Rogue (The Genesis Files Book 1)

by Bonnie Synclaire

  Main Level

  U1: Training Rooms

  U2: Weapons & Gadgets Center

  U3: Residence Hall

  U4: Technology & Vehicles Center

  U5: Planning Center

  Mr. MacRyan takes us down to the Planning Center—floor U5. When the elevator doors open, I see an armed woman at the end of the long, wide hall. She wears a gray pantsuit and hat, black sunglasses hiding her eyes. The walls and ceiling are dark gray, the floor bare concrete, the lights above us dim. There are three doors on each side of us.

  “This is where most of our plotting and meetings happen.” Mr. MacRyan says, leading us to the last door on the right. He and the silent guard exchange nods, and he removes something from his neck—his ID card—and a thin red laser scans it, going up and down the card two times. The door beeps, unlocked. “These walls are soundproof, bulletproof. Twelve inches of pure stone.” Mr. MacRyan goes on as the five of us gather inside the vacant planning room. It’s not very spacious, but can fit eight chairs on each side of the big glass table that’s in the middle of the room, with a large dominant black leather chair up front. A big flat screen TV is up on the wall, a few file cabinets and a water fountain sit in the corner. “Have a seat, everyone. Tell me, what brought all of you down here of all places?”

  Joanna and Skye sit on either side of me, and D sits across from us, hood back on. Mr. MacRyan caters us all small cups of water. “Thank you.” I say gratefully, just now noticing how dry my throat was. Drinking the water makes me feel much better.

  “Harper, do you want to tell Chief MacRyan everything that’s happened to you and your sister so far?” D asks me.

  “S-Sure…” I set my cup down on the table.

  “If you don’t feel comfortable talking right now, it’s okay. Not many sixteen-year-olds are in situations like this, even the ones who have been in the FBI business their whole lives. Chief, do you remember the Scorpion Project?” D says, all business now.

  “Yes,” Mr. MacRyan says slowly, sitting in the big leather chair before us.

  “Well, the Scorpion ex-agents have been laying low, plotting, observing. Their next full attempt is in two weeks. Do you have files or records of them here?” D says.

  “I’m afraid not. Only Genesis and an FBI branch outside of Pittsburgh have that stuff, and I’m not sure if they still have undercover cops and spies keeping an eye on their illegal activities. My branch isn’t even close to there, and I have my own problems to deal with. How do you know so much about the ex-agents since the remaining agents rebelled?” Mr. MacRyan says to D, leaning forward, resting his elbows on the table.

  D sighs. “I was…one of the ones who decided to join Edward Bowser III.”

  Mr. MacRyan’s eyebrows raise again, his face growing suspicious. “ You , Demetrius? With him ? Why?”

  “Well, Bowser still thinks I’m on his side, but he’ll catch on that I’m still trying to escape very soon, if he hasn’t already.”

  “So this is why you’re all here? You want to stop the attack?” Mr. MacRyan questions. “There isn’t much my branch can do.”

  “Not exactly. Harper and Joanna need shelter and protection; Edward Bowser III is after them for whatever reason. And soon he’ll realize that I’m still trying to get out of Scorpion, and will no doubt send someone to kill me, if he hasn’t already. And the ETP is searching for Skye as we speak.” D explains. “Can we lay low here? Just until we get things straightened out?”

  “I see. I never liked the new version of the ETP…But, why isn’t Harper and Joanna’s mother protecting them? Unless…” Mr. MacRyan’s eyes widen with realization. “Well, of course you can stay here! This is the perfect place to lay low; we operate fully underground.” Mr. MacRyan exclaims.

  “Thank you for letting us stay.” D says sincerely.

  “So, Miss Cambridge,” Mr. MacRyan turns to me. “What happened?”

  * * *

  By the time I finish telling Chief John MacRyan everything that’s happened, starting from when I got D’s letter, Joanna is snoring, Skye is dozing off, and D is…I can’t tell. His hood is still covering half his face. Did I really take that long?

  “Um, do you have the time, by any chance?” I ask. Mr. MacRyan checks his phone and rubs his eyes tiredly. “Six-thirty. You all can stay in the residence hall on the third floor, that’s where most of my agents and employees live. We can talk more tomorrow afternoon, perhaps have a private meeting; I have a busy schedule right now.”

  “Sounds good.” I stand, and everyone copies me in unison.

  The five of us take the elevator up two floors. When the elevator doors open, I see that the residence hall is more elegant and warmer than the other floors. The walls are wallpaper: a red background with shiny gold flowers and dark green vines. The floor is brown carpet. People are chatting and going from place to place idly, all wearing plain, simple clothing. We seem to be standing in a lobby area. There is a wide hallway to our left, to our right, and one right behind a front desk.

  Chief John MacRyan steps in front of us as we take in the scene. “Luxury apartments are to your left. 1 through 10 are single bedrooms, 11 through 20 are two and three bedrooms. Lounges and places to get basic necessities are to your right, and straight ahead is the café, which serves everything from breakfast to dinner and is open 24/7. If you have any questions or if you need to reach me right away, ask any one of the agents on duty. Miriam,” he turns to the woman at the front desk. “Please get my guests settled. I need to rest.” Mr. MacRyan says and heads back to the elevator. In just a few seconds, he’s gone.

  “Would you like a three-bedroom suite? There’s one left.” Miriam says, typing on her computer. She wears a plain gray T-shirt and khakis, just like a few other people walking around.

  “I think we all need to stay together.” Skye speaks up. “You and Joanna can take the first bedroom, and D and I can take the second and third.”

  “Perfect.” I say. “We’ll go with the three-bedroom.”

  “All right. You will be assigned to apartment twenty, the very last one. Do you each want a copy of the key?” Miriam says.

  “Definitely.” I say. Miriam gives us each a little gold key, the number 20 engraved in their centers. We turn left down the hall. It’s much longer than I anticipated. Soon enough we reach our assigned apartment. I unlock the door, and we all step inside. “Wow,” I whisper. The sleek, modern apartment is complete with a full kitchen, living room, dining table, and four doors. One is open to reveal a grand bathroom.

  Skye and D claim the rooms they want, and Jo and I go into the unpicked one, putting our backpacks beside the dresser drawer. It’s not until I’ve collapsed on the soft queen size bed when I realize how exhausted I am.

  But tomorrow, I have work to do.

  * * *

  I wake up to total darkness.

  Not remembering where I am or what had happened, I literally spring out of bed and look for a window to look out of. Then, yesterday’s events start rolling in my head. Mom and Bowser...Jet…Escape…FBI Branch 109…Underground ...There are no windows underground. I stop, take a deep breath, and sit down on the edge of the bed. How long have I been asleep? Probably not long enough.

  I reach out to the nightstand and feel a lamp, and turn it on. A yellow glow illuminates most of the room. The room I’m in is modern and clean, the air cozy and warm despite the November chill outside. Two backpacks lean against the dresser drawer next to the the door. I hear heavy snoring, and turn to see my twin sister fast asleep. Small beads of sweat coat her forehead, and her skin is blotchy and red. Still sick. This place has to have some kind of medical clinic or a few doctors roaming around, right?

  I find my phone and turn it on. It’s on 82%, and I have four new notifications. The time reads 7:36 a.m. I can get a few more hours of sleep before I look for Mr. MacRyan in the afternoon and tell him my plan. I dismiss the notifications before going back to sleep. They’re all from Mom.

  If the stealthy pl
an I’ve been thinking about goes wrong, who knows what will happen to me and my sister? Who knows what Scorpion will do to us? And if my mom really is a traitor, what will she do?

  * * *

  I wake up again three hours later, at eleven-thirty. I find Jo in the decent sized living room, watching TV and taking her medicines on the couch. “We have cable underground?” I ask, adjusting my light pink hoodie and jeans I’d changed into after showering.

  “Apparently,” Jo says, her voice hoarse. “but there’s only four channels.”

  “We’re supposed to be in hiding, so that’s good enough. How you feeling?” I ask, standing beside her.

  “Better. I think I just had a bad cold or something.”

  “I hope so. I don’t know if there’s a medical clinic down here or somewhere you could’ve gone to if you kept getting worse.”

  “Where are you going?” Joanna looks me up and down skeptically.

  “Oh, uh, just giving myself a tour of the branch.” I lie. Jo can usually tell when I’m lying versus telling the truth, but today she doesn’t seem to pick up on anything. “We can all meet up with Chief MacRyan later, maybe after we have dinner. Are D and Skye still here?”

  “I don’t know, their doors are closed.”

  “Alright. I’m getting breakfast at the café. I’ll be back later. Text me if anything’s wrong.” I make sure my phone is in my hoodie pocket along with the apartment key before I leave.

  The halls are empty. I walk down to the café, and I’m the only one here. I scan the menu above my head and order French toast and hashbrowns with orange juice, and wait at a tiny circular table for two. Just minutes later, a plate of steaming hot food is set in front of me.

  “Do I need to pay you or something?” I say, but the waiter shakes his head and disappears back into the kitchen.

  SKYE

  As soon as I awake, I bound into action.

  As I wash up, I realize I didn’t have any pajamas, that I wore the same clothes to bed. I can’t get what I need looking and smelling like this; my hair is all over the place from being a wild sleeper, my sweater smells of light sweat, my jeans wrinkled. The time on my phone reads 6:22 a.m. I pocket the items I need and slip out of the apartment.

  I stop at a clothing kiosk in the right wing of the residence hall, and ask for a new set of clothes. There are multiple kiosks and tables set up throughout the wing, selling all kinds of different things. There aren’t many people here.

  “Here.” an elderly woman at the clothing kiosk says. She hands me a sheet of laminated paper to read.

  Items:

  Long-sleeve Shirt — $15

  Short-sleeve Shirt — $10

  Long Pants — $25

  Shorts — $10

  Tank Top — $5

  Tennis Shoes — $40

  Sizes: S through XXXL

  Colors: Gray Dark Blue Blue White Black

  “I’ll buy a dark blue tank top and black long pants. Medium size.” I say.

  “Cash or ID card?” I hand her my Genesis ID card that’s tucked in my back pocket. I see a table of small satchels in the corner of my eye. That can hold my personal belongings perfectly, without drawing too much attention to myself.

  “What brings you to New Jersey at this time of year?” the woman asks, scanning my card before handing it back to me. About a year ago, I’d hacked into my Genesis ID card and transmitted money into it. I don’t remember how much money I put on it, but apparently it’s enough to get me new clothes from this place. Normally, agents just download money and information into their cards by a private bank or they have their Branch do it, but I like to do things differently. Clandestinely.

  “Uh—apprenticeship?” I reply, praying this woman believes me.

  “Oh, that’s nice.” the woman hands me a clear bag and my card.

  “Thank you.” I walk over to the table with the satchels. They come in all different colors and sizes, and I pick the smallest one. I run my hands along its rough surface. It’s made of real brown leather. I purchase it and duck into the nearest bathroom.

  I slide the new tank top over my head. It’s a little too form-fitting for my liking, but it’ll have to do. The pants are perfect, and I’ve gotten used to my black Vans being a size too big. I finger-comb my hair and pull it into a low ponytail, and place my old sweater and jeans in the clear bag. I put the contents of my back pocket into my new satchel: cell phone, Genesis identification card, apartment key, hacking chip, flash drive. Being an ex-assassin-in-training and a successful sneak in an orphanage, I know how to get away with looking like I don’t have anything.

  I drop off the clear bag at the apartment, which is still dark and silent, and go to the elevator. I step inside and press the gold button: U4: Technology & Vehicles Center . Although it is only one floor above me, the single minute it takes to get to the fourth floor feels like it’s in super slow motion. The more I think about what I’m about to do, the more anxious and jittery I feel. It feels as if a hand is gripping my heart and squeezing it, causing my lungs to constrict. I have to take deep breaths to keep myself steady, and force my mind to clear so I can pull this off flawlessly. I stand up straight, adjust my satchel at my side, and my training kicks into gear, along with the self-taught skills I’d sharpened before coming to Genesis.

  The elevator doors open smoothly and silently, and I step out. The Technology and Vehicles Center is oddly empty and dim, despite it being six-thirty in the morning. When will the agents arrive for their work? I can easily tap into the system and read all the schedules to find out.

  This floor is packed with all kinds of modern electronics and gadgets and vehicles, spanning out dozens of yards in every direction. To me, this is a heaven. I look around for any hint of security cameras. The walls and ceiling are pure gray stone, with no cracks or crevices for any type of device, the floor sparkling black granite. But there could easily be cameras, lasers, sensors, disguised in the metal desks, the Hummers, even beneath the floor. Either way, I need to be alert—and quick.

  My eyes land upon an open door, and I step through it without thinking. The room has rows and rows of black keyboards accompanied by the largest computer monitors I’ve ever seen, much bigger than the ones at Genesis headquarters. I close the door behind me, and run to the very last computer. My body practically buzzes with exhilaration as I sit down and let my fingers touch the cool keys. I’ve never touched technology so…new before. With this kind of tech, I can do anything I’d like. The room has one rectangular window that gives me a perfect view of the elevator and some of the Center. If any agents come before I’m finished, I can hide. But this should only take five minutes, max.

  I tap the Enter button. The monitor’s screen turns navy blue, followed by a white box with red text.

  Welcome back, Agent K. Andrews .

  Please enter your ID number and password below.

  ID: __________________

  Password: _____________

  I type the hacking sequence I know by heart, and the monitor beeps twice before it unlocks. I’m in.

  I find the database for FBI Branch 109. Every single piece of information the Branch has ever obtained is right at my fingertips. I click on the search engine. My heart beats wildly in my chest as I type in the name:

  Delilah Anne MacGabhann.

  8.

  Skye

  My hands tremble as I retrieve my white 20-gigabyte flash drive from my satchel and plug it into the computer. I drag my file to the corner of the screen so I can look at both the search results and my flash drive.

  The first result reads: Niamh Anne MacGabhann: ID Card

  I found exactly what I’ve been hoping for—and fearing. My birth mother.

  The second search result is longer. If I click on it, a digital version of my own Genesis ID card will pop up:

  Delilah A. MacGabhann — Genesis project; Elite Training Program- Assassin (Daughter of Russia-America Embassy Agents Niamh MacGabhann & Erich Stanislav)

 
I click on my mother’s name, and it brings up a digital version of her own identification card.

  She looks just like me. Raven-black hair that’s even longer than mine, pale skin, tons of freckles, muscular, but her eyes are a regular brown. Her information isn’t what I had expected. Born in Russia, has dual citizenship in the United States and Russia, works for the Russia-America Embassy and FBI Branch 228 in Albany, New York, and…there’s a death date in red below her date of birth. She’s been dead for three weeks.

  I copy and paste my mother’s ID card into my flash drive as a PDF file. I go back to the search results page, unable to control my quivering bottom lip nor my glossy eyes, but I need to keep focused, I can think about my mother later. There are two results left. Article: Beloved Embassy Agent Found Dead in Politician’s Mansion, and Erich D. Stanislav: ID Card .

  Just as I copy and paste my father’s identification card, the elevator door opens.

  * * *

  My body freezes in shock for half a second. I force myself to remain calm and focused as I hurry to transfer the article and turn off the computer. I gently wiggle out my flash drive, stuff it into my satchel, and drop to the ground, getting out of the window’s view. The chair squeaks under my shifting weight.

  “ Who’s there ?” a voice booms, echoing off the walls. I hold my breath as I scan the room for an exit. My well-trained ears hear heavy footsteps begin to walk, and I grow panicky. I spot a door opposite of the one I came in through, tall and white. It could lead somewhere, right?

  I army crawl across the room to the door. I don’t hear footsteps anymore. I reach up and grasp the silver doorknob. The door is unlocked. I open it just enough for my body to slide through, and the door shuts behind me with a faint click .

  HARPER