Assassin: Book Four in the Enhanced Series

by T. C. Edge

  “Follow me.”

  Frowning, I start following as he leads me into his room. With the storm continuing to rage outside, I see him opening up a drawer at the base of his wardrobe. His hands reach in, pulling out a set of grey garments. Women’s garments.

  He lays them onto his bed, and begins sorting through the half dozen or so items. He withdraws a shirt and passes it to me. I quickly snap it up and put it on, buttoning it up as he selects a pair of pants.

  “Where did you get these?” I ask, confused as to why he’d have a set of women’s clothing in his room.

  He takes a moment to answer. It’s long enough for me to realise the truth before he shares it.

  “They were Amelia’s,” he whispers. “I kept them...I don’t know why. You’re about the same size.”

  He hands me the pants, and turns to put the rest of the items back into the drawer. Then he comes out with a pair of flat grey shoes, handing them to me too.

  I just stand in silence, an awkwardness pervading me.

  “These were your wife’s? I…I can’t.”

  “It’s fine, Brie. Go ahead, put them on. I’ll give you some privacy.”

  He leaves the room, and I begin changing my pants and sliding into the shoes. They all fit well, the shoes requiring minimal adjustment.

  Then, stepping back into the living room, he looks upon me with a smile.

  “You see…they fit just fine.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “They, um…they do.”

  “Well good,” he says hastily. “If you’re going to pretend to be a Savant, then you have to look the part, right?”

  I nod silently.

  “So come on,” he continues, “give me your best impression.”

  There’s a strange note to his voice. He’s trying to lighten the mood.

  I look at him blankly.

  “Good,” he says with an awkward smile. “You’ve got the look down perfectly.”

  His eyes flash to the clock, the time hurrying past 3AM.

  “You’d better get going,” he says. “As you say, we don’t have much time to lose. I’ll keep trying Lady Orlando, and I’ll keep an eye on that one over there,” he adds, glancing at Agent Woolf’s bundle of limbs.

  “Um…any ideas where I should start?”

  He takes a breath, still looking at me slightly awkwardly, all dressed up in his dead wife’s clothes.

  And as uncomfortable as he looks, I feel ten times worse.

  “I’d say level 8…”

  “The fitness level?” I ask.

  “Yeah. With all the tension of the last couple of days, I’m thinking she’ll want to let off some steam. It should be quiet right now. Go there, and have a look around. If not, maybe she’ll want to grab some food, but I’d assume she’d do that after her workout…”

  “Right. Good idea.”

  Now it’s my turn to take a long breath, opening my eyes nice and wide and holding back any burgeoning feelings of fatigue.

  “Wish me luck then,” I say.

  He smiles and nods.

  “Good luck.”

  And with that, I turn to the door, fill my lungs, and set off towards the lifts.

  23

  The High Tower is different at night.

  It’s a little darker, the bright fluorescent lights dimmed along the corridors. It’s a lot emptier, the number of Savants whose duties keep them up late limited. And it’s far more eerie, a deep silence spreading across almost every floor, only broken by the occasional bout of thunder as the storm continues its strop.

  From the lifts up on level 51, I journey straight for level 8, hoping that the numbers of City Guards on duty are equally sparse as the current waking population.

  I haven’t yet spent much time on the fitness level, save the brief tour given by Adryan when I arrived, and yet am largely familiar with the layout. I have a decent memory for such things, and my examination of the schematics has certainly helped.

  As such, I know just where the swimming pools are, where the gyms are, where the running tracks are. I know the location of all the exercise facilities spread about the vast level, and will be able to quickly check them for my latest target.

  What I don’t know, however, is what Rebecca’s exercise preference is. Walking out onto the floor, I take a wild guess that swimming will be her thing, and so begin working my way towards the appropriate part of the level on its northern side.

  The floor is split into a dozen or so sections, each one given over to specific forms of exercise and fitness, as well as rooms to change and shower in. It doesn’t surprise me that Savants have no love of team activity, their dedication to staying fit and healthy very much a personal and solo pursuit.

  Mercifully, I find no City Guards on duty when I first enter the floor, its perimeter lined by a long corridor that circles the entirety of the level. At various points, passageways lead through to the different fitness sections, a network of paths providing easy access to anyone’s chosen physical activity.

  It’s so quiet that, aside from seeing no City Guards, I see no Savants at all. Not until I’ve worked my way towards the main swimming pool do I discover my first subject, a lonely figure gently gliding up and down in the water.

  The person appears to be alone, and looks to be a man as well.

  Not Rebecca then…

  I move off towards the next section, this one not a pool but a series of ‘swimming booths’, built in the fashion of running treadmills. Inside, the water flows continuously at varying and adjustable speeds, allowing the user to swim on the spot at whatever intensity they feel comfortable with.

  There are several dozen of these booths, all set out in a grid pattern. I listen closely and hear the sound of splashing coming from a couple, only two currently in operation.

  Moving to the first, I secretly peer in through the small glass window, and see that it’s a man, his hair short and back broad. No good. I move to the next, creeping up to do the same, and see long hair this time, swishing from side to side in the frothing water. The hair is the wrong colour, though: jet black. Rebecca’s is lighter. This isn’t her.

  As I make my conclusion, however, a voice peppers my ears.

  “What are you doing?”

  I look up to see a man peering at me, dressed in his black uniform. He surveys the room from the doorway in a manner that suggests he’s a Hawk. I lean away from the swimming booth as robotically as I can without appearing to overdo it.

  Time for me to test my acting skills.

  Walking towards him, I flatten my expression and dull my eyes.

  “Nothing,” I say, my voice equally vacant. “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

  It’s the sort of thing a Savant might say. No regular Enhanced, no matter what their duty or function, is the match of a Savant. I suspect he gets spoken to like that quite often by those who reside here.

  He doesn’t respond.

  Yet he still watches me closely as I move towards the door. I don’t look at him again, my machinelike motion sending me straight past him.

  Then his voice stops me.

  “Wait.”

  I stop, instinct taking over.

  “Don’t I know you?” he asks.

  He moves around the side of me. He doesn’t touch me or turn me – that would be too far – but instead works his way to my front and peers into my face.

  “Aren’t you…”

  I don’t let him conclude his sentence. My head may still be aching from my exertions today, but I’ve still got enough in the tank to glance an order into his mind.

  Leave me alone, I say. Continue on your rounds.

  His Hawk-eyes glaze over momentarily before he begins gliding past me, off away down the corridor. I let out a small breath and continue on my hunt.

  It takes a fair bit of exploration before I find who I’m looking for. I pass through several other exercise facilities, each time finding only a handful of people still up and active. And each time, I spy them with m
y Hawk-vision and fail to spot who I’m after.

  I’m all but ready to give up and try another level, when I hear the sound of tapping feet off in another section. I move inside and look upon a wide space used for running, and see a single frame gliding quite smoothly around the track.

  Oddly, while these Savants can be so mechanical during their daily lives, they can also be fairly fluid when in motion. And so it is with the slender figure now cruising around the track, moving at a very constant and quite impressive speed. For a non-Dasher at least.

  As she heads off away from me, I send my eyes forward and wait for her to curve around and her face to be revealed. And when it is, I allow a smile to break my otherwise solid Savant-imitation as my quarry comes into view.

  My appearance in the room doesn’t cause her to slow. However, she does glance over at me as she comes, perhaps finding my intrusion unexpected. Seeing as these people rely so much upon routine, anything out of the ordinary is sure to raise an eyebrow.

  Metaphorically speaking at least. I know they have serious trouble with the literal act of forming such an expression.

  Maintaining her pace, she continues round the track as I stand there, watching. The smile quickly falls from my face and I return to my performance, standing rigid and upright as she comes near. She cruises back past me, working around for another lap, but this time does seem to slow. And when she arrives before me again, she stops completely.

  It’s obvious she recognises me. But that’s not a problem. In fact, seeing as it’s so quiet, climbing into this disguise probably wasn’t necessary after all. With a light pant, she comes forward and merely says: “Good evening, Mrs Shaw. Why are you not wearing your assigned colour?”

  “I just wanted to have a wander around,” I say. “I thought it would look less suspicious wearing grey.”

  “That is true. But it’s also against protocol. You are strictly forbidden from deviating from the colours of the Unenhanced. I advise that you return to your apartment immediately. If not, I will be forced to alert the…”

  “You won’t do anything of the sort, Rebecca,” I say.

  Her expression registers a small amount of surprise at my comment, and the fact that I cut her off. For an Unenhanced to do that to a Savant is also firmly prohibited. She’s quick to let me know of that fact.

  “You continue to break protocol, Mrs Shaw. I have no choice but to report you, after which your marriage to Mr Shaw will be annulled and you will be sent back to Outer Haven.”

  “Wow, Rebecca, that’s quite the overreaction, don’t you think?!”

  “It is not for me to react to,” she responds. “It is merely the assigned protocol. We must all follow rules, Mrs Shaw. Your inability to do so makes you unsuitable for life here.”

  She steps towards me calmly, her breathing still a little heavy after her run.

  I move into her path to block the way out.

  And when her eyes guide to mine, I flash a very simple order into them.

  Take a seat by the wall.

  It’s such a basic order that it takes hold quickly. After the briefest of delays she moves straight to the wall and sits down.

  I follow behind, and take a knee in front of her.

  Now I set a new order. Again, it’s simple, and will give me time to work.

  Keep your eyes open. Look straight at me. Relax and stay calm.

  Her breathing slows. Her eyes open wide. Her vision sticks straight on me, her blue eyes dilating.

  “Good,” I whisper. “This won’t take long…”

  And with a quick check to make sure the coast is clear, I begin my search with a single thought pervading my mind.

  Please…please work.

  Her consciousness is like all Savants: vast, beautiful, stretching far and deep. There’s so much memory there, her ability to recall everything she sees and hears and experiences more acute than anyone I’ve ever tried to manipulate.

  Even from the outset, it’s clear that her deeper memories are clearer and more distinct, capable of being drawn up with a little effort if she needs to revisit them.

  I feel my pulse beginning to race as I start perusing her recollections, creeping through the vast fields of memory quietly and delicately so as not to rearrange things. I focus hard on memories of schedules, and think specifically of Director Cromwell.

  Who is he meeting next, Rebecca, I whisper. Who is Director Cromwell meeting?

  As I whisper into her mind, the right memories come forward, surrounding me in their little bubbles. Memories of spreadsheets and files and timings, of meetings set up between the various members of the Consortium and the city officials they regularly meet.

  I note that Deputy Commander Burns is fairly high on her agenda right now. He is to have his security credentials and permissions updated, his apartment on level 98 set to be vacated.

  Of course, I think to myself. He’s about to be given a major promotion.

  Tomorrow, he’s set to join the Consortium, taking up the position of Commander of the City Guard so recently vacated by Commander Fenby. They will waste no time in seeing their ranks completed once more, the body of their departed member barely cold before they see his position filled.

  I wonder if any of them even care. Do they spare a thought for their lost comrade, or do they merely look to the next man on the conveyor belt without a second thought?

  I assume it’s the latter, and it doesn’t surprise me one bit that Burns will be added to their ranks so quickly.

  Yet it does set my mind into focus. Will his promotion provide an opportunity for me? Will he be inaugurated somehow, perhaps welcomed in by Cromwell himself?

  With a new haste, I set about searching for details of his upgrade. Unfortunately, I find nothing concrete, Rebecca knowing only about the update to his security permissions and the fact that it will, in fact, be tomorrow that he sees himself officially added to the High Tower.

  By the sounds of it, such a thing comes with no fanfare at all. No ceremony, no grand procession. Just a simple journey in the lift to the top, where he’ll set about his new duty and be installed into his new residence.

  I guess, given how his predecessor was just assassinated, keeping a low profile over it all isn’t so surprising.

  A little further excavation suggests that he’s already beyond my grasp anyway. He lives up on level 98, and is about to rise a couple of floors to the summit. It may just be that he’s spent his last days out on the streets of Inner –and Outer – Haven, his world now the cooped up dome of this towering structure.

  And, in any case, being a Mind-Manipulator himself, and one of serious ability at that, I wouldn’t have any chance of rendering him under my control.

  So, I start looking further, partially disappointed, and yet partially buoyed by the fact that Rebecca has access to such information. For several more minutes, I focus hard and continue my search, sifting through data and files in her mind as I work my way deeper into her consciousness.

  As I begin to grow concerned that I may be causing serious damage to her mind, I happen upon a name that rings a bell. It, too, appears to be quite bright in her mind, Rebecca’s subconscious considering it important and in need of her attention.

  I see the name, and it’s joined by a face. A face I saw once before at the bachelor ball.

  Ingrid W. Humbert, High Secretary for the Council of Matrimony.

  With her name, and face, now growing clear in Rebecca’s memories, I find myself acting faster, searching through her schedule.

  In two days time, she’s to come to the High Tower. Something important. An important meeting. I search frantically now for the destination, for the person she’s set to meet, and feel my pulse rise dramatically as I go.

  And then I see it. See what I’m looking for.

  Level 99. 7PM. Northernmost meeting room.

  I stop, and return to my own mind now, thinking again of the schematics of the High Tower. Level 99 is the middle ground between the Consortium and
their subordinates, the level where they conduct meetings with other high ranking Savants right beneath their own quarters.

  The northernmost meeting room will be directly beneath the northernmost residence of the High Tower.

  The residence occupied by Director Cromwell…

  And that’s just who she’ll be meeting.

  I take a shallow breath and slowly now, gently, withdraw from Rebecca’s mind, an excitement saturating me. I look into my latest target’s eyes and see that they’re still unblinking, slightly glazed. Slowly but surely, they come back to life, and her eyes focus on me once more.

  “Mrs Shaw…um, can I help you?”

  She looks to her left and right, seemingly confused by what’s just happened. I dart back inside her mind and see the cloud, the memory of my presence in her mind too indistinct for even her to see, despite her powerful eidetic memory.

  And standing back to my full height, I reach down and extend my hand.

  “I found you here, sat against the wall,” I say. “I just came to see if you were OK…”

  She doesn’t take my hand, but stands to her feet by herself. Then she peruses my appearance as she did when I arrived not so long ago.

  “Why are you wearing those clothes?” she asks.

  I can’t help but smile.

  “It’s a long story,” I say. “And one you won’t remember.”

  “What do you mean? I remember everything, Mrs Shaw.”

  I shake my head.

  “Not this.”

  And darting back into her head, I hastily erase any memory of my presence, manipulating her one final time before sending her off again around the running track for another few laps.

  As she begins running off, yet another slave for me to command, I quickly hasten my way out through the door before she loops around, and speed my step straight back to the lifts.

  And as I do, I give up all pretences of acting like a Savant, my motion buoyant and face bright, despite the dangers I still face and the fatigue clawing at my limbs.

  Because now, I’ve found what I was searching for. Now I know who my final target will be.

  In two days time, at 7PM, Ingrid W. Humbert will rise up to the northernmost meeting room of level 99. And there, she’ll meet none other than the man I’m so desperate to see: Director Artemis Cromwell.