Helix, Episode 3

by Nathan M. Farrugia

  Jay hit the brakes hard. The fence flew from his windshield and knocked over a row of marines. He accelerated again, down the bridge and toward the heat ray. He turned the wheel hard and pulled the handbrake, clipping the dish with the side of his car. It toppled, and his friends stopped convulsing.

  ‘Get in!’ he yelled.

  Aviary rolled to her feet and jumped in next to him, barely breathing. ‘I cracked the power grid,’ she gasped.

  The marines recovered and reached for their carbines, aiming for Damien and Nasira out in the open. Others aimed for Jay. He had no chance, but he drew his pistol anyway.

  ‘Jackpot,’ Aviary said.

  The canal and streetlamps turned black. He couldn’t see the marines on the bridge. Through his window, the casino’s lights—level by level—shut down. Around him, in an expanding radius, Las Vegas went dark.

  Nasira and Damien moved through the darkness and jumped in the back.

  ‘What the hell—did you do that?’ Jay asked.

  Aviary had her flashlight out, her finger touching the strobe for a moment. ‘Get us out of here!’

  Jay took off the handbrake and roared up the bridge, radio pumping. ‘Get ready to use that … now!’

  Aviary hit the strobe and blasted everyone on the bridge with dizzying flashes. The only lights Jay could see were the headlamps of cars on the boulevard ahead. Where they needed to go.

  From the back seat, Nasira leaned forward to switch on his high beams. ‘Are you playing Taylor Swift?’

  ‘No idea.’ Jay drove off the bridge and toward the boulevard. ‘Aviary, did you just black out a whole city?’

  ‘Uh, I was running out of ideas,’ she said.

  He gripped the steering wheel. ‘Good job.’

  A new vehicle crossed the boulevard and cut off their escape. It was large and sharp, the size of a tank with the maneuverability of a 4x4.

  Marauder.

  Jay took a hard right, racing between the canal and the boulevard. He just hoped he wasn’t driving into a dead end. In his rear vision mirror, the Marauder smashed through the bollards and metal fence with an unsettling ease. Jay didn’t want to be the next bollard.

  ‘Fifty cal,’ Damien said, describing the Marauder’s mounted M2 machine-gun.

  Aviary hit Jay’s horn, forcing stray pedestrians in the plaza to scatter.

  Jay’s chest tightened, stealing his breath. ‘Hold on.’

  Ahead of them, there was an old white building and a small length of pavement without a barrier. That was his way out. He downshifted, took the left, scraping across a metal fence and smashing through a signpost. He held his breath and punched through. The car roared off the plaza, crashing onto the boulevard and narrowly missing a black pickup. The pickup swerved and corrected itself.

  ‘Take that, Marauder!’ he yelled, making Aviary cover her ears.

  The Marauder exploded through a concrete wall behind them.

  ‘Fuck.’

  ‘I think it’s angry now,’ Damien said.

  ‘Faster!’ Nasira said. ‘And turn off the radio.’

  Jay shook his head. ‘Taylor Swift helps me focus.’

  In the rear vision mirror, he saw a marine climb behind the machine-gun.

  Shit.

  Jay jerked the car, narrowly avoiding a white van in front of them. The machine-gun lit up the boulevard. The sound of gunfire drowned everything out. The white van shredded into curled metal, then veered right for them. Jay pulled sharply to avoid it, flying over a bump and into oncoming traffic.

  Breathe. You can do this.

  He steered between oncoming vehicles with all the focus he could muster, humming softly to the music. There was a concrete barrier separating both sides of the boulevard, at least until the Marauder exploded through it right in front of them and rammed a gray SUV head-on. Jay swerved around the Marauder as it sent the SUV into the air. It tumbled and came crashing down, narrowly missing Jay’s car. The Marauder was four lanes across from them, but not far behind. It ploughed through two more cars, growling hungrily. The machine-gun operator turned the barrel in Jay’s direction.

  Jay cut between lanes. Horns blared, drivers swerved to avoid him. The Marauder smashed across lanes to catch up. Jay checked his side mirror. The M2 operator was taking aim.

  ‘Shit shit shit shit shit,’ Aviary said.

  Jay pulled in behind a white 4x4, waited a moment, listened to the Marauder roar toward them. Then he hit the brakes. The Marauder overshot, clipping the 4x4 and ploughing right into a Treasure Island-themed bar and grill. Jay watched the Marauder disappear inside a faux pirate ship. Its rear wheels spun, but it was firmly embedded.

  Jay hit the gas again, lurching them ahead.

  ‘Get us the hell outta here,’ Nasira said.

  ‘We’re clear,’ Damien said. ‘But we should switch cars soon.’

  Jay’s breathing became short and suddenly he couldn’t fill his lungs properly. He gripped the steering wheel and hunched over, breathing faster. Panic rushed through, freezing him in place. The car slipped into another lane.

  ‘Jay?’ Nasira’s hand was on his back. ‘What’s wrong?’

  He corrected the wheel and forced himself to slow each breath, drawing deeper. ‘I’m fine.’

  Aviary was staring from the passenger seat. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Anyone hungry? There’s a drive-through up ahead.’

  Chapter Four

  Tallinn, Estonia

  Olesya walked the snow-swept cobblestoned street and kept a close eye on Karamysheva, the Russian intelligence officer she was tracking. She’d followed him from the train station through the ancient barbicans of Tallinn. He hadn’t stopped for even a moment, barely glancing at his phone. He hunched forward, a gray scarf looped around his brown collar while long arms swayed with each step.

  Olesya kept as much distance as she could while holding a good eye. She wore sunglasses under today’s weak sunlight and did most of her checks on him through the corner of her vision. Two girls weaved past her on mopeds, their wide tires rumbling loudly over the cobbles. The girls split up, steered around a group of German students, and again around the officer. Unlike the students, he didn’t look startled; he knew they were coming long ago.

  To the ordinary passerby, Karamysheva’s eyes were taking in the architecture, the Gothic spires and medieval markets; or perhaps he was people-watching, observing the locals and business folk enjoying the ale and public Wi-Fi. But Olesya knew it wasn’t any of these things. He walked with out-of-breath purpose under iron street lamps, drinking in details through his subconscious and looking for unexpected bumps in the scenery—someone or something that was out of place. Out of baseline.

  Someone like her.

  Olesya kept her attention on the Russian officer, but like him she was looking for someone else. A Fifth Column operative. And like her, this operative would know what train this officer arrived on, and that he was here in Estonia to meet someone. They planned to abduct them both.

  But Olesya and Ark weren’t going to let that happen.

  The officer changed direction. It wasn’t a slow turn toward the corner, it was sudden and precise. As he did so, he cast an innocent glance back in the direction he’d come.

  Counter-surveillance.

  Karamysheva would have noted everyone in the crowd behind him, Olesya included, but he wouldn’t have seen anything remarkable about her. With her winter coat, linen-blond hair and fair complexion, she blended in with the Baltic locals. Being noticed was OK; being noticed too many times wasn’t.

  ‘Turning left on Olevimäi,’ Olesya said into her throat mike.

  She kept her communication plain and sparse. One of the first things Illarion taught her about surveillance was to stop talking like a soldier and start talking like a civilian. This meant relaxed speech that won’t sound strange in public places.

  ‘That’s a one-way street,’ Ark said. ‘I’m a block away and circling.’

 
; Ark was Olesya’s backup. He was out of sight but in range, driving a small coupe Gleb had signed off on.

  Olesya casually followed the German students around the corner. She stretched her distance some more, putting a block between her and the cautious officer. If he looked at her again, even indirectly, she would need to swap places with Ark. And she really didn’t want to do that. She wanted Ark behind the wheel so that she could handle the operative when she—

  Someone moved past Karamysheva, smoothly, off axis. A woman with long, dark hair, straight, unlike Val’s natural curls. She wore white trainers on the cobblestones and a navy coat with no loose straps or belts; nothing that would get tangled if she needed to run. She brushed past the officer and kept going. With a slight turn of his head, he noticed.

  Olesya’s heart rate spiked. ‘Possible.’

  ‘What does she look like?’ Ark asked.

  Olesya thought about what to say. ‘Straight hair. Navy coat.’

  The woman walked ahead, sifting through clusters of slow walkers, matching their movements. She was taller than most of the people, so Olesya followed her head in the crowd, dividing her attention between Karamysheva and this new target.

  The woman stepped inside a bar, two couples heading in alongside her, and Olesya lost sight of her. She tried to keep her eyes on the bar entrance while focusing on the officer.

  ‘Possible is ahead, in a bar,’ Olesya said. ‘He is still moving.’

  Olesya had both the bar entrance and the officer in sight, so she dropped back a little.

  ‘What’s the name of the bar?’ Ark asked.

  ‘Pudel Baar,’ she said.

  There was a pause. ‘So is this a bar for people ... or poodles?’

  ‘Pudel means bottle,’ she said.

  The woman left the bar and walked purposefully across the street. Not much of her face was visible to Olesya: a hard jawline, small mouth and fine eyebrows. She didn’t look Russian or Kazakh. Perhaps Chinese.

  It could be her.

  ‘So it’s a bottle bar?’ Ark asked. ‘A bar with bottles?’

  The woman turned slightly, checking traffic.

  ‘It’s her,’ Olesya whispered.

  Ark heard her. ‘Val?’

  ‘No.’ Olesya’s heart beat faster. ‘Operative.’

  ‘Talk to me,’ Ark said. ‘What’s she doing?’

  Olesya checked everyone on the street, every vehicle. There were no vans, no SUVs, nothing that might conceal a small grab team. Karamysheva still walked ahead, his attention diffused across the entire street. He passed Pudel Baar.

  The operative crossed the street ahead of him, maybe fifty meters, and kept going. Olesya increased her pace, taking long strides on the opposite side of the street.

  ‘I’m doing a pass now,’ Ark said. His unremarkable charcoal coupe appeared, heading toward her.

  Olesya stopped. The woman had looked the wrong way to cross a one-way street.

  She was looking at Karamysheva.

  Olesya crossed Pudel Baar and picked up her pace to pass Karamysheva. She didn’t speak to Ark again until she was out of earshot.

  ‘I’m going for her,’ she said softly. ‘You stay on him.’

  ‘What?’ he asked. ‘But it’s not Val, is it?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Olesya said. ‘But I need to stay on her. Can you stay with him?’

  ‘I can’t!’ Ark said. ‘I’d have to go on foot!’

  Ark drove past. In his wake, the operative changed direction and took a small alley.

  ‘Then go on foot!’ Olesya said, breaking into a run.

  In her ear, Ark cursed.

  She rounded the corner. Ahead of her, the operative walked briskly down the alley. There was a road at the end; the operative could only go in one of two directions.

  Olesya ducked under an open window frame and kept moving, slowly now. She busied herself with her phone, bringing up Google Maps. She didn’t want direct eye contact with the operative.

  ‘Passing him now,’ Ark said. ‘Son of a bitch looked straight at me though. I’m just looking for a place to park.’

  The operative took a right at the end of the alley. She wanted to run after her, but instead she kept to a brisk walk. When she reached the corner, she turned and kept her face angled toward her phone. Over the phone’s edge, she caught sight of the operative. She walked alongside a blue building, passing café tables decorated with potted flowers and umbrellas.

  Olesya consulted her phone’s map. The operative was heading down a blind alley. And at the next corner, Olesya would have to do the same. But the rules of surveillance were clear in her head.

  Never follow your target into a dead-end. Dead-ends are the perfect places to be spotted. And for your target to confront you…

  Olesya slowed as she reached the alley. Her heart was racing, and not just because she was about to face the operative. It was more than that. She knew it wasn’t Val.

  After all these years, it could be Xiu.

  Chapter Five

  Damien opened his eyes. He was sitting in a metal chair in front of White. Right there on the table, in front of the border patrol officer, was Jay. He lay with his eyes closed, not breathing.

  White’s eyes burned. ‘Rise and shine.’

  Damien pulled at the cuffs on his wrists. ‘What have you done to him?’ he shouted.

  ‘What have you done, Damien?’ White asked.

  Damien gripped the metal armrests and poured heat into them. His arms shook. He wanted to kill White, and his two officers standing in the shadows. But first he had to get free.

  ‘Blessed is he who reads.’ White’s eyes were glowing embers.

  ‘Get away from him!’ Damien yelled.

  White’s hands hovered over Jay. ‘And those who hear the words of the prophecy.’

  Blood rushed to Damien’s cheeks. His hands clenched white over the armrests. They weren’t heating fast enough. They weren’t burning through.

  ‘And keep those things which are written in it,’ White said.

  Fire burst from White’s hands and engulfed Jay in flames.

  Damien cried out. Pulled at his chair. Other officers appeared from behind Damien and held him down, pressed their weight onto him. He couldn’t breathe. The table caught fire, burning through Jay.

  ‘No one can escape their destiny,’ White said. ‘He’s one of us now.’

  Somewhere in Mexico

  Damien woke suddenly, smacking his head against the car window.

  ‘Bad dream?’ Aviary asked.

  She was curled up on the other side of the car, one eye open. There was no White or interrogation room. Just traffic and the car radio.

  ‘He gets those dreams,’ Jay said.

  Damien closed his hands until his fingers stopped trembling.

  A scratchy voice came from a radio under the dashboard. It was the marine’s radio he’d stolen.

  ‘Blessed is he who reads and those who hear the words of this prophecy—’

  Half-asleep, Nasira reached over and—with the butt of her pistol—cracked the radio. Then she rolled back and started snoring.

  Jay was driving southeast to Mexico City now—Damien had slept through most of Phoenix and parts of the border crossing into Mexico. Last time he was awake, Aviary had been keeping an eye on military channels and the media. At the time, nothing had been mentioned about the Las Vegas mayhem, except for reports of a training exercise running at the exact same place and time. It was almost as though the authorities were trying to cover it up rather than spark a genuine manhunt for them.

  Damien’s stomach grumbled. Nasira had only allowed Jay to stop for fuel, which meant they’d been running on gas station food for most of the night. Apart from that, the only break was so Damien could do a clothesline run through an Arizona suburb to find everyone a change of clothes. Aviary now wore a gray beanie that was too big for her head. She pulled it over her eyes and resumed her nap.

  Even medical help was out of the question.
Jay was still recovering from his damaged lung and Nasira sported a gunshot wound through her shoulder, but she’d made it very clear she wasn’t stopping for stitches until they were out of the country. They had morphine and a clotting agent with sterile bandages, and that would have to do for now.

  ‘Are you OK?’ Aviary peeked out from under her beanie.

  Damien nodded. ‘Yeah, I’m OK.’

  ‘Good.’ She stretched her legs over his, her purple socks resting on his knees.

  ‘You should keep your shoes on,’ he said.

  She sighed. ‘I know, I know. Always have your feet out the end of the bed. Always keep your shoes on, so you can move straight away when there’s danger, right?’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘Your feet smell.’

  It seemed like forever to Aviary, but finally they reached Mexico City—or Distrito Federal as Nasira called it. Damien had taken over driving the last leg so Jay could rest, and Aviary wasn’t happy about it because he snored louder than Nasira.

  Distrito Federal was a spirited city of turbulent structures and twisting alleys, splashed with Spanish colonial architecture and murals that coated entire facades. There was little urgency here and the traffic slowed their path to a crawl. When they finally made it to the street Nasira was looking for, Aviary still didn’t know what they were doing there.

  She followed the group along a cracked sidewalk, past a food cart wrapped in plastic tarp, and through the rear of a house—or restaurant, she couldn’t be sure—covered in cement tiles and blistered paint.

  Damien ruffled his short hair. ‘Keep your beanie on.’

  ‘It is on.’ Aviary knew it was to conceal her dyed red hair, which she tucked under her jacket collar.

  Nasira led them through the kitchen. Aviary’s stomach grumbled as she passed a row of prepared dishes. The chefs were in t-shirts and sweatpants, which made her want to wear a t-shirt and sweatpants too.

  One of the chefs, an older woman with short curled hair and a Ninja Turtles apron, greeted Nasira with a bear hug, which Nasira tolerated for at least a moment. If it hurt her shoulder wound, she didn’t show it. The chef wiped sweat from her brow and led them to a front room where the locals ate, and a concealed alcove reserved for private gatherings.