Orion yanked his sleeve from his grasp and turned to face him. “It’s my sister! I have to go!” His pale face was flushed from the exertion of wrestling with conflicting emotions, but he set his jaw, and it seemed to help him draw strength while the rest of his body was still undecided. His fingers twitched, alternatively clenching and convulsing with nervous energy, and he was panting, bordering on hyperventilation. It was obvious that he was not thinking clearly.
Connor dropped his grin, becoming more appropriately stolid, and calmly took a step back, letting his hands fall naturally at his sides. “Look, this isn’t the place to be having this sort of discussion,” he suggested reasonably, hoping to mollify his partner into rational thought. “Why don’t we head back to your apartment and talk it out, yeah?” Then despite himself, he couldn’t prevent the small, wry smirk from appearing on his lips, and he quickly injected a healthy dose of stern criticism into his voice to counteract it. “Maybe we can come up with a plan that doesn’t involve you stupidly sacrificing yourself.”
Orion glowered, but his challenging gaze didn’t last long. The tension drained from his body as his initial wave of adrenaline ebbed, and he closed his eyes in resignation. “Fine,” he agreed sullenly.
- - -
The conference room was cozy as well as functional. The original facility had been hastily annexed to house Eric Dane, and as the new training program had grown, it had gradually absorbed wings from the former owner until the USDA had been entirely evicted from the site. On paper, Plum Island remained an animal research center to allow for expansion of the site without drawing suspicion from the locals and to conceal its true purpose. The room was a remnant from those early days; it was perpetually slated for renovation but never received it, and it had adapted over the years to the limitations of its confined size. A hardy table was centered in the room, providing a focal point for prominent attendees to do their business, and plenty of chairs lined the walls to allow individuals to listen or take notes whenever the table was full.
There was no need to be concerned about space that night, as only three people were in attendance: William Terrance; his boss, Jocasta Summers; and the containment supervisor, Nick Sable. They were joined via teleconference by Charlene Vicker and the two surviving surveillance agents. No one was happy tonight, especially not Summers, whose already severe face was distorted by displeasure. She was no taller than the rest of them, yet she seized the center of attention and, by doing so, seemed to grow in height. Her hair, which was normally pinned into a French twist, was a frizzy mess, and Terrance imagined that she’d hastily restyled it after receiving the call at her Greenport house and immediately reporting back. The rest of her appearance was immaculate, and her grim expression dared someone to disappoint her.
“Tell me the full situation,” she demanded. She spoke rapidly, as if she had little time to spare for this meeting, but Terrance had experienced her indifferent method of speaking in the past; she had much on her mind and often tried to hit everything on a long internal list without accounting for the extra time it might take to fully explore or explain the items. In this case, every minute counted, as it placed them further behind the perpetrators, and she was due to explain the situation to Washington, D.C. shortly. Although Charlene Vicker worked for headquarters directly and could relate the account to her superiors, it was Summers’ responsibility. “What have you found? What are your leads?”
Charlene spoke first, explaining how Cassiopeia Starr had broken curfew and her escalating attempts to locate the missing subject, and when she reached the end of her narrative, she passed it onto Parker, the senior agent in his partnership. Spurred by 9/11, he’d enrolled in a nascent Homeland Security degree program once he’d graduated from high school, and he’d worked his way up the ranks over the years before transferring to the smaller BSI under the promise of concentrating on a unique threat to national security. In contrast to his partner, his field experience was limited, despite extensive training, and his years of service, as well as his familiarity with the department’s procedures, placed him above Barton, who was a former Ohio police officer and relatively recent hire. “We split up when we arrived on scene,” Parker explained. “I took the house while Barton checked on the agents.”
Summers crossed her arms. “You checked the house?” she asked in a critical voice. His actions were technically against protocol, as Parker had risked exposing the operation by contacting the subject directly. If the subject had taken note of his appearance, she might later recognize that he had been following her.
“I had a plan to impersonate someone,” he assured her, “but it didn’t matter. The door was ajar.” Parker explained that he’d announced his presence as a federal agent as he’d drawn his weapon and entered the trailer, where he’d immediately seen the remains of Felix Buchanan. His voice was marked by disgust, ostensibly by the recollection of a teenager’s splattered brains, but his composure remained admirably intact as he described clearing the remaining rooms. He hadn’t found anything significant, aside from the subject’s purse—left behind on the counter—which held her cell phone and their only means of tracking her.
Summers scowled, deepening the lines of her otherwise plain face, as she addressed Sable. “I noticed in the file that it was the only tracking she had,” she remarked reprovingly. “Why is that?”
“Ma’am, it is standard procedure for—”
“She’s a flight risk, is she not?” she interjected. Terrance wouldn’t characterize the subject’s risk of disappearing from the BSI’s custody as her own initiative; by her own admission, she’d almost been abducted by VSION and had resisted because it hadn’t felt like a wise decision to leave with the Vanguard. However, BSI was using her as leverage against her older brother, and consequently, more precautions should have been taken. Terrance surmised that Summers would have insisted on employing methods similar to those practiced with assets, and while he wouldn’t disagree in principle, he didn’t think strapping a rechargeable GPS to the subject would have been practical.
“So shouldn’t closer accountability techniques have been used?” Summers demanded, confirming his thoughts. She’d entrusted her department heads to run their sections without her interference, but tonight she undoubtedly regretted not having micromanaged their decisions.
“It was suggested and rejected, ma’am,” Charlene explained. “Both Cas—” She immediately corrected herself, as BSI designations were meant to dehumanize subjects, making it easier to deal with them objectively; Connor was the only exception to this rule, and this was only because it was necessary to keep his secret. “Supernova and her brother are too educated for the old techniques. She knows too much about technology to be fooled by simple misdirection.”
“That’s why we’re developing new accountability procedures,” Sable clarified. He then added, “She also lived with a BSI employee, so the risk was deemed low. In fact, if she hadn’t cohabitated with Vicker, we might not yet know she went missing.” While the statement was true because deceased agents couldn’t report movement, it didn’t help his case.
Nevertheless, Summers gave a reluctant nod and moved on. “Barton, what did you see?”
As Barton spoke, Terrance envisioned her grim expression and curt nod. “While Parker searched the trailer, I went to check on our agents,” she began. Normal procedure was to observe the subject from a distance, which had been accomplished in this case by following her to the Buchanan place, parking two to three blocks up the street, and watching her through binoculars. Though troubled by the lack of contact with the team, Barton initially believed that the two of them had simply been complacent—even negligent—that night. The missing agents had parked their car in a pool of shadow between two streetlamps, and she’d called their phone again as she’d approached the vehicle in the hopes that they’d answer and confirm their status. Once again, they’d failed to answer the call
, and she’d become unsettled as she’d drawn nearer and had been able to make out their unmoving silhouettes. “I drew my weapon and approached the car slowly,” she said, slipping further into a detached tenor, and her voice became more intense. “The first thing I noticed was that the passenger-side window was down. Foster was slumped in the passenger seat. It looked like she’d been shot through the forehead at point-blank range.”
Terrance closed his eyes. Foster had recently returned to duty after maternity leave. She’d asked for an easier detail—one that would have allowed her to be home more often to continue nursing her newborn—and he’d promised her that he’d arrange it as soon as a position became available. Waynesboro had been that assignment.
“Ayala didn’t do much better,” Barton continued. “He tried to pull his weapon, but it looks like the door and the steering column got in the way, and the suspect got the drop on him.” Terrance briefly wondered if Ayala would be still alive had he been right-handed, but he discarded this line of thought; his grief didn’t need to be fed by what-if scenarios.
“Whoever the perpetrator was, they’ve definitely killed before, but I wouldn’t exactly say they were professional,” Barton speculated, voice discolored by disdain. “We’re working with the local police to canvas the neighborhood. Someone had to have seen or heard something.”
Summers narrowed her eyes. “It’s one thing to lose an asset; it’s entirely different to find our agents assassinated. The perpetrators were professional,” she asserted vehemently, “in and of the fact that they knew where our agents were and eliminated them.” She inhaled deeply, clenching her jaw tighter. “Could it have been VSION?”
Terrance grimaced. “They were after the girl before,” he agreed quietly.
“We haven’t found any evidence of abilities being utilized,” Parker answered. Unhappily, he ticked off signs of known Vanguard abilities, rejecting the presence of their owners. “No excessive breakage, water puddles, or even unexplained scorch marks from the girl.”
Barton cut in angrily. “We didn’t have a Geiger counter handy, but I doubt it would have detected anything,” she spat. “Our agents were shot. VSION hasn’t used guns in a confrontation yet.” Her antagonism was unexpected, yet Terrance recalled a minor detail from her file: She’d left the police force after being caught in a shootout during the pursuit of a robbery suspect. Moving up to the federal level had reduced the likelihood of her being caught in another violent confrontation despite the BSI’s sustained standoff with the Vanguard, and she was undoubtedly distraught that she’d been unable to protect her fellow agents.
Summers sighed as she pushed air through her clenched teeth, resulting in a hissing sound. “Could it have been the girl?” she asked, resigned to hearing an affirmative answer that would end the subject’s life and their secure hold on her brother. “Could she have done this, with or without help?”
“We were always careful to hang back. She never noticed us,” Parker contended. “No close calls. Nothing.”
Summers nodded briskly, convinced. “We need to get her back,” she declared, placing emphasis on each word. “Penumbra’s continued cooperation hinges on her.” Then, reverting to her clipped tone, she turned to Terrance. “Call Connor. Tell him to watch out for her trying to contact her brother, strange behavior… anything that might be a clue.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“But under no circumstances is Connor to let Penumbra know we lost her,” she commanded, again stressing the importance of secrecy. “Parker, Barton, continue working with the local police,” she commanded. She set her jaw again, working the muscles in lieu of staring down the absent agents. “I don’t like this one bit. You scout that crime scene, and then you scrub it clean,” she barked. “If Others were involved, I don’t want any outsider finding out.” In a deliberate voice, she added, “Keep this contained.” Continuing her momentum, she switched gears, and if she’d been in the room, Summers’ attention would have instantly shifted. “Vicker–”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“I know you don’t work for me, but we’ll need your help on this.” Summers’ tone softened to a level that was appropriate for requesting a favor, but she was still in control, and it would be difficult to refuse her. “Can your husband be brought on board?”
Though Charlene hesitated, she did not allow silence to coalesce, and she hid her discomfort well, allowing her voice to waver during only the first sentence. “He’s the head officer working the case,” she answered. “He knows I work for the DHS and that there’s something special about Cassie.” Terrance noticed this time that Charlene hadn’t bothered to correct herself, and he made a mental note to follow up with Sable about the Vickers’ continued suitability. It had likely been a misstep caused by frequent everyday references to her real name, but it still merited an investigation; as Supernova’s de facto handler, he could not afford to have Charlene lose her objectivity with the subject. “I can have him sign an NDA and explain the situation and our mission. I think he’ll help us suppress evidence in the name of national security,” she offered, sounding more confident.
“Good,” Summers replied, satisfied. “Parker, Barton, deal with Vicker’s husband exclusively if you have to,” she said. “None of this goes anywhere higher than a kidnapping or possible runaway. Got it?” The three of them agreed, and she didn’t give much time for additional comments as she ended the call abruptly. Summers had little time for pleasantries.
She straightened, having leaned over to be able to better project her voice for the call, and crossed her arms as unease slyly crept into her features. “I don’t like this at all,” she opined; it was likely an aside not meant for them, as she immediately leveled the two of them with her disapproving and now hostile gaze. “How the hell is she not being better tracked?” she demanded of Sable.
“Well, ma’am—”
She silenced him, cutting his explanation off. “Do you know what losing a subject means for your program?” she rebuked him. “Jarvis has been pushing to euthanize all non-assets, and after this fiasco, I’m inclined to agree with him.” She let her statement hang menacingly in the air for a moment, staring him down and letting him know that he was on thin ice, before she continued. “This is terrible, especially since she’s an elementalist,” she added heatedly. “Do you know what kind of damage she can do?”
He flinched, countering weakly, “She passed the training program with flying colors. She’s the first elementalist to do so.”
“I don’t care,” she snapped. “That’s even worse, because now it means she’s a smart bomb.” Her anger wasn’t directed solely at Sable, which was a fact that Terrance soon discovered as her focus shifted and her brusque attitude steered her aggravation toward him. “Are we sure about Connor?” Harshly, she demanded, “Why the hell did you partner an asset with another asset?”
It had been a joint decision by Sable and Terrance—one that had been made following several hours of debate—and the choice had not been made lightly. The Starrs had presented a unique situation, with Penumbra’s valuable ability necessitating special handling, and the circumstances of their apprehension had created obstacles. Unlike Antithesis, they had not been isolated from modern society, so it had been impossible for them to be misled by ignorance or misdirected from the fetters that the BSI exploited. New techniques would have had to have been created in the short and long term, and when Connor’s inquiries had been channeled up to Terrance, he had embraced the opportunity and acted on it.
Terrance cleared his throat. “They established a rapport, however minor it may have been, and Connor was present for Supernova’s incident with her father,” he explained, outlining his logic. “Penumbra chose to save his life and, in doing so, revealed his ability to us.” Connor had followed up immediately on the Starrs as soon as he’d been released from the hospital, evidently invested in their well-
being as a result of gratitude for having received their aid. This should have been a disqualifying factor for a partnership, and Terrance had known that Connor would be treading a thin line. “If I’d denied Connor’s request after that, he’d have started investigating the reason why, and we didn’t want him looking too closely, did we?” he asked, meaning Connor’s case files and his own dossier. Handlers were mandated to be objective with their subjects, and though Connor had demonstrated a personal interest in the Starrs, this connection was understandable, and Connor had since established that his objectivity had remained uncompromised. If Terrance had used this mitigatable factor to deny Connor’s request to be partnered with the new asset, he might have turned his detective skills on the situation and uncovered his significant disqualifying factor.
“He wouldn’t have figured it out from one case,” Summers replied skeptically.
Terrance shrugged. “I didn’t want to risk it, and as I said, Connor already had a rapport with him,” he countered. He shifted, taking a more comfortable posture, and used his hands to emphasize his points as he defended his position. “You know how most of the agents regard the assets… even Connor—a supposed ‘field agent.’ That’s not going to make a kid warm up to the idea of helping us voluntarily.” Even though Connor was afforded the same benefits as every other agent—access to files, department resources, and unrestricted facility areas—he was basically shunned by his peers, none of whom wanted to become attached to an asset who might be euthanized someday.
“He’s basically here under coercion, but we want his willing cooperation,” he continued. “We’re not going to get that if he’s partnered with someone who hates his very existence.” Lawrence Johnson immediately came to mind; his distaste for Others colored even his personal interaction with Antithesis, who felt similarly about her kind. “At least Connor still treats them like humans, and we know he’ll make the hard decisions.”
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