The Titan Strain

by Virginia Soenksen

  “Playing catch-up,” said one of the techs at the control panel inside. There was a faint note of admiration in his voice as he added, “Your girl is very clever.”

  “I know,” Damian said simply. “How is she hiding?”

  “The tracker on her phone has been delayed for an hour or so; we know that based on where you know she was during your last meeting. She’s also probably masked, making our facial recognition searches useless.” The tech frowned at his screen, saying, “Wait, I might have something . . .”

  A few minutes later the vans pulled into the quiet, affluent street near Egerton Crescent. The tech van opened, a bespectacled Supporter leaping out with a tracking device. Damian fell in step with him, his eyes raking the street for some sign of Liane. Then the tech stopped, and Damian noticed that Liane’s cycle was parked between two expensive cars. There was a small beacon on the side blinking red.

  “That’s hers,” the tech said. “Must have swapped it out or gone ahead on foot.”

  Damian’s eyes drifted to the nearest house. It was dark and quiet, but there was a faint scent of gunpowder on the air. Still looking at it, he asked the tech, “Does the Agency have any other assignments in this area tonight?”

  It took the tech a moment, and then he said in surprise, “Yes. We’re standing right in front of one.”

  Minutes later, Damian and half of the containment unit stood in the plastic-covered kitchen of the house. Damian moved through it, unmoved as he looked at the dead mod and the bodies of the three medics. He crouched down, silently reading the fight.

  One of the Handlers asked, “Did she do this?”

  “She killed the medics,” Damian answered. “But they were the ones to kill the mod. I wonder why she took the arm from the female . . .” Looking to the tech, he asked, “Where is her signal now?”

  “Uh . . .” The tech frowned at his tablet, trying several things before he admitted, “Well, right now it’s in Buckingham Palace. A moment ago it was in the middle of the Thames. She’s bouncing it around the city; it’s useless to follow it now. Hold on, let me pull up the street feed . . .”

  Damian turned his attention back to the crime scene, tracing an outline on the floor. “Something large sat here. A container of some sort; where is it now?”

  Another tech called out, “There was a vehicle parked in back as well.”

  “She took both,” Damian thought aloud. “Why?”

  “Uh, sir?” said the first tech, looking nervously at Damian. “No cameras in the alley, but I’ve got the feed from the front street.”

  Damian stood and moved closer to watch the grainy, night vision feed of the street. Liane was there, parking her cycle near a nondescript car. She dismounted and took off her mask, frowning up at the house in which they now stood. But then a man got out of the car, and Damian recognized him. The officer from the ruins, the one Liane had saved. The one Damian had dismissed from his mind, thinking that there was no way Liane would ever betray his trust like that . . .

  On the feed the two were arguing, gesturing at one another. Liane stripped off her jacket, tossing it and her bag at the man with such familiarity that it was all Damian could do just to think straight. So here at last was the distraction. Nothing more than a useless civilian who was good-looking enough to turn a young girl’s head. This officer—this problem—had barreled into their perfect world and ruined everything.

  And Liane had let it happen.

  Murderously, Damian thought, You want to play the game that way, Liane? Fine; I make the next move.

  He paused the film, zooming in on the man’s face and taking a screenshot. Within moments he was sending the photo back to the Agency, to another unit that he’d never had reason to use. Damian dialed the number, then waited until a voice said, “Burn Unit, please state your ID.”

  “Handler four-six-six-seven-ten.”

  There was a brief pause, and then the voice asked, “How can I help you?”

  “Officer Seth Laski,” Damian said, his voice low and harsh. “He’s interfering with my Agent, and I want him burned. Destroy any residences, shut down his accounts. If he has family, friends, pets - kill them all. Then put his ID on national alert. When you find him, put a bullet between his eyes.”

  Damian ended the call, thinking to himself, And that’s only if you manage to find him first. Turned to the garden door, he ordered, “Call the clean-up for this, then get back in the vans. She’s gone off-grid, but we’ll find her. They’re always caught in the end.”

  Chapter 15

  Within Genentech Laboratories, Liane lifted the hard drive out of the filing cabinet. Holding it tightly in both hands, she wordlessly carried it over to the director’s desk. There was an advanced computer there, an angled flat-screen monitor and a flat touch-screen embedded in the desktop. With Seth and the scientist looking on, she connected the hard drive and opened it.

  Documents swam in front of her eyes, records dating back over ten years. Wordlessly she scrolled through, recognizing them as logs of the regular tests conducted on Agents. Closing those, she scrolled through the list of the contents. There were Handler reports, mission logs, photographs. Just as she was beginning to feel overwhelmed, she spotted a video dated to the current year marked “Progress Report for PM.” She opened it, watching as the video appeared, showing a dignified older gentleman standing in front of a presentation screen.

  “Annual Progress report on Subject 24517, known within the Agency as ‘Liane,’” said the man in the video. “We are very pleased to report on this subject, who we feel is the most exemplary success of Project Titan. This subject has been given approximately 1 cc of the Strain every week for the past decade.”

  The video changed to footage of Liane performing physical tests in the Agency training arena, while the scientist continued in voiceover, “As you can see, the physical capabilities of the subject are even more advanced than when last reported. She continues to make gains both in strength and speed.”

  The image changed again to Liane performing memory tests, while the voice went on, “While the effects of long term use of the Strain on mental function isn’t known, this subject’s IQ has risen by approximately four percent every year since her initial dose. The increase has not yet tapered, but we anticipate that the progress will eventually slow as she reaches full maturity.”

  The camera panned back to the gentleman in the white coat, who smiled as he said, “What is clear from this subject is that the Strain has surpassed our original hopes for genetic modification. After more than a decade, there are still no signs of negative side effects, and the subject is consistently ranked as the top Agent in terms of target terminations and mission success.”

  The video faded out, the logo of Genentech appearing on the screen before it ended. Liane sat staring at the screen for a moment, slowly reaching up to pull away her mask and push back her hood. She stood on shaking legs; Seth eyed her worriedly, while the scientist looked at her face in dawning understanding.

  “You’re a subject of Project Titan,” the man murmured almost worshipfully. “You’re one of ours, the next advancement . . .”

  Barely above a whisper, she asked, “What did you do to me?”

  Neither Seth nor the scientist said anything. She darted around the desk to the chair, twisting the scientist’s arm back at an angle and shouting, “What did you do to me?”

  “We advanced you!” the man cried out, clearly in pain. “We made you the perfect modification!”

  “You experimented on me!” she said, eyes filling with furious tears.

  “We made you superior!” he protested. “Besides, it’s done; long-term use of the Strain permanently alters a subject’s genetic structure!”

  Her face contorted with rage, and she put more pressure onto his joint. The scientist cried out, shrieking, “You aren’t even human a
nymore!”

  Liane lessened her grip on his arm, shock evident in her voice as she demanded, “Then what am I?”

  Breathing labored, the man said, “You are their creation; a creature designed for one purpose and one purpose only. To kill.”

  Liane released him, stepping back and staring at nothing as she asked, “Out . . . how do I get out?”

  The man was clutching at his arm as he whispered, “Through that door; fire exit.”

  Liane took the scientist’s badge, going to the door behind the file cabinets and deaf to Seth calling her name. She passed through a narrow corridor before reaching a small exterior door. She scanned the badge and the fire door opened. The cold, dusty night air surrounded her as she walked up a few stairs to the ruins. She made it several feet from the exit before her legs gave out. Collapsing, she pitched forward and was sick several times. When it had passed she sat back, looking up at the smog-filled sky.

  She was frightened; she was lost. So she picked up her phone and reached out to the one person who had always held the answers.

  Damian picked up after only one ring, demanding, “Where are you, Liane?”

  “No codes this time?” she asked dully.

  “I don’t need a code. I already know that you’re not alright. Put me on hologram; I want to look at you.”

  She obeyed without question, laying the phone flat in her palm and turning on the projector. The lens glowed, and then a ghostly blue image of Damian’s head and shoulders emerged. He looked at her, eyes searching for wounds or clues. She knew he was looking behind her as well, hunting for some hint as to where she was. Luckily the night was absolutely dark, the landscape featureless.

  His voice sharp, he ordered, “Tell me where you are.”

  It took all that Liane possessed not to respond to the order. She looked at his image for a moment, until she was certain of herself, and then said, “No. Not until I get the answers I want.”

  His eyebrow rose, questioning her demand but not seeming surprised by it. “What do you know at this point?”

  “I know that the Titan Strain is real, and that it was produced by a government laboratory,” she said faintly. “Nikolai Banbridge got his hands on some of it and was selling it to mods within the city. The Agency ordered both the mods and the dealer killed and harvested their organs for study.” She took a breath, hurt filling her eyes as she finished, “I know that the Agency has been dosing me with the Strain.”

  She wanted him to be shocked, outraged by the truths she was speaking aloud. But instead Damian looked at her for a long moment, and then said, “You know most of the truth already.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know the ‘why.’”

  “It’s very simple,” Damian said, as calm as if they were discussing one of their books. “The Agency has long known the advantages of genetic modifications. Even before the development of the Titan Strain, they were dosing Agents in order to produce the best and strongest soldiers in the world. You were among the first to receive the Strain and become the perfect genetic advancement.”

  “They’ve been dosing me since I started the Program, haven’t they?”

  Damian simply looked at her, unblinking, and his silence was all the answer she needed. Liane spoke quietly, her voice stilted, “How long have you known?”

  “Since the beginning,” he answered. “But it was only after several years that we truly understood just how much your body had altered. You broke every record there was, displayed a superhuman ability in nearly every aspect of your training. You are one of only nineteen living Agents to have reached the next stage of advancement, achieving the full potential of the Strain.” His image seemed to be trying to look her in the eye as he said, “So when I told you that you were special, it was the truth.”

  Suddenly Liane didn’t want to know any more about what they had done to her. So she raised her chin and demanded, “And how long have you known about the murders?”

  “Not until recently,” he admitted, no trace of concern in the words. “I found out about the Agency’s involvement a few weeks ago.”

  “And you were alright with that?” she asked icily. “You didn’t care that we were being used to kill civilians—children, even?”

  Damian shrugged. “I understand enough about the reasons behind it to know it was necessary.”

  “Then tell me,” she ordered. “Tell me why.”

  “The Party has a vested interest in keeping that serum safe. It’s what makes Agents different; it’s the reason why we can do what we do, how we can protect this country from its enemies. If the Strain were to flood the black market, there would be hundreds with your abilities. Foreign powers, terrorists . . . they would engineer soldiers with the same gifts and then destroy us.”

  Liane looked at the image of Damian, hoping that he could see the disgust in her face. Her voice was glacial as she said, “Tell me about Genentech.”

  “Genentech has been developing genetic modifications for a long time, over fifty years, in fact. The Titan Strain is merely the latest in a long line of advancements. Unfortunately, the more people you involve, the harder it is to keep a secret. Genetic modification made its way onto the black market fairly quickly, but the Strain was of far greater value. When its security was compromised, measures had to be taken to contain the spread.”

  “The civilians didn’t know,” Liane said softly. “They had no idea that they were threatening anything until it was too late.”

  “All the more reason to kill them,” Damian returned. “Ignorance leads to mistakes. Besides, news of the Strain was already beginning to spread to the continent. Terrorist groups there began to target Party members in an attempt to discover the manufacturer.”

  Liane stood a little straighter, comprehension dawning across her face. “Vienna? That was because of the Strain?”

  Damian nodded. “The terrorists were part of some fanatical group, but we suspected Tomas Richta of being the brains behind the kidnappings. The foreign leak had to be stopped, which is why we were called in. And you did the Agency proud with both missions.”

  Liane went silent for a moment, trying to process the fact that she had been used as an ignorant, guided missile to keep her own secret from the world. She set the phone down on the ground in front of her and leaned her head into her hands.

  The hologram of Damian frowned and said, “Liane, look at me.”

  She raised her head, for once looking as young as she was.

  “You know the whole truth now. I’ve kept nothing from you. Now I need you to tell me where you are so I can retrieve you.”

  She let out a hollow laugh, “Don’t feel like hunting down your target, do you?”

  Damian’s voice went soft and urgent as he said, “You’re not my target; you’re my Agent, and you need to come home.”

  Dreading the answer, she asked, “And what will happen to me if I do?”

  He let out a sigh, admitting, “You’ve broken the rules, and you know that will mean reprimands.”

  “I killed three Supporters,” she blurted out. “I didn’t know who they were at the time, but I still killed them. Don’t lie and tell me that the Agency is going to let me live after that.”

  “If they were worth anything, they wouldn’t be dead,” Damian said callously, “You’re the best the Agency has, Liane. If you come back willingly and undergo re-education, all will be forgiven.”

  Liane went quiet, considering his words, and Damian went on, “It doesn’t have to go farther than this. You haven’t failed a mission, and you’ve only compromised the Agency to one person. That can be fixed.”

  Liane’s gaze narrowed. “And how do you intend to ‘fix’ the problem of Seth?”

  There was some heat to Damian’s voice as he went on, “The burn order has already been given, Liane. There’s no s
topping it now. He’s dead; he just doesn’t know it yet.”

  She stood fast, backing away from the phone and turning.

  “Liane!”

  She stopped, looking back through her blonde hair at the hologram. For the first time she saw a slightly desperate light in Damian’s eyes as he said, “Let me help you. One civilian isn’t worth dying for.”

  She crouched for a moment, then walked slowly back to the phone to kneel beside it. She looked steadily at Damian as she said, “One friend is.”

  The hologram went out at the first blow of the rock against the phone, though the device continued to beep and short-circuit as she pounded away. Liane didn’t stop until the phone was nothing but a pile of plastic and glass shards.

  Breathing hard, her heart hammering within her chest, Liane stood and returned to the lab.

  Seth was still in the control room, still holding a gun on the scientist. He looked at her, silently questioning. Liane said nothing to him, going to retrieve the hard drive with her information. Securing it inside her clean suit, she looked at the scientist and ordered, “I want to see where you keep the serum.”

  He led them down the metal steps. Liane didn’t bother hiding from the cameras; she wanted the Agency and the Party to see this, and to know who was doing it. The scientist led them to a smaller room off of the cavernous lab. Liane stepped inside to see a chilled, insulated room lined with open shelves heavy with tiny bottles of clear liquid, as well as small boxes packed and ready to be shipped.

  She didn’t bother to explain; she simply went to work. She took three boxes of the Strain and handed them off to Seth, saying, “Get this and him loaded into the van.”

  Seth nodded, tucking the boxes under one arm and using the other to shove the scientist towards the corridor. The man twisted, looking back in time to see Liane seize a container of acetone from the cleaning closet and begin to splash it around the storage room and laboratory.