Search (SEEK Book 1)

by Candie Leigh Campbell

  We gasp in unison as fresh pink skin shines under the fluorescents like that of a new born baby’s.

  “Nice work, Doc.” I admire the faint, white scar.

  “Don’t thank me. I’ve never seen anything like that.” He draws thick black glasses from his lab coat, squinting down his nose, baffled.

  It takes Solomon half an hour, jotting down notes, tapping me with a reflex hammer, running a needle along the bottom of my foot, to be convinced that my leg is not about to fall off.

  As I leave Medical all he says is, “If anything happens….” Shaking his head, he mumbles the rest under his breath.

  ***

  By the next morning, I’m on the track running circles around my team at P.T. My comrades jeer and stare as I whiz past them, especially Jenny Martin. She seems angrier by my recovery than is warranted. “I told you she was faking it. Probably got just got lost and expects us all to feel sorry for her. Oh, poor little Donavan, got lost in the woods.”

  At this I spin around—jogging backward.

  “Ignore her. She’s just trying to get you in trouble. Trust me, I know.” Cord tugs on my arm.

  I get going the right way again, but Jenny Martin keeps flapping her mouth. And she’s impossible not to hear. “I can ignore Martin, but why’s everyone else listening to her?”

  “She’s as bad as Ballard, remember him? That stupid guy who ended up in a wheel chair? Seriously, who tries cliff jumping off Cumberland Gap? He used to be a great hunter, the moron. Now he’s pathetic!” Martin laughs and the world shifts. It’s Lindy’s accident all over again. And my friends—my team mates—are laughing with her.

  I stop dead, face burning. “You shut up, Martin! You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Shhh, Roselle’s watching. Keep jogging,” Cord puffs, pushing my shoulder around.

  “Gah, touchy much?” Jenny Martin snips. A group of agents form a wall behind her.

  I can’t understand it. These people—except for Martin—were my friends. I’ve never had any trouble with them. I glower at Martin. My hands ball at my sides, hoping she’ll throw a punch so I have an excuse to defend myself.

  “Enough!” Cord jogs in front of me. “Donavan, Captain’s motioning for you. Go!” He shoves my shoulder.

  I storm off across the field, less enthusiastic about today’s hunt. It’ll go back to normal soon, I assure myself as I approach the Captain. In a weird way Captain Roselle’s been like a second father to me. Maybe that’s because he knows my age. Or maybe he just likes the numbers I bring in. Either way, I don’t want to let him down.

  “Captain.” I dance in a stationary jog. “What do you think? Am I cleared to hunt?”

  “I can’t stop you,” Captain Roselle grumbles tersely, slashing a check next to my alias.

  Overwhelming relief floods over me. I jump up, planting a kiss on the Captain’s cheek.

  A tinge of pink spreads under his aging skin.

  I tear off for the showers feeling vindicated. I’m going to double my record just to rub it in Martin’s face.

  “Donavan, I forgot, Ops wants to see you first.”

  Enemy

  My feet stop moving though my heart races. I can’t go to Ops. I have to hunt. That was the deal! I search the track frantically for Cord, but he has already hit the showers with everyone else.

  “Donavan, did you hear me? I said go to Ops and then get back to work. And I don’t recommend kissing anyone else.” Captain warns me, his lips pressed into thin white lines.

  “Yes, sir,” I snap, fighting back an angry retort.

  I have time to think on my way to the showers. And maybe this isn’t so bad. Maybe, like the Captain says, I just have to pop in at Ops and then get back to work. I hold on to that thought, ignoring the nagging voice in my head saying, “agents that go to Ops don’t go back to hunting.” That’s the rumor anyway, but if it were true Captain Roselle would know, right? My ears buzz with the chatter in my head all the way into the locker room.

  “I’m telling you, it’s true. It’s always been him. I think he’s too nice to her.”

  Three agents wearing only white towels stand gossiping in front of the mirrors, under a cloud of perfume and hairspray. They fall silent when they see me. Jenny Martin is in the middle.

  I roll my eyes. They are way too old to be acting like high schoolers.

  “I thought there was a mandatory recovery period, didn’t you?” Martin says to them.

  “Yeah, I think you’re right. No hunting for two weeks.”

  Obviously, they’re talking about me. Jaw clenched, I open my locker, grabbing my shower bag and towel. I slam the door—the acoustics are great in here—and head toward the showers.

  “I guess some people get special treatment,” one of the females says loudly enough for me to hear.

  I turn the water to full, trying to drown out their voices. As my eyes close under the stream of lukewarm water, a foggy memory creeps into my consciousness. Jenny Martin outside my hospital room, what was it she was saying?

  “It’s not like they’re going to keep her.”

  Recognition edges into my head one word at a time. She was talking about me. Martin knew Ops’ was going to call me up. She probably had something to with it. Choking back a scream, I scramble out of the shower. At a jog, I pass the three of them—ignoring their laughter—haphazardly throwing on my clothes, and race back out of the locker room.

  I run the whole way to the Ops CHU, containerized housing unit. It’s situated on the other side of the compound, as far away from us hunters as possible.

  With my hair dripping into my hoodie, the Ops building looms ominously before me. I fix a look of professionalism on my face. Martin can’t win. I can’t let them kick me out of SEEK. One step at a time, I stomp to the top, catching sight of the sign on the steel door and just like that, my resolve melts away.

  SEEK Code

  Qualified to Search

  Qualified to Evade

  Qualified to Extract

  Qualified to Kill

  Fight to Right

  Never Quit

  Serving with Loyalty, Honor, Integrity, and Discipline

  I press the white button on a stainless steel box labeled SCAN IN. The door slides open, revealing a numerical key pad. I type #39 and watch as a retinal scanner emerges from somewhere deep in the wall. We don’t use anything as sophisticated as this on the hunter side of the compound. My stomach ties in knots as the laser shines into my eyes. An angry buzz blares at me and the scan begins again. Sweat itches under my collar as the third and forth scans yield the same results.

  I jump as a deadbolt unlocks and the heavy, vault-type door opens.

  “Donavan?” a voice barks.

  I peek around the corner. “Sir?”

  A typical looking Ops Agent—one inch of hair in a neat flattop, more muscles than personality, and a general “bite me” expression—emerges from the doorway. His name tag says Harnel and he smells of polish sausage. “This way.” He leads me into a stuffy little conference room on the left and sits at the table near a remote and a yellow envelope stamped TOP SECRET in dark red letters. He motions me to a chair with a nod.

  “We have a special target we need you to handle.” His beady hazel eyes size me up like I’m an unwanted fly.

  “A special Khayal, Sir?” Immediately sensing that was stupid, I drop my gaze to the shiny black table.

  “No. This is an Ops mission.” Harnel points the remote at the TV on the wall. “Watch the screen.”

  On the plasma screen the green SEEK logo floats across a black binary-code background before the image cuts away to surveillance footage. I study it intently as a man in a fisherman’s hat withdraws money from an ATM. He keeps his head down, like he knows he’s being watched.

  “Mr. Jonathan Steed is a Handler who’s defected from the Episteme Brotherhood. He’s a fully trained spy gone rouge, and we need him. Without an allegiance, he’s anybody’s pawn and he could inflict serio
us harm against us. There’s good news though. Word is—he’s out for revenge against the Brotherhood. Do you understand?”

  I nod. Though I have no idea what this rogue Handler has to do with me.

  “Here’s where you come in. It’s your mission to sway him. This footage was taken yesterday, about three hours from here.” Harnel slides me a manila envelope. “Your new identity and directions to find Mr. Steed. All you have to do is gather the requested information and persuade him to join SEEK.”

  “What if I can’t sway him?” I gulp, staring at the video footage as it loops over and over.

  “Let me put that another way. If you fail to convince him to join us,” —he pauses, leaning back in the army-green office chair— “Destroy him or don’t come back. I’m sure your sister can adjust to her wheelchair.”

  I’m frozen to my seat as understanding sinks in. He knows about Lindy. He knows who I really am and he’s using it against me. The word “destroy” sounds like cannon fire in my head. Does Kistall know about this? Do they really expect me to kill someone?

  “But I’m not Ops, I’m just a huntress. I don’t murder people. I couldn’t if…” I swallow the bitter taste of certain failure.

  “You’re Ops now, and we need this guy!” Harnel snarls, as if that settles the matter.

  “All respect sir, but how am I going to do that?” I stuff my trembling fingers inside the pocket of my sweatshirt.

  But I’m too slow, he sees.

  “You could be pretty if you tried,” Harnel says through pasty lips. “Plus you’re athletic, young with nice hair and green eyes… don’t underestimate what you bring to the table.” He leans over, resting on his beefy arms.

  “They’re blue,” I mutter, shying away from his invasive gaze.

  Harnel shrugs indifferently. “Look green to me.”

  “If this mission is so important shouldn’t someone else do it? What about Martin? She’s—” I stop myself from saying gorgeous.

  “Martin’s not fit for this mission.” Harnel snorts and leans in like he has a secret. “Look, you have what it takes. We’ve been watching you since San Jose. Top in every class and holding the most kills this year. Given your age and ability now, you have nowhere to go but up. Think what you could do for your family.” He pauses, opening a blue folder and thumbing through a few papers. “Keira Marie Donavan, Destin Florida and only seventeen years old. Impressive,” he says, genuinely.

  “Wait. So, I’ve been chosen for this mission because you think I’m good, and not because I’m being punished?” I exhale.

  A successful mission could mean faster surgery for Lindy, and at a better facility, as long as I don’t fail anyway. I shake that thought away. If I have to hog-tie that guy Mr. Gelding, or whatever his name is, I’ll get him back here. There’s no way I’m going to turn assassin.

  “Punished for what?” Harnel asks, tilting his square head.

  “Nothing. I just… Usually…I’ve heard…Never mind.”

  Harnel rubs his freshly-shaven angular jaw, considering me. “You’re an Agent of SEEK. You took an oath to do this job for your country, but I understand your concern for your family. If your vow isn’t enough to motivate you, do it for them. Think what your sister will need after her operation, she’s got years of rehabilitation ahead of her. Do this for her.”

  That’s the most sincere any commanding officer has been with me. He’s not blackmailing me—he’s giving me, and Lindy, the opportunity we need.

  Straightening my back I say, “I’ll do it, Sir.”

  “Raise your right hand and repeat after me…”

  Thumb over my palm I lift my pledge hand, steady as an oak, and repeat the lines he feeds me.

  “I, Keira Donavan, do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Federation of Kistall against all enemies, alien and domestic; that my allegiance to the Branch of Operations under SEEK shall be true and will bring honor to the office into which I am about to enter.”

  “Good. Now that you’re sworn in let’s go over your target’s background. Jonathan Steed, nineteen years old.”

  I choke. “Nineteen?”

  “Yes, that’s why you’re a good fit. You’re the only Agent we have that won’t view him like the child he is.”

  “I see.”

  “Don’t let his age fool you. Like you, he’s extremely bright—so much so that he has invented an anti-hacking program and sold it for hundreds of millions of dollars.”

  “I’m sorry. Did you say hundreds of millions?”

  “Agent Donavan, there will be time for questions after the briefing; however, we have also included every detail in your packet.”

  “Sorry,” I mutter, putting my hands in my lap to show I’ll listen quietly.

  Harnel rattles off a few more details about the target that I promptly forget. All I keep thinking is this guy has hundreds of millions at nineteen. Why join the Brotherhood? He could do anything, be anyone, and he chose to fight SEEK. Harnel’s right, I shouldn’t underestimate him because of his age.

  I try to listen to Harnel’s words. My stomach grumbles with anxiety.

  “…there are no more details on why he dropped out of college to join the Brotherhood, we’re assuming that he was recruited but our sources cannot confirm. Remember this guy could be dangerous. He’s been hidden under the radar so we don’t really know for sure what his temperament looks like. Use caution on approach. He’s probably expecting someone from SEEK to contact him. That’s why you’re our best shot. Understand?”

  “Yes, Sir,” I say, not really sure what I’ve just agreed to.

  “Make us proud.” Harnel stands then, crisply saluting me.

  “Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.” I rise to attention, laying four fingers over my heart, the traditional SEEK solute.

  Harnel grins, looking pleased and points to the envelope. “Do not share this information with anyone. Your eyes only. And remember, normal society will look different now. You can’t go around shooting at invisible shadows. Out there, Khayal don’t exist. Dismissed,” he says.

  As I turn to go, he adds one more thing to my list.

  “Oh, but, Donavan, first get some girl clothes. You’re trying to appeal to him, not make him feel sorry for you.”

  “But there’s nothing wrong with my…” I glance down at the state of clothes. Holes in my jeans, holes in my SEEK hoodie. I hang my head in defeat and shuffle away.

  ***

  Clearly Harnel is serious about new clothes because he’s included the address to the Fayette Mall in Lexington, Kentucky. Hopping into the driver’s seat, I flip the roll of bills under my thumb. “Where am I supposed to shop, Saks Fifth Avenue?” I mutter, stashing the cash and the envelope in the empty console.

  After programming the GPS, I scoot the seat up as far as it can go and turn the key. The engine purrs as I ease the massive Hummer carefully through the gates, feeling anxious. I turn onto the highway heading east and punch the accelerator.

  It doesn’t take long for the freedom of the open road to awaken a restlessness I hadn’t known I’d felt. I roll down the windows and crank the radio, pounding on the steering wheel. The weather is warm and sunny and the air smells of magnolias, but I’d rather be back in my dark squashy forest hunting shadows with Cord instead of galloping around in a shiny-black Hummer like some spoiled party girl.

  And then some female artist singing about being bullied by mean girls comes on the radio and I begin to relax.

  The mall is no Rodeo Drive, but a mall is mall as far as I’m concerned.

  It’s been well over a year since I’ve been shopping. Way before Captain Roselle came to my school looking to recruit potential hunters and computer programmers. All under the guise of a college scholarship program for gifted teens. It was the brochure on clone harvesting—which promised to help people in need of a new organ or spinal cord – that caught my attention. Back then, I thought the world was normal. Before I learned Khayal existed. Since then I’ve been tucked away o
n one compound or another.

  Inside the mall is loud and busy. It’s easy to understand why people don’t feel the Khayal. There’s so much going on. No one stands still long enough to notice the shadows are moving. But even I, a trained professional, can’t feel them out here.

  By the time I leave I match every other mallrat strutting around like a glam-doll on parade for boys to gawk at. With my nails done, new highlights in my hair, and a wardrobe any nineteen-year-old girl would be jealous of I have to admit it, I do look pretty.

  As if on cue, a group of rowdy guys whistle and stare as I wobble across the parking lot in three-inch cork wedges. And they’re still watching as I unlock the car, shove my horde of shopping bags in the back, and climb in the driver’s seat. I hit the blue OnStar button for directions to Sandy Hook and catch my reflection in the rearview mirror. A total stranger stares back me. My heart beats furiously, like a hummingbird trying to escape my chest. I gawk at the image that should be me, but isn’t.

  It’s not the sea foam-green eye shadow, or the blonde highlights in my russet hair. It’s not even these fun-n-flirty clothes. My eyes have completely changed color. They’re supposed to be blue-gray and instead they’re extraordinarily brilliant neon-green.

  The color of something radioactive.

  Laurel Gorge

  Blood pumping like a gong in my ear, I blink. It’s a trick—it has to be. Then I think maybe the girl at the cosmetics counter who did my makeup slipped contacts in without me noticing and I stick my finger in my eye.

  “Ouch!” I gasp, wiping running mascara off my cheek.

  “Will that be all Miss Monroe?” The bodiless voice from the GPS asks.

  “What?” I ask stupidly, forgetting I’d called OnStar.

  She repeats the question twice before I’m able to coherently form words.