Through the speakers, an Administrator asked for Liane’s name and identification number. She gave it, as well as an incredibly terse description of her mission. She made no mention of her hesitation to take the shot, nor of Damian’s confrontation in the safe room. Damian looked up at the one-way glass in front of them, holding his breath slightly. Now they would find out if the Administrator overseeing the mission was thorough enough to have gone through their communications, or if they were safe.
There was a pause, and then the voice said, “Well done, Agent and Handler both. You’re dismissed.”
Idiot, Damian thought derisively. That was the first thing he would do after his promotion; rid the Agency of the Administrators too foolish to do their job properly. Damian stood from the wall and he and Liane walked together from the room.
Liane was still frowning faintly as they emerged into the hallway, telling Damian that the danger of a reprimand wasn’t what was troubling her. She was also clearly ready to leave, and even took a step towards the elevators before he said, “Medic bay first.”
Her jaw tightened, but she followed after him without protest.
The medic bay was busy that day, and they had to wait for a few minutes before an examination unit was freed up. Liane lay back on the gurney without prompting, eyes on the ceiling, while Damian stood next to her and asked softly, “Where were you last night?”
“Out,” she said, words clipped, “I didn’t feel like being watched.”
“I also noticed that the tracker on your phone is malfunctioning.” He eyed her as he added, “Very unfortunate, given that it’s new. I have a replacement with me.”
She turned her head and glared at him with her multihued eyes, snapping, “Why don’t you just implant a homing beacon in my forehead? That way you’ll always be able to find me.”
“I could also just rescind the freedom you’ve been given,” Damian said in warning. “You could be restricted to the Agency dormitory when not on missions, you know.”
She looked away, her anger slightly muted. “That’s unnecessary.”
Damian went quiet for a moment, and then wondered aloud, “Perhaps I’ve been too lax about your oversight. I could request that you be moved in with me.”
“I like my flat,” she said.
“And I like knowing where you are,” Damian returned. “Logically, then, where does that leave us?”
Liane let out a breath, conceding, “I won’t go off-grid again. I promise. Besides, I don’t think either of us would do well with cohabitation.”
“You might be surprised,” Damian said quietly, taking a step closer to the gurney. “There are certain benefits, you know, to having some measure of companionship. It might be good for both of us.”
A tired male medic wandered into the curtained bay, scrolling through Liane’s file on his tablet as he asked Damian, “Right, what do you want done today?”
“The usual panel,” Damian answered, “And the chemical markers for mood regulation.”
The medic shrugged, getting out the rubber tubing and tying it around Liane’s arm. “You’re the boss.”
As he began working, Liane looked up at her Handler and said defiantly, “I’m not depressed.”
“How else do you explain these sudden displays?” Damian asked, his eyes on the syringe drawing out her blood. “You’ve been moody, erratic, more hostile than usual . . .”
“My work is still solid,” she said with a faint air of pride.
He raised an eyebrow, and she knew that he was thinking back to her nearly-abandoned shot at Richta. But aloud he said, “Nevertheless, if there’s something chemically wrong, we need to fix it.”
The medic quickly sent the blood samples through the scanner, and after a moment spent frowning at the screen he announced, “The brain levels of serotonin are slightly low. An easy fix; a quick shot and you should stabilize.”
“I feel fine,” Liane said through gritted teeth.
The medic drew out another full syringe, commenting, “How Agents think they feel is immaterial. What matters is what your levels tell me and what your Handler says he wants.”
Liane lay still, though her arm was so rigid that the medic had to instruct her several times to relax before he could give her the injection. Damian looked on, following silently after her when she jumped up to leave.
He let her get as far as the main lobby near the elevators before ordering, “Exchange your phone, Liane.”
She turned, digging furiously in her bag and snatching out her cell phone. Slamming it into his open hand, she went to accept the new one. But he held onto it, forcing her to stay and listen as he said, “Tomorrow we’ll go to the British Museum. How does ten suit you?”
Liane scowled up at him. “You know I have to be wherever you order me to go. Why bother asking?”
“Because courtesy between an Agent and Handler is as important as honesty.” He held her gaze until she looked away, biting on her lower lip. Damian’s voice quieted as he added, “Besides, we’ve always enjoyed our time there together. And after this last mission I think the both of us could do with a day away from the Agency.”
He finally released the phone. She stepped away, stowing the device in her bag and turning to the elevators. “Alright,” she said, her back to him. “Ten, then.”
Damian let his eyes drift over her back. Unable to help himself, he reached out a hand and let it trail through her long hair as he said quietly, “Don’t shut me out, Liane. We’re in this together, remember?”
He could feel her breath catch, but didn’t anticipate her turning and pushing his hand away, saying with narrowed eyes, “You threaten me one minute and then act like you care the next? Make up your mind which way you want to play me, Damian.”
“It’s not playing you, Liane,” he said with a shake of his head. “It’s doing what needs to be done. If you need to be cared for, then that’s what I’ll do. If you need a reminder of who is in charge, I can do that as well.”
“It’s sick,” she said furiously. “Normal people don’t do that. They don’t act anything like you.”
Damian tilted his head, asking softly, “How would you know?”
Liane just looked at him, breaths coming just a touch faster than usual. When the elevator doors opened it took a moment before Liane moved towards it. She kept her eyes down as she pressed the button, only raising them to Damian the split second before the doors closed.
He stood alone in the corridor for a moment, rolling the conversation over in his thoughts. So Liane was hiding something from him; the duplicity in her eyes was unmistakable. But what, exactly?
Turning away, he went in search of the answer to his question.
|| | || | | || |
Liane stood outside of the British Museum, looking up at the familiar edifice. The classically influenced structure had been destroyed by airstrikes during the war, but the government had wasted little time afterwards in rebuilding it. As a result, it looked just as it had before the destruction, just with new white stones rather than ones yellowed by age. Liane sighed as she looked at it; there was no avoiding her meeting with Damian, however much she wished she could. Adjusting the bag on her shoulder, she jogged up the short flight of steps to reach the front doors.
Damian was waiting for her at the edge of the Great Court, looking up at the soaring glass skylights overhead. Liane joined him, and he wordlessly handed her a ticket to a special exhibition of Greco-Roman art. Silently, they walked side-by-side across the atrium towards the gallery.
Liane found that she liked the exhibition, and for over an hour they simply walked through the galleries looking at sculptures, mosaics, and historical objects. Damian seemed to be lost in his own thoughts, not speaking until he stopped in front of a marble bust of a Roman emperor. Looking at it, he said quietly, “In imperial Rome
, emperors were often declared to be living gods, and were supposed to be worshipped with divine honors. I wonder if the emperors actually believed it themselves, or if it was just a way of holding onto power.”
Liane shrugged. “I wonder more about what they thought when they looked at their sculptures. Did they imagine it would endure for thousands of years after their death? Did they think about it living on in a place like this?” Damian remained silent, still looking thoughtfully at the bust. Liane leaned towards the case, murmuring, “Maybe when we’re dead and gone, someone will look at images of us and wonder the same.”
Damian smiled, moving around the case to reach the next sculpture. “Are you aspiring to rule, Liane?”
“Not me, but you could be someone of note one day,” she observed. “Director of the Agency, perhaps even a Party official . . .”
There was a faint look of hunger in Damian’s eyes as he said, “Perhaps I will be.”
Liane moved towards a colossal marble statue that dominated the gallery. She stood at the edge of the Plexiglas barrier, looking up at it. The statue depicted a muscular, bearded man crouched on one knee, his arms upraised to support a globe that rested on his shoulders. She frowned, looking to the label screen and reading; Farnese Atlas, Roman, 2nd century CE.
“‘The oldest extant statue of the legendary Titan known for carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders,’” Liane read aloud. Damian walked over to stand next to her as she finished, “‘Acquired by the British Museum from Italy following the desolation of the Third World War.’”
“It’s beautiful,” Damian said, moving alongside the edge of the barrier to better look at it from all sides.
“What is a Titan?” Liane asked, trying to keep her voice light.
“An ancient god,” Damian answered distractedly. “Immortal giants known for their legendary strength.”
She kept her eyes on her Handler as she asked, “Is that why they call it the Titan Strain? Because the perfect modification would make you more than human?”
Damian’s head snapped over to her, his voice sharp as he demanded, “Where did you hear about that?”
“The mods,” Liane said, forcing a careless shrug. “They mentioned it during the last meeting. They said that it was a myth.”
“Well, they’re right, at least as far as I know.”
“So you don’t believe the Titan Strain exists?”
“No,” Damian said shortly, leading Liane towards the adjoining corridor. “And I’d be concerned if you said that you did. The myth of a perfect modification has nothing to do with our work or us. You shouldn’t waste the energy wondering about it.”
As they entered the shadow-filled hallway, Liane’s eyes narrowed, her voice sharp as she protested, “You can’t police my thoughts, Damian. I give enough of myself to the Agency already.”
Damian stopped and turned, asking as he stepped towards her, “Do you, Liane? Or have you been slipping as of late?”
She lifted her chin, declaring, “Clearly you think so.”
“I think you’ve been lying to me,” he told her, coming forward to force her back against the corridor wall. His voice was measured as he said, “I checked the tracking log on your phone. You’ve been wandering all over the city, going places you’ve never been before. But most of all you go to Shoreditch. Care to tell me why?”
“Maybe I just like slumming it,” she said, expressionless.
“You’re lying,” he said fiercely, looming over her. “Tell me the truth, Liane.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Tell me what you’ve been doing,” he ordered, voice echoing harshly around them. “Tell me, or I’ll have you pumped full of so much truth serum that you’ll tell me everything, every thought you’ve ever had, every moment you never wanted to share—”
“Threats don’t scare me, Damian,” Liane retorted coldly, trying to move around him.
Damian just pushed her back, his face slightly manic as he went on, “There’s someone else, isn’t there? Someone you’ve been sneaking off to see . . . who is he?”
Liane looked at him impassively, her face neutral. “You’re acting ridiculous.”
Damian’s eyes narrowed. “Have you been seeing a professional intimate?”
“No,” Liane said sharply, close to exasperated. “You know I don’t do that.”
“Who, then? Someone you met out in the city?”
“There’s no one!” Liane nearly shouted, her voice echoing through the vestibule.
A security guard shushed them, and Damian nodded tersely before turning back to Liane and saying quietly, “Something is going on with you, and I’m going to find out what it is.”
Liane took a deep breath, and then said with a semblance of calm, “I’m questioning why we do what we do, why we have to live without families or lives of our own, killing whomever we’re told—that’s what’s different in me. Haven’t you ever done the same, or have you always been content as their puppet?”
Damian leaned in, his arms entrapping her against the wall as he said with cold fury, “I am no one’s puppet. I play their game when I must, but make no mistake—I don’t intend to play it forever.”
“Then why are you condemning me for wanting my freedom when you do the same?”
“Because I’m not jeopardizing the Agency to do so,” he snapped. “Whatever is distracting you is outside of what we do, and that is unacceptable.” He reached down, gripping both of her arms tightly as he said, “This is the only relationship that the Agency will permit. Handler and Agent; there is nothing else for us.”
Liane looked up at him and whispered, “I want more.”
For a moment they simply looked at one another; Damian still bordering on anger, Liane defiant. He was the one who finally drew back, releasing her arms and saying, “You know the limits. Don’t test them.”
Damian led the way into the next gallery, and the rest of their visit to the museum passed in silence.
|| | || | | || |
Liane went walking through the city after leaving Damian outside the museum. For several hours she walked down the high streets filled with shops, deep in thought. Without warning she stopped, standing still for a full minute before veering off and heading in the direction of Chinatown. She emerged from the Dragon Gate an hour later with a full bag, cradling it against her chest as if it were made of gold.
When she returned to her flat, she set it carefully down by the door in the blind spot of the cameras. She left it there as she moved around the flat making tea in what she hoped was a natural manner. The cameras followed her, slowly panning back and forth across the rooms in the flat. She waited an hour, and then retrieved a small metal box from her bag, slipping it into her jacket and heading to the closet.
There was another blind spot in the very back behind her dresses, and Liane moved towards it. She slipped behind the clothes and carefully pried up a large air duct cover, securing the metal box in one arm before easing her body into the wall. Holding a flashlight in her mouth, she slid between the sheets of drywall before reaching the first of the metal support beams. She pressed her back against one, leaning back and climbing slowly up until she reached the crawl space between her ceiling and the flat above her. It was dusty, but Liane focused solely on crawling from beam to beam. Finally she reached her destination; the control unit for the surveillance on her flat. She had found it by accident soon after moving in, and she was fairly certain that the only reason the Agency left it there was that they didn’t know that she knew. Liane leaned flat on her back against a beam, reaching under the surveillance unit and opening the exterior box. A tangle of wires met her, and she carefully went to work connecting the surveillance unit to the box she had purchased in Chinatown. When she was done, she laid back, resting her aching arms and comprehending fully what she
was doing.
The device had been bought off an illegal tech working out of the back of a trinket shop. Once she turned the device on, it would replace the live feed of the cameras with old footage from a month ago. It was the latest in surveillance tampering, the tech had told her. A way of hiding what you were doing while allowing those watching you to think they still had the upper hand.
But that was hardly all it would do for Liane. It would also mean that she had officially interfered with her Handler’s surveillance. An almost unpardonable breach of protocol, and certainly a re-education offence. She thought for a moment about what Damian would do if he found out, and it made her feel slightly ill.
Then a feeling of savage determination flared within her, and she switched the device on. When she emerged from the crawl space, her hair caked in dust, she went straight to the shower to wash away the evidence. Her phone had already been taken care of as well. Even though it was only possible to delay the signal by an hour or so, Liane could also cause the signal to jump to different parts of the city on command.
When she emerged from the shower, Liane stopped in front of the steam-covered mirror, wiping away the condensation from the surface. As she looked at her reflection, she realized with a jolt that this was the first time in over a decade that she was truly alone.
A flood of sadness filled her, though Liane couldn’t for the life of her figure out why.
Chapter 10
Diane didn,t sleep well that night. She kept expecting Damian to storm in with an army of Agents at his back, ready to cart her off for mind-wiping. But even though nothing happened, not even a phone call to ask about the glitch, Liane got up early to seek distraction in exercise. She was in the midst of several dozen sets of push-ups when the doorbell rang.
She stood slowly, silently retrieving a handgun from its hiding place behind a mirror and moving to the door. She looked through the peephole, her lungs seizing when she saw who was ringing. She unlocked the door with fumbling hands, revealing Seth, his right arm filled by a white paper bag. He held it up, his face hopeful as he said, “Peace offering?”
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