Killer Move

by T E Stouyer

  “I know,” said Doc. “But before we can do that, we’ll need to know how his surgery went, and if it’s safe to move him.”

  “How? We can’t exactly show up and ask for an update.”

  “Soran might be able to hack into their network,” Doc suggested. “He specializes in that kind of stuff, doesn’t he?” He paused and then added, “Well, that’s assuming he doesn’t try to kill us again.”

  “Soran, eh?” Kincade chuckled. “Was it really that bad?”

  “Worse,” Doc said. “Believe me, this is no laughing matter. If it hadn’t been for Lucielle, some of us wouldn’t have made it. Hell, maybe none of us would have.”

  Kincade shook his head in disbelief. “I have to admit,” he said. “I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around this one. I mean, I was almost worried for the guy. He didn’t look like he could handle himself in a tough situation.”

  “I know what you mean. It was a shock for me, too. He seemed like the least threatening of them all, aside from the kid, of course.”

  “You buy that multiple personality crap?”

  “Absolutely!” Doc replied without hesitation. “You didn’t see him, back there. That was definitely someone else.”

  Kincade paused to think. “This complicates things.”

  “You’re telling me?” said Doc.

  Kincade exhaled heavily and said, “I’m gonna go see what Rock and Sonar are up to. Later on, we should have a meeting to figure out our next move.”

  “All right,” said Doc. “But at some point, you and I need to have a little talk.” His expression had turned grave.

  “Sounds serious,” said Kincade. “Can it wait a bit?”

  “Sure. A bit.”

  Carson silently stood in the middle of the room as he carefully studied every detail of Andrew Leicester’s face. Over the years, he’d had several opportunities to observe his employer during times of crises. A man in Leicester’s position shouldered a great number of responsibilities. The decisions he made often had long-lasting and far-reaching consequences. And as part of his duties—both formal and informal—the British diplomat was often asked to resolve complex issues within unreasonable time frames.

  And yet, however dire the circumstances, or seemingly impossible the tasks, one thing had always remained constant: Leicester’s immutable facade. He always exuded an unassailable self-confidence. A sense of being in control, epitomized by his smile. That quasi-permanent, knowing smile, which revealed nothing, but gave the impression he knew exactly what the other parties were thinking, and what was going to happen next. I wouldn’t want to play poker with him, Carson had thought many times.

  But as he gazed at his employer now, Carson could not recall a time when he had seen such a concerned look on the Briton’s face.

  Leicester was leaning back against the desk and drumming his fingers on the edge as he stared pensively into space.

  All of a sudden, he stopped and shifted his gaze back to Carson. “Have you reported this to anyone?” he asked.

  “No,” Carson replied. “I had intended to ask Patrick about it, first.”

  “Don’t,” Leicester told him. “In fact, don’t mention it to anyone else. It’s imperative this stays between us.”

  “Understood, sir.”

  At that moment, there was another knock on the door.

  The same agent as earlier came in and stood at the entrance. “The doctor has arrived, sir.”

  Leicester straightened up and nodded.

  The agent moved aside to make way for a man in blue scrubs.

  The doctor walked in and glanced back as the agent closed the door behind him. Then, he turned to face the two men waiting inside the office and asked, “Who are you?”

  “My name’s Andrew Leicester,” the Brit replied. “And this is my associate, Mr. Randall Carson.” His smile had returned, clearing away all traces of worry.

  The doctor eyed them a moment longer. Their names, like their faces, meant absolutely nothing to him. “Why was I brought here?” he asked, in a wary tone.

  “My good doctor,” said Leicester. “I do apologize for asking you here in such an indelicate manner.”

  “Asking? You’re joking, right?” the doctor said. “Those men outside practically dragged me out of surgery and escorted me here like I was some sort of criminal.”

  “Again,” said Leicester. “You have my sincere apologies. But we need your help with an urgent matter.”

  The doctor crossed his arms over his chest. “There’s no need to be so condescending,” he said. “I received a call from the head of the board of directors when I was in the O.R. He told me, and I quote: ‘to provide any and all assistance required of his guest’.”

  “Good,” said Leicester. “I’m sure we’ll get along splendidly.” He then turned to his associate. “Mr. Carson, meet Doctor Philippe Laplace.”

  Chapter 17 – Beneath the Surface

  Professor Fournier and Detective Heirtmeyer returned to the living room and found all four mercenaries waiting for them. Rock was leaning against the doorframe between the living room and the dining room, with Sonar standing next to him. Doc had taken a seat at the far end of the three-seater sofa, and Kincade had straddled a chair facing the entrance hall. He had spun it around and had placed his elbows atop the backrest.

  Upon seeing them, the professor stopped and lowered his glass, just as he was about to take a sip of apple cider.

  Marie, who was a couple of steps behind him and holding a glass of the same drink, halted as well.

  “We have a few questions to ask you,” Kincade declared.

  “Yes,” said Fournier. “I imagine you do.”

  “And we have some questions of our own,” said Arianne as she walked into the living room, followed by Lucielle and Soran, whom they had let out of his restraints.

  Marie gasped when she saw the young man. Her entire body tensed up and the glass slipped from her fingers.

  By the time the glass hit the floor and shattered into a dozen pieces, three of the four mercenaries had drawn their weapons and were aiming them at Soran.

  Arianne quickly moved in front of her brother and raised both hands in an appeasing gesture. “Please! I understand,” she said. “But it’s safe now. I assure you.”

  Kincade promptly stood up, surprised by his team’s reaction. “Whoa! Calm down, guys. What are you all doing?”

  “No offense, Nate,” his redheaded comrade told him. “But you weren’t there. That guy’s a walking natural disaster.”

  “That’s right!” Rock emphatically agreed. “He’s all kinds of crazy. And I don’t mean ‘therapist crazy’, either. We’re talking seriously messed up, here.”

  “It’s not a good idea to scare him like that,” Lucielle chimed.

  But no one was paying much attention to her.

  Soran slowly pushed Arianne aside and gazed at the group. “Look, I’m sorry about what happened back there,” he told them.

  “I’m sorry too,” said the redhead. “But ‘sorry’ just ain’t gonna cut it.”

  “He did save us from those men who attacked us,” Fournier pointed out.

  “You mean those poor bastards he butchered?” Rock countered. “Yeah, that’s very reassuring.”

  Doc Chen, who had been just as quick as the other two to draw his firearm, observed Soran at length. Then, without a word, he calmly holstered his weapon.

  “What are you doing, Doc?” Rock asked in a surprised tone of voice.

  “I think we can relax, for now,” he replied.

  “Speak for yourself,” the giant threw back.

  “That’s enough,” Kincade told his two comrades. “Put your guns away.”

  Rock and Sonar glanced at each other with their firearms still raised.

  “Now!” Kincade barked.

  They hesitated for a second longer, and then reluctantly complied.

  Rock then walked over to Soran. “Just so we’re clear,” he said as he poked the young man
on the chest. “If you so much as look at me funny … I’m gonna shoot you.”

  Soran frowned and poked him back. “Hey! I’m trying to apologize here,” he said. “Besides, from what I hear, you did shoot me.”

  “You were being a jerk,” said the giant.

  “That wasn’t me. That was Myrvan.”

  “Oh, yeah? Then I didn’t shoot you, did I? I shot Myrvan.”

  Soran opened his mouth, intending to come up with a sharp riposte. But nothing came to mind. What could one find to say to that?

  Kincade moved between them and gently pushed his comrade away.

  “All right, you’ve made your point,” he told the giant. “Now get back to where you were.”

  Arianne placed her hand on her brother’s shoulder and said in a soft voice, “You too, Soran. Go check on Ash, OK?”

  “But I was only trying to apologize,” he meekly protested.

  “I know,” she said. “Now, listen to your older sister. Go on.”

  “Fine,” he replied.

  As he watched Soran turn around and drag his feet towards the hallway, Doc recalled the events from earlier that afternoon. It was strange to think that the vicious killer who had so mercilessly slaughtered Carson’s squad, and this young man who had essentially just been sent back to his room, were, in fact, the same person.

  “Shouldn’t someone keep an eye on him?” the redhead suggested.

  “Don’t worry,” said Fournier. “He’ll be fine.”

  “Uh … it’s not exactly him we’re worried about,” Rock remarked.

  “It’s extremely rare for Myrvan to come out,” said Arianne. “You’re not likely to see it again anytime soon.”

  “That’s right,” Lucielle agreed. “Just, try not to scare him, OK?”

  “What does that even mean?” the giant said in an annoyed voice.

  During the entire scene, Marie had remained silent. Even though the professor had tried to make her feel like a member of the group, in reality, she was still an outsider. Those people were all strangers to her. With the exception of Professor Fournier, she didn’t even know any of them existed twenty-four hours ago.

  She crouched down, and carefully started picking up the pieces of glass scattered around her.

  “Let me help you with that,” said Arianne as she knelt down next to the detective and began collecting shards of glass. She then looked up at her sister and said, “Luce, go to the kitchen and look for something we can use to clean this up, will you?”

  The young girl ran off, and returned seconds later, holding a stack of tissue paper and a biodegradable plastic bag.

  She handed the items to her sister.

  “Thank you,” said the young woman.

  “Can I help, too?” Lucielle asked.

  “No,” Arianne replied. “You might cut yourself. Go sit with Nate.”

  “Come take a seat next to me, Luce,” Kincade called to her.

  Lucielle ran around the two-seater sofa—to get to the side closest to Kincade—and sank into it.

  Nate. Luce. Doc felt his brow twitch as he noted the growing familiarity between Kincade and Arianne. But he refrained from commenting on it.

  Professor Fournier turned to the mercenary leader. “What is it you wanted to ask me, young man?”

  Before Kincade could respond, Sonar held up his index finger and turned to Arianne with a puzzled frown. “Hold on, back up,” he said. “Why did you call yourself Soran’s older sister?”

  She gave the redhead a blank stare. As if his question didn’t make sense.

  Fournier also gazed at the mercenary with a similar expression. “Uh … because she’s older than him,” the professor finally replied.

  “Older?” Kincade echoed, picking-up on his comrade’s remark. “I thought you were all the same age. Except for the kid, of course.”

  Arianne turned to him, looking surprised. “Why would you think that?” she asked.

  “Well, you’re clones, aren’t you?” Rock blurted out.

  Lucielle frowned at him. “Yeah, and?”

  The mood inside the living room immediately turned heavier as everyone feared they would have to endure yet another tiresome squabble between the giant and the young girl.

  Eager to avoid this outcome, Professor Fournier hastened his explanation. “Almost all the clones were created individually,” he said. “And at about a one-year interval. Damien was the first. It makes sense, since he’s an exact replica of Adam, and the result of a cell-cloning procedure. The transgenic method used for the others probably took more time to perfect. A year after Damien, was Darius. And about a year after him, Arianne. But Ashrem followed only two months after her.”

  “Oh, why is that?” Kincade asked.

  “For some reason, Adam used almost the same genetic material for the both of them. Which may explain the strange connection they’ve always shared,” Fournier commented. “And after another year, there was the twins.”

  “Twins?” Doc said.

  “Johann and Kadyna. They’re twins.”

  “Was that by design?” Doc asked.

  “I’m not sure,” said the old man. “I think so. Next, came Mitsuki. And finally, Soran.”

  “What about Lucielle?” Marie asked. “Why is she so much younger?”

  “Lucielle is different from her brothers and sisters,” the professor replied. “Let’s just leave it at that, for now.”

  “Why wait a year each time?” Kincade wondered aloud.

  “I asked Adam that same question, once,” said Fournier. “He explained to me that due to the intricate nature of the cloning process, the potential for complications was very high, particularly during the first year. He wanted to make sure there were no major issues during that sensitive period before trying again.”

  Rock chuckled. “Well, that was a total bust.”

  “Why do you say that?” Lucielle asked in a belligerent voice.

  “Why do you think?” the giant retorted. “Each one of you turned out to be a bigger nut job than the previous ones. Clearly, something went wrong.”

  “Come on, man,” said Sonar. “That’s a little harsh, isn’t it?”

  “Harsh? Oh, I don’t know,” said the giant. “Personally, I think when her brother tried to kill us all, back there … now that was harsh.”

  “Ahem! In any case,” Fournier continued. “Despite Adam’s best efforts, he fully expected his children would have to face certain personal challenges. It was unavoidable. As I previously explained to you, he knew his desire to pass on, not only his physical capabilities, but his mental aptitudes as well, would result in his children having to deal with some kind of psychological disorder. Just as he had.”

  “And yet, he did it anyway?” said Doc.

  “Maybe he chose to believe that, like him, they’d be able to overcome those hurdles in time.”

  “And, will they?” Doc asked.

  The old man shook his head. “I don’t know. Adam started the Eritis project because he wanted to create others like himself. And for all intents and purposes, he succeeded. However, in spite of everything they can do, his children are not as gifted as he was. Not even Damien.”

  “How can that be?” said Kincade. “I thought Adam and Damien were identical.”

  “They are,” said the professor. “And yet, somehow … they’re not. Remember, no one ever understood why or how Adam turned out the way he did. Sure, Professor Engel’s goal was to create more advanced human beings. Which he ultimately did. But as I told you before, from a purely scientific point of view, his experiment failed. Only four out of several hundred test subjects made it past the first phase. And even Professor Engel himself could not explain why those four had survived. On top of that, one of them possessed an intellect far beyond anything the professor had ever thought possible. That in itself was also a great mystery. In truth, I don’t expect we’ll ever see someone else like Adam.” Fournier marked a brief pause and then muttered, “Well … probably not … that is.�
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  “What is it now?” Rock asked in an irritated voice. “Just spit it out, Pops.”

  Feeling the need to shield the professor from reproach, Arianne intervened. “It’s a little complicated,” she said. “Adam believed that one of us had the potential to surpass him. It’s just … no one knows for sure.”

  “Yes, the potential is definitely there,” Fournier enthusiastically nodded. “Unfortunately, we never got the chance to properly evaluate him.”

  “Him? Are you talking about Damien?” Kincade asked.

  Arianne and Fournier exchanged a quick glance.

  The young woman stood back up, along with the detective—they had finished cleaning the floor and had gathered all glass fragments into the plastic bag. She then looked at Kincade and shook her head.

  At that point, Arianne no longer needed to spell it out for the others. Hers and the professor’s silence had spoken volumes. It didn’t take long for the mercenaries to guess the answer.

  “Please tell me you’re not talking about Soran,” Rock said with a resigned expression.

  But then, to his entire team’s surprise, Lucielle turned to him and declared, “They’re not.”

  Puzzled gazes immediately converged on the young analyst.

  She glanced around, genuinely surprised to see them look so confused. “Really. They’re not,” she repeated. “They’re talking about Myrvan.”

  Marie promptly covered her mouth to smother the laugh that was about to escape her. Lucielle’s declaration had been so unexpected, and her expression so innocent, so sincere, that the detective had found it adorably amusing.

  But then again, Marie had only been with the group for a few hours. And in spite of everything she had been told, when the detective looked at Lucielle, all she saw was an adolescent girl with strange silver-grey hair.

  Unlike Marie, however, the mercenaries had had more time to get acquainted with Lucielle’s less endearing personality traits.

  As he gazed at the youngster, Kincade exhaled tiredly and shook his head. A reaction that summed up the general mood among his team, with one notable, yet unsurprising, exception.

  “You … I swear …” Rock said as he gritted his teeth. It was like the words themselves had become too painful to articulate.