Occidis: Sophia Moreau, Book 1

by Aisha Tritle

  But it wasn’t hers. It had belonged to Colin. It had always been on his wrist. She’d found it on her bed right before his body was discovered.

  The band was all she had left of him. The Org had cleaned out his things hours after his death, almost all trace of him ever living at BASE wiped out so quickly. And that was what they wanted.

  They didn’t want the essence of Colin and his stand against Program Occidis to linger in the minds of the other Members. He was brushed out of history lest his death inspire an uprising.

  A few extra handlers had moved in for the three months following the incident to keep a close watch on the Members. Sophia was the only one who was allowed to mourn—due to the nature of what Dr. Roth called “the special relationship” between her and Colin. Even then, her mourning was only allowed to take place in his private room.

  She suspected Kristin was about to go through much of the same therapy she had experienced. But “therapy” was a misleading name for what it really was—drugs and brainwashing.

  Despite Dr. Roth’s affinity for Sophia, every part of his counseling had been influenced by The Org. Colin was made to seem an emotionally unstable boy who had misdirected rage towards The Org, despite everything they had done for him and his family.

  “Foolish, really,” Dr. Roth had said, his round eyes void of any sincerity.

  Sophia sighed as she let the band drop next to her on the bed. She knew she wasn’t as good as Colin. She didn’t want to be as good as Colin. He was dead, and she was alive…but did she even want to live like this?

  A knock on the door interrupted Sophia’s thoughts. She put the band back in the drawer and closed it. It was probably Davey, come to say goodbye. He always made sure to wish her well before she left.

  “Come in,” she said.

  Thirty seconds of silence followed, during which the door didn’t open.

  Puzzled, Sophia got up and crossed to the door. Just as her hand touched the handle, it slowly cracked open a few inches.

  “I said ‘come in.’” She flung the door open; it wasn’t Davey.

  “Sorry,” said Ilya, his blue eyes sheepishly staring.

  Sophia stared back.

  He was dressed impeccably in a tight-fitting black sweater, khaki slacks, and polished brogues. Sophia had barely noticed his clothes at dinner. But their sleek finesse brought to mind the sad state of her shabby sleepwear, and she shifted uncomfortably.

  They stood there, silently taking each other in.

  Finally, Sophia decided to break the silence. “Would you like to come in?”

  Ilya shot her a grateful smile. “Yes, thank you.” His English was perfect. A slight accent on some words was the only sign of his Russian origin. “I just wanted to see if you were alright,” he said.

  Sophia paused for a moment before replying. She never really talked to Ilya…so why was he coming to her room and checking up on her? “I’m doing fine, thanks.”

  Ilya’s gaze was still on her. “I know how hard it must be for all the Members to lose one of their own…I just wanted to see if there is anything I can do to help?”

  Sophia scoffed. Members—as if he wasn’t one of them. “If you want to help, you should probably go talk to Kristin.”

  “She’s not in her room.”

  Sophia raised her brows. So, he’d gone to Kristin’s room as well. Why the sudden interest in everyone?

  “They probably carted her off already,” she said. Sophia didn’t know what to do with the man in her room.

  Ilya was displaying a disturbing level of stoic behavior. His gaze seemed to be frozen—glued to Sophia with an intensity glowing from the blue of his eyes. His tall frame leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, brogues reflecting the light from the lamp on Sophia’s desk.

  “Carted her off where? What do you mean?” he asked.

  Sophia stared at him in disbelief. But of course, Ilya didn’t know. It wasn’t like he was ever on Base long enough to know what was going on.

  “They’ve probably already started her therapy.”

  “I suppose they would think her behavior tonight warranted that,” said Ilya, no small amount of distaste in his voice.

  Sophia tilted her head. Was Norbert’s pet not as happily compliant as he seemed? “It’s not just because of that,” she said. “If you’re in a relationship with a Member when they die, you’re put through extensive therapy.”

  Ilya’s eyes widened. At last, a change from the stoicism. “Relationship?”

  “Yeah, she and Simon were— “

  “I didn’t know.”

  The expression on his face had completely changed, but Sophia couldn’t read it. If she weren’t so sure that he didn’t care for any of the Members, she almost would have thought he looked…guilty?

  “Yeah,” she said. “So I’m not the one you should be worried about.”

  “But you were there.”

  His words hit Sophia like a brick in the face. “What?”

  “You were there when he died,” said Ilya.

  “I know, I—“ Sophia stopped, unsure of what to say. Simon had barely been dead for a day…it was bad enough, without Ilya wanting to talk to her about it.

  She stared at him for a moment, trying to figure out what to do, and he stared back.

  “It’s late,” said Sophia. She didn’t know what else to say. It was only 9 p.m., but she wanted him to go away.

  Ilya’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh…yes.”

  He took a step toward the door and ran a hand through his sandy blond hair. Much to Sophia’s dismay, however, he turned back. “Look, Sophia. If you ever want to talk about anything, I’m just…you know, at the end of the hall.”

  He looked suspiciously hopeful. Sophia’s brow furrowed. What was up with him?

  “Got it,” she said.

  Then, he was gone, leaving behind the slight scent of expensive cologne.

  Sophia crossed the room and turned the lamp off. With a huff, she fell back on her bed.

  5

  Sophia gazed at the sunset. The rooftop she was on had the most beautiful view, but the new medication Dr. Roth had given her numbed her to its beauty.

  She leaned against the wall at the building’s edge. A large black bag was on the ground next to her. Her target was due to arrive after dark. The exact time was unknown; she’d been given a two-hour window—he could arrive anytime.

  But the window hadn’t started yet.

  Sophia pulled what appeared to be a thin, polished piece of black glass out of her pocket. After pressing her thumb on it, a bright display appeared; it was the newest model of the phone issued to all members of Program Occidis upon initiation. Developed in one of Norbert’s labs in Germany, it was still unavailable to the general public.

  She’d gotten a text alert a few minutes before. There was a very limited number of people it could be from: only Norbert, Dr. Roth, handlers, and Members were programmed into the phone. She suspected it was Davey. He’d probably sent her some weird article he’d found on the internet—again.

  Sophia clicked on her Messages icon. To her surprise, it wasn’t Davey. It was…Ilya? Despite them having each other’s numbers, they’d never communicated digitally. There was never any need to; Sophia had almost never spoken to him until the day before. Had he suddenly decided to ingrain himself into her life?

  “In case you find yourself waiting around,” he’d typed, along with an attachment. Sophia eyed it suspiciously.

  With a sigh, she clicked on it. A simulated, leather book cover filled her phone screen: Macbeth crossed the top in gold lettering.

  Sophia’s eyes widened. How had he known?

  It was her favorite. She never tired of reading it. Macbeth, the heroic man driven to kill.

  She wasn’t sure why, but it had struck a chord with her. That world seemed much more familiar to her than the ones in Shakespeare’s other plays.

  Sophia ran her thumb over the screen. Why had Ilya sent it to her? She debated closing
the attachment, but she still had a couple of hours to kill…

  She slid down against the wall and hungrily devoured the words. But time seemed to fly by, and before she could finish the play, the sun was almost set.

  With a grimace, Sophia put her phone away. She couldn’t afford for the light to draw attention to her position. Reaching into the black bag beside her, she pulled out a government-issue M24 sniper rifle, along with a bipod and night vision scope. Deftly, she set everything up.

  There was really nothing left to do except wait—and watch. The building across from her was a modern high-rise of expensive condominiums. She was supposed to shoot her target when he handed his car off to the valet in front of the entrance.

  Whenever Sophia was sent out on a job, she was always provided with an extensive file on the target. But for such a basic assassination as this, most of the file went unread because all she really needed to know was what the target looked like, and when and where he/she would be. No personal interaction needed. All she had to do was point and shoot.

  The photo in the file had shown a middle-aged man: gray-haired, a face that was neither weathered nor well taken care of, and glasses that sat atop a slightly crooked nose. He was an American by the name of Robert Ingram. He resembled several others that Sophia had killed before. The familiarity of his face lent a certain comfort to the situation.

  She pulled a stick of gum out of her pocket and unwrapped it—but there was another noise besides the crinkling of the wrapper: footsteps. They came from behind her.

  There was no change in Sophia’s manner. She put the gum in her mouth, then crumpled up the wrapper and put it back in her pocket.

  Matter-of-factly, she set her hands on the rifle and looked through the scope, as if testing her position, but her fingers worked quickly to dislodge the rifle from the bipod.

  She heard another mild thud of a footstep behind her. It was barely audible; to anyone less trained, it would have gone unnoticed. Sophia turned around, the rifle pointed at her opponent: it was the man from the file, Robert Ingram.

  Normally, she wouldn’t have hesitated to shoot him and be done with it. But something stopped her. The lack of fear on his face.

  His hands were up in the air. But concern shone in his blue eyes. “I’ll go back down there, and you can kill me just like you planned,” he said, voice steady. “But I need to talk to you.”

  Sophia’s intense gaze turned into bewilderment. Her grip on the weapon grew even tenser. She did what she usually did in uncomfortable situations: she remained silent.

  Robert’s eyes studied her, and he nodded as if he understood her silence. “You don’t need to say anything, but please, listen,” he said, “I know who you are and what you do.”

  Every muscle in Sophia’s body tightened. Of all the things to go wrong on a job, this was the most unexpected.

  “You need to get out, Sophia,” said Robert.

  He actually knew her name. A wave of panic swept over her. “How do you know my name?”

  “I have my sources.”

  “Who?”

  “I can’t tell you right now,” said Robert. “And I won’t be able to.”

  “Tell me.”

  Robert shook his head. “I’m going to have to go back down there,” he said. “And you’re going to have shoot me. I won’t be sure of your allegiance before that happens. So, I can’t tell you.”

  Sophia scoffed. “Allegiance?”

  Robert Ingram took a step forward. She took a step back.

  The middle-aged man sighed. “You need to get out of Occidis.”

  He really knew what she did. Another wave of panic swept over Sophia. She gripped her weapon tighter in an effort to abate the shaking of her hands. “Why?”

  “You’re doing it for the benefits,” said Robert. “For the mother. And you think if you weren’t doing it, someone else would be doing it, right? So what’s the point of avoiding the bloody work you do?”

  He knew everything. Sophia’s jaw dropped.

  Robert took a step forward. Sophia didn’t move. Her feet were glued to the ground.

  “But I know you’re not okay with it,” his voice was low. “You can’t reconcile yourself to it, Sophia. No matter how hard you try. Maybe you could when you were small, but not after Colin—“

  “How do you know that?” demanded Sophia in surprise. Her hands had started to tremble; she couldn’t help it.

  He ignored her question. “Now, you have panic attacks. You’re slipping. And you know what The Org does to people who start slipping.”

  The Org got rid of whoever slipped too far. Sophia knew. But she wasn’t too far down that road…or was she? It was getting hard to breathe. She wanted to gasp for air. But she couldn’t let Robert see her being weak. She couldn’t let her guard down in any way.

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “You won’t be fine,” said Robert. “So I’m offering you your only chance of salvation.”

  The sweat that had begun forming caused Sophia’s hands to start sliding off the weapon. Robert watched her as she struggled to readjust.

  “The next time you go on a job, Sophia, you run.”

  Sophia felt helpless. If she could run, she would have done it a while ago. But if she ran, they’d kill her only family, the mother she’d joined Program Occidis to save.

  Robert’s watch beeped. “Shit, shit, shit.” He pulled his hands across his face almost in despair and began backing away.

  “Hey!” Sophia almost shouted. Her hold on the weapon relaxed as she began walking after him.

  “You probably want to kill me here,” said Robert. “But you need to wait until I’m in front of that building; otherwise they’ll know I talked to you.”

  “No, no, don’t go,” pleaded Sophia. She needed to know more.

  Robert pulled open the door leading to the stairs in the building. “This is much bigger than you know, Sophia,” he said, turning around. “But you need to do what I said. You need to find a way out, and you need to take The Org down. You won’t be alone—someone will be in touch.”

  Sophia’s eyes narrowed as he spoke the last words. She wouldn’t be alone? But he had already disappeared down the stairs.

  Looking down at the rifle in her hands, she ran back to the edge of the rooftop. A sense of regret came upon Sophia. She felt stupid. For all she knew, Robert wasn’t going to end up in front of the condo building and she just totally blew the job.

  She set up the rifle with the bipod and waited. The meds had begun to fail her, sweat was streaming down her face, and her hands were fighting to stay steady. How had Robert known who she was and where she was going to be? How had he known about Colin? There were too many unanswered questions, and they only served to make Sophia more nervous.

  It was fifteen minutes before she saw Robert’s car coming down the street. The trembling of Sophia’s hands increased as the car neared the building. She could barely hold on to the rifle, let alone aim it…could she even bring herself to kill him?

  The moment of Robert handing his keys to the valet passed her by and, through the scope, she saw the worry on his face.

  “Come on, come on,” whispered Sophia to herself, taking a deep breath. He should have been dead already.

  A gunshot rang out, and Robert crumpled to the ground. Sophia could see the pool of blood beginning to form beneath his head. But she hadn’t pulled the trigger.

  6

  “Hey, you okay?” Ilya’s blue eyes looked at Sophia with concern as he rested his elbows on the edge of the pool. Water dripped from his sandy, wet hair.

  Sophia woke from her thoughts with a start. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  They were on the top floor of Base, the pool level. The glass part of the roof was open, and the desert sunlight shone harshly down on them.

  Sophia covered her eyes with her hand and leaned back in her chair. She basked in the heat and wished that it would burn away the events from the day before. The fact that Norbert had personally s
ent her on a job so soon after Simon’s death was enough stress without the added incident of what happened with Robert Ingram. She hadn’t pulled the trigger, so who did?

  Ilya leaped out of the pool and grabbed his towel. Sophia could feel his eyes on her as he dried off. “Do you want my Ray Bans, Sophia?”

  Despite its triviality compared to everything else going on, Ilya’s friendliness towards Sophia continued to bother her. Not necessarily the attention itself, more so intention behind it—she couldn’t figure it out.

  “Sure,” replied Sophia. “Thanks.”

  The isolated lifestyle of the Members of Occidis meant there was often a concentration of varied emotions flowing around Base. Attachments were formed—and broken—all the time. Kristin and Simon were one such example. But Ilya hadn’t shown any interest in anyone since he arrived—and Sophia hadn’t shown any interest in him. Why was he suddenly going out of his way to make friends now? And why with her? Sophia sighed as she slid the sunglasses on.

  Ilya sat down on the chair next to her. “There’s something on your mind.”

  “That’s an astute observation,” replied Sophia, dryly. She didn’t look at him—a little bit out of fear, as she hadn’t realized how fit he was before. Did he do double the training sessions or something?

  “You can talk to me about stuff, you know,” said Ilya.

  Amazed that her sarcasm hadn’t put him off, Sophia turned her head. Why was he being so friendly? His newfound understanding attitude was probably an act; there was something he wanted—but what?

  Sophia lowered the sunglasses down her nose. “I can talk to you about stuff?”

  “Yes.”

  “About anything?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  Ilya stared at her silently. Knowing his wide-eyed expression meant he was at a loss, Sophia went back to sunbathing.

  “We can be friends,” said Ilya, finally breaking the silence.

  Frustrated, Sophia pulled the sunglasses off and set them in his hands. If he was trying this hard, he must really want something.