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Infiltrators (The Wall Series Book 2)

Page 16

by Alison Ingleby


  “Bryn? Hang on for five!”

  I get a grunt in response.

  Trey gets a similar sized package. “What is it?” He stares up at Rogue, who’s looking around nervously.

  “Recruit’s suit. Standard issue. It moulds to your body, so you can’t wear it over clothes – it’d look odd. There are boots too. I had to guess the size.”

  I take a couple of steps down the corridor and begin to strip off my clothing. Trey and Rogue turn their backs and stare resolutely at the wall, which makes me smile. I pull on the suit and select the smaller pair of boots. There are no pockets in the suit, so I curl my fingers around the small black device that Giles had given me. Reluctantly, I hand my boots and clothes up to Bryn.

  “If anything happens to those boots, you’re paying for a new pair.” He shrugs off the look I give him.

  “You’re breaking into the Metz compound and you’re worried about your boots?” Rogue asks. His voice is tinged with disbelief.

  “They’re good boots! Cost me an arm and a leg.”

  But these feel better. They wouldn’t be any good Outside – they don’t come high enough up to keep out the flood waters – but they’re so comfortable and light that it barely feels as if I’m wearing shoes at all.

  Like the suit. Rogue was right. It clings to my body, feeling snug but not tight, almost like a second skin. Looking up, I catch Trey staring at me. He blushes and turns away, fumbling his clothes into a ball. I look down again. It really does show every curve. Even my hip bones jut out, though they’re less prominent than a few weeks ago. Abby’s food is doing some good.

  “Good luck,” Bryn whispers hoarsely from above.

  The panel slides shut, cutting off the noise of the wind and the city and leaving behind an awkward silence.

  “Ready to go?” Rogue asks. His right eyebrow twitches and his eyes flick around nervously.

  I nod. “Let’s do this.”

  The comm bud in my ear crackles. “Do you copy?” Jameson’s voice.

  I brush the tiny microphone I’d transferred from my clothes to the neck of the tight suit. “Yes, I can hear you.”

  I glance over at Trey, who’s looking guilty. He points at his neck and shrugs an apology. “Trey left his mic on his clothes, but he can hear you too.”

  “Great. We’re out of the exclusion zone. We may fall out of range but we’ll contact you again when we’re close to pick-up.”

  The bud goes silent. Rogue opens the door at the end of the passageway. On the other side is a circular lift, large enough for six people, though I suspect only three Metz officers. Even without his armour, Rogue is over a head taller than Trey, with broad shoulders and chest. His suit is black, not grey like ours, but it clings just as tightly to his body. You can see the outline of every muscle, even his stomach muscles.

  I catch myself staring and look away. He really is a perfect man, from the outside at least.

  “This takes us down to the main level. The building above ground is mainly used for staff accommodation and dorms. We’re currently in the Commander’s tower.”

  “Did you have to get permission to come up here?” Trey asks. His back is pressed against the lift wall as if he’s trying to get as far away from Rogue as possible.

  “Not exactly. I am currently assigned to work for the Commander, so I have access to most parts of the tower. I told the duty officer that the Commander had forgotten something and asked me to take it up to the roof for him. That should cover your pod arriving and departing.”

  His voice is wooden. Almost emotionless, but there’s a trace of something underneath. Fear perhaps? Or excitement.

  “You work directly for the Commander?” Why didn’t he tell me this before?

  Rogue reaches past me to press a button on the side of the lift and I catch a whiff of his scent. Spicy and warm. The back of my neck tingles and I look down at my feet, secretly relieved when he pulls back, and the smell disappears. The lift plummets down.

  “Yes. The highest achievers after your first two years on the street are assigned to his unit for a year. It is an honour.”

  “So, you’re a high achiever?” Trey’s lips twitch and there’s a trace of sarcasm in his voice.

  Trey? Sarcastic?

  “Yes.” Rogue doesn’t appear to notice.

  “Do you know where we can access the records of past operations?” I say quickly.

  “And wherever new technologies are developed and tested,” Trey adds.

  Rogue frowns at him. “The tech labs? What do you want w—”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I interrupt. “Let’s access the records first, then we’ll see how we’re doing.” I shoot Trey a warning glance and get a sour look in return.

  There’s a bleep and the lift door opens. Rogue leads the way out.

  “Remember last time,” Trey whispers as we follow him out.

  I roll my eyes and nod. “It’s fine,” I mutter back.

  We need to get him on side first. He still doesn’t believe. But he will.

  Rogue turns and I smile brightly up at him. “So, the records?”

  “We will go to the training rooms. Past operations can be accessed there, though I only have access to the basic level. Special authorization is required for confidential missions.”

  “What if we’re stopped?” Trey asks.

  “You are two first-year recruits. Normally first-years wouldn’t have access to the training rooms, but you both excelled in your recent tests so I’m giving you a tour of them as a reward.”

  “Our tests?”

  “Yes. You were top in strategy.” He points at Trey, then turns to me. “And you were top in weapon handling.”

  The corner of his mouth turns up slightly. Is he smiling?

  “Follow me.”

  He leads us through a door and out into a short corridor. We walk around a corner and through another set of doors into a much wider corridor. It stretches into the distance, with sets of double doors leading off at regular intervals. Circular cut-outs in the ceiling let in a strange green light. It’s eerily quiet and even our footsteps barely sound on the hard floor. Rogue sets a quick pace and I have to hurry to keep up with him.

  “Most people who aren’t on patrol will be eating in the mess hall,” he says.

  I’m not sure what a mess hall is but that might explain why the corridors are so quiet.

  Perhaps luck is on our side.

  I chide myself for the thought. It’s dangerous to rely on luck.

  Twenty paces down, he pushes open a door on the left and we enter a narrower corridor, still dimly lit. “The training wing,” Rogue explains.

  On our left is a single long room with a door some way down the corridor. On the right, a set of smaller rooms, each with their own entrance. Rogue stops at one and pushes the door open.

  “Do you not need a pass to get through?” I ask.

  “They automatically detect your presence.”

  Through their chips, presumably. Which means the chances of us getting anywhere in the building without Rogue are next to none.

  The room is larger than I’d first thought. It stretches back about twenty paces and is about ten paces wide. It’s empty apart from a black cabinet in one corner. Rogue strides over to it and brushes his hand over the top. A holo appears in the air and a voice booms out “Training system activated”.

  I walk over. “Can you turn the sound down?”

  “These rooms are all soundproof. No one can hear.”

  A set of options flashes on the screen. Rogue selects one and a long list appears. “This is the list of operations I have access to.”

  I peer at the words, running my eyes down the list, looking for Operation Nightshade, or any mention of LC100.

  “It’s not there.” I pull back, trying to contain my disappointment. They wouldn’t let everyone access it – it was confidential.

  “Can you search the system?” Trey asks, coming over to join us.

  Rogue nods and sel
ects a symbol at the top of the display. “What do you want to search for?”

  “Operation Nightshade,” I say.

  A few seconds later, a shorter list appears on the screen.

  “Operation Nightshade report, Operation Nightshade reality training, linked documents,” Trey reads out. “They’re all marked as Level 2 access though. What does that mean?”

  “It means I can’t access them,” Rogue replies. “Level 3 can be accessed by any officer, Level 2 by captains and Level 1 only by the Commander or a person he specifically gives access to.”

  I open my fingers, revealing the small black device. “This may give us access.”

  Rogue gives it a dubious glance.

  “What’s the reality training?” Trey asks.

  “It recreates what actually happened on the operation so you can experience it.”

  “Try selecting that.” I hear the words and it takes me a few seconds to realize that they came from my mouth.

  “Are you sure?” Concern radiates from Trey’s voice.

  No, I’m not sure. Do I want to see my mother die? Would it be any worse than what I see in my dreams?

  “It’s asking for a code.” Rogue’s voice is still neutral. Either he hasn’t noticed the tension in the air or he’s ignoring it.

  I swallow and look down, trying to focus on the small blue button on the device. It’s embedded in the plastic, and I have to dig my fingernail in to push it. When I do, a set of eight numbers and letters flashes into the air. Rogue taps them into the system.

  Another pause. I tense and look back at the door to the room. My ears strain for the first sound of an alarm and my legs are ready to sprint, though where we could go I have no idea.

  “Authorization complete. Operation Nightshade reality training loading.”

  A progress bar appears on the display, slowly filling. Then my vision blurs. I blink and when I open my eyes, the training room has gone and I’m standing in Rose Square.

  A light wind ripples the covers of the empty market stalls. They look abandoned, as if the owners have just dropped everything and run.

  But no one would abandon their stall in Area Four, would they?

  The square is eerily deserted. I’ve never seen it this quiet, not even late at night. There are always some hobies and usually a drunk or two passed out on the steps leading up to the monument.

  I look around and see Trey and Rogue standing to one side. This is the reality training, huh. Pretty realistic. There’s even a faint stale smell in the air, though it’s not half as bad as the actual Rose Square.

  A flash of movement on the balcony of one of the buildings catches my eye. It’s a Metz officer, crouched down behind a stone column that doesn’t quite disguise its bulk. I glance down and across to a side alley. Officers fill the narrow space. Waiting.

  My heart begins to race, and I rub my clammy hands on the slick fabric of the suit. This isn’t real. They can’t hurt you. Can they? Perhaps we should have checked that with Rogue before this started.

  I’m about to open my mouth to say something when I see her running into the square toward me.

  “Mama,” I whisper.

  Her hair streams in the wind. A smile lights up her face and my heart aches so much I think it might burst. I am six years old again and my feet move toward her.

  But I freeze as the expression on her face turns from joy to fear. She looks around the square, brushing dark tendrils of hair from her face. Her lips move in soundless words. A few more steps toward the statue.

  Fear radiates through me, freezing the air in my lungs. All the memories I’d faced in the dark hours of the morning return, along with others that were buried even deeper, as if each memory I face unearths another one. Wave after wave of emotions wash over me. Anger, shame, desperation, defeat.

  I push back against them, fighting for control of my body. She is here. And she doesn’t know what’s about to happen. But I do.

  I take a deep breath and air rushes into my lungs. The dizziness passes, and my feet are no longer frozen to the floor.

  “Mama!” I run toward her. “Go!”

  Did I just say that? My brain is confused. Part of me knows this isn’t real, but it feels so real.

  Almost as if she can hear me, she turns and begins to run back to the Town Hall. But it’s too late. Suddenly we’re surrounded by Metz. They seem to appear from nowhere, from every direction. Out from side passageways and houses, up from behind market stalls, jumping down from balconies.

  They swarm around me, but somehow don’t knock me down. Shouts fill the air. Warning shots. But my mother just keeps on running. Time seems to slow as I see an officer pause, lower its weapon and fire.

  My mother screams and falls to the floor.

  “No!” I run toward her, pushing through the crowd of officers. Pain shoots through my kneecaps as I drop to the ground beside her.

  There’s the hiss of a taser. Her back arches and she cries out in pain.

  “Where is he?” An officer looms above us. “Where is he?” it repeats.

  A baton is raised. I throw myself in front of it, but it passes straight through me. There’s a sickening crunch as it connects with my mother’s elbow. Another scream of agony.

  Frantically, I press my hands to the wound on her thigh, which is streaming blood onto the floor. “Hold on, Mama,” I beg. But I can’t help her. My hands pass straight through her leg. Her blood flows through my palm as if I were invisible.

  And then it hits me. I pushed through the Metz. Literally pushed through them. I’m not really here. It’s like the footage on the big screens. I’m watching something I can’t be part of.

  And somehow, that makes it so much worse.

  I rock back on my heels, barely noticing that the officers around me have pulled back. I can’t tear my eyes from her face, stricken with pain. But there’s a fire in her eyes that I recognize. I see it in my own eyes sometimes, in the glint of a polished blade.

  Hands grab my arms. Real, solid hands. They try to pull me away. I lash out. My fist connects with flesh and bone, and the hands drop away.

  “Where is he?” The officer is still standing over us.

  My mother raises her head slightly. The tendons in her jaw tighten, showing the effort it costs her. “You … will never find him,” she gasps.

  The officer raises his arm and the barrel of the gun points toward us. “You will not tell us?”

  “No!”

  My cry carries over my mother’s whisper and I curl my body over hers, knowing I can’t protect her from what is to come but wanting to hold off that moment for as long as possible. Wanting to have this precious moment with her. I reach to brush the hair from her forehead and look into her eyes. And for a second, I can feel her soft skin, her shiny straight hair that she was so proud of. And in her eyes, I see only love. For me.

  The shot explodes in my ears.

  The bullet passes through my head, exiting between my eyes, and slams into her forehead.

  Such a small hole to cause such damage.

  “Mama,” I whisper.

  But her eyes stare sightlessly through me.

  Everything goes quiet. The square fades. My mother disappears from under my hands and I’m suddenly back in the empty training room, disorientated and lost.

  I curl up on the floor, wrapping my arms over my head, as if by doing so I can make the whole world go away.

  Why did you go, Mama?

  An arm wraps around me and I breathe in a familiar smell. Trey. He doesn’t ask if I’m okay, just holds me, as my tears slow and the sobs that wrack my body turn to hiccups. I ache all over and feel strangely exhausted, as if all the energy inside me was focused on this one thing and it’s now gone, carried away by my tears.

  “You’re … crying?” Rogue sounds puzzled.

  I pull away from Trey and wipe my eyes. “It’s an emotion thing.”

  I get to my feet and turn to face him. He’s clutching his chest and his face is a maze of
emotions, chief among them confusion and fear.

  “I have an ache. Here.” He points to his chest and frowns. “Inside.”

  “Sadness.” My voice is hoarse.

  “She was your mother?”

  I nod.

  “She was beautiful. Like you.”

  Trey stiffens beside me and opens his mouth to speak, but I give him a nudge.

  “Why did we kill her?”

  “That’s what we’re here to find out,” Trey says tightly. “Let’s look at the operation file.”

  My mother’s face is still there in my mind, a small hole in her forehead. Sightless eyes. A wave of nausea rushes up from my stomach and I bend over, closing my eyes and breathing deeply.

  “Aleesha?”

  I wave a hand at him. “I’m fine.”

  I force myself to straighten and walk over to join them at the computer. It’s strange. My body feels exhausted and numb, like I just want to wrap myself in a blanket and sleep, but inside me, deep inside, a spark of anger is growing.

  The anger I’ve always held against the Metz.

  Except it wasn’t their fault, was it? They were just following orders.

  But whose orders?

  Trey’s frowning at me, concerned. “Are you sure you want to know?” he asks gently.

  I shake myself. “Of course.” I stare as Rogue opens the file, but the words blur in front of me. “Can … can you read it to me?”

  Trey nods. He begins to read off the screen and the words flow into my mind, slowly piecing together a picture of what had happened that day.

  The Metz had had a tip-off that LC100 was in town. They still referred to him as that, in the file. Their information source said he was there to meet a woman, someone important. That’s all they had. They didn’t know if he was alone, or if he had other people with him.

  “Wait,” I interrupt. “Say that bit again?”

  “It is suspected that LC100 has associates – that means friends – across the city who he could call on for aid. This visit to meet a woman could be a cover for his continued revolutionary activity. It must be assumed that he will not be alone. The only way to guarantee capture is through the use of overwhelming force.”

  Overwhelming force.

 

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