“The facility shut down four years ago,” Sibyl answered instead, her piercing expression hardening as she stared at the picture of the young man. “Because of a wide-scale fire caused by an electrical fault.”
My body stiffened involuntarily. A fire. Electrical fault. It sounded too familiar. But I couldn’t let myself slip back into painful memories.
“It never reopened. Too many of the staff died, including all the doctors. And the students. Only Rhys and Agent Volkov survived and were relocated.”
“I didn’t know . . .” I trailed off as Rhys turned on his heel, pivoting out of my touch.
“Wait, so he’s alive after all?” Lake asked, and thought about it. “Well, I mean, now he’s dead. But before, you know, before, how could he have been alive to die if he’d already died?” She sighed impatiently. “Ugh, you get what I mean, right?”
“The other five students were only presumed dead,” Sibyl explained. “Their bodies were never recovered after the fire.”
“Wait, let me draw up their profiles.” A few series of clicks from Dot’s fingers and the seven were on the screen.
Philip Anglebart. Talia Nassar. Gabriel Moore. Alexander Drywater. Jessie Stone. Aidan Rhys. Vasily Volkov. Each was young in their photo, barely into their teens, wearing the same blazer as if taking a school photo. Talia’s long dark hair was split at the edges as it draped down her chest. Gabriel was very slight and handsome, his small eyes peering out from coal-dark skin. Alexander was the biggest of all of them by far, the size of a football player, his red hair as closely shaven to his skull as Philip’s.
“Jessie . . . ,” I whispered, and could sense Rhys reacting to the name. Jessie, in this picture, was very chubby with a hooked nose and a square jaw that turned her face into a box. Her brown hair fell around her face and her green eyes sparkled as she smiled cheerfully for the cameras. Innocent. Hard to believe it was the same girl who’d almost killed us in the tunnels.
“Wait. Alex?” I stared at the burly boy in the photo before turning to Belle by the round table behind me. “You remember, right?” I asked before shifting to Chae Rin, who was sitting on top of the table, swinging her legs. “Before he died, Philip told us to find Alex. Remember?”
Pete shuffled uncomfortably on his feet. “Yeah, I think we did. Well, you did. In the tunnels.” When he saw that I wasn’t following, he let out a weary sigh. “Um . . . we were able to identify the dead body that attacked you.”
Oh. Oh. As my stomach lurched, Rhys whipped around. “You’re kidding. You’re . . .”
He turned to each of us as if hoping we would tell him this had all been some kind of cruel joke. Scrunching up his face from the torture of it, he took a few hurried steps toward the door and bent over. For a minute I thought he’d throw up, but he kept himself together. I couldn’t blame him. That this young boy could have turned into the mass of dead flesh that murdered our comrades . . . It was too much for anyone to take.
“Care to explain what’s happening?” Sibyl folded her arms. “These kids disappear from an old facility and reemerge as monsters?”
“Well, they’re monsters, certainly. But of what sort? That’s the question.” Dot tapped the screen again, switching to a black-and-white diagnostic image of Philip’s body. “The Marrakesh facility found cylithium-like particles all through his body.”
“So he is an Effigy.” With a grim frown, Belle folded her arms by the round table.
My heart sank. I wanted to believe it was Saul we’d tracked to that hideout before disappearing and leaving the other boy there to fend for himself. But Chafik was right. There was no reason why he’d have risked traveling through a Dead Zone of phantoms when he could simply appear and disappear at will. It was Philip all along. An Effigy.
“Effigy? Not quite,” Dot answered, and at her urging, Pete brought up a diagram with a touch of his finger. “This chemical compound is certainly cylithium, but his body isn’t producing it naturally.”
“His body isn’t producing it?” Chae Rin crossed her legs atop the table. “What do you mean? Was that guy an Effigy or was he not?”
“I can’t tell yet.” Dot straightened up, flipping back her sloppily braided ponytail. “Like I said, questions, questions, and more questions. But what I can tell you is that they found a network of electromechanical devices all down his spinal cord. We’ve just begun to study Alex’s body in the lab, but we’ve noticed similar compounds. I would bet money that all the children have it—well, save for Vasily and Rhys, according to their recent physical exams.”
“Nanomachine, we think. But this is really . . . advanced. Way advanced, even for us,” Pete said, and as he touched the screen, a path down the back of the body lit up the dark diagnostic image. “There’s a network down his spine. We think this may have been delivering the cylithium into his system. And then there’s another one at the base of his neck, but it’s too degraded to study.”
The base of his neck. I remembered the red bruise on his skin.
“In fact, his whole body was dying long before you found him,” Pete added, pointing at parts of the diagrams. “Cellular degradation, muscular atrophy. The cells couldn’t maintain their integrity. It’s as if his body couldn’t handle the magic. Basically, he was burning out.”
Maybe that was how Belle’s attack had killed him so quickly. He’d already been dying.
“Mellie’s still in the lab trying to figure out some of the structure,” Pete said. “But Dot did say she recognized part of the chemical signature.”
“What do you mean?” Sibyl’s high heels clicked sharply as she stepped forward. “Do you know who might be behind this technology?”
Dot ran a hand through her unwashed black hair. Her dark eyes dimmed with fatigue. Someone else who probably hadn’t gotten any sleep. “I’m not sure,” she answered. “This kind of nanotechnology is still in its infancy. But this . . .” She shook her head. “I don’t know for sure, but this reminds me of a lot of work that began in the sixties, after the Seattle Siege. A decade ago, they were making advancements in nanotechnology over at a university in Scandinavia before it was shut down. I read about this years before in a thesis that linked nanotechnology to synthetic telepathy.”
I blinked. “Synthetic what?”
“Synthetic telepathy,” Dot repeated. “It’s when you inject nanotechnology inside someone’s head. . . . The chip acts like a receiver that can channel someone’s coded voice signal directly into the human brain.”
“Brainwashing,” added Pete.
Dot shrugged. “Yeah, that’s what this work was on. But cylithium delivery has nothing to do with that. Meanwhile, this is more complex than I’ve seen. I’m not sure—”
“Find them,” Sibyl said. “Find the other kids.”
“Uh, about that . . .” Pete gave her a nervous grin. “It might be difficult since the ones left seem to be off the grid.”
“Find them now. Gather the research Dot read and figure out how they could be doing this. Whoever ‘they’ are. We need to find them.” Sibyl had already turned from us, walking up to the bench against the glass window. Propping herself up, she peered out over the main floor. “Whoever could be involved, wherever they are, bring them in. If those . . . soldiers are any indication, that tech is out of its infancy stage.”
“What are you saying?” Chae Rin asked slowly. “You’re saying they’re . . . making Effigies now?” One lone, incredulous chuckle escaped from her lips, dying the moment it touched air. Her shoulders slumped as she uncrossed her legs and leaned back. The expression on her face was the same as mine.
I studied the waves of particles on the computer screen. Soldiers. But I thought we were the soldiers.
“Rhys,” I said. He stirred at the gentle inflection of my voice. “You really haven’t seen either of them since the fire?”
“I thought they were dead.” I could only see Rhys’s back as he faced the door. “They were just . . . regular kids like me.”
“Regular
kids,” Belle repeated with a grave expression. “Turned into Effigies after the fire.”
Pete shook his head. “Well, we don’t know. We can’t even corroborate this yet.”
“But that must be it,” I said. “Whatever Jessie did to that dead soldier, Alex . . . controlling his corpse . . . ordering it to fight for her. That’s . . . supernatural. She could never do that before. Someone must have done something to her.”
I remembered her clearly: the cocky movement of her short, slender frame; the almost erotic pleasure she took in snapping Rhys’s wrist. And how fast she was. This was someone who’d been taught to fight. A girl who reveled in hurting others.
“Communications couldn’t trace her spectrographic signature, if she even had one,” said Pete.
“Oh, she had one.” Dot rolled up the sleeves of her lab coat. “She had to have had one with the cylithium in her system. Perhaps she could mask it. Like Saul.”
Like Saul. “If they’re making Effigies, then Saul could be a fake one too,” I asked, “right?”
Dot didn’t appear surprised to hear the question. “Ever since I saw the autopsy results, I’ve been wondering if that was the case. But we’ve already concluded that Saul—or rather Nick—was born in the nineteenth century, and they certainly didn’t have nanotechnology back then. Given this simple fact, I still strongly believe in my fifth-element theory.”
That was true, though the fact that both he and Jessie could hide their frequencies made it hard to let go of the idea that there could be another connection between them. Even so, the struggle between Nick and Alice was too like the struggle I faced with Natalya. Alice wasn’t just some split personality. I’d seen her the first time I scried inside La Charte hotel; she was real. No matter how good the technology was now, I doubted they could synthesize another life into someone’s head. That was magic.
“Something else to think about,” Dot continued, “is that Jessie came prepared to fight an Effigy.” She picked something familiar off a table: an inoculation pen, the one I’d used against Saul in Argentina. She shuttled the long tube back and forth between her fingers. “It’s the same technology, just a compact version fitted into her glove.” She looked at Belle. “A temporary way to shut down an Effigy’s magic. Don’t know why I didn’t come up with it,” she added bitterly, before shaking her head. “This isn’t something you just have lying around. Someone must have given this to her. Someone. Someone. Someone . . . or someones with access to high-powered tech.”
“ ‘Someones’ isn’t a word,” mumbled Pete.
“Like the Sect.” Sibyl straightened up. “It’s Sect technology, after all. Sect technicians from our R & D department helped Saul escape our custody. Then those Sect agents who knew about our top-secret mission helped Jessie, an engineered Effigy with Sect technology, steal back the ring and hand it right to Saul, a terrorist who seemingly appeared out of nowhere and began attacking cities around the world.”
“Seemingly?” I repeated.
“Where did Saul come from?” Sibyl’s sharp gaze passed over each of us. “We know he’s been alive since the nineteenth century. What has he been doing since then? Why did he surface only recently? How did he get linked up with Sect agents, scientists, and now these former students from one of our top training facilities?”
“In Greenland!” A burst of adrenaline rushed through my body as I made the connection. “Agent Chafik said you tracked Saul for a while after our fight in France, but his signal went dead in Greenland.”
“Yes . . . another connection.” Sibyl considered it. “We already sent a team there and found nothing. But perhaps it’s worth another look. It’s clear to me that there are those within the Sect who have forged some kind of partnership with Saul. We knew there were traitors in our organization, but this could be much larger than we ever expected.”
“Much, much larger,” Dot said. “It may not even be limited to the Sect. But whoever these traitors are, they’re working with Saul. They’re supporting him. Whether he’s calling the shots or he’s just one player in a larger team, I don’t know.”
Saul told me himself in Marrakesh that he wasn’t the one I needed to worry about. They were his backup. His soldiers. But at least one of them had tried to escape. Why?
“So, how long do you think it’ll be before the entire Sect collapses at our feet?” Dot tossed the pen into the air and caught it. “Shall we flip a coin?”
“Can someone just . . .” Hanging my head, I let out a haggard sigh. “Some freaks attacked us. They could do stuff. Weird stuff. And now Saul has a ring and he’s attacking people again. That’s what I care about. I just want to know what the hell we’re supposed to be doing here.”
The door burst open. Cheryl scurried into the room. “I’m sorry, Director,” she said hurriedly, too flustered to hide her Cockney accent like she usually did. With a hand, she pushed up her glasses. “I would have warned you, but I didn’t even know he’d be here—”
“That’s quite fine, thanks. You can go.”
A young man brushed by her, knocking her shoulder as he passed. His self-importance seemed to expand with his puffed-out chest, though his slender—well, scrawny—body didn’t inspire much awe.
His dirty-blond hair appeared to have been slicked back with antifrizz styling gel, keeping the wave of his combed-back bangs in exactly the angle and the direction he’d calculated. His prim dark suit and blue tie gave him the model student look, his silver-rimmed glasses perfectly perched on the ridge of his nose. He was at least attempting to project an air of confidence as he surveyed the room. Maybe it was confidence to him, though the smug lift in his chin as he straightened his tie screamed false bravado.
“Oh god.” Rhys shook his head. “You’re kidding me. Dad sent you? Is this a joke?”
The young man spared Rhys a quick glance but looked entirely unfazed when he responded with, “Oh good, Aidan, you’re here too. It’s been a while. Nice to see you.”
Rhys didn’t respond. They shared the same American accent, but the uptightness in the young man’s voice made all the difference between them, as if he regulated his tone as staunchly as he did his appearance.
Chae Rin leaned sideways from the table. “Rhys, you know this guy?”
The young man straightened his back as he took his cue. “Assistant Director—”
“Brendan Prince.” Sibyl kicked the broken pieces of controller away from her with a swift sweep of her shoe. “Formerly of the Munich facility. And the oldest son of the director of the North American Division.”
Rhys squirmed, embarrassed as I stared at him with arched eyebrows.
“Rhys’s brother?” Lake glanced from one to the other. “I guess . . . Yeah, I can see it. Oh, this might be fun.”
Well, I didn’t know about fun, but I could see the resemblance too. Brendan looked more like his father than Rhys did, but the straight nose, the high, handsome cheekbones—they were the same. But as Brendan preened in his well-cut suit, Rhys slouched in his baseball jacket, curling his fingers against his old jeans. Something told me their similarities ended with genetics.
“Prince.” Chae Rin snorted and added under her breath, “Definitely acts like one.”
“So, you’re the one the Council called in. Interesting.” If Sibyl was trying to mask the disdain in her voice and stay neutral, she failed. Her lips had already quirked into an amused grin as she took in the sight of him. “Prince’s very ambitious son. And he criticized Blackwell for having a family position. Looks like he couldn’t wait to put in a good word to upgrade his own son’s career.”
“Why not? He ‘put in a good word’ to give you your job,” he said. “Or so I hear.”
“But I didn’t steal anyone’s position,” Sibyl retorted. “That’s the difference between you and me, Brendan. I don’t go behind people’s backs.”
“I’m not sure what you’re implying.” Brendan straightened his blazer. “My father may have recommended me, but it was the Council that br
ought me here because of the poor job you’ve done in handling things.”
“Poor job,” Sibyl spat, but Brendan had already passed by her.
“You’ve seen the news. You were instrumental in capturing Saul, but since then you’ve not only let him escape but botched the mission that led to his retrieval of the very weapon he used to slaughter innocents in the first place. It’s only natural that the Council has lost faith in you.” The pause he left after his last word was a dagger pointed at Sibyl. He gave her a meaningful look before stopping behind Pete, leaning over his shoulder as he looked up at the monitor. “This is the information you’ve received from the Marrakesh facility, right?”
He must have been leaning a little too closely to Pete, because the lab assistant scooted out of the way. “Uh, yeah. These are the autopsy reports, but, uh . . .” He turned to Dot for help, but she just shrugged.
“So what does the Council plan on doing with you here?” Sibyl folded her arms over her chest. “Are you here to investigate me?”
“Oh, no,” he said. “I mean, you will be investigated—that goes without saying—but not by me. I’ve brought my own people for that.”
Sibyl’s eyes darkened by the second. “I’ve already submitted myself to the internal review.”
“Submitted yourself to your own people?” He laughed. “Well, that’s a comfort.”
“Hey, relax,” I said, frowning. I’d seen how hard Sibyl worked at her job, how desperately she tried to steer the ship even with new unimaginable threats popping up like a twisted game of whack-a-mole.
“Sibyl’s been doing literally everything she could under insane circumstances,” I insisted.
“Yes, that’s all well and good,” he replied. “It’s clear there’s an issue here at this facility that needs to be sorted out by outside agents. This is a drastic problem. Drastic problems require drastic solutions.”
“And what solution did Daddy come up with?” said Rhys.
Brendan bristled at the word “daddy,” especially with the mocking emphasis Rhys had placed on it. But while he shot his little brother a dirty expression, he managed himself nonetheless. “Sibyl is to be removed from leadership immediately until further notice,” he said, letting the words fall to silence before he spoke again. “I will be assuming leadership for the time being. The Council voted on the recommendation. It’s done. You’ll be escorted back to your home in Philadelphia and looked after while the Sect conducts a more thorough investigation of you and your methods.”
Siege of Shadows Page 15