The Titan Strain

by Virginia Soenksen

Liane gazed steadily back at him for a moment, then looked away. Not because he was intimidating her, but because to do otherwise would be to challenge him for supremacy. It was easier to settle back and return her attention to the mods jumping. After a moment Crispin moved on, jogging up the steps to join in the fun.

  Towards dawn, the mods all dispersed. Liane walked away from the arena alone, cross with herself for not uncovering more. But finesse in conversation had never been one of her strengths. Hand her a gun and tell her to shoot her way out; that was something she could do.

  Though distracted, she still heard the footsteps behind her. Liane stopped, saying without turning, “If you’re looking for a fight, I suggest you look elsewhere.”

  She turned, and Crispin slid out of the shadows of a half-standing wall. He smiled at her. “Why would I want to fight one of my own?”

  “People do many things I don’t understand,” Liane said, her voice blunt.

  “Oh, Liane, there’s no reason to be so antagonistic,” Crispin said, ambling forward. “All I want to know is what you’ve heard about the mod murders.”

  She shrugged, her back tensing as he neared. “Just what’s on the news.”

  Crispin tilted his head, his gaze sharpening on her. “The families of the victims haven’t made any statements. Government orders, apparently. So where did you hear about the search for a different serum?”

  “People talk.”

  “Especially to cops.” Crispin smiled humorlessly, asking, “So if I were to follow you away from here, Liane, what would I find? Would you head to a police station, or a government office, perhaps?”

  She felt the corner of her mouth turn up. “You think the police are clever enough to dose one of their own and send them in to infiltrate mods? That officer last month was stupid enough to wander in here without even a partner.”

  “Funny you should mention the officer,” said Crispin softly, starting to circle her. “There’s been no report of any dead or missing policemen. Why is that, I wonder?”

  Liane turned with him, saying, “Because I hid the body very well, and I doubt his captain wants to publicize that one of his officers disappeared while on patrol. The police get enough flak from the media as it is.”

  Her answer seemed to placate him somewhat, and he stopped circling her to ask, “So you did kill him?”

  “If I hadn’t, it wouldn’t make much sense for me to come back here, would it?”

  Crispin laughed, some of the tension leaving his frame. “I suppose it wouldn’t.”

  Liane forced her stance to relax as well, sighing, “Look, I’m just trying to think through this. The last five victims were wolf mods. I don’t want to turn on the news to find more of our own have died . . .”

  Hostility fared in his eyes again, and he snapped, “I’m alpha in this group; protecting our own is my job. So unless you want to challenge me, don’t get in my way.”

  So that’s what this is about, Liane thought, saying aloud, “I’m not after your position, Crispin. I just want to figure out what’s happening in this city.”

  He observed her silently for a moment, then said, “Take my advice; people who go nosing about where they shouldn’t often end up paying with their lives. Keep your head down and worry about yourself instead.”

  “What about you? Mods are dying. You’re not worried that you’ll be next?”

  Crispin laughed, showing off his long, sharp teeth. “If the killer comes after me, they’ll be in for quite a scrap.”

  She nodded, unsmiling. “I’m sure.”

  He moved closer, his eyes on her as he said, “I like you, Liane, so I’m going to give you a bit of advice. When you go around asking questions about murders and experimental serums, you’ll only put a target on your back. Alright?” She nodded, and he backed off, saying, “Take care of yourself. It’s a dangerous walk back to the city.”

  “I always do,” Liane said. She watched as he headed away from her in the opposite direction, waiting until Crispin’s footsteps faded. She waited for a few minutes until she was certain that he’d gone, and then turned to continue her way out of the ruins.

  || | || | | || |

  Seth jerked awake to the ringing of his work phone. He squinted blearily at the clock, registered that it was well before dawn, and then picked up. “Laski . . .”

  “Seth, it’s Andrew,” came the voice of a nervous young officer through the phone. “You need to get down here. They’ve found another.”

  By the time Seth arrived at the scene, weaving his way through the parked, flashing police cars, the street was already crawling with news reporters. He pushed past them, ducking under the yellow police tape and walking over to join the officers and medical examiners standing by the alley entrance.

  The officer who had called him stepped forward, saying, “It’s a female this time; not a kid but still fairly young. Mod, obviously; the irises are strange, so you’re likely looking at another wolf. It’s a shame, she was a beautiful girl.”

  Seth felt a sinking sensation in his stomach, thinking immediately of Liane. Without another word he knelt beside the white sheet, pulling it back to reveal what was hidden underneath.

  To his relief, the first thing he saw was tangled black hair. Letting out a breath, he tried to orient his thoughts. Thankfully, the medical examiner took his relief for nerves and said briskly, “Your victim is female. Could be anywhere from twenty to thirty years, won’t be certain until after the genetic tests. No sign of the rest of her, but the head was removed post-mortem.”

  Seth nodded, wishing he hadn’t eaten before leaving the house. “I’ll need a picture to run through the facial recognition databank.”

  The medic nodded. “I’ll send one over to you. Hopefully you’ll find out who she was, give the family some closure.”

  Seth stood, saying, “I don’t think they’ll have anything close to closure until we have the killer strapped to a table with a needle in his arm.”

  By lunch the photo had been matched with a name, and soon afterwards Seth found himself entering the victim’s flat. The crime scene investigators had already been through it, looking unsuccessfully for the scene of the murder itself. Now that the area had been cleared, Seth wanted to see who his victim had been in life, to have something other than her body to connect to the crime.

  He unlocked the door with the super keycard, entering the flat. It was long and narrow, decorated in bright colors and vivid artwork. He passed through a tiny kitchen and rounded a corner, only to give a shout of shock.

  Liane stood in the living room, browsing the photographs cluttering a bookshelf. She didn’t even look up as he sagged against the wall, saying weakly, “Couldn’t you have at least warned me?”

  “I’ve been trailing you all day. I tried to be obvious about it; not my fault that you don’t pay attention to anything,” she said, her voice clipped. She picked up one of the photographs with a gloved hand, saying, “I saw her just two days ago, alive.”

  Seth frowned, straightening. “The vic?”

  “Her name was Jeanelle.” Liane looked up, and for the first time Seth noticed the tension in her face. Her voice was more emotionless than usual as she explained, “She was my friend.”

  Seth swore softly. “I didn’t know.”

  “But I wasn’t a very good friend in return,” she went on as if she hadn’t heard. She turned to look at the flat. “I didn’t know she was from Mumbai . . . I didn’t know she had a twin sister . . . I didn’t know anything about her. And I didn’t protect her like I should have.”

  “You couldn’t have known she’d be next,” Seth said, moving towards her. “She certainly had no idea; her friends and family said she was happy, carefree when they last saw her.” Liane nodded stiffly; if it had been anyone else, Seth would have worried she was fighting back tears. Hesitantly
, he asked, “Do you want me to search the flat on my own?”

  “No, I’ll help,” Liane said, walking towards the bathroom as she added, “You’ll probably miss something important.”

  Seth smiled ruefully as he followed after her, thinking, There’s that familiar charm . . .

  While Seth headed to the bedroom, Liane moved inside the washroom. It was tiny and covered in ancient white tile. The open shelves were crowded with beauty products, and there was an unpleasant scent of hairspray and sour towels. Liane quickly scanned the room, then turned her attention to the minute linen closet. Shoving aside sheets and plastic containers of makeup, she ran her fingers against the wall, searching for anything that might have been missed. The closet turned up nothing, so she shut the door and knelt near the sink. She pulled open the storage doors under the basin, moving aside cleaning products to see the wall. She quickly noticed a small metal panel behind the curved pipe, and it pulled away from the wall to reveal a hidden compartment. Craning her head, she reached inside the hole and felt her fingers brush over something.

  Seth appeared at the door, saying, “I found a diary app on the tablet in her bedroom. I’ll take it to the station, have the techs there hack into it so we can read what she wrote. Did you find anything?”

  Liane drew out her hand, revealing a small, zippered black pouch. She opened it, unsurprised to find an array of fresh needles and several small vials of clear liquid. “This was her modding kit.” As she handed it to Seth for him to see, a tiny, loose container nearly rolled free. She caught it before it could hit the ground, lifting it up to have a better look. There were only a few drops left in the container, but they had a pearly cast that the other vials lacked.

  “Is that more mod serum?” Seth asked.

  “Maybe.” Liane tucked the container and one of the full vials into her pocket. “I’ll have them checked. The techs I know are better than the ones the city employs.”

  The rest of their search amounted to nothing, and when Seth suggested that they head back to Shoreditch to go over the police reports, Liane didn’t argue. They talked about the case all the way across town and were still arguing the finer points when they entered the flat.

  Seth walked to the fridge, looking inside and making a face. “I’m out of everything but cheap beer.” He glanced back at Liane, who was at his bookshelf. “Are you hungry? I can order pizza to go with the beer.”

  “I’ve never had either,” Liane said, browsing the books on his shelves.

  He turned to look at her, asking in amazement, “Are you serious?”

  “It never meets my nutritional requirements,” she said without thinking, her thoughts on the titles.

  Seth gave her a look. “Right . . . well, I’m starving and I have low standards. You’ll like it, I promise.”

  The pizza arrived quickly, and Liane made a retreat the bathroom, waiting until the delivery boy had left. She was already risking so much with Seth; no sense in risking anyone else seeing her there as well. When she came out, she found that Seth had lit several of the red candles he kept around the living room. He smiled at her, the candlelight glancing off his high cheekbones and tanned skin. Liane felt suddenly shy, fingers twisting the hem of her shirt as she walked back out to join him.

  “Mademoiselle,” he said with an exaggerated bow, tossing a wide cushion on the floor next to the coffee table. He sat down on a cushion of his own, saying, “Not the grandest dining location, but the company is certainly one of a kind. Right; here’s your slice and beer. Eat up.”

  Liane sat down, watching him pick up his own slice and tear off an enormous bite. He closed his eyes with a contented groan, smiling as he chewed. Liane delicately used a napkin to lift up the pizza, taking an experimental bite. She found Seth watching her as she chewed, asking, “And?”

  “It’s very good,” she admitted.

  “Good?” he scoffed. “This is handmade Italian-style pizza, just like I used to get in the North End. This is heaven.”

  Liane couldn’t help but laugh. She’d never seen anyone eat the way he did, savoring every bite as if it was his last. She ate more, trying unsuccessfully to avoid the dripping oil, and marveling that it did taste delicious. The beer was another matter; she choked on the first mouthful, pulling a face as she shook her head. Seth laughed, jumping up and going to the fridge.

  “Try a Ramune soda, then,” he said, still grinning as he sat heavily. “Might be more to your taste.”

  The soda proved more successful, and by the time they were done, Liane was wondering why she had never done this before. When she finally sat back, stomach full, she mustered the courage to ask Seth, “Why did you become a police officer?”

  Seth leaned against the couch, taking a sip of his beer before he said, “My father was an inspector with the police here in London, long before the war. After we moved to Boston he worked as a detective. So I grew up around cops, wanted to be one since I could talk, apparently.”

  “But . . .” Liane hesitated, trying to find the right words before saying, “You’re just a normal person. Any number of things in this world could kill you.”

  Seth laughed, shaking his curly brown hair. “Yeah, thanks for that reminder.”

  But Liane didn’t laugh, frowning as she went on, “Why do you do it? Why would anyone risk their life every day for a futile fight?”

  “It’s not futile,” he frowned, sitting up. “Not at all. Look, I don’t delude myself that I can fix this city on my own. But if I just looked at the evils in the world and did nothing, then what does that make me?”

  “Smart?” Liane suggested.

  “No,” he shook his head. “Cowardly.”

  Liane frowned; his words were troubling her, though she didn’t fully understand why. She was so distracted that she nearly missed when the cell phone in her pocket vibrated. Liane took it out, her heart lurching when she recognized the number as Damian’s.

  Two; the phone rang again . . .

  Seth looked up, asking, “Who is it?”

  Liane stashed the phone and launched herself up, running to the bathroom as fast as she physically could. The window there was open, and she leapt out of it, her body pointed as if in a dive. She tucked her body at the last moment, plummeting to the alley below and hitting the ground hard on her hands and feet.

  Three . . .

  Up and running, she darted around the corner of the building and into the coffee shop below Seth’s flat. Sliding into an empty booth, she shouted at the stunned barista, “Coffee, black - now!”

  She answered before the fourth ring, her voice light, “Damian?”

  “‘Half a league, half a league’ . . .”

  “‘Half a league onward,’” she answered, nodding to the girl who set a cup down in front of her.

  “‘All in the valley of Death,’” Damian finished, irritation filling his voice as he noted, “You took your time answering. Where are you?”

  “Getting coffee,” she said, taking a sip of her drink so that it became the entire truth.

  “Where?”

  “Shoreditch,” she said, glancing around the shop and spying the camera in the corner. “It’s on Scrutton Street. You can check if you want.”

  There was silence on the other end of the phone, and then the camera slowly panned across the interior of the restaurant. Liane looked away, sipping on the scalding, bitter drink as naturally as she could while her heart hammered within her chest.

  “I see you,” Damian said at last, some of his irritation assuaged. “What brought you all the way out there?”

  “I needed a new part for my cycle. A man out here sells them.”

  There was a pause, then Damian gave a few chuckles, his voice turning indulgent as he said, “Liane, you know all you have to do is ask and I’ll get you whatever part you need.”

 
She leaned back in the booth, weak with relief. “It got me out of the flat. You’re always telling me I should do more of that.”

  “To see beauty, culture. You’ll find neither of those in Shoreditch.”

  “If I wanted culture, I would have just called you.”

  “You can call me anytime, regardless of the reason.” Damian paused, letting the offer sink in for a moment before going on, “We’ve received our next assignment. It will be a team mission in Vienna.”

  Liane sat up, her interest piqued. “Who’s running point?”

  “We are. I’ll handle tacticals, and you’ll be leading the primary team.”

  She was momentarily lost for words, finally saying, “That’s . . . unexpected.”

  Damian laughed softly. “I know, which is why we’ll need to give this careful thought. The Agency doesn’t take mistakes lightly. I’ll need you in tomorrow at eight to discuss the details.”

  Liane nodded. “I’ll be there.”

  “I’ll see you then.” The phone clicked, and the line went dead.

  She waited for a minute, until the camera returned to its original position and she was assured that Damian was no longer watching her. Collapsing back in the booth, she let out a slow breath that brought her heart rate to normal. That was too close, even for her.

  Seth was looking out of the front windows when she returned, and he seemed relieved when she walked in the door. “What the hell was that about?”

  “My attempt to keep you from getting killed,” she said, going to retrieve her bag from the floor. “I shouldn’t be here. This is too dangerous, for you as well as for me.”

  “Are you leaving?” he asked worriedly.

  She nodded, pulling up the cowl of her coat.

  “But I’ll see you again, right?”

  Liane looked back at him, her eyes grave as she said, “Yes, but we need to be smarter about this. Give me a few days to figure out a plan. Keep up with the interviews in the meantime. And if you notice anyone following or watching you, call this number. It’s a burner cell.”