Liane felt her eyes widen in surprise for an instant before she could stop them, and it took all her efforts to keep her face
emotionless as she turned and headed to the door. For she knew the creed that Owen had just quoted; it was one of the statements the Program instructors at the Agency liked to parrot off over and over. Glancing back over her shoulder, she looked at Owen as he stood leaning against the table and reading reports.
This man, this commander of a mod army, was a former Agent. And Liane wondered, as the door swung shut behind her, how long it would take until he realized the same thing about her.
CHAPTER 11
Seth woke sick with fear, at first unable to remember anything apart from the Agents attacking them in the alley. He forced his eyes open, which immediately began tearing up in the sudden bright light. Wincing, his head still tender, he looked around him to see a tiny, primitive medical bay enclosed in curtains and within what seemed to be an airplane hangar. Conversation was echoing beyond the curtains, but what caught his attention was Liane. She was sitting in a chair nearby, her legs tucked up to her chest as she frowned at a thick book propped on her knees. Seth wondered if it was just his eyes, or if she really was that tired and drawn. She seemed to sense she was being watched and looked up at him. Relief filled her eyes, and that was enough to make him smile and croak, “Hey, gorgeous.”
Liane gave him a tight smile, unfolding her legs and returning the book to one of the duffels at her feet before asking, “Do you
remember where we are?”
Seth looked up again, his forehead creasing as he tried to think back. Slowly, in flashes and fragments, he remembered the mods, the journey through the tunnels, and Liane supporting his weight as they descended a darkened staircase. He looked back to Liane, admitting, “It’s a bit foggy. Tell me.”
Liane pulled her chair up beside his bed, explaining in quiet, hushed tones everything that had happened. Seth was
uncharacteristically quiet, taking it all in without so much as a quip. When she was finished, he let his head fall back against the pillow, murmuring, “So we’re safe, but only because we’re being held captive by a mod army bent on revenge against the people hunting us. Brilliant.”
“Better than dead, I suppose,” Liane sighed. “And at least they’re trying to win us over rather than throwing us into an
interrogation chamber.”
“Any chance of a break-out?”
“Not from what I can see. Every exterior door has a keypad, and no one seems anxious to add our prints to the access list.”
Seth shifted on the gurney, wincing from the movement. His gaze strayed over her shoulder, and he went still and murmured, “This must be our host now.”
Liane turned, a scowl falling into place as Owen and Paz appeared at the edge of the curtains. Seth struggled into a sitting position as Owen stepped forward and said, “You’re looking better, officer. The medics tell me you’re on your way to recovery.”
“Doesn’t feel like it yet, I’m afraid,” Seth said with a smile, holding out his hand. “Seth Laski.”
Owen shook it, nodding, “I know who you are. And I’ve no doubt that Liane has told you who I am.”
Seth’s smile turned deprecating. “She told me enough.”
Owen glanced at Liane, whose glare was bordering on
murderous. “Regardless of that, I hope you’ll come to trust us. Until then, we’ll show you to your quarters.”
Liane took a moment to consider, then stood and shouldered their supplies again. Seth needed her help to stand, though once he was on his feet, he felt far better than before. He could even walk on his own, though Liane hovered nearby as they followed Owen and Paz from the medic bay. The two led them to another corridor, this one on the opposite side of the hangar from the main entrance. It was narrow, and they rounded a corner before Paz opened a small metal door. Liane took one look inside and turned back to Owen, stating, “You must be joking.”
Seth peered around her; the room was miniscule, barely the size of a large closet. There was enough room for a narrow twin bed and nothing else. A bare bulb swung on a wire overhead, the harsh light highlighting the rusted metal walls and making the room seem even more barren.
Paz smirked. “Sorry; we were all out of the royal suites. I hope you’ll forgive us, your Highness.”
“It’s fine,” Seth said, putting an arm around Liane’s shoulders in case she lunged at the mod. He pushed her through the door, adding, “We’ll just get settled, then.”
Owen gave him a knowing look, but said, “Rest up. Tomorrow we’ll better determine how the two of you can be useful.”
Seth nodded, quickly entering the room and shutting the door behind him. He waited until their footsteps echoed away, then turned to say to Liane, “Can’t you at least pretend to like them?”
“I’ll let you handle that part,” she said, still looking around them with distaste. “Because I don’t like anything about them or the fact that we’re in what amounts to a cell.”
“It’s not that bad,” he said, taking one of the bags from her and tossing it into a corner. He walked the two steps to reach the bed, picking up one of the thin towels that lay folded on the end. “Are there showers here?”
Liane gave him directions, and he gathered up clean clothes and a toothbrush from their supply. He paused at the door, looking back to find her looking bleakly around. Worried, he asked, “You ok?”
“I’m fine,” Liane sighed, sitting down on the floor and opening their bags. “Go on.”
A half-hour later Seth returned, toweling his curly hair and feeling infinitely better for being clean. He stopped in the doorway to their room, leaning against the frame and pausing at what he saw. Liane was still on the ground, though running through complicated series of push-ups, sit-ups, and shadow-boxing. Her expression was focused, single-minded, her movements with such mechanical precision that Seth couldn’t keep from smiling. He closed the door before asking, “Where’s the Strain?”
“In there,” she said between punches, gesturing to one of the empty duffel bags under the bed. “I hid the vials in the lining. I don’t trust these mods not to search our room.”
He sat down on the edge of the bed, still grinning in suppressed laughter. She noticed and shot him a look, demanding, “What?”
“Nothing,” he said, half laughing, “It’s just that if you’re trying to lay low, maybe you shouldn’t do that.”
“I need to keep up with my skills.”
“Well, you look like a supervillain in a bad movie. Lighten up; you don’t have to live for missions anymore, you know.”
Liane returned to her sit-ups. “I should just throw away years of training and act like you?”
“Only if you want to seem normal,” Seth laughed, falling backward and stretching out on the bed.
She glared at him, standing. “Why are you in such a good mood?”
He shrugged. “Even in Chinatown, I felt like I had to sleep with one eye open. It will be nice to have a true night’s rest, and I call that an improvement.”
“Well no one ever called you the brightest, either,” Liane snapped, but Seth only chuckled in response and closed his eyes. He felt her pull one of the blankets from under his legs as she said, “I’ll take the floor tonight.”
“No, you won’t,” Seth smiled, opening his eyes and turning on his side. “Come on, we’ll both fit.”
Liane’s cheeks blazed pink as she protested, “It won’t be
comfortable for either of us.”
“Sure, it will.” He gestured to her again, and Liane walked over and gingerly lay down with her back to him. His arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer until they were both lying in the middle of the mattress. Liane was completely rigid, her muscles almost painfully hard against him as she lay there, wide-eyed. Seth shifted, resting his head on one arm and letting the other curl around her middle as he let out a sigh. That seemed to help some of the tension leave Liane, and
gradually she began to lean back against him. Seth left out a soft, contented noise, feeling comforted by the rise and fall of her back against his chest. As he watched, Liane’s eyes began to droop, giving in to her exhaustion.
Seth shifted, reaching down to pull a blanket up over them. He moved closer in the process, inhaling the clean scent of her
shampooed hair. After a moment, he murmured, “Liane?”
“Hmm?”
“Thanks for getting me out of that alley.”
Without opening her eyes, she said softly, “You would have done the same for me, Seth.”
It took a moment for him to muster his courage, and then he shifted to lean over and brush his lips over her cheek in a kiss.
Liane’s eyes flew open in surprise, but he was already settling back down, pulling her close against him once more. Breathing softly into her hair, he murmured, “Without hesitation.”
They both slipped into silence, and after a few minutes, both were asleep and dreaming.
CHAPTER 12
Damian sat in darkness within his office, his face turned towards the glow of his computer. On it were several stills of surveillance videos, each showing Liane in the Soho cafe. Every time he glanced at them, which was often, he felt a stirring of rage at the base of his throat.
He hadn’t been angry with her for fighting back against the Agency; he
respected her for trying it, in fact. But every time she slipped through his fingers, so did a measure of his patience.
Across the room, the door opened, and Maddox entered. He looked exhausted, and he blinked at the tablet in his hands as he announced, “Alright, I think I’ve recovered all the files I can. We lost a little, mostly from our personnel files, but the corruptor didn’t reach the classified level.”
Damian leaned his head back, asking, “And are our systems secure once more?”
“I’ve taken them offline for now. In the morning we’ll strengthen the firewall.” Maddox seemed to summon his courage before saying, “Sir, it won’t happen again—”
“Have you ever heard of Hymenoepimecis argyraphaga?” Damian interrupted, his tone light.
Maddox looked taken aback. “No.”
“It’s a wasp,” Damian explained. “A parasite, actually. It finds a spider and very carefully lays an egg on it. When the egg hatches, the larvae feeds on the spider’s blood while chemically
manipulating the spider into building a web that will protect the wasp. The spider doesn’t know anything is wrong, of course. It continues along, mindlessly doing what the creature inside of it wants.” Damian leaned forward, fixing the tech with his dark,
unfeeling eyes as he went on, “And when the spider ceases to be useful, the wasp injects it with poison, killing it.”
Damian stood, towering over the other man. “Now if a lowly wasp can practice such cruelty to rid itself of useless things, what do you think I’ll do to you if you can’t track down my Agent?”
Maddox swallowed, his eyes wider than before as he whispered, “We’ll find her, sir. We will.”
“Good,” Damian said, turning his back on the tech. “Then get back to work.”
Just moments after Maddox had left, Damian’s phone rang. He picked up, recognized the Director’s number, and answered, “Yes sir?”
“I’ve been called before the Prime Minister,” said the
Director, agitated. “You’ll accompany me. We’ll meet in the lobby in thirty minutes.”
“Of course,” Damian said, asking with an air of innocence, “Is anything wrong?”
“There damn well will be,” said the Director, adding, “Make sure you’re armed.” The line clicked, the dial tone humming in Damian’s ear. Slowly he lowered the phone, then pulled out his gun and loaded it.
When Damian walked to the lobby at the appointed time, the Director was waiting for him. He looked, if possible, even worse than their previous meeting. Stubble darkened his lined face, and his eyes were red-rimmed and glassy. Damian said nothing, just followed him out of the building and into the waiting car. As the car pulled into traffic, heading the short block to the Party headquarters, Damian turned to look at him as he asked, “Should I be aware of the situation, sir?”
His eyes fixed on the world beyond the car window, the
Director said, “The Prime Minister has to be dealt with. She’s overriding my orders, sending more and more Agents abroad on missions. It can’t go on like this, Damian. We have to maintain control.”
“And what do you intend to do about it, sir?”
The Director made an irritated, dismissive gesture, saying, “Just keep quiet and do what you’re told.”
Damian nodded, throat tightening in muted fury at the
patronizing order. He pushed the feeling away, however,
determined to keep his mind clear and neutral.
When the car came to a halt at the curb in front of the
Libertas skyscraper, the two men walked together through the lobby of the building. The Director barreled through checkpoints without stopping for them and snapped at the security guards who dared protest. The guards all let him pass, knowing his face if not who he was. Damian followed, a dark shadow that added just the right touch of intimidation.
As soon as the elevator doors closed behind them, the
Director pulled out a small electronic scrambler, turning it on and watching the cameras as the power lights began to flicker
erratically. The Director looked up at Damian, saying with almost feverish anticipation, “That should take care of the cameras. If the guards outside her office try to stop us, shoot them.”
Damian raised an eyebrow, but when the elevator chimed and the doors slid open, he drew his weapon and held it down
behind the edge of his coat. As they walked out into the large, orchid-lined hallway, the guards up ahead stepped away from their posts, hands lingering near weapons. The lead guard was the one to say, “Sir, you are not expected. Please turn around and return to the lobby.”
From his position just behind Damian, the Director hissed,
“Do it.”
Damian raised his gun without question, firing five times. The guards throughout the hallway dropped, without even enough time to raise a cry of alarm. The Director moved around Damian, striding down the hallway to slam open the doors to Adrian’s office and storm across the room to where she sat at her desk.
Though she must have heard the gunfire, Adrian didn’t look anything more than pleasantly surprised to see them. She was wearing white that day, and as she leaned back in her chair and smiled, she looked almost beatific. “Michael...armed assault isn’t usually your style.”
The Director’s face began to mottle red as he spat out, “You manipulative, conniving bitch...did you think I wouldn’t notice?”
Adrian tilted her head, still smiling. “Oh, about the overrides? On the contrary, I was hoping that you would.”
“No one has the authority to override my orders!” he shouted. “I told you—we need our Agents here, not running across Europe as your personal assassins!”
Adrian’s smile just deepened in the face of his rage. “So they can be close by to defend you against me? Do you think I don’t know why you like having all of your Agents in one place?” The Director’s face clenched, and her voice went low and sharp as she went on, “You enjoy living like a reclusive king in your fortified tower stocked with guards. You think they protect you from me.” She let out a little laugh, leaning against one arm of her chair and shaking her head. “Really, Michael, I thought you were smarter than that.”
The Director leaned forward, hands braced against the edge of her desk as he spat out, “You’re a monster, Adrian. The Agency trained you, but you’ve never been one of us. You don’t have the soul for it.”
She settled back, regarding him for a long moment and letting her poised beauty pierce into him before saying, “You’re right. I’m not one of you. I’m something more.”
The Director dr
ew his gun, leveling it at her. She didn’t move or flinch, even when he warned, “This stops now, Adrian. You stay out of my affairs and keep to yours, or you are going to have a war on your hands.”
She tilted her head with a smile. “Oh, Michael...the war began and ended long ago.”
The Director froze, feeling the unmistakable sensation of a gun barrel as it pressed into the back of his neck. He turned his head to find Damian, stone-faced as he aimed his weapon. Damian released his left hand from the grip, reaching out to the Director. “Your gun, please.”
The Director took a moment to respond, and it almost seemed as if he was going to obey. But then, he turned to take aim at Damian. It was a split second too slow; Damian had just enough time to grasp hold of the Director’s wrist, pointing the gun away from him as he brought his fist down hard against the
Director’s elbow. The joint snapped to a wrong angle, and the
Director had time to scream once before Damian kicked him in the gut. The Director went down weaponless, skidding several feet on the slick floor. He struggled to rise with the use of only one arm, looking up in bewilderment at Damian to say, “What are you doing?”
“Thinking for myself,” Damian answered, kneeling to retrieve the Director’s gun from the floor. “And I think I’ve had enough of taking your orders.”
As he rose, Adrian came around from behind the desk, sliding her hand affectionately across Damian’s shoulder as she said, “You should have been more careful, Michael, about who you trusted.”
The Director got to his feet at last, his eyes filled with understanding. “So, he was your Agent…I should have guessed.”
“My Agent, my informant, and my right hand,” Adrian smiled. “Since the moment we were matched by the Administrators.”
The Director looked back to Damian, saying with increasing desperation, “Damian, consider your next move carefully. Nothing is ever enough for her; she’s never going to share the Agency with you.”
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