Chose

by O M Faure

  ‘Will we go on mission right away?’ Andika asks, arms crossed, fingers tapping impatiently on her arm.

  ‘No, of course not, this isn’t the sort of thing you can improvise,’ Critchlow answers.

  I was thinking of quitting my current position anyway; of course, I wasn’t expecting my next job to be this different and confidential but it sounds interesting for a change. I wonder if it’s espionage. It definitely sounds like they’re sending their agents somewhere. But where?

  ‘All four of you are going to undergo basic orientation for two weeks. Then Olivia and DeAnn will start their positions in the medical and legal teams, and Björn and Andika, you’ll go on to receive six more months of training before you’re sent into the field.’

  With just a few years of investment of my time, I could get a glimpse into science that the rest of society hasn’t even begun to dream of. If they need me, it must be something genetics-related… I could exponentially further my career with that kind of knowledge. I could figure out what companies to invest in, multiply my capital and retire early. It’s only a couple of years. I’m smart, I could figure out what this technology is, even if they’re not prepared to tell me yet.

  There are so many unanswered questions, so many risks. But I already know – I’m going to do this.

  11

  Olivia

  Cambridge, United Kingdom, October 2016

  * * *

  When I arrived in Cambridge for the two weeks of orientation, I took my quarters in the same room as before. This time, a lot more people were milling around, agents and operatives going about their business, mostly ignoring me and the rest of the back-office staff. My time was spent learning about the job, meeting my new colleagues and searching for a flat to rent near the college.

  Early on in the training, Theodora approached me and motioned me to follow her. ‘I hear you’ve learned about your father’s involvement in the Programme?’

  I nodded.

  ‘I wanted to tell you much earlier but was outvoted. I’m glad you know. He was a good friend.’

  Did I meet her once, a long time ago? I frowned as something itched in the back of my mind but no clear memory surfaced.

  ‘Thank you, Professor McArthur.’

  ‘Well then, since the cat’s out of the bag, follow me.’

  She took me to a lower floor, somewhere in the basement, and I followed her, wondering what this was all about. Finally we arrived at a door marked ‘Archives’. She opened it and turned on the light. As the fluorescent lights blinked to life, row upon row of shelves appeared, laden with cardboard boxes, ledgers and binders. The place was huge.

  Theodora walked over to a glass booth, opened the door and waited for me to get in beside her, flicking a hand up to show me the cameras.

  ‘You’ll be under surveillance at all times here,’ she said, as she tapped her fingers lightly a pile of cardboard folders. ‘Everything is here, in case you ever want to know. You can ask me too.’ She patted my shoulder and she left me there. Puzzled, I picked up one of the dusty boxes; my father’s name was on every page. The binding simply said ‘1993’ so I grabbed an armful, sat at the table, feeling the CCTV on the back of my neck, and started reading the heavily redacted sheets.

  My father basically created the whole Programme. He always had access to improbable schemes and unrealistic scientists. His talent was in recognising the opportunities that could actually work. And this time was no different. He managed the Programme from its inception in 1993 until his death in 2001.

  Looking back, it’s no wonder he was so busy. I remember the last time I saw him. I said hurtful things. We argued in front of a young man he’d brought home for a visit. I was so upset that my father would be missing an important event I was organising for the church. I blamed him for never caring for me, never making the time to get to know me. Why was his bloody work always more important than me? I replay that conversation in my mind often. What I wouldn’t give to take back those words spoken in anger. I wish we’d had more time to get to know each other. I wish, I wish…

  The fact that my father was part of the Cassandra Programme opens up new ways of thinking about that weekend: who was the young man with my father? He was inconsequential before. Just a guy I’d rather hadn’t witnessed the argument. But in fact he could be important. Could he have been linked to the Programme? Maybe he could tell me more about my father’s death?

  Now I understand that my father didn’t make it to my church event because he was leaving on a mission. A one-year mission. And he couldn’t tell me anything. Not why, nor where he was going.

  There was so much to take in, what with the discoveries I was making in the archives and the training courses, that during my first week of training, I started walking along the canal at lunchtime to clear my mind.

  On my second walk, I noticed a shy-looking man eating a sandwich on the grass by the water. The next day, he was there again and so was I; he noticed me as well and smiled from afar.

  At the beginning of the second week, he was so absorbed in his phone that he bumped into me. I apologised, he apologised, we both laughed and it naturally became a lunch date. Now we meet each other every day, sit on the grass and chat about this and that over a sandwich and a bag of crisps. Tim is a history teacher. His hair and short beard are chestnut coloured and he has kind blue eyes. He’s adorably dorky, he wears corduroy shirts that he buttons all the way to the top and he speaks in a lovely sort of hesitant way. Always trying to say the right thing in the most polite way possible.

  Yesterday evening, we went for a drink for the first time. The bar turned out to be more animated than we bargained for; when the lights dimmed and the loud music started, he smiled and guided me out. But not before the UV light revealed a fluorescent letter H, on the inside of his wrist, with two serpents wrapped around it. It glowed against his pale freckled skin, there one minute and gone the next. Just a nightclub stamp that disappeared when we stepped out into the busy street full of boisterous students.

  Today, our usual lunch spot was taken, so we sat by a small bridge and right as we were tucking in, I freaked out when a huge spider fell off her web and into my hair. He calmly brushed it off; he was so close that I could see the freckles on his nose. He smelled of patchouli and leather. I may have imagined it but he was close to kissing me, well definitely leaning in, at any rate. But someone jogged past us and broke the moment. DeAnn. Typical. The woman’s so irritating.

  I get back to the Programme building smiling and the afternoon passes by in a daze. I should be concentrating on the training of course, but what if he’s The One? Of course, it’s way too early to be thinking about anything at all, let alone marrying him, but I can’t help but daydream about what it would be like to be with Tim. Daydreams are sometimes more pleasant than reality and having no one to think about feels so… I don’t know, empty I guess.

  Towards the end of the day, I’m summoned to Critchlow’s office. It feels very much like the Principal is calling me for a stern talking-to. Wondering what this could be about and which physical test I failed, I sit down and wait for his latest dressing down to start. He dives right in, no pleasantries.

  ‘How long have you been seeing this man?’

  ‘I beg your pardon? That’s none of your business.’

  ‘Everything is my business.’ He clenches his jaw.

  ‘Gosh, that’s embarrassing.’ I blush. ‘I’ve met him a couple of times for lunch by the river; we’ve been chatting, that’s all.’

  ‘Did you ever meet him anywhere other than a public place?’

  ‘Oh come off it, you’re not my father, Agent Critchlow.’

  ‘Just answer the question.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Don’t lie to me.’

  ‘I’m not lying. What on earth is this about?’

  He stares at me intently and seems to decide I’m telling the truth. There’s a look of deep distaste on his face as he continues, ‘Did you notice anything abou
t him? Anything unusual?’

  ‘Well, he had a glow-in-the-dark stamp on his wrist yesterday. But it’s nothing—’

  ‘Describe it,’ Critchlow interrupts.

  ‘An H.’ I gesture with my hands, trying to describe it. He slides a piece of paper and a pen towards me, looking serious.

  ‘Really? Come on. It’s just harmless flirting.’ I shake my head and draw. When I pass it back to Critchlow, he sucks in his breath.

  ‘Come with me.’

  He marches me to Theodora’s office and tells me to wait outside as he goes in and starts a shouting match with the Professor. Standing in the corridor, staring at my shoes like a twelve-year-old who’s broken a school rule, I try not to listen but can’t help it. The gist of it is that he thinks I’m an insufferable goose who would be better suited to working at a hairdresser’s, that he can’t believe that Theodora, Aileen and Andrew outvoted him to select me and that he’d have preferred pretty much any of the other candidates. My self-esteem plummets with every bellowed invective. I can’t hear what Theodora responds but she’s obviously not putting up much of a fight. He finishes by telling her about Tim as proof that I’m an idiot, not even two weeks into the training and already blundering. After that, a quieter conversation takes place, which I can’t hear.

  At length the door swings open and a furious Critchlow bursts out of the office, not even bothering to look at me.

  Theodora calls me in, asks me to close the door behind me and take a seat. Oh dear. Is she going to dismiss me? Now that I’m faced with it, I don’t want to leave.

  ‘What I’m about to tell you, Olivia, is not widely known, even amongst the Cassandra Programme personnel.’ I thought she’d yell at me but instead she’s calm and stern. ‘You must tell no one, do you understand?’

  ‘Erm, OK?’

  ‘A few months after the end of your father’s mission, we started noticing that documents were going missing and deduced that we’d had a breach at the facility. Shortly after that, some of our people reported being followed and we increased security. Other events and run-ins started occurring on such a scale that we soon had to face the truth: there had been a leak about the Programme.’

  This explains why the documents I’m reading in the archives are so closely guarded and redacted, and why I’m being monitored when I read them.

  ‘That’s about the time when Agent Critchlow and his men were brought in by our sponsors. To defend the Cassandra Programme from intruders and to provide an armed response unit in case of attack.’

  ‘Oh.’ Well, that makes sense. I didn’t think my father would have selected Critchlow and I hadn’t seen any mention of it in the archives. That explained a lot.

  ‘He and his men discovered that the Helenus, a rival organisation, was behind the break-ins. For years, they’ve only disrupted our operations and resorted to espionage, but Agent Critchlow is getting reports that they’ve recently scaled up and may be preparing something bigger.’

  I feel colder all of a sudden. ‘Who do they work for?’

  ‘We don’t know. We have our suspicions, of course; there are a few billionaires who would pay a lot of money to know… what we’re discovering here, and rogue states who would likely ally with the Helenus to take control of the Programme. But so far, they’ve not succeeded.’

  ‘Why weren’t we told about this?’

  ‘Agent Critchlow’s men defend us. Our job is to focus on the science, the mission, the intelligence gathering. It would only have distracted and worried you, and in any case we could not give you any confidential information before your security clearance came through.’

  The stark H against Tim’s pale skin… H for Helenus, I realise, appalled.

  ‘This is why I’m very concerned about what Agent Critchlow just told me.’

  Uh-oh. Here it comes. Summary dismissal.

  ‘Can you imagine what would have happened if this Helenus agent had managed to lure you back to his flat?’ I start visualising Tim without his shirt but stop myself.

  ‘He’d have blackmailed you into joining Helenus.’

  ‘Never.’

  ‘Even if they threatened your mother’s life?’

  That gives me pause.

  ‘Let’s assume for a minute that you had not given in to blackmail. They’d probably have tortured you to obtain all the information you possessed about the Programme. And once your usefulness had been exhausted, they’d have disposed of you.’

  I shudder, dreams of Tim’s lips erased by images of torture.

  ‘Olivia, do you understand the importance of the task at hand and quite how serious the Cassandra Programme’s mission is?’

  ‘Yes… yes, I do,’ I stammer.

  ‘Well, in that case, may I suggest you stop imagining that you have a future with the first passer-by and apply that very capable brain of yours to what needs to be done?’

  Ouch.

  ‘I will.’ I stare at my hands, folded on my lap.

  ‘Very well then. You can return to your day. Send me DeAnn, if you please.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  Did I just say ma’am? I groan internally and go in search of DeAnn.

  As I look for her, a thought occurs to me: how did they know about Tim? DeAnn jogged past us earlier today, didn’t she? She must have ratted on me. The cow!

  12

  DeAnn

  Cambridge, United Kingdom, October 2016

  * * *

  They’ve offered me a post in the Programme’s hospital, where I will study the data that the agents bring back from their missions. My role will be to make sure they don’t bring back pathogens, to analyze any anomaly in their genetic makeup and deal with mishaps. A medical post, far enough removed from the field but close enough for me to learn what this is all about and turn a profit from it.

  Olivia has accepted a role with the legal team where she’ll deal with possible intellectual property and information breaches. Mostly, she’ll ensure that none of the Programme’s confidential information leaks to the wider public. She looked distinctly relieved to be offered that job and not the one we were actually interviewing for.

  We’re all going through the basic onboarding, but Björn and Andika, as they already had a high level of clearance, were vetted more quickly and they’ve been locked up in extra briefings for the last two weeks. Every time Björn and I cross paths, he looks stunned, green around the gills. I think he badly wants to tell me what he knows, but he doesn’t, of course; he can’t yet.

  I’m making myself a smoothie in the kitchen when Snow White arrives, all agitated.

  ‘You told on me!’ she yells, visibly angry for the first time since I’ve met her.

  ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

  I pour the green mixture in a glass and start to turn away from her to wash the blender but she grabs my arm. I hate it when people touch me.

  ‘Why would you do that to me?’ There’s a note of pleading in her voice even though she’s furious.

  ‘I was hoping you’d get expelled, of course.’

  That shuts her up for a minute, her face the picture of incredulity and hurt. Her arm falls to her side and her eyes well up.

  ‘Theodora wants to see you,’ she says as she walks away.

  I had a chat with Critchlow the other day and asked point blank why Olivia would ever be recruited into an organization like this one. He gets me. He’s not like all these hand-wringing British people, he’s American. I guess we’re just more pragmatic and less sentimental because we’re both outsiders and we don’t owe any allegiance to her dead father.

  Critchlow confirmed what I suspected; he can’t understand either why Olivia was chosen. She’s obviously out of shape, she’s too emotional and can’t hide any of her thoughts. She’s putting us all at risk, especially if she starts blabbing about the Cassandra Programme to people who don’t have clearance. She should be looking for a husband instead of coming to work for a secret organization. Maybe that guy who was
about to kiss her will marry her, she’ll push out a litter and forget all about the Programme.

  I arrive at Theodora’s office, knock and walk in.

  ‘Ah yes, DeAnn, please come in.’

  I take a seat in front of her desk, leaning back in the chair. The old woman is looking like an owl today. A beam of sunlight reflects on a deep indigo vase, giving the whole room a blue hue.

  ‘Please explain to me the intent behind your actions today, DeAnn.’

  ‘I just want to protect the Cassandra Programme and make sure that we only retain the best personnel. People who actually have the right caliber to understand the seriousness of the mission and who will put work before their personal lives.’

  Her pale eyes are boring into me, over her lowered glasses. ‘DeAnn, this is no longer a competition – you do not have to be better than Olivia, you’re both part of the same team now.’

  ‘I can’t accept that. She’s not qualified and she’ll put our lives in danger. Agent Critchlow agrees, any of the other candidates would have been better. I understand that there also may be nepotism inv—’

  She interrupts me with a raised hand, frowning. ‘Olivia’s father ran the Programme, yes, but that’s not why she was invited to participate in the selection process. With your medical background, you must have realized by now that the MRI was looking for something specific.’

  I remember the strange conversation I had with the consultant at the hospital and nod.

  ‘We puzzled out that the brain configuration we’re looking for is often hereditary.’ She lets that sink in.

  ‘Ah. Hence Olivia.’

  ‘Yes, quite.’

  ‘OK, fine. But all the candidates of the post-MRI rounds had the correct brain configuration as well. Plus, that’s immaterial, now that we’re no longer being considered for field positions. So why pick her?’