The Cut Out

by Jack Heath

  Noelein smiled, as if reading his mind.

  The lift accelerated downwards, falling faster and faster. Gravity seemed to be reduced – Fero felt as though he would be able to jump his own height, if it weren’t for the low ceiling. His stomach writhed.

  ‘How far down are we going?’ he asked.

  ‘You seem anxious,’ Noelein said. ‘Don’t worry. As in most lifts, there are several backup cables above us, and a platform on springs down below. In the event of a freefall—’

  ‘I’m more concerned about the terror attack,’ Fero said.

  The lift lurched to an abrupt halt. The door swished open.

  Fero found himself in a small foyer. Two security guards stood behind a counter, protected by a pane of reinforced glass. A poster on the wall was illustrated with a picture of a microphone and a slogan: Words travel far. Choose them carefully.

  Noelein led Fero over to the counter, where she signed a touch screen, and then handed the stylus to Fero. The screen was filled with tiny text, which began with I understand and ended with punishable by death.

  ‘It’s a standard secrecy form,’ Noelein said. ‘Sign it.’

  Fero took a deep breath and signed in the field at the bottom of the screen. One of the security guards pushed a bright orange lanyard through a gap under the pane of glass.

  ‘Keep this on,’ he said. ‘I’ll need your phone.’

  Fero gave his phone to the security guard – it was strange how naked he felt without it – and put the lanyard around his neck. He followed Noelein to a door at the far end of the foyer. She fished a grey security tag out of her pocket and held it against a magnetic sensor. The door clicked and a muffled buzzer sounded on the other side.

  ‘Welcome to the Library,’ she said, and pushed the handle.

  A grid of desks stretched out to the horizon. Men and women in business suits sat in front of computers, headphones on. But the screens were blacked out. They must have been switched off when the buzzer sounded. Everyone was looking at Fero. Hundreds of impassive eyes were fixed on his.

  ‘They can’t work while you’re in here,’ Noelein said. ‘It’s a security protocol.’

  She started to walk away, and he followed her.

  ‘There must be hundreds of people down here,’ he said.

  ‘A thousand, almost,’ Noelein replied. ‘These are the Cataloguers. They intercept Besmari emails, text messages, phone calls and even in-person conversations via satellite laser microphones. Our software filters out ninety-nine per cent of the useless data, but that still leaves a lot to analyse.’

  ‘Wouldn’t someone notice all these people coming through the Towzhik Library?’

  ‘If anyone asks too many questions, we just have them killed.’

  Fero stared at her.

  ‘That was a joke,’ she said. ‘This facility is connected to two other libraries on the surface, so the comings and goings aren’t obvious. This way.’

  She led Fero past several unmarked doors. The Cataloguers watched them walk away, expressions unreadable.

  Fero tried to push down the anxiety growing in his belly. Noelein was giving him a lot of sensitive information. Why? He felt like he was circling a black hole in tighter and tighter spirals. Soon he would pass the event horizon and never find his way out.

  When Noelein reached the eighth door, she swiped her security tag again, and the door clicked. She pulled it open.

  ‘Step into my office,’ she said. ‘Quick. We don’t have much time.’

  Lights flickered on automatically as Fero walked in, illuminating shelf after shelf of hardback books. A few pictures of children – two girls and a boy, gap-toothed and scruffy-haired – were propped against them. The hardwood desk was covered by a map of Kamau. A glass bowl rested on top of it.

  ‘Your kids are cute,’ Fero said.

  Noelein looked at the pictures. ‘Those aren’t my kids.’

  Fero waited for her to elaborate, but she didn’t. She sat down behind the desk, Fero in a creaking leather chair in the corner.

  ‘Kind of low-tech,’ he said.

  ‘Sorry?’

  He pointed at the rows of reference books and nonfiction titles. ‘You know, you can look up whatever you want on the internet.’

  Noelein looked surprised by his confidence. It shocked Fero, too. Anyone listening would think he chatted with intelligence agents all the time. He reminded himself that he was completely at Noelein’s mercy. Just find out what she wants, give it to her and get out, he told himself.

  ‘Besmar has ten times as many analysts as we do,’ Noelein said. ‘They monitor every search, every download, every call to every server. Our Cataloguers have to be extremely careful. Does your phone have a camera on the front as well as the back?’

  ‘Yes. For video calls.’

  ‘Whenever you browse the web on it, Besmari spies can track the movement of your eyes. They can see which individual words you’re looking at.’

  Fero was suddenly glad his phone had been taken away.

  ‘Books are safer,’ Noelein said.

  ‘If Melzen Hospital is abandoned,’ Fero said, ‘why would they want to blow it up?’

  ‘The virus is still inside,’ Noelein said. ‘In the air, in the water, attached to the walls. At the moment that’s not a problem, because the building is sealed. But with the amount of hexogen the terrorists stole, they could disperse it over an area of roughly this size.’

  She turned the glass bowl upside down and placed it on the map. Because the northern half of Kamau was devoted to farming and mining, much of the population was in the south – under the bowl.

  ‘Anyone within a kilometre of Melzen will be killed instantly. But our real problem is Towzhik.’ Noelein prodded the map. ‘A million people live there. After the rain of toxic debris, most of them will be infected. From there, the disease will be impossible to contain. Our analysts estimate a casualty rate of seventy to ninety per cent.’

  Fero stared at her. ‘Ninety per cent of the people in Towzhik could die?’

  ‘Not Towzhik. Ninety per cent of the people in Kamau.’

  Fero’s heart was racing. ‘Surely the virus is dead. After the fire, and all this time . . .’

  Noelein shook her head. ‘We never managed to prove it, but this strain was engineered in a Besmari laboratory. It was designed to survive for years without a living host.’

  ‘What are their demands?’

  ‘They’ve given us forty-eight hours – forty-five, now – to release a Besmari national named Otto Altmaya from Velechnya.’

  ‘That’s it?’

  ‘That’s it. Unfortunately, Altmaya is long dead. We pretended we had captured him alive so Besmari intelligence would believe he was compromised. They were forced to abort all the operations Altmaya knew about.’

  ‘Can’t you just admit that he’s dead?’

  ‘You’re missing the point, Fero. We think they picked Altmaya because they’ve figured out we don’t have him. The demand is just for show. A distraction. They’re going to set off this bomb no matter what.’

  ‘But . . . why?’ The senselessness of it horrified Fero. ‘What do they stand to gain?’

  A tight-lipped smile. ‘I used to ask those kinds of questions. They never got me anywhere. Besmar is a nation of savages led by lunatics. A reason to kill innocent people isn’t required – just the capability.’

  A clock ticked on the wall.

  ‘You must have a way to stop them,’ Fero said.

  ‘What would you suggest?’

  ‘You could evacuate Towzhik.’

  Noelein raised an eyebrow. ‘Evacuate a million people? That would be a huge operation. There would be no way to keep it hidden from the terrorists. They’d set off the bombs as soon as they realised what we were doing. And even if everything went exactly as we intended – people left, the terrorists set off the bombs, and everyone survived – where are the evacuees supposed to go? Those who live in Towzhik could never return. Even assuming
no one got infected, a million suddenly homeless Kamauans would mean economic Armageddon. Our country would die a slower death – but it would still die.’

  Fero was silent.

  ‘There is one other possibility,’ Noelein said.

  ‘What is it?’ Fero could hear the desperation in his own voice.

  ‘Someone sneaks into the hospital, removes crucial components from the three bombs, and sneaks out again.’

  ‘I thought you said nine people couldn’t get in.’

  ‘They couldn’t. But one person, travelling alone, would have a better chance of slipping in unnoticed.’

  The way she was looking at him made Fero feel dizzy.

  This is why I’m here, he realised.

  ‘I can’t do that!’ he said.

  Noelein folded her hands together on the desk.

  ‘I evaded the police for a while,’ Fero continued, ‘but I was just lucky. I don’t know anything about disarming bombs, and there’s no way I can sneak past five Besmari terrorists if a team of nine—’

  ‘You’ve misunderstood me,’ Noelein said. ‘I’m not asking you to break into Melzen.’

  ‘Oh.’ Fero collapsed back into his chair. He didn’t even remember standing up.

  ‘There’s something which has never been made public about the coronavirus outbreak,’ she said. ‘There was a survivor.’

  Fero blinked. Why would anyone keep that a secret?

  ‘Who?’ he asked.

  ‘A sixteen-year-old girl named Dessa Cormanenko. She was caught on camera entering the hospital, but she showed up a year later. Not infected, not injured. Somehow, she had escaped from Melzen Hospital completely unharmed.’

  Fero frowned. ‘How did she get out of the building without anyone seeing?’

  ‘We don’t know. Every branch of law enforcement was watching, and they saw nothing. We think she knows about a secret entrance. If so—’

  ‘Then she can get to the bombs without the terrorists finding her,’ Fero said. ‘Clever. So what do you need me for?’

  ‘That’s the tricky part,’Noelein said.‘Dessa Cormanenko is in Besmar.’

  ‘What? Why?’

  ‘She’s a Librarian. We sent her over there on a mission.’ Noelein smiled, showing slightly grey teeth. ‘We call that being “on loan”.’

  Fero frowned. ‘If she works for you, why haven’t you asked her how she escaped from Melzen?’

  ‘You’re quick,’ Noelein said. ‘That’ll help.’ She leaned over the map. ‘We haven’t asked because when she volunteered to join us, we didn’t want to tell her we knew she had been there.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Intelligence work isn’t just about gathering information. It’s also about withholding it.’

  Fero wasn’t sure if this was an answer to his question, or an excuse not to.

  ‘What’s she doing in Besmar?’ he asked.

  ‘She’s working undercover in their weapons development division. We heard rumours of a turbofan-powered light tank being made. Her mission was to find out if the plans exist, copy them if they do, and smuggle the copies back across the Dead Zone.’

  Fero’s mind was whirling. ‘Surely this – stopping the bomb – is more important.’

  ‘It is,’ Noelein said. ‘But we can’t find her. She dropped off the radar sixteen days after crossing the border. She’s not using the phone we provided, or living at the apartment we bought.’

  ‘How do you know she’s still alive?’

  Noelein stifled a laugh. ‘If you knew Dessa Cormanenko, you wouldn’t ask. She’s been presumed dead on five separate occasions, not including the Melzen incident. She was on board the Nianec when it sank. She was inside the Ambrus power facility when the reactor core melted down. But whatever happens, she always turns up. She’s come back from the dead so many times that the other Librarians have started calling her “Frankenstein”.’

  ‘So how are you going to get her back?’

  ‘I’ll have to send a cut out across the Dead Zone to find her,’ Noelein said. ‘Someone the Besmari border security teams will trust immediately.’ Her gaze met Fero’s. ‘Someone like Troy Maschenov.’

  THE BRIEF

  Fero’s jaw dropped. ‘You’re kidding.’

  ‘You look enough like Maschenov to fool a computer,’ Noelein said. ‘You almost fooled me, and I knew he was locked up in Velechnya.’

  ‘I don’t know how to be a spy!’

  ‘You speak fluent Besmari. According to your school records you’re a star athlete. Boxing, sprinting, rock climbing – do you know how to shoot a gun?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Never mind. You shouldn’t need to. Looking like you do, it’s an easy mission.’

  ‘Sneaking across the Dead Zone, hunting down a Librarian, escaping – you call that easy?’

  ‘Yes,’ Noelein said. ‘I’d do it myself if I had time to establish a fake identity as solid as yours.’

  ‘You’ve had training.’

  ‘We can train you.’

  ‘In forty-five hours?’ Fero demanded.

  ‘In eleven hours. We have to send you over tonight.’

  Tonight. Fero felt dizzy.

  ‘I’m very confident,’ Noelein said. ‘I know you can do this, and I know Cormanenko can too. I’m betting the safety of our nation on it.’

  This wasn’t as reassuring as she had probably intended. If I do this, Fero thought, and I screw it up, millions will die.

  ‘There must be a better plan,’ he said.

  Noelein shook her head. ‘Every Librarian and every Cataloguer has been working on it,’ she said. ‘There are no other options.’

  Fero imagined the explosions, the wreckage, the panic. Terrified citizens stumbling through the smoky streets.

  Being a spy couldn’t be as safe as Noelein suggested. But he believed her when she said he was Kamau’s only chance. If he accepted, he would be risking his life. If he refused, he would be risking the lives of his parents. Irla. Ms Tilya. Everyone he knew.

  ‘I wish I could give you a few hours to think it over,’ Noelein said. ‘But there’s no time to waste.’

  What kind of person was Fero? He was good at sport and foreign languages. He struggled to make friends or relax in public places. But underneath all that, who was he? The sort of person who would risk other people’s lives to save his own – or the other way around?

  ‘I’ll do it,’ he said quietly.

  Noelein stood up. ‘I’ve already told your school and your parents that you’ll be away for three days,’ she said. ‘Your training starts now.’

  He had expected to be thanked, or congratulated for his choice. Now he realised that she had never really given him one.

  A chill ran up his spine. What would she have done to me, he wondered, if I had said no?

  ‘I’ll need to go home to pack a bag,’ Fero said.

  Noelein replied in Besmari. ‘From now on,’ she said, ‘we don’t speak in Kamauan. And no, you don’t need a bag. We have everything you need.’

  They were walking past the labyrinth of desks. This time, none of the headphoned Cataloguers looked up. The clacking of keys filled the air. Fero was a Librarian now. The security protocols didn’t apply.

  ‘But I’ll need my clothes,’ he said, in Besmari. ‘And my toothbrush, and my phone charger—’

  ‘Already prepared for you.’

  She was going to make him say it – the real reason he wanted to go home. ‘I need to say goodbye to my parents,’ he said. ‘In case I don’t come back.’

  Noelein showed no trace of sympathy or concern. ‘You’ll be back,’ she said.

  ‘You can’t be a hundred per cent sure about that.’

  ‘I’m a hundred per cent sure we don’t have time for teary farewells.’ She led Fero towards the lift. ‘You’re staying here until you’re ready to cross the Dead Zone.’

  ‘Let me call them, at least.’

  ‘Sorry. This mission is highly classified. Unt
il it’s over, talking to anyone from your old life is considered high treason.’

  My old life, Fero thought. Can she really expect me to abandon my whole world, just like that?

  ‘Your parents don’t know exactly what you’re doing, but they’ve been told you’re working for us,’ Noelein added. ‘They’re very proud of you.’

  Perhaps this was true. But proud or not, Fero was sure they were going insane with worry. He pictured them on the couch, his father weeping, his mother squeezing a teacup until it cracked.

  ‘You’ll be back,’ Noelein said. ‘Cormanenko will keep you safe.’

  ‘She won’t be with me when I’m crossing the border into Besmar,’ Fero pointed out.

  Noelein pushed the button for the lift. ‘I’ve been to Besmar,’ she said. ‘You know how dangerous it is?’

  ‘How dangerous?’

  ‘Less than being dragged behind a speeding train.’

  The doors opened and they entered the lift. Noelein punched in a different code. The lift started descending. Fero wondered how deep this facility went.

  ‘Your call sign is Cuckoo, by the way,’ Noelein said.

  Fero grimaced. ‘Really?’

  ‘Speak in Besmari,’ Noelein said. ‘Cuckoos are brood parasites – they lay their eggs in the nests of other birds. When the eggs hatch, the rival birds believe the baby cuckoos are their own. Since the enemy will believe you to be one of their child spies, we thought the name was appropriate.’

  ‘Dessa Cormanenko gets called “Frankenstein”,’ Fero said in Besmari, ‘and I’m stuck with “Cuckoo”?’

  ‘I’ll make you a deal. Cheat death five times and we’ll talk about getting you a cooler name. How do you feel about “Dracula”?’

  Fero thought that sounded much better. But he could tell she was making fun of him, so he said nothing.

  The lift stopped and the doors parted, revealing an enormous warehouse separated into aisles by huge shelves. Iron girders supported the roof. The concrete underfoot was cracked and blackened in some places, and perfectly smooth in others. Thousands of objects were strewn across the shelves, some ordinary – rakes, TV antennae, computer mice, raincoats, microwave ovens, bars of soap – and others Fero couldn’t identify.