Helix: Episode 1 (Helix)
Nathan M Farrugia
Anomaly Press
Contents
About Helix: Episode 1
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
About Helix: Episode 2 (Exile)
Buy Helix: Episode 2
By Nathan M. Farrugia
About Nathan M. Farrugia
Credits
Acknowledgments
About Helix: Episode 1
A spy hunter. A rogue operative .
A secret war that could destroy them both .
Olesya hunts the operatives she was trained to become. But when a clandestine mission takes her from the illegal bio-clinics of Brazil to the icy borderlands of Kaliningrad, she encounters an operative with a dangerous secret. As operatives and hunters start vanishing, one thing becomes clear ...
They aren’t the only players in this deadly game .
This is the first episode in the new bestselling series of cyberpunk thrillers by Australian ex-recon soldier Nathan M. Farrugia. Do you like conspiracies and genetically-enhanced operatives? You’ll love this action-packed cross between Jason Bourne and Altered Carbon . Find out why readers are calling it “the most addictive action series” they’ve read .
Chapter One
D amien wasn’t meant to be here .
‘Thirty-five minutes and you haven’t asked why you’re in this room,’ the border control officer said .
Damien was sitting in an interview room, although he used the term loosely since his wrists were duct taped to the chair’s plastic armrests, with cable ties fastened over the tape just to be sure. If he had to be honest, this wasn’t quite how he’d planned things .
They weren’t taking chances either. Both his sneakers were missing their shoelaces and there was no partition glass. Just a single camera in the corner, which brought him little comfort .
The officer sat behind a table, directly under a sprinkler head fixed to the ceiling. On the table there was a single sheet of paper, face down. The linoleum floor smelled of ammonia, searing Damien’s nostrils. Vents blew cool air; the room temperature was intentionally cold .
The officer prodded a tablet with an impatient finger. He was American, but his portly midsection pressed against his local Guatemalan uniform .
‘Would you like to know why you’re here?’ he asked .
‘You find my aura unusually calming?’ Damien said .
‘I find your criminal record unusually alarming .’
He held up the paper for Damien to see. It was blank .
But Damien was more interested in the officer’s arm. There was a thin band of white fabric above his right elbow. He’d seen it before, yet couldn’t quite place it .
‘I filled out the immigration form wrong, didn’t I?’ Damien said. ‘I should’ve put Casual Relief Teacher .’
‘I hope you enjoyed your time in Guatemala.’ The officer’s attention was back on his tablet .
‘Thank you…’ Damien said, reading the surname on his uniform, ‘…Officer White. As far as being pulled off a bus at gunpoint and cavity searched goes, it’s been a real blast. Some people pay for that experience .’
‘And I expect you’ll pay for this,’ White said .
‘I’d prefer Shibari rope play, but we can work with that,’ Damien said .
White’s left eye twitched, barely. ‘You don’t choose .’
Damien focused with his enhanced hearing. There was light traffic in the corridor outside, and someone was talking about his possessions in the opposite room. White’s breathing was a bit faster than it should’ve been .
‘Level 181. It’s not a place you want to be stuck on,’ White said .
Damien blinked. ‘Is that where I am ?’
White looked up from his tablet. ‘I mean on Candy Crush. Level 181 is literally impossible .’
‘Why did you take me off the bus?’ Damien asked .
White barely raised an eyebrow. ‘That doesn’t matter anymore .’
‘When the other officers saw my passport, they seemed pretty keen to put me on that bus .’
‘Believe me when I tell you I was doing you a favor.’ White put his tablet down. ‘What matters is where you will go. There are certain gentlemen from a department of the United States government who look forward to meeting you. They should be here soon .’
‘And which department is that?’ Damien asked .
‘Do I look like I should know, or even care?’ White glared at him. ‘Do you know who I am ?’
‘I’m crossing off “romantic love interest,”’ Damien said. ‘Or am I not giving us the chance we deserve ?’
‘What we deserve?’ He gave Damien a self-assured nod. ‘We deserve to be purged .’
‘I was thinking of doing a detox myself .'
‘Are you scared, Damien ?’
He knew the answer. He could die here. Or worse, the government could take him. ‘I’m a little concerned .’
‘Some things have no right to exist,’ White said, his hand on his holster. ‘Some things should never be born .’
Damien felt his skin crawl. Maybe it was the cold air, maybe it was White. ‘What things?’ he asked .
White lifted his hand from the holster and inspected his fingertips. ‘It’s not just what they are, but what they do.’ He looked at Damien, unwavering. ‘What did you do, exactly ?’
Damien felt his pulse race, a dull throb in his ear. He breathed slowly and focused on the officer. There was still a way out. ‘You’re not interested in what I did. You’re interested in who they are. And how they can pull strings so far above your head .’
White shifted in his seat. His chair squeaked. ‘They’re just another agency .’
‘It doesn’t matter what agency they say they’re from,’ Damien said. ‘They’re not .’
White stood and began to circle the table. He paused in front of Damien and folded his arms. ‘Why do you think I’d believe anything you say ?’
Damien resisted the urge to blink. ‘That depends on what I say .’
‘Do you think you’ll survive this ?’
‘If you didn’t take me off that bus, would I have survived ?’
White frowned. ‘That’s a strange question .’
‘With a strange answer,’ Damien said .
‘It depends on what you mean by survival.’ White’s tablet buzzed. He walked over to check it, then double-check it. His lips shivered into a smile. ‘I have some good news .’
The door opened and a pair of uniformed officers entered. Like White, they didn’t appear to be local. And like White, they both wore white arm bands. One officer closed the door .
Their name tags read Price and Gray. Price had an oddly large head and thick eyebrows that twitched when he drew a fixed-blade knife. It didn’t look government issue, and it didn’t glint under the light because it was coated black .
Gray didn’t reach for her knife, but she kept a hand close to her holstered stun gun. Her glass-green eyes focused on Damien’s body instead of his face. Damien pulled sharply on his restraints, but it did little good. From opposing sides, both officers approached him .
‘Change of plans?’ Damien asked .
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p; ‘No,’ White said. ‘Change of strings .’
Chapter Two
Seven years ago
St Petersburg, Russia
‘W ake up.’
Olesya rubbed her eyes. Zakhar, her older brother, was whispering in her ear .
‘What are you doing?’ she asked, sitting up .
Zakhar held a letter, typed and printed. She tried to read it but some of the English words were difficult. Zakhar giggled and folded the paper over to reveal the Russian translation .
‘I’m … accepted? I have the scholarship?’ she asked .
He grinned. ‘Congratulations !’
‘Where did you get this?’ she asked .
‘I took it from the kitchen,’ Zakhar said. ‘But you need to act surprised when they tell us tomorrow .’
Olesya looked at him. ‘Where’s your letter? Did you get in ?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘My letter’s different .’
‘But … I’m going without you ?’
Zakhar smiled. ‘You’re fourteen now, you can do it. I know you can .’
She looked at her brother. He was dressed in jeans, a down jacket and beanie .
‘Where are you going?’ she asked .
‘I’m going to build a snowman,’ he said. ‘And I’m not doing it by myself .’
She frowned. ‘In the middle of the night ?’
‘All the other kids are doing it. And it’s your last New Year before you go.’ Zakhar wiggled an eyebrow. ‘You don’t want to miss out on the fun. Unless you’re boring — ’
Olesya pushed him to one side. ‘I’ll get my boots — ’
‘These ones?’ Zakhar was already holding them .
She grabbed them. ‘Lucky guess .’
Zakhar paced the bedroom while she pulled a thick sweater and jeans over her pajamas. He’d already picked out their scarves and gloves. She reached for the door. Zakhar put his hand on her arm .
‘The window,’ he said. ‘Always go through the window .’
Luckily they were on the first floor, because she didn’t like heights. The window creaked as he opened it, and she hoped their parents wouldn’t hear. She could hear them with the other adults. They were in the apartment next door, sharing Olivier salad, champagne and loud stories .
Their voices were constant enough to cover Zakhar’s movements as he helped Olesya out into the winter’s night, holding up the window so she could wriggle through. She let him take her hand and steer them to the subway, avoiding next door’s windows. It was only a five-minute trip into town and they didn’t have to wait more than a minute for the train .
It was almost two in the morning, but the streets were filled with equal amounts of kids and grownups. She watched kids slide down a hill on a wooden sled and plough into a clump of snow. They disappeared into the white, their laughter muffled .
Zakhar’s nose was already winter-red as he pulled her eagerly toward the bridge. He wanted to walk across the canal—the water frozen solid—but she chose the bridge instead, not wanting to slip across the ice. He didn’t protest and instead they crossed the bridge and reached the Palace Square. This was their first new-year celebration outside of their hometown in Belarus and she wasn’t prepared for so many people or decorations .
In front of the peppermint and cream Winter Palace, Olesya could see large crowds gathering. Grownups ate pirozhki —pies filled with cabbage, mushrooms or beef—while the kids nibbled on sweet gingerbread. Some of the families danced around fir Christmas trees that sparkled with gold ornaments and purple, blue, and green fairy lights. They were dancing for Santa Claus—Grandfather Frost— and his granddaughter, the Snow Maiden .
Olesya squeezed Zakhar’s hand. ‘Let’s dance .’
‘Nooooooo,’ he said as she pulled him through the crowd .
They made it as far as the nearest glittering fir tree before Zakhar saw the circle of kids and dug his heels into the snow. He poked his tongue out and broke from her grasp. Olesya gave chase, cutting him off at the market stalls. By then he was distracted. He seemed to ignore the pies and go straight for the fireworks stall. She caught up and pushed him to the next stall where she could talk him into sweet cotton instead. He used his pocket money to pay for two pink balls of fluff, each on a stick, and handed her one .
‘They call this cotton candy in America,’ Zakhar said .
He bit a chunk off the sweet cotton so large it stuck to his cold nose. Olesya laughed as she watched him try to retrieve it with his tongue, going cross-eyed. He was just showing off, so she took the sweet cotton from his nose. He tried to stop her but she was too fast, shoving it in her mouth. It melted on her tongue and tasted exactly like pink .
‘That’s not fair!’ Zakhar said .
This time, Olesya stuck her tongue out .
Together, they walked Nevsky Prospekt and ate their sweet cotton. Zakhar didn’t seem to have a direction in mind, which was fine with her .
‘You’ll need to know words like “cotton candy,”’ he said .
‘I know,’ Olesya said. ‘I need to learn more English .’
‘You’re super-smart. You can do it.’ He pulled her beanie over her eyes. ‘I still get to see you on vacation, right ?’
She nodded, breathing thimbles of cold air. The buildings on both sides of Nevsky Prospekt were high and dusted in snow, lit with pretty lights. Everyone seemed to be smiling tonight, eyes warm with hope for the new year .
‘What should we do?’ Zakhar asked .
Olesya wrinkled her nose. ‘Build a snowman, obviously .’
His eyes lit up. ‘Let’s build a snow army !’
‘I have a better idea,’ she said. ‘Let’s build a snow dinosaur !’
‘I’ll make the horns !’
The street was busy and Olesya had to watch her step so the sweet cotton didn’t stick to someone’s coat. They crossed another frozen white canal. On either side of the road there were more aged buildings. Some were aglow with festive lights while others—candy cathedrals and apricot fortresses—gleamed with an enchantment of their own. Zakhar found a garden that was less crowded, but still coated in snow. Olesya scooped up a handful and smoothed it into a ball .
‘I like this statue,’ he said, standing before it .
With a scepter in one hand and olive wreath in the other, the Empress of Russia stood before them. Below her, a second tier of carved men and women—politicians, poets, swordfighters, and courtiers .
Olesya knew the Empress from her mother’s history books. She was called Catherine the Great. Born Sophie Friederike Auguste in the eighteenth century, she was intelligent, kind, and ambitious. Sophie expanded the country’s education, science, and the arts, bringing a golden age to Russia it had never seen before .
Olesya ducked just in time as a snowball almost struck her face .
‘How did you—’ Zakhar said .
She was ready, hurling her snowball at him in mid-run. It exploded over his ear. He spat snow and tumbled. Olesya ran over to see if he was hurt, but he sprang to his feet with a new snowball that clipped her shoulder. He adjusted his beanie and looked up at her .
‘You never miss,’ he said. ‘How do you do that ?’
‘Easy.’ She wiped snow from her coat. ‘I watch you move and know where to throw it .’
Zakhar collapsed on his back with a sigh. ‘That’s why they picked you .’
Olesya slumped down behind him, the top of her beanie touching his. She looked up at the sugarcoated spires. They pointed to the stars above .
‘What if I come back and you’re not here anymore?’ she asked .
‘I’ll always be here,’ Zakhar said. ‘And if I move, I’ll leave a secret message for you where no one can find it, except you .’
She laughed. ‘That’s impossible .’
‘Nothing’s impossible.’ Zakhar, still lying down, pointed toward the statue of Catherine the Great. His finger aimed for one of the people carved under her. ‘See that woman in the gown, holding that book ?�
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She followed his aim. ‘The head of science .’
‘Yeah, her.’ He nodded. ‘I’ll hide a secret note in her gown that only you can find .’
‘What if … I can’t?’ Olesya hated the words as she said them .
For a while, he was silent. It was the longest she’d seen him not talk. Above them, fireworks crackled, then trickled down the velvet sky. Olesya tried to imagine what this scholarship on the other side of the world would be like. What it would be like without her big brother .
The snow squeaked under Zakhar’s jacket. He rubbed his face with a gloved hand and she realized he’d been crying. The fireworks had faded now, golden glitter in the night .
‘I’m supposed to look out for you,’ he said. ‘How will I know you’ll be OK ?’
‘You won’t.’ She squeezed his hand. ‘Even I won’t know that .’
Chapter Three
One year later
Location: Classified
T he entire squad stopped what they were doing and looked at Olesya .
‘What are you doing here?’ one of them asked .
This wasn’t off to a great start .
There were nine recruits inside the compact living quarters. The quarters smelled of used socks and shoe polish. There was a pair of recruits to almost every metal bunk bed, the bed sheets folded with hospital corners and smoothed by a wooden ruler. The recruits wore nametags velcroed to their uniforms, a privilege reserved only for those in Combat Training .
A boy stepped forward, arms folded. Olesya recognized him as Ark, the squad leader. He was tall and thin, with curly brown hair and rounded eyes that looked too big for his head. He smirked as he approached .
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