Traceless (Stateless #2)

by Meli Raine

  “No, you just said it. But would it?” I have to know. I have to hear her say it.

  “I'd be disappointed,” she hisses, the look she shoots me making me want her even more.

  “You're killing me,” I whisper. “You told Svetnu you were going to sleep with me as part of your mission? He thinks Glen is nailing me right now?”

  “Svetnu and Josephs.”

  I'm dumbfounded. “Josephs is here?”

  “Yes. But look, I don't have much time. Callum, they're terminating the compound.”

  “WHAT?”

  “Shhhh.” She presses her fingers against my lips. “They just told me. It's happening tonight.”

  “This makes no sense,” I say, refraining from calling her by her real name. “Tell me exactly what happened, what they said.”

  “I went to find Svetnu and Josephs was there. They were totally fooled. They think I'm Glen. I told them I snuck onto the compound through a hole you or Kina must have dug. I said the investigation crew missed it when they filled in the old one.”

  “Great cover story.”

  “I don't need praise,” she snaps. “I went in, said a bunch of nasty stuff about Kina, and it worked. They told me Kina and the empathy experiment produced subpar Stateless trainees. That there's a steady supply of newborns now from a facility in Pennsylvania. That the compound is compromised and they suspect you and Kina are responsible for the server farm bombing.”

  “Someone within Stateless is, they’re right about that,” I say, pulling out my phone to send a text message. Do we have backups of the documents folder?

  “What are you doing?”

  “Getting my brother and Foster's crew here.”

  “You can't use your phone–they'll notice and kill us both!”

  “It’s code. I'm sending an innocuous-looking message to a business colleague. They won't have realized that she works for Drew Foster.”

  “But it's too late for that!”

  “Not too late.”

  I text Hokes. Where is Leila?

  The reply is instantaneous.

  Leila's gone.

  Frowning, I type back: Who is watching the children?

  Leila took four infants with her to her home camp. Toddlers are still with Philippa.

  I go cold. I show Kina the text.

  “No! NO! Then it's really true!” she says viciously, as angry as I've ever seen Glen get in real life. But Kina's righteous fury comes from a primal protectiveness, not personal glory.

  “Leila was sent here as a decoy,” I explain.

  “How do you know this?”

  “Because it's obvious.”

  Her whole demeanor changes. “You knew!” she hisses.

  “I didn't! I'm putting it together after the fact.” My voice rises. I need to be careful. Too much emotion and a security guard outside will investigate. Too much emotion and I'll call her by the wrong name.

  Too much emotion, period.

  “Go back to the termination issue. They're destroying the entire compound?” I ask her.

  “That's what they said. So casually, like pulling a weed!”

  “That's how they view it.”

  “The children! The newborns are gone? It says Leila took them?” Panic floods every part of her, all illusion of Glen disappearing. “Where is Philippa? I have to get her. What are they going to do with us all?”

  Decency stops me from explaining that three years ago, an entire compound in Ireland deemed compromised was destroyed with a simple poison in the water supply.

  I get a text message from a phone number that begins with 418. Yes, our backups are in order.

  Duff.

  Confirming he's coming.

  “How many toddlers are there?”

  “Seven. How will we smuggle seven children out of here? And what are they going to do to the compound? How does this–”

  “Go to the nursery. Find Philippa. Be Glen, be Kina–I don't care who you have to be. Explain what's happening. Gather the basics for the toddlers. Meds, some food, diapers–but not too much. We leave on foot.”

  “On foot?”

  “Slings? Is that what you call those things? Get plenty of those. We'll find a way to get the kids out, but it won't be easy. And a few may–”

  Her fingers cover mine. “Don't you dare say some may die! Don't you dare, Callum.”

  “If they do, it'll be my fault. I should have seen this coming.”

  “How much time do you need?”

  “Duff will be here in a few hours. He'll have help. We have to get the kids across the fence. They can't come in from the front. We need a new hole. Old one's filled in. Working on rerouting camera feeds so we buy ourselves some cover.”

  “We have another problem.”

  “What?”

  “I told Svetnu and Josephs I was screwing you. And told them to watch the footage.”

  “You WHAT?”

  “So I need to do this.”

  Dropping to her knees, she reaches for my belt after she snatches our jammers, slipping them in my front pocket, her hand following, her fingers doing swift work of making me hard. One hand unbuttons my pants, the other playing pocket pool with my balls.

  “Guh - ” Can't say Kina's name, and I damn well can't say her sister's name, either. I'm trapped, Kina pulling me out of my boxer briefs, her mouth enveloping me like a warm, wet perfect hug of pleasure.

  Tongue added for bonus enjoyment.

  If someone bothers to watch the video, they'll see “Glen” giving me head, her face tipped away, ass broad and slappable as she bends before me, submissive but working damn hard.

  Kina, I remind myself. This is Kina, giving me pleasure, but she's performing for a crowd I have zero interest in pleasing.

  Biology is biology, though, predestined and predetermined by the connection of enzymes and nerves, blood and autonomic nervous system, and oh, God, that thing she did with her tongue as she cupped my balls like that, other hand tickling my inner thigh, and I –

  Spill.

  I spill onto her, rage and want fighting for the truth inside a head that's throbbing now, pounding like my hips moving against her mouth, hating myself for taking pleasure that isn't real.

  Worse.

  Hating myself for not elevating.

  Now? Really? Of all the times not to elevate?

  I wrack my brain for any excuse to stop this.

  And somehow find one.

  “Get the hell away from me!” I shout, shoving her so hard her legs splay, head hitting the edge of my bed, thankfully not on exposed metal.

  “What?” Kina's confused, disoriented.

  “I don't want to sleep with you, Glen. The president's sloppy seconds aren't my thing.” Grabbing both sides of my pants, I tuck myself in, breathing hard as if air itself were the enemy.

  A lightbulb goes on for her.

  “You should be honored,” she spits out, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

  “I'm disgusted.”

  “You'd rather screw my sister?”

  “The Mule?” I let out a nasty laugh. “Hell, no. I'm using her. And she's fallen for it. Too stupid to realize what a dupe she is.”

  “You realize how compromised you are? Do you have any idea how much you've sandbagged yourself by pretending you care about her?”

  “Do you realize how much you've destroyed your credibility by convincing her she killed Angelica, when it was really you?”

  Kina's grin is malevolent.

  Brilliant.

  “I'll never admit it.”

  “You just did.”

  “Pity. It would have been nice to bang you, Callum. I'll bet you're as fiery in bed as you are in these clashes.”

  “And I'll bet you're just a limp starfish who makes men feel proud because you've got a nice rack.”

  “You're not worth the argument.”

  I grab her by the collar. “Then get out. Go try using your magic tunnel on someone else.”

  And with that,
I pitch her into the hallway, where Hokes catches “Glen.” His eyes jump to my open belt, my unbuttoned fly, my messy hair.

  Her cackling laugh is all I hear as I slam my door.

  28

  Kina

  “Glen?”

  I've left the door to the nursery cracked slightly as I've been packing children's clothes, one outfit per child, four–no, six?–diapers each, the different sizes in my mind as I calculate. Baby wipes and a tiny first aid kit, just in case. Some toddler formula for the two who aren't one hundred percent on solid foods.

  The interruption makes me grunt, a low sound that is closer to Glen than anything Kina ever utters.

  “Hi, uh, have you seen Kina? The babies are gone–Sally said Leila took them because Kina's gone crazy.” Rattled and literally shaking, poor Philippa looks like pieces of herself tied together with sheer fear. “She said Kina threatened to hurt the babies.” She eyes me. “I've never seen her do that, though. And you're her sister.” Philippa's chest rises and falls faster and faster, her face going grey, hands gripping each other. “I don't know what to do. The toddlers are all asleep now, and it's so quiet. No one is answering my requests for backup. The trainees are–”

  I close the gap between us and cover her mouth with my hand.

  Her eyes become moons with black centers.

  “I'm not Glen,” I whisper.

  I didn't think her eyes could get any wider.

  I lean in to her ear and whisper very quietly, “I'm Kina. I swear it's me. I'm dressed to look like Glen for a mission. Believe me, Philippa. How are Jay's seizures? Are the meds helping?” Those questions should convince her I’m not Glen.

  “Kina?” She says my name under the pressure of my hand. I let go and wrap my arms around her.

  “Shhhhh. We're being monitored,” I hiss. “And we don't have time.”

  Just starting to relax in my arms as I hug her, she tenses. “Time?”

  “We have to leave.” I cover her mouth again before she says anything else. “The toddlers are being moved to another building. Callum's orders.” It’s amazing how the cover stories form under pressure.

  Pretending to be Glen is going to take us further than I ever expected.

  “Yes, ma'am,” she says. “How can I help?”

  “Pack one outfit per child. Six diapers. Anything special each one needs. Get all the slings. We'll have facilities move the cribs.”

  She doesn't move.

  “Can I go get some help? I have an idea that would make this a more efficient process. Less stressful for the children. Kina never lets me do anything extra, and I have all these ideas!” Turning into a petulant teenager, Philippa's entire countenance changes.

  But it's for the cameras, right?

  “That doesn't surprise me,” I say, as Glen. “My sister is small minded. Petty and strange. If you have an idea that helps with the mission, go for it.”

  Philippa runs off, never looking back.

  I hope to hell she isn't reporting me. If she is, the charade ends now.

  I end now.

  Death doesn't scare me.

  Leaving behind children who face a fear-filled end does. Their imagined terror tortures me. They’ll want me and I won’t be there.

  I have to do everything possible to prevent that.

  I finish the packing, then pause. How will we get seven toddlers out of here, unnoticed? The leaders will never allow it. If they've decided to terminate, we can't stop them.

  Can we?

  My shoulders hunch, sensing something outside, the quiet movement of too many bodies through space enough to alert some primitive portion of my brain. The outer door opens and in walks Philippa.

  Sela is behind her.

  Then Jocelyn, Mary, George, Tim, and Candace.

  Trainees. The trainees range in age from eleven to eighteen, Sela the oldest.

  Have the trainees been ordered to kill the children? To kill me?

  Every one of them was my charge at some point. Sela was the first child I ever comforted. Candace was the first I worked with for an entire year before she moved out of the nursery. Tim was almost two when I began working with him–eleven now, he's tall and rail thin, about to hit puberty, a far cry from the teething toddler I once soothed.

  Jocelyn and Mary are twins, like me and Glen, fifteen and gangly, arms like corded steel wires.

  George has a lisp, still, at twelve.

  They're all dressed in black. Simulated combat clothes.

  Why are they here?

  Is this a version of The Test? To kill us all?

  I grip the edge of the table. Every instinct goes awry inside me. To protect the toddlers, I have to kill these trainees.

  And yet, years ago, they were my toddlers.

  “Glen,” Sela whispers involuntarily, doing a double take. The trainees look at each other, confused. George is gripping a knife, still sheathed.

  Oh, no.

  It's reached this point, has it?

  Time to take all the gloves off.

  I remove my shoe, the trainees watching in wonder as I take the stiletto heel and smash it, hard, into the camera in the room. It snaps off as I pull with all my weight.

  Security will come shortly.

  We have minutes.

  “No. I'm Kina,” I say. “I know this is hard to understand, but–”

  “Got it. You're in disguise. Philippa told us what's happening. We're loyal to you, Kina. Tell us how we can help get the children out of here.”

  “You're what?”

  Sela takes my hand. “Philippa told us. They're terminating the compound. We know anyone ten and older is being moved now. The rest of the trainees are already leaving. The newborns are gone. Kina, anyone you raised is considered contaminated.”

  “Then you need to go! They’ll be looking for you–what are you doing here? Get OUT! I'll handle this.”

  “No. No, you won't. You're Glen,” Sela pipes up. “We were following Glen's orders. If this goes sour, that's our cover story.”

  Admiration blooms in my chest.

  “Yes. That's it.” I look at them all, their faces so grown up, the child in each one so clear in my memory, baby faces and gap-toothed grins merging with the grim reality of now. So many years of my life passed by in a blur, the days long, each one filled with drudgery borne of love.

  Yes, love.

  I love these children so deeply I ache with the burden of carrying the histories of so many souls. I am their history. I am their memory before they can recall their existence.

  What an honor.

  What a responsibility.

  And I’ll die trying to save them, in memory and body, in spirit and flesh.

  “Everyone put on a sling. Except you, Tim.” I point to the youngest. “You carry the bags. There are only three. We're traveling light. I'll carry Jay. Candace, you take Thomas, he’s the smallest.” I do a count and turn to Sela. “The five- to nine-year-olds?”

  Her eyes dim, sadness filling them, a fleeting expression of emotion that goes slack. “They're gone.”

  “Dead?” I whisper, the back of my throat going so tight my jaw may break, ears burning, legs threatening to collapse as my heart feels dead in my chest.

  “Gone. No one knows.”

  A keening starts inside me, deep and low. I shove it down, hard. I can't save them.

  But I can save these children.

  As the trainees go into the crib rooms and rouse sleeping children, I grab my running shoes and put them on. Meanwhile, I do a head count. One toddler each. We can do this. Philippa comes back with two in her arms and I take Jay from her. He snuggles into my shoulder, oblivious.

  But where's Callum?

  Tap tap tap.

  We turn as one, a rag-tag group of fussing toddlers and trainees wearing combat black.

  It's Janice.

  “When you're ready, I have–” She startles as she looks at me. “Glen?”

  Callum rushes up behind her, gun drawn.

  �
��We have to go now. They're coming. Your camera cut out and–”

  “You didn't tell me Glen was part of this!” Janice says accusingly.

  “I'm Kina,” I assure her. “Playing the part.”

  “You look and talk exactly like Glen.” Her eyes narrow.

  “Are you going to help me rescue these kids or stand there and get us all killed?” I demand, using my best not-Glen voice.

  “I'm so confused–you look like Glen, but she wouldn't give a rat's ass about the kids,” Janice mutters, still eyeing me with suspicion but looking to Callum for orders.

  “Ready?” He hands guns to Philippa, Janice, and me. I switch the safety off on mine.

  I nod, waving the trainees out the back door. Callum’s in the lead, gun drawn. The rest of us follow single file, Janice in the middle, me at the end with Philippa in front of me.

  One last glance into the nursery is all I get. A blanket askew over the edge of a crib. Pink sheets with red balloons stretched tight over a tiny mattress. A rocking chair, empty and unmoving.

  The stillness of the room contrasts with the flurry of movement as we escape.

  Wherever we're going has to be good enough.

  “Shhhh,” Sela warns everyone suddenly, even the toddlers falling silent. All is quiet.

  For about a hundred yards.

  The unmistakable sound of boots on grass and leaves fills my throbbing eardrums, the sense of being surrounded palpable and deadly. Smith's face appears in the moonlight, then Hokes and Sally, two other men I don't know completing the death team.

  We're terminated, all right.

  The first gunshot comes from Callum, two of them in a row, the bam bam taking out the unnamed men with perfect aim, bodies dropping. Screams erupt from kids and trainees alike. Janice provides cover fire for the trainees as they run, struggling with their heavy burdens.

  Philippa hands Jessie off to Janice, and the woods swallows them.

  I shoot around Jay's head, my aim hopeless, backing away as fast as I can without falling. Callum faces off against Sally, one of his bullets taking out her arm, a guttural moan escaping her.

  Philippa stands before Smith, guns pointed at each other.

  “Don't do it, sweetie,” he says as I fumble to unstrap Jay. Shoot to kill means shooting someone in the heart, so wearing the babies puts them directly in harm’s way. But we had no choice.