Gemina

by Amie Kaufman

  b. Gunshot wound #2, penetrating gunshot wound to sternum, exit wounds lower back (fragments recovered from chest cavity and abdomen). Right lung punctured in multiple locations by fragmentation. Potentially fatal wound.

  c. Gunshot wound #3, penetrating gunshot wound to abdomen, exit wound between third and fourth lumbar. Stomach, left kidney, spleen and small intestine perforated by fragmentation (fragments recovered from chest cavity). Potentially fatal wound.

  SIGNED:

  CHIEF CORONER, NEW PETERSBURG DOC

  OFFENDER INFORMATION

  NAME: Niklas Malikov

  PIN: 771-998-048

  DATE OF BIRTH: 11/11/57

  PLACE OF BIRTH: Stanislav, New Petersburg

  RACE: Caucasian

  SEX: Male

  DISTRICT: Stanislav, NP

  CASE NUMBER: 720215-1420-88917h

  FILE DATE: 02/28/72

  CHARGE(S):

  •First-degree homicide, two counts

  •Unlawful possession of a firearm

  •Improper act with a dead body

  DISPOSITION: Guilty plea

  DISPOSITION DATE: 02/27/72

  OFFENDER INTERVIEW

  CASE FILE: 720215-1420-88917h

  INTERVIEW CONDUCTED: New Petersburg Police Station

  OFFICERS PRESENT: Michael J. Sims (DI), Steven Scannell (DI)

  COUNSEL PRESENT: Yes/No (waived)

  —CONT. FROM PG. 3—

  SIMS, M: So why’d you cut out his tongue, Nik?

  MALIKOV, N: Send a message. ******* was snitching to the PD ’bout my pops. HoK doesn’t play that way. Dead men keep their secrets.

  SIMS, M: Did your father order the hit on Balashov?

  MALIKOV, N: If he did, you think he’d have sent his own kid to the front line?

  SIMS, M: Maybe he thought it was time for someone to step up? He had a lot of heat on him, your dad. Maybe he thought he couldn’t risk the job with anyone but family?

  MALIKOV, N: Chum, HoK is all family. Don’t you get that? And we take care of family, yeah?

  SIMS, M: Nik, if your dad used you to get to Balashov and you help us, we can swing you some leniency with the DOJ. You’re under eighteen, you’re still a minor—

  MALIKOV, N: Chum, **** you. I’m not cutting some deal, if that’s what this little show is about. You charge what you charge and step the **** out my face.

  SIMS, M: So why murder Balashov’s daughter? She had nothing to do with the case against your father.

  MALIKOV, N: Wrong place, wrong time, I guess.

  SCANNELL, S: Wrong place…?

  SCANNELL, S: She was in her goddamn house at twelve o’clock at night. Where the **** was she supposed to be?

  SCANNELL, S: You enjoy killing little girls, you sick *******?

  MALIKOV, N: Chum, **** you.

  SCANNELL, S: **** me?

  [SCUFFLE]

  MALIKOV, N: Get off me!

  SCANNELL, S: LOOK AT HER, YOU LITTLE ****!

  SCANNELL, S: She was twelve years old! Doing nothing close to wrong.

  SCANNELL, S: And in walks big bad Nik Malikov. Fresh from killing her daddy.

  SCANNELL, S: And not content with X-ing a man in his own bed, you gotta put three shots into his kid while she’s getting a glass of milk from the ****ing fridge!

  MALIKOV, N: I told you get the **** off me!

  SIMS, M: Steve, let him go!

  SCANNELL, S: You ****ing coward! I should break your—

  SIMS, M: Detective Scannell! Wait outside!

  MALIKOV, N: [inaudible]

  SIMS, M: I’m sorry about that.

  MALIKOV, N: ****ing pigs.

  SIMS, M: You hungry? Want something to drink?

  MALIKOV, N: So you’re the good cop, then? I know how you ****ers work, chum.

  SIMS, M: I just want to help you, Nik. You’re a victim here, same as Oksana.

  MALIKOV, N: Your breath ain’t worth the wasting. Just do and be done.

  SIMS, M: You’re gonna go away for a long time over this. Even as a minor.

  MALIKOV, N: Yeah. But I’ll be alive at the end of it. Family is family.

  SIMS, M: Fifteen years in slam, minimum. Fifteen years of no sunshine. Fifteen years with no freedom.

  MALIKOV, N: No freedom?

  MALIKOV, N: [laughs]

  MALIKOV, N: Chum, what kind of free you think I am now?

  PALMPAD IM: D2D NETWORK

  Participants: Niklas Malikov, Civilian (unregistered)

  Hanna Donnelly, Civilian (unregistered)

  Date: 08/16/75

  Timestamp: 11:30

  Hanna D: Nik, you there?

  Nik M: highness. was just thinking about u

  Nik M: look, sorry for dumping all that on u earlier. head is a little dunked atm

  Nik M: not every day i shoot someone, ya?

  Hanna D: Nik, I have a question.

  Hanna D: I need you to answer it. No screwing around, just tell me the answer.

  Nik M: um ok

  Hanna D: What does your angel tattoo mean?

  Nik M: y in the ’verse u asking me bout that?

  Hanna D: are you going to answer me?

  Nik M: its

  Nik M: its complicated hanna

  Hanna D: Nik, just answer me, please.

  Nik M: not until u tell me what for. what is up with u?

  Hanna D: it’s a very simple question.

  Hanna D: and I’m not the one with the tattoo, so I need you to answer it.

  Hanna D: final time. what does the angel signify?

  Nik M: u get an angel when u kill someone for the House. but its not like that

  Hanna D: you *******

  —— Hanna D has left the chat ——

  Nik M: Hanna, wait

  Nik M: as;lkdjlakdflkasdflkasdlfkalsdkflaksjdflkajsdflkjaslkdfjalskdjf

  Hanna Donnelly looks like she’s seen a ghost. The ghost of Oksana Balashova, perhaps, twelve years old and covered in blood.

  Usually Donnelly moves…the best way I can think of to describe it is “deliberately.” She’s so fit, so aware of her own body, that however she moves, that’s what she meant to do. I have footage of her walking toward Jackson Merrick as he watches her approach, unable to look away, every swing of her hips perfectly calculated. I’ve seen footage of her training in the dojo, each movement economical, each blow landing exactly where she intends. Even as she ran for her life from BeiTech’s SpecOps goons, there was an athletic grace to her stride that grabbed every single degree of speed and efficiency and pulled it straight to her.

  This is the first time I’ve ever seen her move like her body doesn’t belong to her. She’s replaced the famous Danae Matresco jumpsuit with one designed for a maintenance worker. Sleeves rolled up, it’s dark gray with green highlights—the colors of the Wallace Ulyanov Consortium, Heimdall’s owner. It’s nowhere near as tailored as her last outfit, and it can’t be nearly as comfortable, but somehow it seems right. She’s out of her element now in every possible way.

  She’s running, and some instincts never die—her footfalls are silent, even though her breath is ragged, her eyes wet, her arms hugged in too close to her body. She looks lost, her grip on Nightingale’s .50 Silverback white-knuckled, the gun swaying and bobbing like she might drop it.

  She’s coming from a weapons locker. The gun was out of ammo, the last of it fired to throw off Alpha Squad, and no matter what she does next, she’ll need bullets. So she closed her eyes and turned her head against the shrapnel and broke the locker open with a fire ax, the sound ringing down the hallways for all to hear. She found what she wanted, though, and the gun is loaded once more, the rest of the ammo stuffed into the pockets of the maintenance jumpsuit, a Sabituano 540 stun gun in the belt. Distancing herself from the scene of the crime, stumbling along, gasping for breath—she knows where she’s running from, but I’m pretty sure she has no idea where she’s running to.

  There’s a gun to Jackson Merrick’s head, and her burgeoning partnership with Nik Ma
likov is a smoking hole in the ground. Her father’s gone. What’s left?

  She rounds the corner and stops short, like a dog on point as she spots a trail of blood sprinkled along the length of the corridor. A wounded enemy, or a wounded ally? She drops to one knee, fingertips resting on the ground next to the crimson splashes, head turning right, then left, so she can study the trail as it stretches away in both directions. Falk isn’t the only hound on Heimdall in this moment.

  In one movement, she’s on her feet, most of her grace regained. Whatever she read from those drops of blood, it was enough to tell her which way to turn, and she does so unerringly. Gun at the ready now, grip steady, she stalks her quarry—it’s heading for a corridor of offices and workstations, doors jammed open by Falk’s security shutdown, usual inhabitants partying half a galaxy away in New Bandon. Her precious minutes are ticking away, and she wastes no time. When the trail turns toward the darkened office of one Kyle Nolan, Donnelly pauses outside the door only a moment. Then, in one smooth movement, she’s in the doorway, palm slapping the control pad to bring the lighting up, Silverback at the ready.

  The gun bobs and dips. The color drains visibly from her face, highlighting the shadows beneath her eyes once more, and whatever’s inside the office, it holds her spellbound.

  Eventually, she steps slowly forward, disappearing into the room with a whisper.

  “What the ****?”

  RADIO TRANSMISSION: BEITECH AUDIT TEAM—ALL CHANNELS

  PARTICIPANTS:

  Travis “Cerberus” Falk, Lieutenant, Team Commander

  Hanna Donnelly, Civilian

  DATE: 08/16/75

  TIMESTAMP: 11:56

  HANNA D: I want to speak to Jackson.

  CERBERUS: It would seem you are in a position unsuitable for giving orders, Miss Donnelly.

  HANNA D: I want to speak to Jackson, please.

  CERBERUS: Now, was that so difficult?

  CERBERUS: One moment.

  JACKSON M: Hanna? God…are you okay?

  HANNA D: I don’t know. I don’t know.

  HANNA D: When we talked before, when you were on the bridge, you said I should turn myself in.

  JACKSON M: I did.

  HANNA D: Do you…Have you changed your mind?

  JACKSON M: Hanna, are you crying?

  HANNA D: I don’t know what to do, Jax.

  JACKSON M: It’s okay. It’s going to be okay. God, please don’t cry.

  HANNA D: Nothing’s okay. I don’t know what to do. Should I…?

  JACKSON M: I get what you’re trying to do. Honestly. But if they find you out there alone…you’re dead. You’re safer in here with me.

  HANNA D: You’re sure?

  JACKSON M: They’re going to…God, I’m so sorry. But they’re going to…

  JACKSON M: I’m sorry they got to you through me. I really am. I didn’t want this. This is so ****ed up.

  HANNA D: I can’t…I don’t…Jax, I’m so tired. I’m so tired.

  JACKSON M: It’ll be better once you’re in here. At least we’ll be together. We’ll…we’ll be okay, I promise.

  HANNA D: I haven’t eaten. And I’ve been running. I thought they’d kill me, but they didn’t kill you when they took the bridge, so maybe…I don’t know.

  JACKSON M: Where are you? Look…just tell them where you’re hiding and they can come get you…okay?

  HANNA D: Is he there, the leader? Can you hear me, Cerberus?

  CERBERUS: I hear you, little Bumblebee.

  CERBERUS: You sound upset.

  HANNA D: I’m exhausted. I’m outflanked. I lost the only ally I had. I know what happens next.

  HANNA D: Do you promise you won’t hurt me if I come in? You won’t hurt Jackson?

  CERBERUS: I’m not some monster from a fairy tale, Miss Donnelly. I don’t kill anyone I don’t have to. I’m a professional, here to perform a simple task. And believe it or not, I have larger concerns than you right now.

  CERBERUS: So if you’re out of my way, you’re out of my mind.

  HANNA D: I want one person to come and get me. Unarmed.

  CERBERUS: I’d have to be rather foolish to agree to that, wouldn’t I? Given our circumstances?

  HANNA D: You’re the one who invaded my home. Killed my family. I want a show of good faith.

  HANNA D: You’ve got Jackson, and I have every reason to believe you’ll kill him if I do something stupid. Send one person.

  CERBERUS: I’ll send two. Fully armed. But under express orders not to hurt you unless you resist.

  CERBERUS: Good enough?

  HANNA D: I…

  HANNA D: Yes.

  CERBERUS: Bliss.

  CERBERUS: Where are you?

  HANNA D: Mess Hall 3. It’s closed for maintenance right now. Most of the doors are locked.

  CERBERUS: Clever girl.

  CERBERUS: My people will be there in ten minutes. Have those busy little hands high in the air when they arrive, please. Or the next sound young Master Merrick hears will be that of eternity calling.

  HANNA D: I understand.

  CERBERUS: I sincerely hope so, Miss Donnelly. For young Jackson’s sake.

  CERBERUS: Cerberus out.

  Footage opens in what used to be Commander Donnelly’s office in Heimdall C & C. Gathered in the room are Falk, Kali and one Jackson Merrick.

  Falk is behind his (newly replaced) desk. Kali is opposite, combat boots up on the smartglass. Beside her, Merrick is hunched in his chair, head hung, elbows on his knees. The kid looks like he hasn’t slept in days. Sunken eyes and hollow cheeks.

  “I sincerely hope so, Miss Donnelly,” says Falk into his headset. “For young Jackson’s sake. Cerberus out.”

  Falk cuts the transmission, looks Merrick up and down.

  “Cheer up,” he says. “A smile won’t kill you, Rapier.”

  Merrick sighs, drags his fingers through his hair.

  “You think she’ll do it?” Kali asks.

  “She’ll do it.” Merrick finally nods. “She’s smart enough to know she’s out of options. And she wouldn’t just leave me to die.”

  “Ah, young love.” Falk smiles, glances at Kali. “Kali, be a dear and take Alpha Squad, Ragman and Eden to Mess Hall 3. Bring me back our little Bumblebee’s head.”

  Kali stands with a wolfish grin, slings her burst rifle onto her shoulder. “Sir, yessir.”

  “Hey, waitaminute…” Merrick half comes to his feet.

  Falk raises one eyebrow. Merrick takes hold of himself, swallows hard.

  “You said you weren’t going to kill her.”

  Falk tilts his head. Frowns. “I lied?”

  “You don’t need to X her, sir. She’s giving herself up.”

  Kali bristles, but a glance from Falk holds her still. The commander leans back in his chair, drums his fingers on the desk.

  “Forgive me, Operative, but that sounds suspiciously like you’re questioning my orders.”

  Merrick sinks back into his chair, then leans closer to Falk. The prisoner Kali escorted to Falk’s office is crumpled in a corner, black bag still over his head, hands still cuffed, bloodstain on the wall behind him. Merrick glances at the body, swallows thickly.

  “I mean no disrespect, sir. I just don’t understand why Ha—why Donnelly needs to die.”

  “A thousand apologies, young master, did I somehow give the impression you need to understand?”

  Kali’s looming over Merrick like the angel of death. He glances at her, back to Falk.

  “Sir, just give Donnelly to me.”

  “Why? Is it your birthday, perchance?”

  “I know her. I can control her. We don’t need to kill her.”

  “I’m glad you’re here to tell me these things, young master.”

  “Look, I got dragged into this.” Merrick leans in further, anger flaring in those tired eyes. “An invasion of Heimdall was never part of the plan. I’m doing everything you asked and far more than my contract says, and the one thing I want is this girl. It�
�s the least—”

  And that’s as far as he gets. Falk looks to Kali—just the briefest glance—and the woman kicks Merrick out of his chair before another word escapes his lips. The kid grunts, rolls up to his feet, and Kali’s on him. Hands clapped onto his shoulder, knee buried in his groin so hard it makes my eyes water to watch it. All the wind goes out of Merrick’s sails right there, but Kali hauls him back up by his hair, buries her fist in his solar plexus. As Merrick tries to puke on an empty stomach, she leans in close and hisses, “Between KIAs and walking wounded, your sweetheart and her new lover have us seven–nil, little boy. Time to even the score.”

  She slings him across the room. Merrick bounces off the shuddering walls and hits the floor right beside that dead prisoner’s body. Kali plants her boot on Merrick’s throat and presses down hard enough to choke him.

  “Time to decide which team you’re on.”

  “Point proven, I think, Fleur,” says Falk. “Our young Samuel here has suffered a momentary lapse of judgment, is all.”

  Kali glances at Falk. Takes her boot off Merrick, leaves him to groan and curl into the fetal position, clutching his crotch. The woman looks to Falk, eyes alight.

  “Gather Ragman and Eden,” he says. “Make sure this time.”

  “What about Juggler? He’s a better shot.”

  “Eden just confirmed he’s flatline. Killed in a toilet in the Docking Sector, if you can believe it. Not quite the exit he imagined, I’d wager. Charlie Squad isn’t responding either, though at least they’re still on the move. So be a dear and hurry back, yes? You and I need to visit the reactor once our Bumblebee is squashed. We have problems.”

  Kali frowns at the mention of Charlie being offline, but quickly recovers.

  “Sir, yessir.”

  The woman stalks from the room, speaking fast into her commset. Falk rises, battle armor creaking, boots thudding on the temperfoam as he walks around and crouches beside Merrick. Smooths back the kid’s hair, runs a hand over his brow. Speaking softly.

  “Maginot, Samuel. Hair blond, eyes green, 201 centimeters tall. Born 07/11/55, Jia III. Third son of Luc and Rhea Maginot. Attended Ningxia Academy, graduated with honors in the top one percentile. Specialist covert ops, deep-seed infiltration…and so on and so forth…”