Seth looked up, demanding, “What? What is it?”
“I know her,” Liane said, her legs going numb. “I know her. She’s a Supporter—an Agency medic.”
“What?”
Liane scrambled to the other two, ripping away their masks and staring at their faces in cold horror. They were Supporters as well; junior ones barely glimpsed in hallways and during her med bay visits, but part of the Agency all the same. Liane collapsed back, breathing hard as she clutched at her side.
“Hey,” Seth said, kneeling by her and resting a hand on her shoulder. “Hey, breathe, Liane. It will be okay . . .”
“No,” she said, struggling for breath. “No, it won’t. I killed three of the Agency’s own.”
“Because they were butchering someone!” Seth protested.
She didn’t even seem to hear him, staring ahead as she whispered, “We killed them all. Crispin, Jeanelle, that little girl . . . the Agency wanted them dead, and we killed them. We had orders to rip apart a child . . .”
Liane retched, turning her head and trying to keep the bile in her stomach. Seth’s hand was on her back, trying ineffectually to comfort. For a moment they stayed there, and then Liane raised her head, her eyes glittering.
“I want to know why,” she said, gripped by cold fury.
“Alright,” said Seth, clearly rattled but trying to make sense of things. “We have their gear, their . . . spoils. How do we find out where to go next?”
Liane stood and went to the door that led to the garden. Once the plastic was pulled away, she could make out the dark shape of a van just beyond the wall. Both she and Seth walked out to it, finding that the doors were unlocked. Cold air blew out when Liane slid the rear door open, and she looked in to find that the interior was refrigerated. Seth climbed into the driver’s seat, lifting up a key card and reading, “‘Genentech Laboratories.’”
Liane shook her head. “I’ve never heard of it.”
“Well if that’s who owns the van, it’s likely that’s who wanted the organs.”
Liane nodded, her face grim. “Let me patch my side, and then we need to go. It won’t be long before the Agency realizes what’s happened, and we don’t want to be here when they do.”
|| | || | | || |
On the roof of a parking deck in the city centre, Damian got out of his car and headed towards the far side. Under a single, sickly lamp, a car stood running. A young woman in a shapeless black suit stood next to it, a Libertas Party insignia on her lapel. Her colorless eyes turned to Damian as he approached.
“I thought I was meeting the Prime Minister,” Damian observed.
“You are,” the woman said. “I’m here in the Minister’s stead.”
“Does the Party always say one thing and then do another?”
“Minister Morrigan is a busy person,” the woman said irritably. “Now do you want the message I was told to pass on to you or not?”
Damian raised an eyebrow, inviting her to speak.
“The Minister has been very pleased by your efforts so far,” the woman went on, “The current Director of the Agency seems to think that he has the autonomy to do whatever he wishes, regardless of the needs of the Party. The Minister was grateful to have found a potential replacement who thinks otherwise.”
“I’ve always been loyal to the Libertas Party,” Damian said, telling her exactly what she wanted to hear. The only honesty he cared about was between himself and Liane; lies to others meant nothing to him, and he used them without hesitation when it was needed. “And I understand that there must be collaboration between organizations in order to keep the peace. I hope that the information I’ve been providing has proved that to the Minister.”
“It has,” nodded the woman. “The Minister wants you to know that if you continue to support our efforts, you’ll find us to be a very generous ally.”
“And as to my requests?”
The woman smiled humorlessly. “You get the Agency, as well as command over your Agent.”
“Not just command. Liane is to be exempt from any oversight save for mine,” Damian said, his voice unyielding. “She won’t be considered an Agent anymore, and she won’t be obligated to follow any directives other than the ones I give. I want that in writing, or the deal is off.”
“What you do with your Agent is your business,” said the woman briskly. “Just know that the Minister is more than willing to give her to you.”
Damian nodded. “Then we have an agreement.”
The woman smiled. “Excellent. Now I assume you have something for me?”
Damian handed her a computer tablet, saying, “On this you’ll find my latest report. The wireless connection is disabled for security. The password is today’s meeting date and time.”
The woman took it, saying, “Keep up your efforts. If the Minister continues to be pleased with the information you provide, you can expect to be put in charge of the Agency before the end of the year.”
Damian bowed his head. “I will look forward to that day, then.”
The woman got into her car, pulling away and leaving Damian alone on the roof.
A half-hour later Damian walked into his flat, smiling to himself. A matter of months was nothing, considering he had waited years for this moment. Going to the windows, he stood looking out of them. His handsome face was pensive as he pictured the future; him in the position of Director, with Liane as his chief lieutenant. She would be the perfect second-in-command, a deadly enforcer of his authority within the Agency and a companion when their work was done. No one would be able to stop them, especially not the Party.
Damian looked out across the skyline of the city, feeling utterly untouchable.
He would tell Liane soon. Now that the distraction was gone, she would be ready to listen to his plans and play her part. He turned, looking around the dark, pristine flat and thinking of the possibility of sharing it with another person. It would require sacrifice on his part—sharing never came easily to Damian—but he wanted her there all the same. She brought out the best in him, filled the void that seemed to yawn and howl within him whenever he was on his own.
His mind made up, he nodded to himself. Tomorrow he would submit the request for the Supporters to transfer her belongings, and at dinner that evening he would tell her everything.
Damian abruptly turned away from the view, going to retrieve his laptop. Setting it on the marble coffee table, he bent forward and logged on to the surveillance program. The feed of Liane’s flat appeared, showing her reading on her couch. He went to the past log of surveillance, pulling up the date that he had gone to visit her. He wanted to relive the moment, to see what her face had looked like when he’d kissed her.
The feed uploaded, and Damian frowned. It was the correct date and time of his visit, but the cameras showed Liane alone. She was eating dinner and watching the news on her living room set. He scrolled ahead, watching her ready for sleep. No sign of him anywhere within the recording.
He checked the day after, the day before. No one entered the flat aside from Liane. Just as he was finishing the feed from the third day, he leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as they fixed on the screen.
The Liane on the screen had a white bandage wrapped around her upper arm, a small spot of red bleeding through. Damian felt his entire body go tense as he looked at it. The last time Liane had been wounded had been several months ago. She’d caught a through-and-through bullet in the arm during a mission, and Damian had been there in the infirmary as the medics had cleaned out the wound. She’d refused all painkillers and hadn’t uttered a sound while they worked. He’d been fiercely proud of her for it.
There was only one explanation why the wound had suddenly reappeared in the feed, and that was that Liane had tampered with the cameras. Damian felt rage sweep through him, burning away the exhil
aration he’d felt only moments previously. She’d lied to him. She’d looked him in the eye and sworn that she was thinking clearly, when in reality she was trying to deceive him.
Damian stood, pacing furiously with his thoughts a blur. He had always been far too indulgent with Liane, tolerating tantrums when any other Handler would have ordered her to re-education. What real harm could willfulness do, he’d thought; let her have her little moments so long as she followed orders. This was the result. Not childish posturing, but insubordination. It was the one thing Damian would not tolerate.
There was no escaping what he had to do. It would delay his plans, and he knew that the Agency’s re-education process, a mix of neurological restructuring coupled with aversion therapy, was notoriously brutal. But better that than to risk losing Liane entirely. Afterwards, when her loyalty was assured, he would make it up to her.
He picked up his phone, dialing a number. When the line clicked, he recited, “Handler four-six-six-seven-ten. I have an Agent needing immediate containment. Sending you her details now . . .”
Chapter 14
The black van rumbled over the uneven asphalt along the outskirts of the city. Within it, Seth tightly gripped the steering wheel with sweaty palms.
“You’re certain this is the right way?” Liane asked, tucking her hair into the clean suit hood and fastening it closed.
“I’m just following the navigation,” Seth said, nerves making him slightly irritable. He tugged at the neckline of his own clean suit with one hand, complaining, “I’m sweating buckets in this thing.”
“Just be glad there were extras in the van,” Liane said, looking out at the ruins to their right. “Stripping bodies is backbreaking work.”
“Sometimes the things you know disturb me,” Seth muttered, turning down a gravel path.
The road meandered between the piles of rubble for several minutes. Liane frowned out of the window, finally commenting, “I don’t understand; there’s nothing out here.”
Seth nodded ahead of them, asking, “Then why is there a barbed wire fence up ahead?”
He slowed the van, coming to a stop just in front of the fence. Both of them put on their surgical masks, even though there was no one there to see them. The border of the fence blended into the grey landscape around them, and Liane had to admit that even she might have missed it from a distance. There were a few signs warning of radioactivity, but the land beyond the rubble was exactly the same as the ruins outside of it.
“Why build a fence in the middle of ruins to protect more ruins?” Liane wondered aloud.
As soon as she spoke, a narrow pole rose up out of the ground next to the driver’s side of the van. Seth lowered the window as a speaker on top of it crackled, a bored voice saying, “State your business.”
Liane leaned across Seth, answering, “Medics returning with specimens.”
There was a pause, and then the voice said, “Scan your ID.”
Liane reached behind her, bringing out a plastic bag carrying the forearm of the female medic she had killed. Seth looked away, going slightly green at the sight. Liane removed it from the plastic and leaned across Seth to hold the limb under the flashing red light on the underside of the speaker. There was a faint beep from the machine as she passed the forearm under the scanner. The two of them collectively held their breath, waiting for an alarm to sound. But all that happened was there was a buzz, and then the gates slowly began to part.
Liane returned the forearm to the bag, sliding back into her seat and affording a small smile at Seth. “See? Simple.”
“Hopefully we won’t be the ones in pieces at the end of all this,” Seth said, still looking ill as he pulled the van forward.
They had just driven the van past the fence when the ground rumbled, a sliver of light appearing along the ground in front of them. Liane squinted, finally making out that a hatch, one large enough for a van, was rising up out of the earth. When it was fully raised, they could see a brightly lit, industrial ramp leading underground. Seth wiped off his forehead with his sleeve, asking, “Are you ready for this?”
Liane drew out her gun, stowing it within the pocket of her suit. “Ready.”
Seth nodded, driving down the ramp and into the laboratory.
The ramp went on for some time, curving around until it led to a spacious room that looked like a cross between an airplane hangar and an underground garage. Several similar black vans were already parked there, and a pudgy, balding man in a white coat was waiting for them. As Liane and Seth stepped out of the van, the man called out irritably, “About time. A few more hours and the specimens would have become unviable.”
Liane wordlessly picked up the black cooler of organs. Her skin under the mask was beginning to perspire, the heat of her breath condensing on the synthetic fabric. The scientist jerked his head towards the glass doors behind him, saying, “Come on.”
The scientist led the way into an equally bright, white hallway. Seth and Liane followed, taking in the small labs that they passed, the security cameras tracing their movements. Finally the scientist stopped in front of a silvery set of double doors, scanning his badge to unlock it.
The room beyond was vast, cavernous, and filled with row upon row of laboratory tables. Equipment filled much of the surface space, machines quietly running through tests as they passed. The scientist went to an open table, ordering curtly, “Set the specimens down there.”
Liane carefully set the coolers on the table, commenting as casually as she could, “Not many people working this late, are there?”
“There’s only me on night shift,” said the man, already unzipping the cooler and removing the plastic containers of organs. “And I need to get the tests running before the rest arrive in a few hours.”
Liane nodded, then carefully drew her gun and shoved it into the man’s back. He stiffened, and she ordered, “Speak or scream and I’ll blow a hole in your spine. Where are there no cameras?”
The man’s eyes were wide with fear, his voice stammering as he said, “The director’s control room.”
“Take us there.”
They moved slowly, Liane turning ever so often to hide the gun from the cameras. The scientist led them up a set of metal stairs and through the door at the top. They found themselves in the room overlooking the lab, a line of one-way mirrors on the right side and a sea of file cabinets on the left. Straight ahead was the director’s desk, a row of monitors showing the live feeds of various rooms within the building.
Liane shoved the scientist into a swivel chair, saying, “Answer our questions and you might live. Understand?”
The man nodded, his eyes wide.
“What is this place?”
“Genentech Laboratories,” whispered the man. “Please, I just work for them, I don’t—”
“What were you doing with the organs?” Liane interrupted, knowing that every moment mattered now.
“Testing them,” the scientist answered. “Measuring the genetic advancements against normal human specimens.”
“Do you know where they came from?” Seth asked, stepping forward. “Do you know that the people they belonged to were murdered?”
His face utterly pallid, the scientist nodded.
“You’re testing them because they used the Titan Strain, aren’t you?” Liane said quietly. “You’re trying to find out how much they’ve changed.”
“Yes,” whispered the man.
“Why?” Liane demanded, “Who runs this place?”
The man pressed his lips together, shaking his head. Above her surgical mask, Liane’s eyes narrowed, and without any warning she raised her gun and fired once into his thigh. The man screamed, pitching forward and clamping his hands around the wound. Blood began to spurt from between his fingers as Liane crouched down, saying, “I can keep firing at your extremities
until you feel like talking, or you can tell me now. It’s your choice.”
Through gritted teeth, the man said, “The Libertas Party. We work for them, and they give us our orders.”
Liane drew back, shocked. Behind her, Seth gave a sharp intake of breath. When she recovered her voice, Liane demanded, “Why does the Party care about the Titan Strain?”
Eyes wracked with pain, the scientist said haltingly, “Because it’s theirs. We developed it for them.”
Liane stared at him, visibly shaken as she asked, “You made the Strain?”
“Genentech developed the very first genetic modification,” the scientist explained. “The Titan Strain was our major breakthrough.”
“Then how did it get out, if it’s so valuable and well-guarded?”
“We had a theft several months ago; some low-level Party member stole several crates of it and was selling it on the black market . . .”
Liane glanced over at the filing cabinets, briefly ordering Seth, “Keep a gun on him.”
“No!” protested the scientist as she walked to the files. “Stay away from those!”
“What are you looking for?” Seth asked, drawing his gun and training it on the man’s heart.
“Governments are like any other organization,” she said, her eyes drifting over the labels. “They like to keep records.”
It took her a moment to find the right cabinet. Finally, she crouched down and drew level with one that was labeled ‘Project Titan.’ Pulling it open revealed a long line of external hard drives, each meticulously labeled. Liane frowned, because there seemed to be the names of individuals rather than anything about the project itself.
Then her eyes drifted over one, and the floor seemed to fall away beneath her as she read the label:
Subject 24517: 'Liane'
|| | || | | || |
The containment unit consisted of several tech Supporters and ten teams of Agents with their Handlers. The series of black vans wound their way through the streets, Damian’s chauffeured car coming in last. Within it, he placed a com in his ear, connecting to the tech van and asking, “Where are we?”
The Titan Strain Page 18
