by Lynch, S. M.
I hadn’t deliberated for a second, agreeing to do my best to get the ins and outs of what had happened. As I put the pieces together, I couldn’t ignore the facts before me. Stephan wasn’t just anyone’s father. Mara had been blazing a singular trail in virology, setting up her own labs outside of Officium’s jurisdiction. Who knew how she was doing it, but she was. It was not uncommon for people to end up dead on a street corner somewhere, but for the father of the world’s most prominent virologist to be knocked down and killed in a similar manner to my parents, only weeks after them – it seemed to be too much of a coincidence. I quickly realized it might have been a warning, or a symbolic kill a lot unlike the quick, efficient shootings Officium’s emissaries usually dished out. Scientists and their loved ones would often turn up dead if they upset the mysterious figureheads of Officium, but I had no idea what mine had done to warrant suspicion. They were just workaholics, that’s all I had ever known about them.
That day, after visiting the street Stephan died on, I looked up at the skyscraper I worked in on W40th and my vertigo seemed to hit me like never before. The top of the building felt as if it were falling toward me very fast and the ground seemed to shake as I felt certain the tip of the structure would collapse right on top of me. I somehow made it to a Sanctuary on the third floor of the gigantic, 40-storey Mercy Inn on Times Square, staring out at the crowds below. The white walls of the shop seemed to be closing in as I drank endless mugs of black coffee refilled by a pump at the side of my table. It was only when my bladder started to ache that I realized I had been sat there for so long that it had gotten dark. I wandered home in a daze and that was the day the anger took hold, rising up from deep down inside. My parents had been murdered, I felt sure of it. It just seemed too staged somehow.
I worked tirelessly after that to find out the truth about the group I suspected were behind their deaths. I picked out people from the masses I knew could be of help and paid many of them to provide me with the information I required.
Ulrich, an old friend from NYU, worked at one of Officium’s laboratories and had become a great source of information. Not long after our last meeting, however, his naked, battered body turned up mysteriously on the trash-ridden banks of the Hudson. I shed rare, bitter tears that day, because I knew I had been directly or indirectly responsible for him – and his girlfriend was left bereaved, and pregnant.
The truth of our world was this – there were two options. You either lived a long, deadened life or let yourself imagine escape for long enough to earn you premature death.
I figured the only reason I had survived was because soon after my parents died, an unknown source started sending me information about the city’s officials, many of whom were involved in underground activities, including drug running, trafficking and tax evasion. This was a world where immorality was the only thing that could guarantee you a return. Virtue made you suspicious in the eyes of Officium. What I had kept back were all manner of strategic tidbits about such people’s personal lives, including their sexual preferences, affairs they would rather keep hidden and children they didn’t want anyone to know were theirs. This kind of information was the only kind they really cared about – the sensitive sort – and the only stuff I knew I could bargain with. People, no matter how seemingly ruthless or cold, still always had a sore spot somewhere along the line. Some lost love or regret that made them weak.
I subtly spread the word amongst my circle that I had images, videos, voice recordings and signed confessions that incriminated a lot of those in the thick of the city’s criminality, therefore protecting myself with the threat of being able to drag them through the mud and make their lives impossible if I needed to.
I never managed to dig up any solid evidence about my parent’s deaths, but there were so many connections. I used to call up Eve late at night for a vis-call and talk manically about it all. She would listen and pass no judgment or opinion, sometimes suggesting I leave New York and move in with her. But that was not a possibility, it never had been.
Amid all the hurt and despair, Eve had always been there for me – the one constant. In her I saw an individual unaffected by the way of our world, someone existing on her own steam. She was so humble yet so quick-witted, not judgmental ‒ ultimately the only connection I had left to my parents.
Their deaths had thrown my whole ideal system into chaos. Admittedly I buried myself in work to counteract the truth. I used my anguish to my advantage, galvanizing myself to stand against them. Not knowing what had really happened to Mom and Dad had nearly driven me crazy.
I took my job to unique heights and became notorious, unrelenting in my pursuit of the truth. I wanted to know why people had become so gullible, so weakened by their fears and so easily led by anyone who shouted up about their beliefs. My job was an obsession, one which I wouldn’t be able to let go of easily, and one I relished every day for the way it raised my adrenalin levels and put fire in my belly.
CHAPTER 5
Camille
Eve had been right. Before her passing, she had warned, ‘Camille, now listen my darling. If Seraph turns up to pay her respects, you know she will not arrive unaccompanied. Seraph Maddon goes nowhere unnoticed.’
We tracked her journey from the Dakota that morning and I had been strangely nervous at the prospect of meeting her. Yes, the woman was inordinately beautiful and looked so much like Eve it was a wonder they were not cloned, but it was her enemies that were making my day difficult. Seraph may have had no notion of the upset she was causing, and yet, it was all quite necessary.
Along with Seraph, a number of emissaries stepped off the train at York that afternoon. Like us, you barely saw them, unless you were really looking. Lucky for Seraph we were always really watching otherwise she might have already been holed up in some interrogation room somewhere. I imagined there was uproar in the enemy camps; they would be mistrustful of Seraph’s presence in the country where it all began. Their fear was no doubt compounded and I knew they might even risk the information she carried being leaked to stop her getting to the source of all that was wrong with this world.
‘This is totally unacceptable,’ I sneered, as one of my team struggled to lock on to her whereabouts.
‘She hasn’t come out of that hotel. I imagine she has switched off. With sophisticated hardware like hers, it would not seem impossible for her to disappear off grid.’
I was experiencing a new emotion that day – a fear of my own. With Eve gone, I knew I was now entirely responsible for this hothead reporter who represented so much and also had the power to save or destroy this fragile existence of ours. Even beneath ground, I felt no sense of safety. In our control room below the shop, we watched the world and often saw how easily Officium might swoop devastation down upon it. We worked so carefully that everyday was exhausting as we hid and evaded their detection.
‘Tap into the hotel surveillance. Now,’ I demanded.
How I hated myself for letting my cool slip.
My intelligence officer did as he was told and before I could snap again, he brought up an image of Seraph laid on the bed of her hotel room, crying. I watched for a few minutes. That was a vision: Seraph Maddon, crying. Curled up in fetal position, broken and despairing.
Good, we need not break her down. Eve has done that already.
‘Enough,’ I swiped my hand out, and the image disappeared. I paced the floor and took a deep breath. The funeral was soon but had been pre-planned by Eve, the consummate organizer. She never cost anybody anything, always giving, never taking.
‘Keep your eyes on Hardy. We need him too, don’t forget. If the menace does anything rash, take him down and keep him mute,’ I scowled, stuttering as emotion hit me. How will I cope without her? My team stared as if they wanted to reach out but I snapped, ‘Just… lock it down… you know what I mean,’ I impatiently demanded.
I traipsed back upstairs once more to roam the shop and show my face. As long as the enemy knew I was in the vicinity
, they would think twice before entering our zone of operations. Unless Seraph returned and then, they had something to fear.
I sank into the chair behind my desk and was given pause to recall the easiest kill I ever made. He was easy to overcome and it was justified in every manner.
Past
I had only two hours to deal with my target. I had arranged it so that he would come to me. It was imperative I got in, and got out. I couldn’t risk my identity. As far as the authorities knew, I wasn’t even in the country, so being caught would spell certain catastrophe for not only me – but the cause too.
I dressed casually, my hair pulled back into a tight bun, so I might look just like any other library frequenter – except for the black ballet pumps laced firmly around my ankles – easier to perform in. No-one would presume I was one of the deadliest creatures on the planet.
At the end of a long, wide, wooden desk, I read Balzac quietly, with a polystyrene cup containing my espresso to hand. Even though I could barely see my surroundings, I resisted the temptation to switch on one of the desk lamps, knowing the dim lighting would allow more of the element of surprise. That part of the New York Public Library, the rare books section – with its crowded shelves but few visitors – was deserted save for me.
Like clockwork, he appeared. Smart navy-striped suit, possibly Saville Row. Grey hair, broad shoulders, bulky physique. His physical disadvantage was apparent; he had a limp that meant he would be useless as an emissary. Those who were not qualified for the role either accepted a life of servitude in one of the factories – or resorted to other ways in which they might serve Officium – such as that man stood before me. This tailor had chosen to use his struggling menswear shop in downtown Manhattan as a cover – for information gathering. One of his clients had been Hamish Maddon, the nephew of our leader.
There were three desks between mine and the one he had chosen to sit at. I had to bide my time, however, and give him a few moments to work up a sweat over whether his contact would turn up.
A part of me perhaps pitied him. His body had let him down and that meant a life of respectable mediocrity unless he could rectify that physical disadvantage. There was no way he could – childhood illness had robbed him of the things he might have had.
Officium had no time or pity for those who could not carry out their deeds in the way that they wished. Maybe this target of mine could have become a politician or lawman behind a desk, but his intelligence was obviously quite low. After all he had fallen for my plan, hadn’t he? Without question, he was there that day in that library, so sure he was to meet one of Officium – someone sent to promote him to the next level and give him the next task that might see him raised further up the ranks.
Pity was vanquished as I realized something. Yes, my body had never let me down but then I had only gotten here through strength of mind and that would never lead me into their ranks. I would never betray a confederate to gain supremacy in the arms of those evil bastards. He had sold Hamish a suit and had been given a chance to become one of the resistance – in return he had used that offer of friendship to rat out two of New York’s most prominent UNITY members.
I knew my moment to pounce. So I stood with a book in hand and went towards him, smiling sweetly as I asked, ‘Excuse me, but do you have the time? I can’t seem to find a single clock in this place.’
‘Of course,’ looking down at his watch, he said, ‘it’s a quarter to two.’
‘Thanks so much, that’s very kind of you.’
While I remained standing, he searched my face questioningly. Perhaps he did not believe I was a threat. I guess maybe the polo neck I wore that day hid the fierce force I held back unless it was necessary to execute.
‘I hear the police are making headway into finally getting hold of the person responsible for the Maddon killings. You know, the heart surgeons? Apparently their loss will now mean at least four dozen people will have to wait six months longer for bypasses.’
He looked up at my face, shock spreading across his. He stood nervously and was unsteady on his feet. He looked into my eyes and struggled to gauge what was behind them. I stood with hardly any expression whatsoever. That might have scared him more than anything.
‘Who are you?’ he asked.
‘I’m a friend of the Operator. You might have heard of her?’
‘Her?’ His eyes peeled wide.
He wanted to bolt out of the place then, clearly.
‘Yes, it was a grave shame about the Maddons. Their daughter is without both her parents now. Imagine that, a young woman without her mum and dad. Being without one would certainly be bad enough, but without both…’
I stood casually but my words almost shocked the life out of him and he started to move away from behind the desk to make his escape. I imagined the last thing he saw was the book I held as it suddenly fell. He was drawn by its flight towards the floor.
I was known for my incredible velocity and felt sure he barely registered me leap up onto the desk he had moved away from. I sent a foot crashing into his chest to ensure he had taken his last breath. Then there was nothing. His mass fell to the floor and I walked towards the exit to the stairwell, escaping into a waiting car outside that took me back to the airport. Job done. Easiest I ever accomplished.
Back at the shop, my thoughts again turned to Seraph. As night crept across the world outside, I hoped she would sleep and not try to make a nuisance of herself, otherwise I wouldn’t be sleeping either that night, not that I ever really rested anyway.
I sometimes wished Eve had not made me accustomed to having company. Loneliness was easier, before, but after her it was intolerable. So when one of my team disturbed my reverie, I could hardly say no to a small distraction to my malaise.
Petra shut my office door behind her and locked it. I pulled the curtains closed and walked towards her, ripping off her shirt before she had chance to touch me. My latest conquest was not unlike many others. Soon she would declare her love and I would have to send her packing to another city, to another surveillance team.
In that moment, however, she was a body to momentarily lose myself in. She was always thankful, always pliant, always quiet. We fell down together and made love under my desk.
CHAPTER 6
I spent hours crying before being swallowed by a tormented, fitful sleep full of indistinct shapes and nightmares. Anxieties crowded me ‒ work missed, time wasted, regrets spinning out of control. Images of people gone still filled my thoughts; all of them terrorized me with bloodshot eyes and frozen glares. In sleep opponents lined the streets in wait and a specter crept behind me at every turn. Guilt and regret ‒ the two things that wrecked me every day.
When I rose to a new day, it was already 11am. My body was still on New York time for sure. The previous day seemed a blur; my journey to the UK like a dream in itself.
I had little vanity but knew I stank, yet feared I would have an audience as I showered. Still, there was no choice, I didn’t want to gas Camille out for a second time. So I stripped and entered the cubicle, enjoying the water as it refreshed my skin. I air dried and cleaned my teeth before pulling on the clothes I always wore ‒ black jeans and top.
As I headed back to the bridal shop, the sky was tinged grey, but it was mild, as it always was. I took a moment to survey the city Eve had lived in for so many years. Just outside the Mercy Inn, I climbed up a small incline to step onto a few bricks, presumably some remains of the Roman wall. Having to steady myself as the loose pile I stood on threatened to crumble beneath me, I looked down on the inhabitants with my hands dug deep in the pockets of my leather jacket.
I felt so sure there was something I was missing. I saw the poor inhabitants, and yet Eve’s business had remained amid the crumbling, industrialized surroundings. I couldn’t understand how a bridal shop, of all businesses, could have thrived so well in not only this ruined city, but in these times of few marriages. I think Camille might be able tell me… So I leapt down and began walking
through the empty streets toward the Shambles.
I pulled my hands through my loose mane to shake it out, thinking it such a luxury to be able to do so. I loved my hair but it wasn’t practical for my job, and was tied back most of the time.
I hit a pocket of inhabitants on Parliament Street and couldn’t help but notice every single one of them seemed to be glaring in my direction. I didn’t dare make any kind of facial gesture in return, but they smiled nonetheless. I continued onwards and as they separated to allow me passage through, I indulged myself thinking they were probably startled by my extraordinary appearance. However, as I passed the crowds of admirers, I spotted two figures standing behind them who seemed out of place. There was a man and a woman both dressed similarly in blue jeans, black military jackets and shirts. They both had blank, expressionless faces, and looked as if they could handle themselves, with thick necks and solid stances. The inhabitants continued to swarm around me as I neared Eve’s shop and the two figures followed behind the masses in the direction I moved. I reached the front door of the shop after swiftly turning off Market Street, while the crowds and the two shadowy figures dispersed almost immediately.
Reeling from the encounter, I had many questions to fire at Camille.
I entered the shop but was halted by her immediate welcome, ‘Seraph, so nice to see you again! I was just going to have some tea, would you care to join me?’
Why the fuck would I want some tea?
However, I was knocked off course, smiling and nodding at the Frenchwoman’s beguiling friendliness. I followed Camille into an office behind the reception desk and sat at a small, wooden table positioned against a net-curtained window looking out onto the Shambles. The office was bland in comparison to the rest of the shop, with rows of filing systems, numerous sketch pads and fabric swatches, all piled high on a large heavy desk pushed up against the wall at the other end of the room.