99 Lies, Page 3

  “Endorsement?” I raise my brows at Penelope, but she only shrugs.

  “Five, four, three . . .” Neda winks at us, and suddenly I feel like a mouse lured into a trap. “. . . two . . . one!” She smiles at the camera, waits a beat, then launches into her opening monologue.

  “Hi, this is Neda Rahbar, and you’re watching Survival Mode. Today I have an exclusive interview with three members of the Miami Six, my personal friends and survivors of last week’s Colombian jungle kidnapping, which I only narrowly missed myself. But first, this episode of Survival Mode is brought to you by Diorshow Black Out waterproof mascara.” Neda holds a black tube next to her face and blinks for the camera, showing off thick, dark lashes. “Because your makeup should survive, even when you’re not sure you will.”

  I laugh out loud, then slap my hand over my mouth.

  Neda’s smile never fades, but there’s anger in her eyes when she turns to me. “So, Maddie, let’s start with you and Luke. I have to ask the question all of my viewers are dying to know. What do you do when you and your boyfriend are trapped in the jungle with no condoms?”

  But they’re perfect for each other!

  GENESIS

  Footsteps thump outside the door, and I look up. Please be dinner. My head hurts and I can’t stand without getting dizzy. My hiking boots are starting to look appetizing. Leather comes from cows, right?

  A shadow appears in the line of light beneath the door.

  “Please, can we get some food and water?” At first, I refused to beg. I told myself I was imagining more hunger than I actually felt because I had nothing to do in the dark but think about my empty stomach.

  But I can’t even pretend that’s true anymore.

  “What’s the point of starving us?” I demand through the door. “If you’re going to kill us, just shoot us and get it over with.”

  Starving is its own special brand of hell. My lips are cracked and my throat is so dry it’s difficult to swallow. My arms weigh a ton apiece, and my feet feel like they’re encased in concrete blocks. My thoughts won’t focus, and every now and then I realize I’ve been staring into the dark, thinking about nothing at all. As if my brain has turned itself off to preserve energy.

  No answer comes from beyond the door, but there’s a single soft tapping sound, like the click of a computer trackpad.

  “So, when I was airlifted out of the jungle because of my injury . . .” Neda’s voice is like a slap to the face, and suddenly I’m wide-awake, after hours—days?—of existing in a timeless, nearly sleepless fog. “. . . you guys were about to party campfire-style at that army bunkhouse.”

  I don’t realize I’m crawling toward the door until a splinter from the wood plank floor bites into my left knee.

  “What happened after I left?” Neda asks.

  “We celebrated your departure,” Maddie says. A guy—Luke?—laughs, and I get lost in the bounce of each note. They sound happy. They are not hungry or in pain. They’re probably not sitting in the dark, desperate for proof that the rest of the world still exists.

  This is what I wanted when I made my cousin get on that boat. Maddie, safe at home.

  So why do I suddenly feel so hollow?

  “Screw them,” Holden whispers, and the sentiment resonates so easily inside me that I decide this is a defense mechanism. Captives do whatever they have to do to survive. Resenting those who escaped is nothing.

  I can’t help it.

  “We partied, then collapsed in our tents,” Penelope says, and I can imagine Neda’s nostrils flaring as she tries to roast Maddie alive with her glare. “The next morning, we woke up to armed men pulling us out of our sleeping bags. They took our phones and jewelry. Then they separated us into two groups and marched our group deeper into the jungle.”

  “Tell me about Genesis and Holden,” Neda says. “How did they get left behind when you guys escaped?”

  “Most of us ran down to the beach to get the speedboats ready,” Luke says. “Maddie and Genesis stayed at the camp to . . . make sure no one got left behind.”

  We stayed to find a detonator. But Luke left that part out. Or maybe he doesn’t know we actually found one. If he doesn’t know I’m the one who triggered the explosion, it’s because Maddie hasn’t told him—or anyone else.

  Relief washes over me, lifting a tiny bit of the weight that’s been sitting on my chest. She’s trying to protect me, all the way from Miami.

  “Maddie made it to the beach first,” Luke continues. “Then Genesis came running out of the jungle. But before she made it to us, the cruise ship exploded.”

  “After that it was chaos,” Maddie adds. “We were all half deaf. Indiana went flying into the boat’s dashboard, and he just crumpled right there at my feet with a huge gash on his head. He was bleeding in the bottom of the boat. So much blood.”

  How much blood? Where’s Indiana? Why isn’t he talking?

  Sebastián was lying. He had to be.

  “And Genesis . . . she . . .” Maddie clears her throat. “I looked back at the beach and she was fighting with one of the kidnappers. She yelled for us to go, before we lost our chance. To leave her there. She sacrificed herself so we could get away.”

  “Damn.” Neda sounds stunned.

  My eyes water. I blink, and tears roll down my face. I’m so tired. So hungry. But they’re safe. That’s worth anything.

  “Penelope, what about you and Holden?” Neda obviously doesn’t know that Holden left us before the explosion. Are they protecting him too? From what? Public opinion?

  “I . . .” Pen hesitates. “I was already gone. I left on the first boat with Domenica and Rog.”

  “That random old guy we met on the beach?” Neda asks.

  “Yeah, no one knows his real name.”

  “So, Rog stayed in Colombia, but where is Domenica?” Neda asks, and I crawl closer to the door, heedless of more splinters.

  “What about Indiana?” I ask before I realize that she won’t hear me. Why aren’t they saying anything about him?

  “Domenica’s been ‘detained’ until the US government can clear her of involvement in the whole thing.” I can practically see Maddie’s air quotes as her pitch ramps up for a sermon. “Which is total bullshit. That’s profiling. They can’t assume she was involved in our kidnapping just because she’s not American. That’s what you should be using your platform for, Neda. Putting pressure on the US government to get Genesis back and set Domenica free.”

  “I don’t have a platform,” Neda says. “I have a webshow.”

  “If they were profiling, wouldn’t they have detained you too?” Penelope says. “You’re half-Colombian.”

  “I’m of half-Colombian descent,” Maddie corrects her. “My parents were born in the US. But your point stands.” A soft creak tells me she’s shifted in her chair. Probably sitting up straighter, like she does when she’s ready to drive a point home. “If the US government is going to detain Domenica, they may as well detain me too.”

  “She doesn’t mean that,” Luke says.

  “Yes I—”

  “So, back to Genesis and Holden,” Neda interrupts, reclaiming control of the interview. “I know they’re still trapped in the jungle, but at least they have each other. Right? Like lovebirds sharing a cage?”

  Holden isn’t moving. The air between us feels thick, as if gas has leaked into the space and a single spark will torch us both.

  “Yeah . . .” Penelope hesitates. Is she reluctant to derail Neda’s story or afraid that the truth will make Holden and her look bad?

  “Lovebirds?” Luke laughs again. “They broke up. If they’re stuck somewhere together, they’re probably at each other’s—”

  “They what?” Neda’s shock is almost palpable. “But they’re perfect for each other! What the hell happened? I want all the dirty details!”

  “What matters is that they’re still missing.” Penelope’s voice is shaking. “And that twelve hundred thirty-four people died when that cruise ship bl
ew up.”

  I choke on nothing as all the air is sucked out of my lungs. Twelve hundred lives.

  My fault . . .

  “Cruise ship?” Holden’s voice is weak with exhaustion, but clear.

  “Maddie’s right,” Penelope adds. “That’s what your story should be about. The people who died. And the ones who are still missing.”

  “Genesis, if you can hear this, know that we haven’t given up on you,” Maddie says, and the darkness around me blurs beneath fresh tears. “The entire country is behind you and we will bring you home.”

  There’s another soft tap, and the webcast ends. The sudden loss of connection to the outside world makes me feel like I’ve been kidnapped all over again.

  “Do you think they’ll still want you back when they find out who really blew up the Splendor?” Sebastián asks from the other side of the door. He chuckles as his footsteps recede.

  “Who blew up—?” Holden’s expression is hidden by darkness, but I hear comprehension dawning in his voice, and when it comes, it’s like a knife to my gut. “I thought you blew up the tent on the beach. But you blew up a cruise ship?”

  “It was an accident.” My voice is hardly a whisper. “I thought the bombs were on a mini-sub.” But he’s not listening.

  “Holy shit, Genesis. You have a higher body count than any terrorist since September eleventh!”

  I’m doing exactly what she would do.

  MADDIE

  Neda presses a button on her remote control, and the red light on her camera blinks out. “And . . . we’re clear.” She turns on Penelope. “How could you not tell me that Gen and Holden broke up?” She shakes her head, and her dark curls bounce on her shoulders. “Wait. I’m glad you didn’t. I don’t think I could have faked surprise when you dropped that on me during the video.”

  Never mind the fact that it was actually Luke who dropped that on her.

  “That was the perfect bombshell for this episode.” Neda stands and plucks her iPad from the teleprompter rig. “They’re not lovers leaning on each other under horrible circumstances. They’re exes, forced to contend not just with their captors, but with each other!”

  “One of your best friends is at the mercy of a multinational terrorist organization.” I glance around Neda’s “studio,” disgusted by the waste and excess. Thousands of dollars that could have gone to charity, spent on an effort to further inflate a vapid heiress’s ego. “They have machetes, and guns, and bombs, and all you can think about is how juicy her breakup was?”

  She cracks the top on a bottle of sparkling water. “Genesis understands manufactured drama. I’m doing exactly what she would do if she were here.”

  Genesis doesn’t need to manufacture drama, online or in person.

  Neda shrugs. “Of course, you’ll have to come up with something new for the next episode. Something personal, yet explosive.”

  “Next episode?” Luke stands. “I’m not going to sit on your stupid pink couch and tell thousands of strangers about kissing my . . . Maddie.” He glances at me, and suddenly I realize that we’ve never really defined what this is between us. And this is neither the time nor the place for that. “Unless you do an episode of my Let’s Play.”

  “Your what?” Neda sinks into a chair behind her table and opens a sleek, thin laptop.

  “My Let’s Play. You come to my house and play the video game of your choice on camera for my next episode, then I might think about letting you exploit me again on your channel.”

  I blink at him, surprised. Impressed. “You have a channel?”

  Luke shrugs. “Live-play video games. It’s fun.” He glances at Neda, who’s hardly even listening as she archives the live broadcast on her channel. “But for her, it’ll be an exercise in empathy. Through humiliation.”

  “Yeah.” Neda rolls her eyes. “Because playing video games is so hard.” Before Luke can respond, she turns to me. “Have there been any calls on the hotline?” We’d read the number again on Neda’s . . . show.

  “Only prank calls.” My mother and Penelope have already asked me the same question, and every time I have to answer it, another little piece of me dies. “Who prank calls a hotline set up for hostages?” I sigh. It’s hard to stay positive when I have nothing but bad news. “I should never have left Colombia. I should have stayed with Abuela until they found Genesis.”

  Luke wraps one arm around my waist. “Maddie, that wasn’t an option.”

  He’s right. I couldn’t refuse to come home. Not after Ryan . . .

  My eyes close. I can’t stand to think about my brother still lying in a shallow grave in the middle of the jungle.

  “Any updates from your uncle about Genesis and Holden?” Neda sets her iPad down, and finally I have her full attention. And, strangely, her sympathy. “Or your brother?”

  “They’ve finally got the coordinates of the bunkhouse,” I say, though Luke’s already heard this. “There are several of them in that area, so it took them a while to figure out which one we were kidnapped from. But my uncle’s hired an exhumation crew to go get Ryan tomorrow. They’re going to bring him home.”

  So we can rebury him, next to my father.

  “What about Indiana?” Pen asks.

  “We haven’t heard anything from Agent Moore,” Luke says. “But Maddie and I have called every hospital in Colombia that took victims from the cruise ship explosion. There are three who fit Indiana’s general description, but . . . they all died of their injuries. Head wounds.”

  “The hospitals won’t send us pictures,” I add. “So we’re stuck waiting for relatives of the still-missing victims to identify them in person, so we can eliminate all three as possibilities.”

  That will happen. I refuse to believe Indiana survived the kidnapping only to die during the rescue. When we find Genesis, I will have good news for her.

  “What if none of them are Indiana?” Neda asks, and though she looks both fascinated and horrified by that thought, I can’t shake the suspicion that she’s already planning another big reveal for her webshow.

  “If he’s not in any of the hospitals, I think the FBI is going to have to classify him as the third still-missing American hostage,” I tell her. “But without a name or a picture, they can’t even confirm that he was there in the first place.”

  “That is so screwed up,” Neda says. “Like he’s some kind of ghost.”

  “But he was in your boat, right?” Pen asks. “We’re sure he got out?”

  “Yes. And he was unconscious, so he couldn’t have just walked away.”

  “You think someone took him?” Luke frowns at me. “With the FBI and the Colombian army crawling all over that beach?”

  I shrug. I’m not sure what to think yet. “The beach was chaos. One of Sebastián’s men could have come in dressed like a soldier and just carried him off into the jungle during the confusion.”

  “Oh my God.” Pen sinks onto one of the pink couches, stunned. I know exactly how she feels. The idea that Sebastián could have had someone watching us—waiting for a chance to recapture us—while we spoke to the FBI agent was enough to make terror pool in the pit of my stomach.

  If he can operate right under the nose of the authorities in Colombia, what’s to stop him from getting to us anywhere, even here, in the States?

  He will never get the jump on me again.

  GENESIS

  I slide down the rough plank wall, hardly noticing that friction drags my shirt up and the wood skins my spine. Holden is saying something, but I can’t focus on his words. Twelve hundred thirty-four people.

  One minute they were fine—partying on my dad’s cruise ship—and the next . . .

  It doesn’t matter that I didn’t mean to blow up the Splendor. That I thought I was blowing up mini-submarines full of drugs and bombs, to keep Sebastián from hurting anyone with them. What matters is that I killed half the passengers, and probably injured most of the others.

  My father is a drug trafficker. My uncle is a terrorist.
My ex is a backstabbing asshole of massive proportions. But I killed more than twelve hundred people with the press of a single button.

  And I can never, ever undo that.

  Was Indiana one of the casualties? Right or wrong, thinking about Indiana’s death hurts even worse than thinking about the twelve hundred others.

  “Do they know?” Holden asks, and finally I hear him. “Do the rest of them know what you did?”

  I shrug. “Maddie knows I had the detonator and she knows the ship blew up. I’m sure she’s put the pieces together, but it doesn’t sound like she’s told anyone else.”

  “How are you dealing with that? I mean, what’s the point of even trying to escape this time? It’s not like you can go home.” There’s a joyful cruelty in his voice. “When everyone else figures out what you did, you’ll never see the outside of a prison cell again.”

  “It was an accident, Holden.” My words sound brittle. As if they might crumble. “No one would ever believe I intended to kill all those people.”

  “Yeah. I’m sure the terrorists will come testify on your behalf.”

  I’m ready for him to start ignoring me again. “I’ll worry about that once we get out of here.”

  “My parents will ransom me as soon as they have proof of life, but you . . .” Holden’s shrug is an eerie blurring of the shadows from his corner of the room. “They’ll never unfreeze your dad’s bank accounts. You may have to buy your own way out of here.” His pause is heavy with sarcasm. “What on earth will you sell?”

  I hate him like I’ve never hated anyone in my life. Fortunately, I also understand him like no one else ever will.

  “You still haven’t figured it out.” I force a laugh from my parched-sore throat. “We’re not being held by Silvana and the Moreno cartel anymore. Sebastián’s boss is my uncle David, and if he wanted me dead, he’d have already put a bullet in my head. If he wanted money, he’d have already ransomed you. What he wants is to teach the US a lesson.”