The door at the top of the stairs banged open, and Damian all but raced down them. She only had time to look up before he was on her, fists clenched in her coat as he jerked her to her feet and snarled into her face, “What the hell was that?”
“I didn’t want to shoot him,” she said, feeling a tremor of worry in the face of Damian’s anger.
“That’s what you do!” he shouted, enraged, “You kill the people I tell you to—that’s what we are, and you’ve known that since the beginning!” He seemed to remember the cameras then and shoved her away before reaching for his phone. She stood stock still as he dialed and ordered, “Handler override on safe-room 554 surveillance. Directive zero-zero-charlie-twelve.”
Around the room, the power indicators of the cameras went dark. Damian waited for a moment, then turned back to her. He was still clearly furious, but there was worry in his voice as he said, “The Administrators can pull the log of our communication, Liane. Do you know what will happen if they find out you nearly disobeyed an order?”
Liane stayed still, her pale hair obscuring her face as she stared at the floor.
Damian moved closer, relentless. “Re-education, at best. At worse, they’ll mind-wipe you and then re-educate you. If they mark your file for that, even I won’t be able to stop them. If you hadn’t completed the assignment . . .” He trailed off, shaking his head at the thought as the muscle in his jaw tightened.
Very softly, Liane said, “I don’t want to hurt people anymore.”
Bewilderment filled his eyes. “What’s wrong with you? You’ve never hesitated following orders before, not once in ten years.”
Liane didn’t want to look at him, ducking her head. She could think of nothing to say, no line of reason that wouldn’t betray both Seth and herself.
Damian watched her for a moment, then reached out and brushed the hair away from her face, gaze softening as he said, “Just a few more weeks, Liane, and we’ll plan missions; we won’t execute them.”
Liane raised her eyes to his, whispering, “Why do we do this? Why are we doing nothing but what they tell us?”
He moved closer, saying, “Because the Party controls everything. Every aspect of government, every official, every part of this country. All of us, every single one, does what it tells us to do. You know that.”
She turned away from him, pulling off her coat and starting to remove her body armor piece by piece. Damian’s voice was sharp as he demanded, “This isn’t coming from you, is it? Someone else put these thoughts in your head.”
“I can think for myself,” Liane retorted, ripping off her chest armor and tossing it onto the floor.
Damian’s hand clamped on her arm, turning her and shoving her back against the lockers. She stood rigid, glaring at him as he warned, “Even if you don’t tell me, I’ll find out anyway.”
“There’s nothing to tell.”
“Really?” Damian leaned in closer, dark eyes narrowed as he scrutinized her face. “So this sudden change of heart isn’t due to a distraction?”
“No,” she said, defiant.
“I hope not.” He stood there for a moment longer, then stepped back with one last look of warning at her. “I have to reactivate the cameras in a few seconds. Is there anything else you want to say before I do?”
Liane lifted her head, saying with quiet certainty, “I don’t think we’re making this world a better place by killing people. And if what we do isn’t making this world better, then what’s the point?”
Damian looked at her silently for a moment, then answered, “There’s more danger to be found in chaos than in the most corrupt government. Maybe Libertas isn’t perfect; maybe it’s wrong, even. It’s still better than nothing.”
He raised his phone again, giving the command override. The cameras flared to life, tracking across the room and capturing Damian as he walked to the stairs, saying, “Debrief tomorrow at eleven. Use the time until then to get your head back where it needs to be.”
He left, shutting the door behind him. Liane stood for a moment, still half-dressed in her armor. Mechanically, she changed into her civilian clothes. She picked up the case that held her new rifle, making it a few steps to the stairs before she appeared to change her mind. Carrying the case over to the nearest table, she unzipped it and stood looking down at Tomas Richta’s murder weapon . . .
When the Supporter arrived later that day to perform his regular sweep of the room, he found something strange. On the table nearest the staircase was a sniper rifle that looked like it had been snapped in half before being bent into a series of impossible shapes. Unable to do anything to salvage it, the Supporter threw the pieces in a trash bag before carting it off for incineration.
|| | || | | || |
The officers of the Genetic Modification Task Force played their regular pick-up game of basketball after the evening shift. Seth stayed until the end, needing an outlet for his extra energy. He also needed to get out of his flat; he found that he was making excuses to stay inside, waiting for Liane to show up. But he hadn’t heard from her for days, and as he walked back through the rubbish-strewn streets of Shoreditch, he was merely content to have made a few good shots in the game.
Once inside the flat he grabbed a beer from the fridge, carrying it into the shower with him. He stayed there until his hot water ran out, then walked out in nothing but a towel. He pulled open his shirt drawer before he noticed the dark figure sitting on the end of his bed.
Seth leaned forward against the bureau, shaking his head with a smile, “I should have known you’d come at the least opportune time. Can you turn your back, let me get dressed?”
Liane looked up at him, her narrow face grave. She didn’t even seem to register the fact that he was half-naked, but turned so that her back was to him. Seth dressed quickly, tossing the damp towel into a corner before saying, “Alright, I’m decent.”
She turned back around, tucking her knees up to her chin and wrapping her lean arms around them. Seth frowned, walking over and asking, “Are you okay?”
“Can I stay here tonight?” she asked, her voice and stare vacant.
Seth smiled slightly. “You live in Knightsbridge—your parking space is likely nicer than this. Why would you want to stay here?”
“The flat’s not really mine,” she said in that same hollow voice. “They just keyed it to my print and told me to stay there. There are cameras . . . I didn’t want to go back to that.”
Seth’s smile faded and he sat down next to her, asking in a soft voice, “Who is ‘they’?”
“I disabled the tracker in my phone,” she went on, as if she hadn’t heard him. “They’ll replace it tomorrow, but I should be able to get away with a night off the grid.”
Seth frowned, and felt gooseflesh rise on his bare arms. “Liane, tell me what’s going on. You’re freaking me out.”
Liane neither answered nor looked at him. For the first time, Seth realized how small she was. It was easy to forget when she was facing down criminals and leaping out of windows, but at the moment she just looked like a young girl. A girl who was dealing with a hopelessness far larger than herself. She ducked her head even more, mumbling, “I don’t want to do it anymore.”
“Do what?”
“Hurt people,” she said, finally looking over at him. “Kill people.”
Seth inhaled sharply. So now he knew; now the suspicions he’d had were proven right. He did his best to keep his voice calm as he asked, “Who makes you hurt people, Liane?”
She shook her head. “They’d kill you if I told you. Damian would put a bullet between your eyes if he even knew I was here.” Looking away, she said miserably, “They’re never going to let me stop.”
Seth went quiet, then asked, “Would you ever hurt me, Liane?”
She turned her head sharply, the pain in her eyes rea
ssuring him more than her declaration of, “No. You’re the only friend I’ve ever had . . .”
He nodded, then stood and walked to the bureau. Her eyes followed him as he returned with an armful of linen, saying, “You can take the bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.”
Liane straightened, looking at him with an expression of faint confusion. Seth smiled, explaining, “Of course you can stay. You can stay as long as you want.”
He busied himself with clearing the couch and making it up, while Liane mechanically went to brush her teeth. She removed her boots and jacket, staying in her pants and tank top before crawling into Seth’s bed. It smelled strange, different from the bleached white linen in her flat. But she lay down and drew up the sheets, curling up as if the threadbare cotton could shield her from the rest of the world.
Seth turned off the lights soon after, the loft going dark save for the glow of the streetlamps outside. Liane raised her head from the pillows, looking over at the lump under the blankets on the couch. Her voice was soft, tentative, as she asked, “Aren’t you afraid of what might happen to you?”
Seth gave a small, sleepy, “No, I’m not.”
Liane settled back down, thinking to herself, Maybe you should be . . .
Chapter 9
Diane was completely disorientated when she woke, eyes darting around the loft before she remembered where she was. The couch was empty, and Seth was nowhere to be found. She stood, retrieving the handgun from her bag and pacing with it in her hand. She felt better having it, more herself, and after a few minutes she felt comfortable enough to take a shower. Seth’s bathroom was revolting, with piles of musty towels and black mold spattering the tiles, but she just closed her eyes and showered quickly.
When she came out, redressed in her rumpled clothes, Seth was in the kitchen and the loft was filled with the scent of burning food. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled back to leave his tanned forearms bare, and the early morning light caught the myriad shades of brown within his hair. He glanced back at her, waving with a spatula and calling out, “Good morning. I went down to market, got us some nosh.”
“Is it going to be edible once you’re done?” she asked, sliding on her boots and walking over to sit at his table.
“Ha, ha,” he deadpanned, flipping the bacon in the skillet. “There’s tea if you want.”
Liane helped herself, checking the date of the milk before adding it to the brew. She sat at the table once more, sipping on her drink and moving aside the clutter from the tabletop. She had cleared enough space for the two of them by the time Seth carried over scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast, all of which was only slightly burned. Liane ate what he gave her, resigning herself to an inevitable reprimand from Damian regarding her nutrition.
When he was done Seth sat back, cradling his mug of tea. “Can we talk about last night now?”
“I’m not going to give them more reasons to come after you,” she said firmly.
“Hey, you told me that I have a target on my back for simply talking to you,” Seth said with a grin. “What are they going to do if I know more? Kill me deader?”
Liane smiled, looking down at her mug. “You might yet get away with mind-wiping.”
Seth snorted, “Five times out of ten that ends up leaving the subject a drooling vegetable. I think I’d take the bullet, personally.”
Liane nodded, sighing, “Alright. Ask me. I’ll answer.”
“Who do you work for?”
“The Agency,” she said, not looking at him. “Damian is my Handler. He gets our directives and tells me where to go and who to kill.”
“What exactly is the Agency? What does it do?”
“It’s an organization dedicated to preserving the peace,” Liane said, “When people threaten the country, we’re called in to get rid of them.”
Seth frowned. “And who does this Agency work for?”
“Libertas,” she answered.
“Are you serious?” he asked, incredulous. “The Prime Minister’s party?”
“Yes, though I’ve never spoken with anyone from the party itself. I have no idea how we fit into the bigger picture.”
Seth seemed to be struggling to wrap his mind around the idea, asking slowly, “How . . . how did you get into this, exactly?”
“They recruited me from an orphanage when I was ten. I trained in the Program for seven years, then became a full Agent.”
“Jesus,” breathed Seth. “You were just a kid . . . you’re still just a kid . . .”
Liane didn’t like the look of horrified concern that she saw in his eyes and looked away.
“But then the modding . . . did the Agency do that to you?”
“I’m not a mod,” she said, shaking her head. “Agents are recruited based on their genetic superiority. Combine that with the training and you get how I am today.”
“Well then they’ve done a damn fine job at recruitment,” Seth said flatly. “Because I don’t know anyone else who can do what you do.”
“That’s the idea. We’re supposed to hide in plain sight.”
“And who have you killed?”
“Damian used to tell me they were all bad people, enemies,” Liane said. “Now I’m not so sure.”
“Give me names.”
“I don’t remember them all,” she admitted, somewhat reluctant. “But the most recent ones were Tomas Richta, Nikolai Banbridge, a group of terrorists in Vienna . . .”
She trailed off, because Seth had gone pale and was staring at her in complete and utter shock. Finally he said, “Richta? That was you?”
Liane nodded unhappily. Seth reached over to the pile of clutter and pulled a tablet out. He turned it on, his fingertips lighting across the touch screen for a minute before he turned it around to her. Liane found that he had pulled up a media site. Above a photograph of Richta’s screaming, blood-splattered widow, the headline announced, UGS ambassador murdered in broad daylight! International terrorists suspected!
“It’s been all over the news,” Seth explained. “There’s a multi-million-pound reward for any information leading to an arrest.”
Liane pushed the tablet back to him, feeling sick. Not over the bounty on her head, but at the sight of the woman in the pale blue suit.
“Why did the Agency want him dead?”
“I don’t know,” Liane admitted. “I’m never told why; just when and where my target will be.”
Seth leaned back, running a hand through his hair and looking more serious than she had ever seen him before. “God, Liane, this is . . . this is big. I mean you’re basically living proof that the government is completely corrupt and not above murdering anyone who gets in its way. If you were to go public—”
“No,” Liane said sharply. “I don’t want to expose the Agency; I just want to stop.”
“But if you would broadcast this, it could change everything!”
“You don’t understand,” she said angrily, “Agents who go rogue . . . they don’t just hunt you down. They burn you. They destroy every location you’ve ever been, kill anyone who’s ever talked to you. And they always catch you in the end.”
“So then what’s your plan?” Seth asked. “You don’t want to hurt people, but you’re not willing to stand up against the ones who make you do it. Where does that leave you?”
“Caught,” she said quietly, “Torn. Nowhere.”
Seth leaned forward, saying, “Let me help you, Liane.”
“You can’t help me,” she said, shoving her chair back and standing. “No one can. I shouldn’t have even told you.”
“Well, you did,” Seth snapped back, following her as she began to pull on her jacket. “You barged into my life and got me involved, and there’s no undoing that. So where do we go from here?”
“I go back and debrief after my
mission,” Liane said, throwing the strap of her bag across her body. “You keep working the case. And when we finally solve it, then we reconsider things.”
“Reconsider things how? Hey, hold on a minute!” Seth grabbed her arm, stopping her from heading to the door. Liane turned back, her muscles tense as he asked, “Are you saying you’re going to just disappear after we solve this thing? Is that what you mean?”
Liane pulled free, saying, “If it will keep you alive, then yes.”
Seth’s eyes flashed. “What if I don’t let you?”
“Then you’re enough of an idiot to deserve what’s coming,” Liane snapped, leaving the flat before he could stop her.
|| | || | | || |
Damian woke early and the first thing he did was to check the feeds from Liane’s flat. It was still empty, and the tracker on her phone was still down. Her cycle was in her building’s garage though, so wherever she had gone in the city was within walking distance. Damian let out an aggravated sigh. She’d gone off grid before, when she was angry enough not to care about reprimands. But she’d never missed a debriefing, so after one last check of the cameras Damian went to get ready.
He walked into the Agency at a quarter to eleven, heading directly to the sleek, white hallway that held the debriefing chambers. Liane’s number was on the screen to the left of one, and he stood next to it with his eyes on the elevator doors.
Five minutes to the hour, Liane ducked out of one of the cars, her head down as she walked towards the chamber. Damian thought her face was paler than usual, and when she spotted him her footsteps slowed somewhat. For a moment he thought she was going to say something; then her mouth tightened, and she brushed past him and entered the chamber.
Liane sat in the single chair, determinedly looking forward. Damian leaned against the wall behind her, taking the opportunity to watch her closely. He was used to her being angry with him; it had happened more than a few times over the years. But there was something about the way she was avoiding looking at him . . . almost as if she was struggling with a guilty conscience . . .
The Titan Strain Page 12
