The Unseen

by Hines

  “Like Saul—um, Saul Slater.”

  “You really think he was a double agent?”

  “He . . . I found files.”

  “Just as you were supposed to. I was sorry it had to be Saul; he really was a good agent. But he was getting a little too close to the truth, so he had to be part of the cover-up.”

  Lucas felt like he was about to get sick. “That’s what I am too,” he said.

  “You’re catching on,” Swarm said. “My idea for Inside Information was rather simple: we create agents who don’t know they’re agents, you see? Enlist very young people for our purposes. Very young people who seem to have a . . . let’s call it a predisposition . . . for this work. The right build, the right mental capacities, as determined by their schoolwork, that sort of thing. Work with them for years, conditioning them. Some like to use the word brainwashing, but I find that somewhat distasteful. I like conditioning much better.”

  “These kids,” Lucas said, afraid of the answer to the question he was about to ask. “Did they come from orphanages?”

  Swarm smiled. “I know what you’re asking, Lucas, and the short answer is: no, they didn’t come from orphanages. But there’s a longer answer you’ll want to hear. Well, maybe want isn’t the right word, but an answer you should hear.” He tilted his head at the ceiling of the car, considered for a moment.

  “Long story short, we began Project Inside Information during the Cold War era, used participants to keep tabs on ambassadors, foreign dignitaries, that sort of thing. Perfect cover, you see? If the person gets caught, he is nothing more than this creepy Peeping Tom. He doesn’t even know he’s collecting information or evidence.”

  “Evidence to bring back to that church.”

  “Yes. All the files, everything going back to the church. Not horribly secure, I grant you, but once again, something unexpected—hiding information in the open. Anyone who investigates, finds out anything about the church . . . well, they’d just find this group of creepy Peeping Toms once again, wouldn’t they?”

  “That’s why you conditioned them to revere the place, treat it as holy. Didn’t want them snooping through old case files.”

  “Exactly. And really, a church was the obvious choice, wasn’t it?”

  Lucas’s legs felt weak. The whole Creep Club had been an intelligence operation of manufactured monsters. But what did that make him? A natural freak? He’d never been part of Creep Club, and now, the one group of people he’d felt remotely connected to was forever gone. By his hand, no less.

  “I can sense what you’re thinking, Lucas. Indeed a tragedy—one of many associated with this project. Anyway, when the Department of Homeland Security was formed, you can imagine some of the more legitimate intelligence agencies took a great interest in Project Inside Information. Creep Club.”

  “They started monitoring people with foreign ties,” Lucas said.

  “For a while it was successful. But then, as I said, as more and more legitimate agencies became aware of the project’s existence, the information became unstable. Until eventually someone started gathering information on the project, threatening to be a whistle-blower.”

  “Saul.”

  “Yes. The existence of a project that spies on foreign-born U.S. citizens . . . well, very messy. A PR fiasco. And so, we began to make it someone else’s project.”

  “Guoanbu. You set up Saul as a double agent, and now, when the story hits the media, this will look like the work of the Chinese.”

  “And the shootings here, the explosion at your friend’s house, those will be linked to Guoanbu doing some sudden housecleaning. It’s pretty messy now, but it will all wrap up rather cleanly. And to make it all happen, these Dark Fear agents.” He gestured at the two in the front seat.

  “They tried to kill me.”

  “Just the opposite, actually. You would have been dead at least three or four times without their stepping in. In the Dandy Don’s building, they woke you up and got you out of there before a couple of Viktor’s thugs found you. They took care of the police with that convenient car crash when you got yourself in trouble. And of course, they provided your ride at Leila’s house.”

  “But they blew my cover at the Creep Club meeting, and they left messages with Viktor and Saul, telling them to meet me at the church.”

  “I needed you to get back in the middle of it. I tried to help Snake hold on to control, you know, but things were getting out of hand. He knew someone was about to blow open the Creep Club, he just didn’t know who. So I had to feed Saul to him—but not too much of a force feed, you understand. Needed to come from a third party. I knew Snake would protect you, find out what you knew, because he was hungry to find out who the whistle-blower was.”

  “So your Dark Fear agents—the guys in the front seat. You say you sent them to protect me, to help me. Why? Am I just some random connection, a fall guy for you?”

  Swarm smiled. “You are my greatest project, Lucas. My emergency escape. My End Game.”

  “Emergency escape?”

  “Come on, now. You know you always plan your emergency escape before you start. So, for Project Inside Information, I chose one person who was very special. I did many, many hours of extra work with this young man, teaching him all the techniques of Creep Club, but keeping him separate, keeping him rogue. Just in case. I even invented a fake background for the young man—conditioned him to think he had been in an orphanage from a very young age, when, in fact, he was part of a family until age six. But he doesn’t remember that, doesn’t remember any of that, because he was conditioned not to. He was conditioned with memories that never existed—memories of an orphanage, memories of being a loner who just liked to escape and lie on the roof, staring at the lights of the city. But those were false memories; in reality, the young boy spent most of his time locked in a large steel room. So he doesn’t remember any of his real memories, none at all. Except.”

  “Except what?” Lucas demanded, suddenly finding his gun in his hand and pressed against Swarm’s cheek. Swarm made no move to stop him, and neither did the two men—or things—in the front seat.

  “Except, I saw something of myself in this young man. I didn’t want to totally cut his ties to his past, because . . . because I had all my ties to my past cut.” His eyes swiveled, held Lucas’s gaze.

  Lucas felt the hand holding the gun trying to shake, but he calmed it. This was a lie, had to be a lie. Memories of the orphanage flashed back to him, so real. The far-off lights of the city, the bread baking in the kitchen . . .

  “What researcher made the initial breakthrough in human pheromone research?” Swarm asked. His eyes were staring intently, thin black dots.

  The answer came to Lucas immediately. “Dr. Winnifred Cutler,” he whispered, and his mind bloomed with a full history of major pheromone researchers. How did he know that?

  “You see? You remember, because I planted those memories, those lessons, in your mind. Try this: the four DNA nucleotides in genetic sequencing?”

  “Adenine, cytosine, guanine, thymine.” Lucas swallowed, felt his dry throat click.

  “How did you learn to drive at the orphanage?” Swarm asked.

  “I . . . I . . .” Lucas stammered. He filtered through his memory banks, looking for driving lessons but finding nothing.

  “You didn’t learn to drive at the orphanage, because it never existed.

  You learned to drive in my program—not just cars, but many different vehicles. You could even pilot an M-1 tank, if needed.”

  Lucas let the hand holding the gun drop to the seat, feeling his body go numb all over.

  “In many ways,” Swarm said, “you were nothing more than an organic computer. We cleared your hard drive and loaded it with all new information.”

  He went silent, and Lucas closed his eyes, hoping the silence would last.

  It didn’t.

  “I don’t know who I am, and it haunts me every day,” Swarm said quietly, almost wistfully. “More than t
hese wasps, more than the hundreds of people I’ve killed, more than Raven, who conditioned me from a very young age. More than all of it put together. I will never know who I am.”

  Lucas opened his eyes again and stared at Swarm.

  “So as part of his conditioning,” Swarm said softly, “I taught this boy a phrase that would keep some semblance of his former life alive. Something of himself.”

  Lucas stared. “Humpty Dumpty had some great falls,” he whispered.

  “That will be your starting point,” Swarm said. “Your key to unlocking your past.” He held up the cube. “Your past in here.” Swarm turned his attention to the front seat. “This is far enough; pull over when you have a chance.”

  Lucas looked out the window; they were at a large landfill. Seagulls wheeled in the brilliant blue sky above.

  Lucas turned his attention back to the cube. “But this,” he said. “This is from Saul. He gave it to me.”

  “Did he?” Swarm asked. The wasps around his head seemed to be a bit more agitated now, perhaps stirred to more activity by the stench of the garbage surrounding them.

  Lucas thought for a moment. “You planted the cube in his case,” he said.

  “Yes.” Swarm opened the door on his side of the car, got out. He leaned back in the door, motioned for Lucas to follow him. Neither of the two in the front seat made any move to exit the car. Good.

  Swarm shut the car door behind him and walked to the front of the car. He turned, waited. “I promise you, I’m not going to do a thing to you,” Swarm said. “I don’t think you’ve totally figured this out yet.”

  Lucas approached Swarm carefully, pointing the gun toward him.

  When he got close, Swarm abruptly took a few steps and grabbed the gun’s barrel. He sank to his knees, put the barrel of the gun to his forehead.

  “And now, you have to finish your job,” he whispered. “You are my emergency exit. My End Game.”

  He looked up into Lucas’s eyes, and Lucas noticed tears forming there.

  “I conditioned you. I shaped you into something inhuman. I killed hundreds of people—hundreds. For that I deserve to die. But before that, I was also conditioned. My identity was erased. All memory of who I once was. And for that”—he lowered his gaze, staring at the muck on the ground at his knees—“I want to die.”

  Lucas paused, letting his eyes wander over the giant cloud of wasps that surrounded both of them now. The wasps settled on the gun, on Lucas’s own hands, but they made no move to sting him.

  Lucas thought a moment. “You’re still playing me,” he said. “My DNA is all over that church. My prints are on this gun. I shoot you, this whole thing—along with everything else these past few days—gets tied to me.”

  Swarm smiled. “The two Dark Fear agents in the car have been instructed to take you anywhere you want. Inside the box, the cube, is your new identity.”

  Swarm closed his eyes expectantly, waiting.

  “One question first,” Lucas said, his finger on the trigger. “How do I open the cube?”

  “You will know when the time is right.”

  It would be easy—so easy—to blow off Swarm’s head. He had tortured innocent kids to create the Creep Club, invaded the lives and homes of countless people, probably killed many of them. Surely he deserved it, and it would feel so good to send Swarm out as his own last act on Earth.

  But he couldn’t.

  He lowered the gun. “I got news for you, Swarm.” He bent to pick up his cube. “I’m gonna be dead in another few minutes, no matter what happens.”

  He threw the gun as far as he could, watching it land in the heap of crushed refuse; immediately, seagulls flocked to inspect it.

  “And you’re gonna have to live, knowing your grand experiment—your End Game—failed. You’re looking for deliverance in the wrong place.”

  He turned and walked back to the car. As he walked away, he was sure he could hear sobbing.

  Lucas was surprised to discover he had a soul after all. And it wasn’t for sale.

  00:05:21 REMAINING

  Once he was back inside the car, the driver turned the vehicle around and drove them away; Lucas turned and watched the figure of Swarm, still hunched, still on his knees in the garbage, recede behind them.

  A few minutes later, on a suburban street, the driver finally spoke, jolting a new wave of terror in him. “We’re taking you to a new car.

  Nothing quite like this, but it should be good enough to get you out of town.”

  Lucas smiled. “Well, if the two of you want to live, I suggest you get rid of me. Like now.”

  The one sitting in the passenger seat turned, looked at him with Lucas’s own eyes. “No need to fight us, Lucas. We’re helping you.”

  “Oh, I’m done fighting,” he said. “It’s just, I have a bomb strapped to my leg, and it’s going to go off any time.”

  00:00:32 REMAINING

  The driver slammed on the brakes, bringing the car to a sudden halt along the curb; he climbed out his door and flung open Lucas’s in mere seconds. “Let’s see it,” he said.

  Casually, Lucas turned and held out his left leg. He closed his eyes, feeling like he was ready to explode. Ha ha. Ready to explode. Viktor had actually done him a favor, because he didn’t want to live. Not like this. Not knowing what he now knew about his life. It had all been one big lie.

  (Humpty Dumpty had some great falls.)

  Bring it on, he thought. Time to let Humpty shatter into a million pieces.

  00:00:00 REMAINING

  He realized the driver was still looking at his leg and hadn’t said anything for several seconds.

  Lucas opened his eyes. “Well?” he asked. “What’s the verdict, doc?”

  “It’s a bomb, all right,” the driver said. “Only problem is, it hasn’t been armed.”

  Lucas snapped his head off the seat, looked down at his leg. “What do you mean?” he started to say. “It’s—”

  But something was different. The regular display of lights, marching around the exterior of the manacle, was dark. No activity of any kind.

  The passenger doppelgänger had come around the car now; meanwhile, the driver disappeared to the back, and Lucas heard the trunk pop open.

  “I’ve seen these before,” the passenger said. “He’s right. When they’re armed, they have lights that count down the time.”

  “I know,” Lucas said. “The lights were on when Viktor’s guy clamped it on me.”

  “So what did you do to deactivate it?” the passenger asked. “These things are kind of primitive, so if you mess with them too much . . .”

  Lucas shook his head. “I didn’t do anything,” he said. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Last time I checked, the thing was lit up like a Christmas tree.”

  The driver was back now, holding what looked like a large pair of bolt cutters. “Well then,” he said, putting the cutters on the manacle, “looks like you got yourself a Christmas miracle a little bit early.”

  THIRTY-SIX

  THEY DROPPED HIM OFF OUT NEAR FALLS CHURCH, HANDED HIM THE KEYS to an older four-door car, and suggested it was probably a good idea for him to keep heading west.

  He agreed that was a good plan, but wasn’t sure what to do. Where to go. They’d still be looking for him; eyes would be everywhere.

  They started to roll up the window and drive away, but then Lucas stopped the driver. “Just a question,” he said. “Out of curiosity. Your faces—you look like something terrifying to anyone who sees you.”

  “Yes,” answered the passenger.

  “So what do you see when you look into a mirror?”

  The driver smiled. “I see a reflection,” he said. He rolled up the window and wheeled away from the curb.

  Lucas sat on the curb for a few seconds, massaging the area where the manacle had been bolted to his ankle for the last two days. What had happened? Why had it quit working? He didn’t know.

  He held the cube in front of him, looking at
all its surfaces in the bright sunlight. Same as ever: he could see no hidden hinges, secret doors, seams of any kind. He hit it against the concrete curb as hard as he could a few times. A few flakes of concrete chipped away, but the box remained unscathed.

  Maybe the gun, or some explosives. He stood, put the cube in his backpack. This wasn’t the place for guns or explosives.

  He sat again, stared at the sky for a few minutes, noticing the deep azure above him, the whispering wind in the trees, the far-off cries of children playing.

  He was here, despite the odds.

  After a few minutes, he pulled out his TracFone and turned it on, started to dial Sarea’s number from memory.

  Wait. That wouldn’t work. Hondo had Sarea’s phone, and it was probably gone now—along with everything else in Leila’s home. He had to find them, but how?

  He looked at the neighborhood around him. A library, with free Internet access, was several blocks away. He could maybe try to track Sarea’s geopatch, but he thought showing his face was a very bad idea.

  Abruptly, his cell phone rang, and he answered it.

  “Lucas?” Sarea’s voice. Mad.

  He smiled. Lucas. Who was Lucas? Just an invention of Swarm.

  “Yeah,” he said. “It’s me.”

  “What kind of stunt are you trying to pull, ditching us like that?

  I’ve been trying to call you every ten minutes.”

  “Yeah, Sarea,” he said. “It’s nice to hear your voice too.”

  She paused on the other end of the line, and he could hear her breathing coming in short gasps. After a few seconds, she gave a deep sigh, and he could almost sense her coming down.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Okay as I can get. Leila still with you?”

  “Yes. Said she wasn’t going anywhere until we heard from you.”

  “Where are you?” he asked.

  “We’re in that charming strip mall right next to the convenience store where you dumped us.”

  He smiled. “Let’s see,” he said. “I think you’d probably be about two blocks from a Metro stop,” he said.