by Nina D'Aleo
I could hear by the gruffness that he was downplaying it and felt an extra twist of fear.
“Bos … ” I said. “I’m really glad you’re getting out today … I think the doctors are right—you’ll have a much faster recovery in your own place. I asked my friend Tom Costigan to head in and drive you home—do you remember I said I’d call him? Just let him help you—don’t be stubborn about it, there’s no shame in it. You need help. Trust me.”
Tom Costigan wasn’t my contact’s name—it was our unofficial code for “backup” based on an obscure book reference that only Dark and I understood, because it was one we’d had to study for school—or at least I’d studied it and he’d apparently sat behind me during the exam and cheated off my answers—which was why we’d ended up using it for backup.
My hand started shaking again and I swapped ears waiting for his response. After a pause he said,
“Tom …? You must think I’m in a bad way …”
“You are,” I said.
“And you?” he shot back, his voice hard now. He had the phone close to his mouth.
“I’m fine, I’m at Headquarters,” I said and I knew he’d hear the emptiness of the words. “Just take care—the medication you’re on can give you hallucinations—you can see some crazy stuff—and it can feel very real at times …” I tried to allude to the Shaman. “You can even feel paranoid, like there’s people following you …”
“Right,” Dark said. I heard voices in the background and he added, “Doctor’s here. Gotta go.”
“Be okay,” I told him, feeling strangled.
“Right,” he said again, stiffly. “See you soon.”
I hung up and sat for a minute reeling with fear. Then I kicked myself back into action and went to HR to report Dark’s car stolen along with his and my duty belts. I knew by doing this, I was giving myself extra stress, having to fill out paperwork and explain the situation, but I didn’t want Annrais Pope using our equipment to trap me with a frame up. Being arrested was the last thing I needed. Afterwards I went to the armory and picked up a new belt and accessories, including a new work phone and headed back to my desk to rehearse the story I’d be selling to Twentyman. Once that was in the bag, I turned my attention to my computer.
Since my situation had been so unstable post-attack, there were no tasks specifically assigned me, but I read the few incoming division reports so that I could at least give the impression of keeping up to speed and then I went into research mode. I brought up Omen’s profile, released after his defection. Since it was a general overview available to all levels of clearance the information was sparse and generic. How many years he’d served as an agent, his expertise, training history … nothing that would give me an advantage over the Shaman leader. And at this stage, I seriously needed an advantage. He had me on all accounts. I tried to access more information, but everything was shut down tight.
I ended up sitting staring at his photograph on the screen. If I hadn’t known who he was and someone had told me this was a photo of a serial killer, I would have taken one look at those eyes and said, “Yeah I can see that.” I think it would have been a completely different story if he were smiling. He was one of those people a genuine smile could change from frightening to attractive. But with the girl he loved dead and the weight of the world on his shoulders, I understood he had very little to smile about. I ran a search for the Rose, Evelyn Drake’s, profile but found it removed. The Chapter had a way of doing that. If an agent died they just erased all history of them—as though they never existed. But I had a clear picture in my mind of the woman in red. No one could erase that.
I ran another search—this time using the name Rocco, even though I was quite sure it was a codename and that Rocco had never been a part of C11. The Shaman rebels seemed to be using codes as well. As expected the search turned nothing up, so I went into the Lexicon—the C11 database of all the law enforcement, military and Special Forces personnel in the country. I searched again for Rocco and again—nothing.
I sat back in my seat and an idea came to me—I accessed the surveillance archives and ran a place and time match for that morning in the Headquarters’ lobby. I found uncorrupted footage of me and Rocco standing there talking. I focused in on him and freeze-framed around his face, then directed a search for his features. The search program rapidly flicked through hundreds of different faces before settling on a driver’s license shot of him. I leaned in and read the name—Adam Best—with a legitimate address and other details.
I pressed further into his file and found all the right documents that would convince anyone that this was, in fact, Adam Best. He hadn’t been kidding about Marco being capable. Rocco was officially anonymous. I could always just ask him who he was—but he didn’t seem the type to open up and I really needed to know who I was dealing with if I was to have any chance of outsmarting them and getting me and all of mine out of this alive.
My thoughts returned to Dark. I took out my cell phone and signed into the tracking application we were trialing for Byter. I watched the locator signal closing in over the city, then focusing in more and more until it found the hospital and then his room within it. So he was still there—and I hoped he wasn’t doing anything crazy and impulsive to get out because he thought I was in trouble.
I worried for a moment that the application could be used by the Horseman against us. Byter had assured us only he knew about the microchips and their function, and I’d always trusted our friend completely, but now I wasn’t sure about anything anymore. I considered removing the app, cutting the microchip out of my arm, but right now it was the only way for Dark and I to track each other and I couldn’t risk shutting that down. I rubbed my forearm nervously and second-guessed the decision, but let it ride.
I glanced up at the office clock and saw with a jolt that it was almost time to see Twenty. I pushed back from my desk and moved fast for his office. Kenealy waved me through with one hand, the other still typing, and I found myself walking down the corridor to Twentyman’s office—pressing the red button of Rocco’s cell hidden in my pocket, signaling him the plan was a go. I breathed deeply to steady myself. My boss was in a familiar position, reading papers at his desk. Even he looked haggard and unbathed. As usual he made me wait while he finished the document. When he did look up, his expression was brutal, so I decided to launch straight in.
“Agent Twentyman. I’ve been reviewing the details of Omen’s infiltration of the C11 computer systems and I noted that he hacked a large amount of data from Conference files. It occurred to me that he might have been trawling for something significant to use against the Chapter, maybe even something related to the location and identity of walts—possibly for blackmailing purposes or for something even worse …”
I rattled on for a while longer, sticking as closely to the truth as I dared for authenticity, knowing full well I could be talking to the Horseman himself, and when I was done Twentyman leaned back in his chair. I could see from his eyes that he was thinking hard. He opened his mouth—
Agent Kenealy was heard running down the hall, her matron shoes clopping even on the plush carpet. When she opened the door and leaned into the room, her face was flushed in blotches.
“It’s him!” she hissed to Twentyman. “Omen—line 1.”
Twentyman sat bolt upright. He swallowed to compose himself then picked up the phone. He spoke for a few minutes, mostly saying, “I understand. Yes, I understand,” then he was on his feet, yelling orders at Kenealy as they ran out. Whatever Rocco had told them had worked. I was alone in the office. I jumped into action.
I rushed around the desk and sat in Twenty’s chair. I hoped he’d left his computer on so that I wouldn’t need the override device I’d stolen from Byter, but the screen was black. Cursing quietly, I booted up, inserting the device into Twentyman’s Shake and typing in his names and Byter’s code. Twentyman’s computer files came up. I ran a search for the White List, which came back with zero files. Then I skimmed all his folders, fi
les and emails searching for any sign of names from the List. There was plenty of confidential information, but not what I was looking for. I glanced up at the door, my legs jittering and hands shaking. I couldn’t linger. Who knew when Twentyman would get back? I ran one final search and the results were the same—nothing. I grabbed the override out of the Shake, and stood up—as I did a piece of paper on Twentyman’s desk caught my attention. It was sticking out from a half concealed book and I could just see the word Blood.
I pulled the paper free and stared down at the words written in red. I am the Blood Horseman.
I blinked, shocked—it seemed so clear that it had to be a mistake or a joke—or something. Why would he have just left this here? Was Twenty actually the Horseman—could it be that simple? I put the paper on the desk and took a photo with my phone. A door slammed beyond the office and I jolted. I’d been there way too long.
I placed the paper back inside the book and positioned the chair exactly as it had been, then left the office, keeping my head down and walking straight to my desk.
Feng was back in the office, standing beside her chair looking around. Groups of others were also huddled talking and watching the door.
“What’s happened?” I asked Feng as I reached our pod.
“Someone said Omen’s in the building and he’s requested a one on one with Twentyman,” she told me, raising thin, shaped eyebrows.
Jovic came through the door and headed in our direction. “False alarm,” he announced and a general muttering broke out.
“Why would he prank Twenty?” Feng asked as Jovic joined us.
“Because he’s a nutjob,” her partner said, sitting down at his desk. “I mean he shot his partner. He’s just taunting us.”
“Did you ever meet him—when he was an agent?” I asked them.
“Omen?” Jovic said. “Few times. The guy was stuck up.”
“I thought he was hot,” Feng said.
Jovic gave her an annoyed sideways glance. “You think everyone’s hot.”
“Except you,” she said.
“Except me,” he muttered and something about his voice made me wonder if I’d missed something there as well. So much for being a secret agent with expert skills of observation and behavioral decoding. I was missing things right in front of my face. But now wasn’t the time for a self-esteem crisis. The doors from the foyer parted and Twentyman entered looking even more fierce and ticked-off than usual.
Eric sidelined him as he walked in and they exchanged a few words. They glanced my way, then headed back out, and I saw their silhouettes through the frosted glass doors turning left, toward the auditoriums. I may have missed a few office crushes, but that was suspicious behavior if ever I saw it. Had Eric seen me coming out of Twentyman’s office? Maybe he was a Shaman too and he’d read my mind? My chest felt so tight I could barely breathe. I couldn’t just wait for them to come for me. I had to strike first.
Jovic looked busy on his computer and Feng was talking on the phone so I left them, slipping away without drawing their attention. I exited the office and paused beside the wall, seeing the Twenty and Eric in the distance, turning into one of the lecture rooms. I crept after them, trying not to look like I was creeping: even though the corridor was deserted, the cameras were still watching. I came to the room they’d vanished into, and with painstaking care turned the door handle and peeked inside. It was a smaller training auditorium, just fifteen or so rows down to the stage below. My boss and Eric were standing near the front with their backs to me. They were talking, but I couldn’t hear what they were saying.
I crouched down and slipped through the door, crawling through the dimly lit auditorium to the stairs and inching down until I could just make out their words. I just hoped surveillance wasn’t on me, but the chances it wasn’t were slim. I made a half-hearted attempt to make it look as though I was searching for something underneath the seats while straining to hear Twenty and Eric’s conversation. It became easier when they raised their voices.
Twenty was saying, “No. No! It’s a massive waste of resources. I told you. She’s been under the spotlight for over eighteen months now with no result. She’s borderline, but she hasn’t turned.”
“And I told you,” Eric said, with a sharp tone that I’d never heard him use with our boss before, “it’s only a matter of time.”
“She has the backing of the General. If something happens to her, he will bring the full force of his inquiry down on us. He’s watching. He knows,” Twenty barked.
I peeked above the seat. It sounded as though they were talking about me, but they hadn’t used my name.
“And that is all thanks to you!” Twentyman continued. “I said to step back from her or he’d notice—and you didn’t—and he did!”
“I was trying to force her to expose herself!”
“By giving her more paperwork!” Twenty gave a harsh laugh. “You just exposed yourself as being incompetent—and what’s more, you didn’t realize, but I’ve been keeping a close eye on you as well and I’ve noticed a few things that you better start explaining right now—or it’s you that’s going to be relocated—permanently!”
Eric started laughing then, a forced, annoying cackle. I stared at him with loathing that sharply snapped to shock as he whipped out a knife and slashed it across Twentyman’s throat. Blood spurted everywhere. My boss gasped, gurgled and collapsed. I clutched the seat beside me, frozen with shock. I thought the door would burst open and agents would rush in, that the cameras would have picked up everything, but the auditorium fell to silence as Twentyman’s gasps failed. Eric stood over the body, calmly cleaning the knife on a handkerchief. I’d thought Twentyman was the Horseman, but clearly I’d been wrong. And I’d thought Eric was an annoying prick, but ultimately harmless—and I’d been wrong again. So who was he? Could Eric be the Horseman?
I felt my work phone vibrate in my pocket and grabbed at it, afraid it was about to ring, but it was turned to silent. I checked the ID and saw it was the General. I rejected the call, then peeked back above the seat, jolting to see Eric was now looking my way, squinting through the darkness. He started toward me then stopped, taking out his own phone and answering it, “Yes.”
His expression widened to surprise. “Oh—it’s you—I’m so sorry—I didn’t recognize the number. Yes. Yes. I understand, but he made me. He knew. Yes, I know but I … I know, I’m sorry. I am. I know … Horseman … please. Yes—I understand. I will do it now.”
Looking shaken, Eric grabbed Twentyman and, as I watched, the body seemed to shrink further and further and cave in until only a pile of ash was left. Eric swept what remained into a corner with his foot. Then he straightened his jacket and jogged up the stairs on the other side of the auditorium, vanishing through the door. I exhaled and stood on shaky legs. I stared down at the few crumbs that were left of Twenty. There wasn’t even any blood left. A sharp pain stabbed through my head and I gripped it. This was crazy. I had to get out of there. I barged out the door, then pressed back against the wall. Eric still stood talking on the phone at the other end of the corridor, near the doors leading into the office. Was he still talking to the Horseman? I didn’t know, but being backstabbed in the office had just taken on a whole new meaning.
I kept close to the wall and hoped I could move past without him noticing, but just as I reached Eric, my phone vibrated again and he looked up from his conversation and spotted me. I tried not to run—or scream—grabbing my phone out of my pocket so that I had a reason not to look at him. It was the General again—and I needed to talk to him desperately—but not here. I hurried to my desk and grabbed my jacket. My shift had officially ended fifteen minutes back and conveniently being on reduced duties meant I didn’t have to do doubles. What I did have to do was to talk to the General about Eric, about Omen, about my family and Dark—things had gone way over my head and I needed his help.
22
When I stepped out into the lobby, I saw Rocco waiting for me. He was le
aning against one wall beside a fake hibiscus in an oversized terracotta pot. I pushed through the surge of suits escaping work. Rush hour. Dark hated the term. He’d always argued it wasn’t one hour, it was several, so why don’t they change it to Rush Hours? Probably for the same reason they don’t change Morning Sickness to Pregnancy Sickness, even though some girls are hanging over the bowl from dawn to dusk and beyond. Rocco and I met in the center and kissed. This time it was slightly more lingering, long enough at least for me to notice the warmth of his lips. Something I shouldn’t be noticing given the current dire circumstances.
He put his arm around me and we walked to the glass doors and out to his black SUV parked in front of the building. Night lights softened the sharp edges and hid the grimy corners of Toran-R. The city, all business by day, took on a whole new persona at night. It became a wonderland of possibility, of magic and excitement. The darkness also obscured my view of the surrounding buildings, so I couldn’t see her, but I assumed Pope was there, lurking in the shadows, staring at us through telescopic sights. Rocco covered me as I climbed into the car.
“Is she out there?” I asked as he got behind the wheel and started up.
“It would be smart to assume so,” he said. The relentless traffic stream beside us came to a sudden stop and Rocco pulled out, heading down the main strip toward the freeway.
“What’s happened?” he asked, looking over at me.
At first I couldn’t form words, and then I told him everything all at once—ending with my intention to speak with the General and tell him everything. I probably should have withheld the last part, but it had just rushed out with the rest.
Rocco took everything in then said, “You can’t tell him anything. You can’t trust that he’s not affiliated with the Horseman.”
“No … ” I said. “He can’t be. Twentyman said that the General was looking out for me, and Eric didn’t argue that. If somehow the General was involved wouldn’t Eric have said something …”