by A. D. Winch
Eric quickly interrupted, “I wasn’t! I do have manners you know.”
“But no tact! You had better not be lying.”
“There’s no point in lying to you. You can read my thoughts. Anyway, she gave me a cuddle instead which I don’t understand.” He looked pensive. “My parents never did that. If they were happy with me, my mother gave me a kiss on the cheek and my father used to shake my hand. Or, they gave me money.”
“Oh,” replied Ursula. She knew he was not lying, but she could feel his suppressed anger, and it worried her. “We’re not being held prisoner, Eric. This is my home.”
“But what if everyone is lying to us?” Eric whispered.
Ursula shrugged; it was not the first time Eric had brought this up.
“I know that you’re not,” Eric told her, “but we have no idea about the adults.”
“You’ve been reading too much about UFOs and conspiracy theories.” Ursula yawned, “But don’t worry, I’ll watch your back.”
“And I’ll watch yours,” Eric replied without any real conviction.
Ursula thrust her hand into Eric’s and shook it.
“So, this is what we are going to do,” Eric began, changing the subject. “Today we will come up with a plan to get us out of here.”
Ursula pulled up the bed sheets to her chin.
“I’ll do it with my eyes closed,” she said, laying back on the bed. “And don’t think too loud, you’ll disturb me!”
“Don’t listen,” said Eric picking up his book, but Ursula chose to ignore him, and they both said nothing more.
A high-pitched creak broke the silence.
Eric immediately put his book onto the bed. He did not make a sound. Ursula opened her eyes, pulled back the sheet and sprang silently out of bed. Walking on tiptoes, they approached the bedroom door and looked through the crack for what had caused the noise.
They stared at the front door of the apartment as it opened, ready to run at the slightest sign of danger. Suddenly the bedroom door opposite opened and out stepped Granddad Benjamin. Bright morning sunshine followed him out of the bedroom. The rays reflected off his bald, brown head, but his eyes were still dull and sleepy. He stood in the hallway in an over-sized T-shirt deciding which way to go.
“Move,” whispered Eric and Ursula as loud as they dared.
Granddad Benjamin looked towards them and, with a large gummy grin, said, “Ima going toda barroom.”
He shuffled off towards the bathroom, oblivious to what was happening around him.
The front door opened fully and in the doorway stood Alexander. He held a large paper bag against his red T-shirt. Even though it was not particularly sunny inside the flat, he was wearing his mirror shades and red cap. His salt and pepper beard had been trimmed into a stylish goatee, and he was smiling broadly.
“Morning,” he said jovially. “I’ve brought you…”
“Pastries!” added Eric and Ursula as the delicious smell reached their nostrils. They stepped back into the bedroom and slammed the door shut behind them.
It wasn’t that they didn’t want some warm pastries, but Alexander, like Andrea, was their jailor. He was adamant that they mustn’t leave the flat and would bring them newspaper articles, almost daily, to prove that they were Europe’s ‘most wanted.’
The children listened as he walked through the living room and greeted Mémé warmly on the balcony. Mémé replied by scolding him for not taking his shoes off when he had entered the apartment. Eric and Ursula fell onto the bed laughing. This soon stopped when Andrea unceremoniously entered the bedroom. Despite it being August, she was dressed in the same leather jacket and trousers that she always wore. The only item that ever changed was her T-shirt, and the current one was black with ‘My Bloody Valentine’ written across it.
She stood at the end of the bed looking down on them. Her white hair was shaped into a neat bob, and despite her elfin stature she still looked formidable. In her hands, she held two new pairs of trainers that she put on the bed. They were mostly white with a multi-coloured toe and heel.
“Good morning,” she said, but she didn’t sound as if it was good.
Eric and Ursula stopped laughing immediately.
“You know the procedure,” she stated. “You do not leave your positions until, and only until, the front door is closed and locked behind the person entering the flat.” Her voice remained clipped and without emotion. “If it had been the OSS agents you would have been sedated by now and on your way out of this apartment block.” She paused before adding, “And this would be the best case scenario.”
Agent Hoover sat in a warm and darkened room. In front of him was a bank of screens and each one streamed the views of street cams around the world. Agent Hoover wondered two things: why did he not have air conditioning in this room and why was he still needed?
When Team Omega had almost caught the two kids, they had taken plenty of photographs and videos. These images had been programmed into the computer. Facial recognition software would sound an alert the moment the kids were picked up on any camera. Agent Hoover guessed that he was the back-up system; scanning the screens together with software in order to locate the two most-dangerous children in the world. At least that is what he had been told.
The problem was that, in three months, neither he nor the software had picked up one sighting of either kid. It was as if both had vanished off the face of the planet.
Maybe they had, he thought, as a welcoming draft of air blew over him.
A few seconds later, Agent Angel stood beside him, the lights from the screens casting a huge shadow.
“Still no luck, Agent Hoover?” His voice was friendly, but Agent Hoover knew it was disguised.
“Geez, no, Sir,” replied Hoover. “Those pesky kids are either in space or underground or under the sea.”
“Any pick-ups from our satellites?”
“None, Sir, as I said before, it’s as if those pesky kids are…”
A sharp blow to the side of the head ended Agent Hoover’s sentence mid-way.
“Am I a fool, Agent Hoover?” asked Agent Angel, daring Hoover to say yes.
“No, Sir. No Siree.”
“Then why do you insist on telling me everything twice as if I’m a Goddam fool?” he finished his sentence by slapping Hoover once more.
Agent Hoover felt it was safest not to utter a sound and only breathed out again when Agent Angel had left.
His breathing seemed to echo behind him and turned into a sinister, rasping wheeze as it did so. Agent Hoover looked over his shoulder, but the sound was coming from far back where the light of the screens did not reach. He heard the wheeze again but felt compelled to turn away from the sound and look at the screens. In all the time he had worked in this room, he had never ventured further than his chair.
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***
Chapter 2 – A Danger to our Way of Life
It had been another hot day in les Paris. Granddad Benjamin, Mémé and Alexander complained to each other about the stifling heat. Andrea did not offer an opinion but appeared to remain cool all day. Eric and Ursula loved it and spent most of the time sunbathing on the balcony amongst Mémé’s plants. By the time the sun had set, their wrinkles had visibly reduced, and they were buzzing. Mémé sent them to the roof to let off some energy.
When they had gone, Mémé closed the door to the balcony, in spite of the heat, and joined Granddad Benjamin on the itchy sofa. Andrea and Alexander pulled up two chairs and sat in front of them.
“Now we can talk,” said Mémé forcefully.
“What have you found out?” asked Granddad Benjamin eagerly. “Is there a cure?”
Andrea answered, “Alexander and I took the blood samples we obtained from Eric and Ursula to a laboratory. We have rented this institution in order to ensure privacy, but it does not cost much. We paid for this from the trust fund that I established for Eric and Ursula. The accounts are listed here.”
Andre
a handed over a bank statement to the Benjamins, which contained two very large numbers. Granddad Benjamin’s eyes widened considerably when he saw the amounts.
Alexander removed his sunglasses and continued, “As you know we are trying to discover two things. Firstly, what it is that is making the children’s bodies degenerate so quickly after intense activity? Secondly, why do they appear to age faster than they should? We’ve run lots of tests on their blood and found some interesting properties. One, their blood responds to bright light but we are unsure as to what extent at the moment. Two, their blood is unique. It is not any of the most-common groups. Those being A, B, AB or O, and we have yet to match it against any other group. This is not altogether surprising. Three, it has a characteristic which, so far at least, we have been unable to classify. Again this is not surprising. Four, Eric’s and Ursula’s blood have the same properties.”
“But have you found a cure?” asked Granddad Benjamin, gripping Mémé’s hand firmly. It was the only answer he cared about.
The question was not one Alexander welcomed, and his fingers crept towards his mouth. As he pondered his response, he had to fight to keep himself from biting his fingernails and the skin around them.
In her usual blunt way, Andrea replied for him, “No, our best estimate is that they will die before they are fourteen.”
As the Benjamins’ jaws dropped, and their eyes welled up with tears, Alexander quickly added, “But we both believe that we can at least delay this and at best stop it completely so they can live long and happy lives. This is our goal.”
The Benjamin’s faces rose slightly.
“What will you do now?” asked Mémé, her voice and hands shaking.
“We will find a cure,” stated Andrea, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world. “It will not be an easy or quick process. The children must stay here out of danger. It is essential that they are not spotted by the OSS.”
Up on the roof, it was almost pitch black. Only a small beam from the crescent moon lit up the two dark silhouettes. They were doing gymnastics over the concrete – running, jumping, spinning in the air and landing perfectly. Ursula applauded Eric, but he just shrugged his shoulders at her skills. She was used to it; he was quick to find fault and rarely congratulated her. After a while, they stopped and sat on the edge of the building. Their legs dangled over the side and hung in the air eight stories up.
“Why don’t we talk about you-know-what?” asked Ursula.
“You mean their prediction that we are going to die?” replied Eric without blinking.
“Yes.”
“Because we are young, fit and healthy. How could we do what we have just done if we’re supposed to die? It’s obviously a mistake.”
“What about the wrinkles?” asked Ursula touching the faded lines around her eyes.
“You seem to have more than me, so that’s probably because you’re always complaining that you are tired and don’t get enough sleep.”
“That’s your fault.”
“You can’t blame me if you can’t sleep properly,” said Eric without any trace of humour.
Ursula chose to change the subject, “What about the grey in our hair?”
“What about it? The only reason hair goes grey is because the pigment cells die out as it doesn’t get as much melanin.”
“But they are dying out,” said Ursula concerned.
“It could be due to stress and it may be a good sign.”
“How can this be good? Old people get grey hairs and then they die!”
“Not just old people.”
“That’s the point.”
“When I was stuck indoors in Prague with Alexander, I read some medical articles by Doctor Fischer at Harvard Medical School. He thinks greying hair might actually be a safety mechanism that the body uses as it removes damaged stem cells.”
“So you’re saying we’re not dying?”
“We are not dying! Do you feel like you’re dying? I don’t.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive. Now let’s talk about something else.”
To make sure the adults would not hear, they whispered and put together the final details of their plan. It involved escaping their prison for one evening, during which they would watch a game of football at the Stade de France in Saint-Denis. They were finally going to have some freedom.
Jean Kurtz was average in height, average in features, and if a hair style could be average then she had that too. Her face was contorting and her body shaking under her white lab coat. She had just stabbed herself in the hand with a screwdriver.
A rapidly expanding red circle began to fill her palm. As she moved a drop of blood fell and landed on the pristine floor of the makeshift laboratory.
It had been built using large grey panels and then sealed inside an enormous, clear tent. A noisy air pump kept the tent inflated which also kept the area a lot cooler than the rest of the base. Outside the tent, a secret air force base went about its work. Soldiers marched, mechanics checked aeroplanes and helicopters, jeeps drove personnel around, and drills were repeatedly practised.
Kurtz raised her grey eyes and, looking at the high cave ceiling beyond the tent, allowed herself a thin smile. She loved keeping secrets and lying to people. Being a part of this base gave her the perfect excuse to do both.
She brought her gaze back to the two silver pods. One had been retrieved from a small town in Romania; the other from the ancient city of Pompeii. These pods had brought the mutant children to Earth. Only a select number of people knew of the pods’ existence, and Agent Angel had made it quite clear that this was the way it was going to stay. The pods rested on X-shaped supports and resembled two sycamore seeds. However, they could not fly to the ground like helicopters as the long wing, if there had been one, looked as if it had been removed. Unfortunately, just like the seeds, the pods were closed.
They had been opened originally by Professor Schwarzkopf, a man whom she despised and viewed as a scientific dinosaur. She also feared that he had a conscience. After watching his horrified reaction to Team Omega chasing the children down Mount Vesuvius, she was convinced of this. To make matters worse, Professor Schwarzkopf was also a man who refused to share his secrets, a trait that she just couldn’t stand in other people. Despite her best efforts at being sociable, flattering and even flirting with the decrepit old man, he had refused to tell her how he had opened the pods.
Shortly after, he had left the base and returned home. The pods closed again and no matter what she, or her team, did they just wouldn’t open. She declined to mention this in her reports to Agent Angel. As she had just proven, even attacking the smooth metal surface with a screwdriver didn’t leave a scratch.
Kurtz sat heavily on the ground beside the pods and looked at her hand. She was in pain, but she was also angry at the lack of progress her team were making. As she reflected on this Doctor Khan, Professor Li and Professor Warne were marched sheepishly into the room. They were followed by Agent Angel, who took long, purposeful strides. He towered above the scientists and a floodlight behind him meant that they were literally in his shadow. He halted, and his face was calm. However, when he crossed his trunk-like arms in front of his chest, Kurtz knew a storm was brewing.
“I found these scientists,” he said the word with contempt, “outside the hanger sat on their butts enjoying cans of coke and the hot summer sun.”
“That’s right,” said Kurtz in her whiney voice. “They were on their break.”
“And I walk in here to find you on your tush with the pods not open. Despite repeating to you, in language that I believe is clear, the urgency of this situation. Was I not clear enough when I told you that whatever was in those pods could change our way of life forever?”
He lit up a cigarette, and Kurtz wondered whether she should tell him not to smoke in her lab or defend her team or answer the question. She decided it was safest to defend her team.
“They were on their break, Sir.”
<
br /> Agent Angel raised his hand and then reluctantly dropped it again. “Do I look dumb to you, Kurtz?”
“No, Sir.”
“Then why do you insist on telling me things twice, as if I am some kind of imbecile. Do you think your Great- Great-Granddaddy could have afforded a break as he sat in his trench waiting for the enemy to attack?”
Before Kurtz had time to protest, Agent Angel continued. “The answer you were about to give me is, ‘no, Sir,’ and that is darn right. Because during that break he would have been shot and bayonetted before he had even opened his coke. It’s a good job your Great- Great-Granddaddy cannot see you now, and I won’t mention it to your daddy when I see him next either. NOW GET UP!”
Kurtz got up, without putting her bleeding hand on the ground, and stood with the other scientists. There were occasions when she hated Agent Angel, and she contemplated telling her father. It would be a good idea to put the knife into him before he did it to her. After all, Angel had to answer to somebody, hadn’t he?
Agent Angel stepped towards them and placed his arms behind his broad back. The cigarette smoke wafted upwards past his grey beard and moustache.
“You work for me, and I like my men, and women, working around the clock. From now on you work in two teams of two, in eight hour shifts, with split breaks. Do I make myself clear?”
All the scientists, except Kurtz, were visibly shaken and looked for places to hide. Kurtz, on the other hand, seemed to have other things on her mind.
“Thank you, Sir,” she said. “I’ve had trouble trying to explain to my team the gravity of this assignment.”
The other scientists looked on incredulously, as if this was news to them.
“Don’t give me that bull, Kurtz. I’ve been told that you are a fine scientist, which I grudgingly agree with on occasions. I can also see for myself that you are a morally suspect individual which suits me just fine. However, you are definitely a poor liar, and I cannot abide liars.”
Kurtz looked to be on the verge of protesting, and her mouth opened but she thought better of it.
