still hadn’t come to our rescue. I’d read somewhere that the first twenty-four hours were crucial in missing persons cases, and that if the individuals weren’t recovered by then, they weren’t likely to be. The longer we stayed down here, the more likely our trail would go cold. If a single day was that important, I could only imagine what a month meant.

Chan and I had fallen into a rhythm. Without realizing it, I automatically moved to his right side whenever we talked. It almost felt uncomfortable to be on his left, like trying to push two repelling magnets together. I just needed to flip the other way around, and everything was right in the world. I learned to make sure I had his attention before speaking or I’d be repeating whatever it was I’d just said. The thing was—I didn’t even mind.

Every morning, Holt would get me and take me to the lab, where I’d see how much longer I could string him along without him catching on to my game. Then he’d deposit me back into my room, where Chan would do everything he could to make me laugh. Some days it even worked.

Holt had come by earlier today. But this time he didn’t take me out of the room. He’d simply stood in the doorway and asked how my mom had escaped all those years ago.

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