The Duals (An Urban Fantasy Thriller)

by Karen Hayes

  I lean back in my chair and point at a large mirrored window. "Such an old trick, don't you think? An interrogation room, double-sided glass... I'm surprised I'm not cuffed."

  He studies me for a while before replying, "This isn't interrogation. I just wanted to talk."

  "Right. In that case, mind telling me who else is listening?"

  He casts a glance over his shoulder at the glass and shrugs. "I specifically didn't discuss it with the General. I presume there's nobody there."

  He'll never change. So impassive, so focused, so meticulous in everything he says or does. Nothing can throw him.

  "The General," I repeat. "He's the boss here, isn't he?"

  "Not really. Unlike Hermetis, the Agency doesn't have a sole leader. Having said that, the General is the closest we have to it, I suppose."

  "And you? What do you do?"

  Dad stands up. With a heartrendingly familiar gesture, he slides one hand into his pocket while hooking the other thumb over his slim black belt under the suit jacket. "I don't work for the Agency. I'm not on their payroll, anyway. I'm their partner and supplier of the latest technological equipment."

  I nod. "I remember. Adam did say the Agency had all sorts of funny gadgets at their disposal. One thing he didn't say was that you were behind it."

  "I suppose he told you and your young lady a lot of things."

  "You bet. He told us all about this place. How it works; how they kill people. So all these neural suppressors and stuff are made by you, are they?"

  "They're made by Brana Technologies Classified Research Department. The files on the memory stick you had in your possession describe the manufacturing of our latest serum formula which strips carriers of their abilities - either temporarily or permanently. You need to know that the Agency isn't a collection of murderous lunatics as I'm sure Mr. Vector described us to you. On the contrary: we've found a way to strip a carrier of his or her ability without having to eliminate the actual person."

  He pauses, then continues with a slight shrug, "Stier shouldn’t have given you the information. What's even worse is that it's now in the hands of Hermetis, isn't it?"

  I nod. "I'm afraid so. This Stier, who is he? I remember the name but I can't put it to a face. Sarah and I met up with him in a night club."

  "Stier is my ex-worker. He was one of those involved in the development of the serum. He wasn't a major researcher, though. You two found him somehow. Your carrier used her powers of control to convince him that he was mistreated and underappreciated, that I even planned on killing him. Now he's back here in our clinic, safely locked up. All thanks to you."

  "And we've been exposed to that neural suppressor, thanks to you."

  "Sorry. I didn't have a choice."

  He's not at all apologetic. He's simply informing me of the fact that he allowed his son's memory to be wiped clean using a device he made himself.

  I'd love to scream and yell at him, and shake my fists in front of his face, but... he's not worth it. None of it is.

  Come on, Chris. Blaming one's parents for one's problems is totally uncool. Never mind the fact that this man just happens to be your biological father. I'm not his responsibility anymore. I'm a big boy now. Big enough to take care of my - and Sarah's - interests and let him worry about his.

  I lean back in the chair and close my eyes. Slowly I run my hand over my face. "So what have you been up to all these years? I don't remember a lot."

  Dad pauses, then erupts in a long soliloquy. "When your mother was killed, you and I, we started drifting apart. You left home and entered that college. We had almost no contact. One day our security department informed me that you were back in town. About the same time, you met this girl, Sarah. There's nothing strange about that. Duals are usually drawn to their partners. Meeting you awoke her powers and triggered your physical growth. You started investigating your new abilities, trying to work out what was happening to you. You wanted to know all about this phenomenon..."

  "I wanted to know who killed Mom," I correct him.

  "That, too. You always thought it was me, didn't you? And now you're trying to connect all the dots: Anna's murder, my own work and whether it had anything to do with what was happening to the two of you. You probably thought I used to experiment on you as a child."

  I look up. "Did you?"

  He shakes his head. "Nonsense. I only realized you were a dual after Anna's death. Before that, I used to think you were simply a well-developed boy."

  "Do you mean that Sarah and I never worked for either you or Adam? We just happened to bump into each other which in turn awoke our respective powers? And then we decided to get to the truth?"

  "Exactly. You always suspected me of being part of some dark conspiracy, even as a child. It was only logical you thought that your new powers had something to do with me. By then, Hermetis had already discovered you - or should I say, you two had attracted their attention with all your experimentation. At the time, Adam Vector already knew that we'd developed the serum. That's when you and this girl found Stier. You wanted to use him to get some evidence against me and my company - and possibly acquire some information on what was going on with the two of you. Stier gave you the complete archive of my old and current staff, some of our products' specifications - and the serum's formula. We knew of course that Adam would sooner or later get hold of the information, which was why we attempted to get to you first. Unfortunately, we didn't have enough time to plan everything properly. We couldn't have known that the neural suppressor would affect you the way it did. Normally, duals simply submit to its power as the suppressor temporarily weakens the neural connections in their brains, rendering them comatose. But you two went berserk. There was no way we could control you."

  I rub my forehead as if to cram the new information into my brain. Dad unhurriedly paces the small space behind the table with his hands in his pockets. He's a stranger to me, almost: distant and reserved with no warmth or sympathy for his own child. So composed and businesslike.

  I mull over his words until finally I find the right question, "You said you didn't know I was a dual until Mom died. How did you know?"

  "The General told me, in a private conversation."

  "Did you know him then?"

  "Not before Anna's death, no. It was Adam Vector who'd already pinpointed you as a potential dual. It was he who'd arranged the attack on our house, planning to kill both your parents and kidnap you. The General's agents were too late... but they did scare Adam's men away, preventing them from taking you."

  "Wait a sec. You don't mean it was Adam's duals who killed Mom?"

  He gives me a long look. "Don't you understand? You were too strong and too valuable for both of them. Once you and your carrier had found each other, you would have made a very powerful dual pair."

  "At least Adam doesn't kill duals the way the Agency does," I point out.

  "We only kill the carriers. And even then, not necessarily. You need to understand: you may disagree with the General's methods but duals are a threat to humanity! And once Adam has it his way... yes, what is it?" he swings round to the sound of an opening door.

  A tall man with a crew cut enters the room. He's wearing some sort of semi-military uniform with a camo shirt, his powerful biceps bulging under its short sleeves.

  This man looks considerably fitter than the General. He has a crooked nose and a scarred face, heavy and rugged. He's about the same height as me. A buffalo tattoo covers his forearm. He's holding a thin manila folder.

  I raise an eyebrow. Who's that now?

  "Sergeant?" Dad says expectantly.

  The man throws the folder on the table and reports in a booming voice best suited for the parade square, "The General wanted you to see this, Sir."

  He then points his heavy chin in my direction without actually looking at me, as if ignoring me on purpose, "You're needed in the hospital ASAP, Sir."

  I sit up. "Is Sarah all right?"

  "Yes," he about-faces and
leaves.

  I look quizzically at Dad.

  "The General's aide," Dad explains. "Or Buffalo, as everybody calls him here. Ex-34th Infantry Division. Served in Iraq and Afghanistan. Some duals killed his sister. Which explains his dislike of them."

  "That's pretty obvious," I murmur.

  "Buffalo was in that scuffle by the night club. Did you see his nose? You broke it."

  I reach for the manila folder and open it without invitation. Lots of large scanned black and white pictures inside, together with photocopied paper cuttings. A robbery... a new trade union meeting... a collapsed mine...

  I skim the pictures. They appear to have been taken at the time of the Great Depression. The people in them look impoverished and old-fashioned. A young man in a long coat and fedora hat addresses a crowd gathered in front of a factory. Another picture shows him driving an old-fashioned convertible at full speed while pointing a gun at the road behind him, his blond hair flying in the wind.

  A new picture: the same person, only much older, posing with three more men in front of a jeweler's store.

  My gaze lingers on his face. I frown, going over the pictures once again. "Who's that - Adam Vector's gangster daddy?"

  "That's him," Dad explains. "That's Adam."

  I spring from my seat, very nearly upending my chair, lean over the table and scrutinize the pictures once more. "The likeness is striking but... No. Impossible. These pictures were taken what, sixty years ago?"

  "More."

  "The guy looks twenty-something. But here, look, here he looks older! Who is it?"

  "This is the person you know as Adam Vector. He was born in the early twentieth century."

  I peer at Dad's face, expecting him to laugh at his own joke.

  He doesn't. He never jokes, anyway. He's not that kind of person. Now, too, he's deadpan serious.

  I slap my hand on the folder. "Impossible. Do you mean he's immortal? Sorry, I'm not buying that."

  "How about telekinesis and mind control? You think that's possible? Pyrokinesis? Also, it's not really immortality. More like extreme longevity combined with anti-aging techniques."

  "Anti-aging techniques," I repeat, feeling utterly confused.

  "We know for certain that he used to grow older. He did grow old, in fact. It took us several years to collect all the evidence, study the archives and analyze the data, but finally we've managed to put the picture together, sort of. At a certain point, something happened: something that allowed Adam to rejuvenate. It happened again in the early 21st century when he rejuvenated again. He's been busy all through the 20th century. He was a gangster as you rightly noticed, then he was a prominent investor. He made millions only to lose every penny. He served in the army; he used to be our military advisor in Algeria, he's been both a grave robber and a mercenary and he's traveled really a lot. But recently, he's concentrated on building his own organization which unites all duals."

  "I wonder if rejuvenation is his ability as a dual?" I offered. "Having said that... no, I've seen him control people like Sarah does. In any case, he's up to something. There's something I'd like to show you..."

  I reach into my pocket for my phone. It feels strange in my hand. I pull it out and stare at its smashed-in, deformed frame.

  I look up at Dad. "Shit. I must have broken it when I fell out the window."

  "Never mind. Were you going to show me the files from Andy Hill's house? We gave them to him. He was going to make them public during the debates."

  "I know. That's the day after tomorrow, isn't it? What time is it now?"

  He pulls up his jacket sleeve and glances at his watch. "Eleven a.m."

  "I think Adam is planning to mess with the debates somehow."

  "We think so, too. That's why he's trying to get hold of the serum."

  A rustling sound echoes overhead. The General's voice buzzes from a small speaker under the ceiling, "James, I need you and your son in the hospital block."

  "He must have found out something," Dad says. "Let's go."

  We walk out. The woman in the pant suit is still standing guard by the door. As we leave, she abandons her post and follows in our wake. A holstered Taser dangles from her belt.

  "Where are we?" I ask.

  "This is Brownsville," Dad replies. "Officially it's been bought up by a charity but in fact, the Agency owns some of it: an old factory and several abandoned apartment buildings around it."

  We walk upstairs and enter a long corridor. A bleak light seeps through the row of blanked-out windows. Two armed guards stand at the other end of the corridor next to a doorway filled with voices.

  We don't go that way though but turn off into a side passage. The woman guard overtakes us and opens a door for us.

  We walk into a spacious room lined with glass medical cabinets. A couple of hospital beds stand by a wall, next to an IV drip and a stainless steel medical work table.

  Sarah is sitting on the bed hugging her knees. The General and Buffalo tower over her. Diana is sitting on the other bed hands on her knees just like a man. Ramiro is leaning against the wall behind her.

  I walk past them, slump onto the bed next to Sarah and hug her shoulders. At first, she seems intent on pushing me away but then she leans her forehead against my shoulder and freezes, silent.

  "James-" the General cuts himself short as a woman walks into the room wearing a white lab coat and surgery scrubs. He turns to her, "Vellina, will you wait outside, please?"

  The woman nods and leaves, pushing the medical table in front of her. Once she's closed the door behind herself, the General nods at Sarah,

  "The girl says she's seen one of the albinos in Hermetis. In the underground labs, to be precise."

  Dad looks surprised, anxious even: a rare occasion when his habitually expressionless face betrays not one but two emotions at the same time.

  "Is that true?" he asks her.

  Sarah raises her head. "Absolutely. I know what I saw."

  "He was in projection mode," the General explains.

  "What the hell does that mean?" I snap. "What's with all the albinos?"

  No one says anything. Diana exchanges glances with Ramiro.

  Finally, Dad replies, "It's been a while now since we noticed some very strange activity. It's as if there's a yet another entity which messes with our plans. Strangely enough, whenever we managed to get hold of one of these third parties, they've all turned out to be albinos."

  "Third parties? Do you mean you and Adam are not the only ones?" I ask.

  "Possible. We just don't know. But if Adam managed to get hold of one of them... We don't know a lot, you see. What we do know is that albinos are in a class of their own. Their powers can be very destructive; perverted even. So if Adam manages to research and adapt at least a fraction of their powers - which he probably already has, with all the dozens of researchers working for him - that could tip the scales in their favor."

  "But that's not the only problem, is it?" Sarah asks. "I saw some of your own workers there. Adam..." she shakes her head, "he made them fight each other. It was a terrible scrap. They ended up maiming each other. Emma was there, too. I saw her try to rip one guy's eyes out."

  The General turns to my father. "Adam got hold of both Emma Swenson and her guardian. And if what this girl says is true about Adam controlling several of our agents at once, it can only mean one thing," he pauses meaningfully.

  "The serum!" Buffalo booms.

  "Its second modification," Dad says with an emphatic nod. "Which means Adam has managed to work out how to switch the polarity."

  "I think he already had the formula," the General says. "He only needed a tiny little nudge in order to finalize it. And we gave it to him - or rather, the information on that memory stick did."

  "Please explain," Sarah says. "I told you everything I saw. Now you have to tell me - and Chris - what it actually was."

  I seem to understand. "The second modification of what, the serum? If the first type disables special powe
rs, then the second one..."

  Dad nods. "It amplifies them. That's why we didn't want Adam to get hold of it. It's not brain surgery: any qualified biochemist would sooner or later work out how to reverse its effects. Especially considering they'd been trying to come up with a formula of their own for quite a while."

  Buffalo frowns at Sarah and myself. "So we have these two to thank for that? Now Adam can magnify his own powers. Plus he has the albinos and at least ten to twelve of our own agents."

  "And Bill McAllister," Diana adds.

  Sarah startles at the sound of her voice. No wonder: it must have been the first sound she heard when she came round.

  Diana stands up and steps toward us. "McAllister is on tour now, isn't he?"

  Buffalo swings toward the General. "She's right!" he chops the air with his hand. "He's on tour! He's just been to DC and now he's going to Vegas! They're scared shitless of us which is why he takes his entire bunch of duals with him. At the moment, Hermetis is nearly empty. Very soon it'll be swarming with duals again. Now is the right time! We'll catch them off guard," Buffalo slams his fist against the palm of his other hand, unwittingly repeating Greene's fire-making gesture. "Now we can free our people and take the albino. We need to act now, while they're not expecting us."

  "We need the floor plans for the lab," father says, "as well as access codes."

  "We do. Which is why," Buffalo pokes his fat finger at Sarah, "the girl has to come with us."

  Sarah

  I stand five paces away from Hermetis' front doors.

  The building looms over me like a shark's fang. Preoccupied New Yorkers hurry past. It starts to drizzle. The building's glass doors are opening and closing non-stop, letting businesslike people in and out.

  I step toward the doors.

  Four steps left. Three.

  Why on earth did I have to agree to this? My head is itchy under the wig; the sunglasses looks admittedly stupid on a rainy day like this. The gun feels heavy in my bag. And I feel like a clown. A very dangerous clown, nervous enough to whip out the gun and start shooting at the first sign of danger.