Exile

by Nathan M. Farrugia

  ‘Jay was technically dead,’ Nasira said. ‘They cheated.’

  Denton raised an eyebrow. ‘Did they really? Technically, they made it past the beacons. Three of them, including their prisoner. Their objective was successfully completed.’

  ‘But in the real world, Jay was toast,’ Nasira said.

  ‘In the real world, you cheat.’ Denton started pacing. ‘If that’s what gets you across the line. They broke the rules, sure. But they broke them to complete the objective. And this could all have been avoided if you did one simple thing.’ He stood in front of Nasira. ‘Do you know what that is?’

  Nasira folded her arms, wincing from the bruises. ‘No, sir.’

  ‘If you searched the enemy, as you always should, you would have found Jay’s concealed weapon,’ Denton said. ‘The secret to their success was your lack of awareness.’

  He pivoted on one heel and stared right at Sophia. She stopped taking notes and straightened in her chair. He looked down at the notes on her page—they were sparse but she’d written the important things.

  ‘Sophia, you issued two pistols to Jay,’ he said. ‘Which left only one usable weapon between the three of you. You put everything on him. That’s a big gamble.’

  Sophia looked over at Jay, who was sitting next to her. ‘Yes sir.’

  ‘Why?’ he asked.

  ‘I trust him.’

  ‘Why do you trust him?’

  ‘Because he could do it.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Once the Helldivers see Jay running through the forest by himself they’ll know he’s a decoy.’ Sophia eyed Nasira. ‘They’re smart, they’d focus on the rest of us and anticipate an attack. So I used that to our advantage. It was the only move that made sense.’

  Jay nodded and wrote something in his notebook. From where Sophia was sitting, there didn’t seem to be any writing on his page. Instead, he drew a squiggle.

  Sophia waited for Denton to explain her mistakes to everyone, but he didn’t.

  ‘Nasira, you removed your vest in the forest,’ he said. ‘It’s a small rule, but you broke it. In the previous exercise, you gave your pistol to the prisoner you were supposed to rescue. It was an attempt to trick Firebird Squad. And it almost worked.’

  Denton smiled. It wasn’t often Sophia saw that.

  Denton surveyed the debriefing room. ‘Why does it work?’

  Both squads were silent.

  ‘Deception?’ Damien asked. He was sitting next to Jay, his page was crammed with notes.

  ‘And why does deception work?’ Denton asked.

  Sophia played the scenario in her head. She didn’t know why she’d made the decisions she had, but now it was starting to make sense. ‘It exploits our preconceived assumptions,’ she said.

  ‘Explain,’ Denton said.

  ‘In the first exercise, we expected Grace to be unarmed. We did not expect her to be a threat. We expected Nasira to be using her own weapon. With all these assumptions, we almost missed what was really happening.’

  ‘But you didn’t miss it,’ Denton said. ‘For the rest of your team, the battle seemed to be over. Yet when you entered the room, you did so in a heightened state of awareness. You saw it immediately. And this is why every one of you needs to be aware at all times.’

  Everyone nodded, some taking notes.

  ‘You never switch off,’ he said. ‘By the time I’m done with you, you won’t be able to.’ He paused, in case there were any questions.

  Damien raised his hand, but Denton turned to Jay instead.

  ‘Nasira’s team expected a certain type of attack from you. So you changed your approach,’ Denton said. ‘You subverted their preconceptions. That is the art of deception.’

  Nasira glared at Jay, but he paid her no attention and drew another squiggle.

  ‘Firebird and Helldiver Squads, your Special Operations Training is now complete,’ Denton said. ‘You are no longer recruits, you are no longer soldiers. You are now specialists.’ He eyed each of them carefully. ‘The fourth and final phase of your training begins tomorrow: Intelligence Training.’

  He focused on Sophia. She refused to blink, not while he was looking at her.

  ‘And your first class for Intelligence Training will be Full Spectrum Surveillance.’ Denton cast a final gaze over the squads. ‘Dismissed.’ He walked out.

  Sophia scooped up her canteen bottle and notebook. She made for the door, but Nasira cut her off.

  ‘You won,’ Nasira said. It was more of a statement than congratulations.

  Sophia wasn’t expecting that. ‘I learned it from you.’

  ‘I’m flattered,’ Nasira said, straight faced.

  ‘I’m not sure if you’re being sarcastic or you’re only capable of two facial expressions,’ Sophia said. ‘But I guess you still dislike me.’

  Nasira stepped aside, letting her pass. ‘No, that’s one facial expression. Besides, you’re Firebird’s new squad leader. I’d have to join the line to dislike you.’

  ‘I’m just trying to qualify. Like everyone else.’

  ‘That’s what everything is, right? Qualifying.’ Nasira turned to leave. ‘See you ’round, Soph.’

  Sophia watched her go.

  Jay was suddenly beside her, arms folded. ‘Got a nice ring to it.’

  ‘Disliking me?’ she asked.

  Jay’s eyebrows creased. ‘No, you’re all right. I meant Soph. One syllable, rolls of the tongue.’

  ‘Call me that and I’ll send you into the forest without a pistol,’ she said. ‘Or clothes.’

  Damien joined them, trying not to laugh. ‘He’d probably enjoy that.’

  ‘So-phi-a. Three syllables.’ Jay shrugged. ‘That works too.’

  ‘Thanks for getting us through,’ Damien said. ‘So-phi-a.’

  Chapter Two

  Today

  Moscow, Russia

  The hooded operative moved soundlessly across pink and white marble. She paused mid-step and appeared to tune into the sound. The Metro station was evacuated, but the operative knew someone was there. She drew her pistol and pivoted.

  Sophia stepped out of the shadows, already aiming. But she didn’t shoot.

  They trained their pistols on each other. Sophia wielded the same Glock as the operative, only hers was modified. She met the operative’s gaze over her pistol’s sights.

  ‘You’re quieter than most.’ The operative’s voice echoed across the subway tunnels and vaulted ceilings.

  ‘You’re sensitive,’ Sophia said.

  ‘Forty decibels, if you’re wondering.’

  ‘Hyperaudition. That’s the Pepsi gene, right?’

  ‘Prestin gene.’ The operative leaned into her pistol. ‘I have a sensitive trigger finger too, so you might want to lower your weapon.’

  ‘I was enjoying our little chat,’ Sophia said. ‘Might be cut short if I do that.’

  ‘If you’re trying to stall me, I’ve already placed the explosives.’

  Sophia raised an eyebrow. ‘If you’re trying to detonate them, I imagine you’ll want to get clear first.’

  ‘I never mentioned they were here.’

  ‘I can smell your fear,’ Sophia said. ‘And it’s not the fear of my pistol, or me.’

  There was the slightest twitch around her left eye. ‘You’re Sophia, aren’t you? The te—’

  ‘Terrorist,’ Sophia finished for her. ‘I also go by the title of insurgent and traitor. And occasionally the person who stops people like you from detonating explosives in Russian train stations and killing a whole lot of people.’

  ‘Not long ago, you were the one doing our killing,’ the operative said. ‘Just down the passageway, right?’

  ‘A long time ago,’ Sophia said. ‘I’m not on your side anymore. You could say I’m reformed.’

  ‘I’m curious,’ she said. ‘How can you smell my fear when you don’t even have an ability? You’re useless.’

  ‘I was a late bloomer,’ Sophia said. ‘These days, I smell pheromones. It really messe
s with your appetite, by the way.’

  ‘Depends on which appetite.’

  ‘So we’re a hundred feet underground and your anxiety is steadily building,’ Sophia said. ‘I’m guessing the explosives are on a timer.’

  ‘Don’t waste your last few minutes trying to brainwash me,’ the operative said. ‘If you even try to turn me into one of your zombies, I won’t be able to tell you where the explosives are.’

  ‘That’s a problem, because Moscow’s Special Rapid Response will be crawling through this station any minute now,’ Sophia said. ‘The Fifth Column don’t have much control over Russia these days. They might have a hard time pulling you out of custody. In fact, they’ll probably just cut their losses and leave you there. That’s the whole point of a deniable operation, right?’

  ‘You should know. You were like me, once.’

  ‘Once,’ Sophia said. ‘If we’re caught—’

  ‘If we’re caught, I’m the one with valuable intelligence to trade and you’re the terrorist mastermind caught in the act.’

  ‘Tell me where the explosives are and I’ll get you out unscathed,’ Sophia said. ‘Relatively speaking.’

  ‘With me as your prisoner.’

  ‘Better than being dead.’

  ‘It’s me or the explosives,’ the operative said. ‘You can’t have both.’

  ‘Actually, there’s a third option.’

  Someone new had appeared from behind the operative. Fluent English, Russian accent. No uncertainty in her tone. That bothered Sophia the most.

  The newcomer moved from behind a column, her calcite-blue eyes focused on Sophia more than the operative. She was noticeably taller than the operative, and she wore a charcoal gray coat that ran seamlessly from her neck to her legs. Frost blond hair touched her shoulders and her black boots were laced with paracord.

  Operative.

  That could only mean one thing: the Fifth Column. The covert multinational agency that had once trained Sophia. And yet Sophia had never seen this woman before. Perhaps she was deprogrammed? Perhaps she too was a rogue?

  The newcomer aimed at Sophia with some sort of Russian pistol, difficult to identify at this distance. But her blue eyes locked onto Sophia, her nose and cheeks flushed pink and her lips, almost as white as her face, chapped and slightly parted. She breathed heavily. She must have sprinted here.

  ‘I can drop you both without even calling for backup,’ she said. ‘If you want out of this alive, then I suggest you slowly point your weapons to the ceiling and remove your magazines.’

  Neither Sophia nor the operative broke their aim.

  ‘Listen to me,’ Sophia said. ‘This operative has placed explosives on the platform.’

  The operative spoke in Russian, which Sophia roughly understood.

  Don’t listen to her, I’m the one stopping her.

  ‘Last chance.’ The newcomer watched them with a measured glance. ‘Both of you: aim your pistols at the ceiling.’

  Sophia made the first move. Slowly, she turned her barrel upwards, her finger out of the trigger guard. She released the magazine. It didn’t drop so she shook it from the well and it clattered on the patterned marble. She still had one round in the chamber.

  ‘Who are you?’ the newcomer asked.

  Sophia wondered if this woman had heard of her. Was she Sophia the terrorist or Sophia the freedom fighter? There was only one way to find out.

  ‘My name is Sophia. You might have heard—’

  ‘No, I haven’t.’

  Sophia didn’t know whether to be relieved or offended, so she spoke to the operative. ‘Your turn.’

  The operative kept her aim on Sophia.

  ‘Remove your magazine!’ the newcomer said, speaking to the operative.

  The operative’s trigger finger shifted.

  ‘Children three that nestle near,’ Sophia said quickly.

  The operative’s trigger finger relaxed.

  ‘Eager eye and willing ear, pleased a simple tale to hear,’ Sophia said.

  The operative twitched, seemed to stare through her and then refocus. ‘Access permitted.’

  The newcomer stood there too, her interest growing. The command hadn’t worked on her, so she couldn’t be an operative. She didn’t even recognize Sophia’s name. That didn’t leave many options, but Russian intelligence was one of them.

  ‘Ask her again,’ Sophia said, this time in the best Russian she could manage. ‘She will obey basic commands.’

  The newcomer kept her aim on the operative for now. ‘Point your barrel to the ceiling, remove your magazine and clear the chamber.’

  Without hesitation, the operative did as instructed. The magazine bounced across the marble floor. She stared blankly ahead.

  The newcomer spoke in English now. ‘How did you do that?’

  Sophia aimed at her. ‘It’s a long story.’

  The newcomer covered her. ‘You only have one round.’

  ‘I can work with that,’ Sophia said. ‘Who are you? GRU? SVR?’

  ‘FSB. Maybe that was your third guess.’

  Sophia knew she was lying. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Speaking of threes, how many of you are there—here in Moscow?’

  ‘You tell me,’ Sophia said.

  Using her supporting hand, the newcomer touched the pressel switch on her jacket collar. ‘I have two operatives.’

  ‘You have one of them.’ Sophia nodded to the operative nearby. ‘And it’s not me.’

  She glared, unblinking. ‘You’re one of them. I remember you.’

  Sophia felt her anger. The newcomer was losing control.

  ‘Whatever you think I’ve done, that wasn’t me,’ Sophia said. ‘I can explain.’

  The newcomer’s finger curled over her trigger. ‘Give me one good reason why I don’t shoot you right now.’

  ‘Because I’m not like them,’ Sophia said.

  ‘Why should I believe anything you say?’

  ‘I’m not programmed. Not anymore.’

  The newcomer shook her head. ‘That’s not possible.’

  ‘Then how would you explain what I just did?’

  Holding down her switch, the newcomer said, ‘Unreadable, say again.’ Her expression shifted. She took her phone from her pocket and answered. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Let me guess,’ Sophia said, ‘you have to run?’

  ‘My team know exactly where we are. If you were to make the wrong move.’

  ‘Understood,’ Sophia said.

  The newcomer lifted her finger from the trigger. She wasn’t interested in shooting Sophia. Although there was really only one way to be sure.

  Sophia lowered her pistol. ‘I take it you want me to disarm the explosives.’

  The newcomer holstered her weapon. ‘Whatever you do with that operative, do it fast.’

  Without another word, she broke into a run. Past Sophia, to the southern entrance of the subway station. She raced up the escalator and disappeared.

  ‘Well, that makes things simpler.’ Sophia adjusted her aim to the operative. ‘Where is the detonator?’

  ‘I do not know,’ the operative said.

  ‘You placed the explosives, where is the detonator?’ Sophia asked.

  ‘This information is not accessible.’

  Sophia cursed. ‘Execute parapsyche designation Lycaon.’ Slave mode.

  ‘Command not recognized.’

  ‘Fine.’ Sophia didn’t have time to dig around the operative’s programming. She had to bring her back and ask directly. ‘Execute parapsyche designation Ares.’

  ‘Ares loaded.’ The operative blinked, then focused on Sophia. Her face contorted with anger. ‘How long have I been out?’

  ‘Where’s the detonator?’ Sophia asked.

  The operative spotted her unloaded pistol near her foot. She had to know she couldn’t get to it in time. ‘There is no detonator. How long have I been out?’

  ‘Almost five m—’ Sophia said.

  The explosion tore through
the northern end of the subway, shearing stone columns and raising the station platform in a seismic wave of undulating marble. Sophia hit the ground behind the nearest column, protecting herself from the blast cloud and debris. She crawled to her hands and knees, collected her pistol, and noticed her earpiece roll past. She caught it, blew the dust off and shoved it back into her ear. She heard the concerned calls of her own team: Czarina and Ieva.

  ‘I’m here.’ Her own voice sounded dull, underwater.

  Pistol in hand, Sophia checked around the column for the operative. She was standing right there, pistol aimed, magazine missing.

  Sophia didn’t raise her pistol. Like her, the operative had a round in the chamber.

  ‘Weapon down,’ the operative said.

  Sophia laid her pistol on the marble.

  ‘Slide it over.’ The operative kept checking the southern end of the subway, her eyes wide.

  Sophia heard it too. Special Rapid Response making their way down the stairs, perhaps accompanied by a specialized demolition team. Any moment now they could approach from the southern entrance, trapping Sophia and the operative inside.

  Neither had much time.

  ‘Slide your pistol over!’ the operative said.

  Sophia looked her in the eyes. ‘No.’

  The operative broke into a run. Off the platform, into the subway tunnel.

  Sophia went for her pistol. ‘Operative is gone.’

  ‘Copy that,’ Czarina said in her ear.

  ‘Any other detonations?’ Sophia asked.

  ‘Negative,’ Ieva said. ‘We have only the one. Are you hurt?’

  Sophia patted herself down, feeling for anything wet. No blood. ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Get out of there,’ Czarina said. ‘I see a team moving from the south.’

  Sophia picked herself up. Her head spun, then things sharpened around her. Boots hit the staircase on the south end. She ran for the platform’s edge and leapt onto the tracks. Moving along the rocky surface, she kept low, heard the boots of more Special Rapid Response arriving. She crouched, keeping her head under the lip of the platform.