The Technician

"Clean up on aisle... all of them," Kieran said.

He was joking, but he wasn't laughing. We were in a gas station somewhere near Cordoba, Spain. He was buying a bottle of water and a pack of Marlboros, the kind with the gruesome health warnings on the front. I was staring at the magazine rack.

*Architect's Digest* was right next to *Hola!* magazine.

On the cover of *Hola!* was a picture of Julian and me. It was from our wedding. We looked... perfect.

*TRAGEDY IN THE AZORES,* the headline screamed. *Mercer Estate Collapses.*

I picked it up.

"Hey," Kieran said, gently taking it from my hands. "Don't."

"I need to know," I said.

I opened it.

There were photos of the wreckage. Of the rescue boats. Of Santos, looking grim and important as he gave a statement.

And a small, inset photo.

A passport photo.

*Beatriz Silva. Missing since 2021.*

It wasn't the woman I knew. It wasn't the woman in the video.

It was... someone else.

A stranger.

I stared at the photo.

"Who is she?" I whispered.

Kieran looked over my shoulder.

"That's Beatriz," he said. "The real one."

"But the video..."

"The video was fake," Kieran said. "Or old. Or... I don't know, Len. Julian lied about everything. Why wouldn't he lie about her too?"

He was right. Of course he was right.

But the girl in the video... the one who looked like me...

She was real. I had seen her.

"The girl," I said. "In Tangier. She's real."

"Maybe," Kieran said. "Or maybe she's another plant. Another actor."

He paid for the water. We walked back to the car.

It wasn't the van. We had ditched the van in Lisbon, trading it for a beat-up Peugeot and a tank of gas. We were ghosts now. Drifting south.

I drove.

The landscape changed from the lush green of Portugal to the arid plains of southern Spain. Olive trees stretched out to the horizon, grey-green and ancient.

I thought about the photo. About the woman who wasn't Beatriz.

If she wasn't Beatriz... then who was the woman in the video?

And who was the girl?

My phone buzzed. Not the burner. Julian's phone.

I had kept it. Charged it with a car adapter. It was my only link to the truth.

A notification.

*Calendar Event: Inspection.*

*Location: 31.6295° N, 7.9811° W.*

The secondary site.

*Time: Tomorrow. 09:00.*

Tomorrow.

We were six hours away from the ferry to Tangier.

"Kieran," I said. "Look."

I handed him the phone.

He read the notification.

"Inspection?"

"He was going to inspect the site," I said. "Tomorrow."

"He's dead, Len."

"But they don't know that," I said. "Inês doesn't know. The guards don't know."

I looked at him.

"We can use that."

"Use it how?"

"We show up," I said. "We drive right in. We tell them Julian sent us."

"And when they ask for ID?"

"We give them the phone," I said. "It's the master key."

Kieran was silent for a long time.

"It's risky," he said finally.

"Living is risky," I said. "Dying is easy."

We reached Algeciras at sunset. The Rock of Gibraltar loomed in the distance, a massive shadow against the purple sky.

We bought tickets for the first ferry.

We slept in the car. Or tried to.

I dreamed of glass breaking. Of water rising. Of a girl with my eyes, locked in a room of stone.

I woke up screaming.

Kieran was there. He held my hand until my breathing slowed.

"It's okay," he said. "We're almost there."

We drove onto the ferry.

The crossing was rough. The Mediterranean was choppy, grey waves slapping against the hull.

I stood on the deck, watching Africa get closer.

It looked like a promise. Or a threat.

We landed in Tangier.

It was chaos. Noise. Smell. Heat.

We drove through the city, following the GPS on Julian's phone.

It led us south. Toward the mountains.

The road became narrower. Dustier.

We passed villages where children chased the car, shouting for candy. We passed goat herds blocking the way.

And then... we saw it.

The villa.

It wasn't a house. It was a fortress.

High walls. Watchtowers. A heavy iron gate.

*Dar al-Hajar.* The Stone House.

We stopped the car a mile down the road.

"Okay," Kieran said. "What's the plan?"

"We drive up," I said. "I get out. I talk to the guard."

"And I stay in the car?"

"You cover me," I said. "With the gun."

He looked at the gun in his lap. It looked small. Inadequate.

"If they shoot..."

"They won't," I said. "They think I'm Julian's wife. They think I'm part of the plan."

"Are you?"

I looked at him.

"I'm the demolition crew," I said.

We drove to the gate.

A guard stepped out. He was huge. Wearing fatigues. Holding an AK-47.

He held up a hand.

I rolled down the window.

"Who are you?" he asked in French.

"I'm Mrs. Mercer," I said, holding up Julian's phone. "I'm here for the inspection."

He looked at the phone. He looked at me.

He didn't open the gate.

"Mr. Mercer is expected," he said. "Not you."

"Mr. Mercer is detained," I said. "He sent me."

The guard frowned. He touched his earpiece.

"Check with the boss," I said. "Tell her Elena is here."

He turned away, speaking low into the radio.

I waited. My heart was hammering against my ribs.

If Inês said no... if she knew Julian was dead...

The guard turned back.

"Open the gate," he shouted to someone inside.

The iron gates groaned. They swung open.

I let out a breath.

"Drive," I whispered to Kieran.

We drove into the compound.

It was beautiful. Lush gardens. Fountains. A swimming pool.

And in the center... the house.

It was modern. Brutalist. Concrete and glass.

Just like the house in the Azores.

Julian's signature.

We parked in the circular drive.

The front door opened.

A woman stepped out.

Inês.

She looked exactly like the photos. Elegant. Cold.

She wasn't smiling.

She walked down the steps.

I got out of the car.

"Elena," she said. "You're late."

"Traffic," I said.

She looked at the car. At Kieran.

"Who is this?"

"My driver," I said.

She nodded. "Bring the bags inside."

I didn't have any bags. Just the gun in my pocket. And the rage in my heart.

"Where is he?" I asked.

"Who?"

"Lucas."

She smiled. A thin, cruel smile.

"He's in the nursery. With his sister."

"Take me to him."

"In a moment," she said. "First, we have business."

She turned and walked back into the house.

I followed her.

The interior was cool. Silent. Marble floors. White walls.

It felt like a museum. Or a mausoleum.

She led me to an office. She sat behind a massive desk.

"Julian called," she said.

My blood froze.

"When?"

"Yesterday," she said. "Before the party."

She leaned forward.

"He told me everything, Elena. He told me about the doubts. About the investigation. About the key."

She opened a drawer.

She pulled out a gun.

"He told me to take care of you."

I stared at the gun.

It was pointed at my chest.

"You can't kill me," I said. "The police know I'm here."

"The police?" she laughed. "My dear, I own the police. This isn't Europe. This is my kingdom."

She cocked the gun.

"Goodbye, Elena."

*BANG.*

The sound was deafening in the small room.

I flinched.

But I wasn't hit.

Inês looked down.

There was a hole in her chest. A red flower blooming on her white linen suit.

She looked surprised.

She slumped forward onto the desk.

I turned around.

Kieran was standing in the doorway. He was holding the gun. Smoke curled from the barrel.

"I told you I was covering you," he said.

I ran to him. I hugged him.

"You saved me."

"We're even," he said.

We left Inês there. We ran through the house.

"Lucas!" I shouted.

"Mama?"

A voice. Small. Scared.

Upstairs.

I ran up the stairs. Two at a time.

I kicked open the first door I saw.

A nursery.

Toys on the floor. A mural of the sea on the wall.

And in the corner...

Lucas.

He was huddled under a blanket.

He saw me.

"Len!"

He ran to me. I scooped him up. I buried my face in his neck. He smelled of baby powder and fear.

"I've got you," I whispered. "I've got you."

Then I saw her.

The girl.

She was standing by the window. Watching us.

She looked exactly like the video. Dark hair. Pale skin. My eyes.

"Beatriz?" I asked.

She shook her head.

"I'm not Beatriz," she said. Her voice was flat. Emotionless.

"Who are you?"

"I'm nobody," she said. "I'm just a spare."

She pointed to the window.

"Look."

I walked to the window. I looked out.

The garden. The fountain.

And something else.

A row of small, white stones.

Marked with names.

*Sofia.*
*Beatriz.*
*Elena.*

My name.

On a grave.

"He made them," the girl said. "For when he was done with us."

I stared at the stone.

He had planned to kill me all along.

The gala. The toast. It was all a setup. A finale.

He was going to kill me, and then come here. To his real family.

To his spares.

I looked at the girl.

"What's your name?" I asked.

"He calls me Project B," she said.

"No," I said. "What's your real name?"

She hesitated.

"Bea," she whispered.

"Okay, Bea," I said. "We're leaving. All of us."

She looked at me. Hope flickered in her eyes.

"Really?"

"Really."

I took her hand. I held Lucas in my other arm.

"Kieran!" I shouted. "We're ready!"

We ran down the stairs. Out the front door.

We got in the car.

Kieran drove. Fast.

Through the gate. Down the dusty road.

Away from the stone house. Away from the graves.

I looked back.

Smoke was rising from the villa.

Kieran had set a fire. In the office. With the papers. With the ledger.

It was burning.

Just like the House of Mercy.

I smiled.

"Where are we going?" Lucas asked.

I looked at the road ahead. The sun was setting, painting the desert in shades of gold and fire.

"Somewhere safe," I said.

"Does it have a pool?" Bea asked.

I laughed. A real laugh.

"Maybe," I said. "But it definitely won't have an HOA."

I leaned back in the seat.

I closed my eyes.

I listened to the hum of the engine. The sound of the wind. The breathing of the children.

We were alive.

We were free.

And for the first time...

I wasn't watching my back.

I was looking forward.