Damian nodded, then disappeared through the elevator doors to continue the hunt.
CHAPTER 3
Liane woke early, her mouth sticky and foul from sleep. She sat up, grimacing in distaste as she looked around her. The world outside was draped in fog as she rose to boil some of the rainwater they’d collected. When it cooled, she washed her face and teeth as best she could, but it did little to help her feeling of uncleanliness. The moment Seth stirred, stretching in his bed, she announced, “We’re going into the city today. We need to charge the electronics, and I want to visit a bathhouse.”
He yawned, rubbing a hand through his unruly hair as he went to pour the leftover boiled water into a mug to make instant coffee. “I thought we were trying to keep expenses to a minimum.”
“It’s worth the expense in my books,” Liane returned. “You might be used to being filthy, but I’m not.”
Seth swirled the drink in his mug, admitting, “Well, if we’re headed to the city it would be nice to call my family. It’s been a week since I last spoke to them, and I promised to stay in touch.”
“It would be safer for them and for us if you didn’t. All it takes is one surveillance van passing at the wrong time, and the Agency will be after them to fulfill the burn order.”
“I’ll find an unregistered payphone, one away from the
cameras, and I’ll be quick,” Seth said, clasping his hands together in supplication. “Come on; they just reached Croatia, and I want to make sure they’re alright.”
She made a faint noise of irritation but nodded. “Fine. We’ll pick up the remaining caches on our way.”
Seth beamed at her, then bounded off to get ready.
They left soon after. Though it was daytime, the clouds and smog thoroughly blocked the sun, creating a false twilight across the ruins as they walked through them. When they reached the drop-off between the ruins and the rebuilt city and climbed up to the safety of civilization, they headed to what had once been Regent’s Park. Obliterated during the war, the remains of the park had been razed and paved to form one of the premier shopping locals within the new city. Though masks guarding against pollution and identification were common in most of the rougher areas of the city, they were out of place in the gleaming streets of the Park, so Liane and Seth just kept their hoods low and heads down. She led the way, turning down an alley between the shopping centers, producing a key and opening a nondescript metal door. It led down several steps to a closet-sized room, empty but for two black duffel bags. They took them and left, heading over several streets to the nearest bathhouse.
The enormous structure, painted a gaudy blue and strung with welcoming signs, was one of many that had sprung up after the war. Contaminated groundwater and rampant disease had
demanded it, and the newly empowered Libertas Party had
responded to the city’s needs. Twelve years later and bathhouses weren’t necessary, but Londoners kept them busy all the same. It helped that the first floor was usually filled with small restaurants and game arcades, attracting teens and those with time and money to burn. Customers crowded the lobby, and it took Liane and Seth a while to wind their way through the crush of people to the locker rooms. They stowed their bags and locked each storage unit to their fingerprints. Seth waved Liane off as he headed to the men’s room, saying, “Meet you in the chip shop in an hour; whoever gets there first charges the equipment.”
Liane nodded, distracted by the sight of the curtain that marked the entrance to the women’s baths. Liane let out a small sigh of relief as she ducked through it and was engulfed by the humid, soap-scented heat. Dodging knots of girls giggling over their phones, Liane undressed and then went to a shower stall and cleaned off a week’s worth of grime. Afterward, she soaked in one of the large recessed tubs, her eyes closed as she savored the moment of calm.
As she floated weightlessly in the piping hot water, her thoughts began to swirl and drift. One minute she was lost in memories of the fight against the Agency, then down in the boiler room with Damian, his dark eyes bright and intense as he tried to convince her to give up the fight. Liane gave herself a small shake; better not to think of that moment. Instead, she thought to what Seth had mentioned in the alleyway the previous night, how mod serum could change a person.
Perhaps it changed me, Liane thought, leaning her head back against the edge of the tub. Maybe everything I am is nothing more than one long bad reaction to the Strain.
She took a breath, slipping under the water. The soft roar of the water filled her ears, blocking everything out and chasing away her worries; the relief was immediate, and she stayed under until she was forced to come up for air.
It was with reluctance that she finally climbed out, her hair hanging damp against her neck as she dressed in clean clothes. She braided the heavy mass as she headed towards the locker room, but stopped short of the door, her eyes fixed on the small shop that stood near it. The shop was a hair salon, the walls
covered with faded images of Korean pop stars. Two tiny old women were chatting with one another inside, sitting within the old-fashioned barber chairs that were meant to be occupied by customers. Liane caught a glimpse of her reflection in the glass window, unraveling her damp braid. She had always worn her hair long; Damian had liked it that way, and according to the rules of the Agency, Handlers dictated the appearance of their Agents.
But I’m not an Agent anymore, Liane thought. Her mouth tightened in resolve, and then she walked inside the shop.
|| | || | | || |
Outside the locker rooms, Seth leaned against the wall, tapping a foot impatiently and his face still flushed from the heat of the baths. The straps of the duffel bags were cutting into his shoulders, and he hefted them up with a grunt of discomfort. His eyes drifted around the arcade section, lighting on a pay phone on a nearby wall. After one quick glance around to make certain Liane wasn’t there, he walked over to the phone, jamming in spare change from his pocket and dialing the number he wanted. The phone rang for several minutes until a weary voice answered, “Dobra večer, Karlovac hotela…”
“Uh...English?” Seth said, caught off guard. “I mean, engleski?”
“Yes?” said the voice. “What you want?”
“The Holtz family,” Seth said, praying they had made it and that he’d correctly remembered their latest pseudonym. “Are they there?”
“They check in last night. You want to speak to them?”
Seth leaned against the wall in relief. “Yes, please.”
The phone banged against something, and he could hear
muffled voices in the background. Then a woman’s voice asked, “Hello?”
“Mum?”
“Oh, Seth,” said the woman, her voice going higher pitched and teary. “Baby, where are you?”
“I can’t tell you, but I’m safe,” he said, wanted to reassure her more than anything. “Are you okay?”
“We’re fine,” said his mother, fighting to speak through the tears. “We all made it through the checkpoints. Tomorrow we’ll head towards Hungary. Uncle Alex will meet us in Budapest.”
“Good. Have you noticed anyone following you?”
“No. There’s been nothing. But Aunt Irena tried to access her bank account and it was frozen—”
“You can’t do that!” Seth burst out. “I told you—no bank
accounts, no cards, nothing traceable. If you use them, they will find you!”
A sob came from the other end of the phone as she said, “You keep telling us that, but you never tell us why…”
Seth shut his eyes, lowering his head. He wished he could reach through the phone and hug away the pain and confusion in her voice; knowing he couldn’t, he mustered all his self-control to say, “I can’t tell you right now, but I promise one day I will. Mum, I’m sorry for shouting, please don’t cry...”
It took ten more minutes for him to calm her down. When she’d cheered up enough to laugh at his bad jokes, Seth said, “I know it’
s hard, but you have to trust me and get as far from London as you can.”
His mother let out a small, final hiccup, then said, “Alright. We’ll keep going.”
“Okay,” he nodded, throat tight as he said, “Be safe.”
“We will, bubbale.”
Seth waited until she’d hung up, his hand clenched tight around the receiver until he heard the dial tone again.
Trying to shake off the sound of his mother crying, Seth walked across the arcade to the fish and chip shop, the duffel bags hanging on his shoulder again. He maneuvered to the counter, placed their orders, then made his way to a corner table. Shoving the bags under the table, he pulled out their tablet, laptop, and burner cells, laying them on the charging strip. The indicator lights flashed orange as they charged, and he accepted two trays and drinks from the pretty waitress with a smile. Distracted by the basket of hot chips, he didn’t notice Liane until she sat down across from him. He sat up, feeling his eyes widen as he said, “Wow...that’s a change.”
Her hair was cut to her chin, blunt and choppy in the back with long, side-swept fringe in front. The wheat-blonde strands were also streaked with a pale shade of blue. Liane reached up, running a hand through it and coloring slightly. “I thought it might be easier short...you know, to hide under hats and wigs…”
Seth nodded, smiling. “I like it. Do you?”
“I think so,” she said, seeming to hesitate before she added. “My head feels lighter, at least.”
Seth laughed, pushing her basket of fish towards her. “All the more reason to do it, then.”
She took a bite, her eyes on her food as she said, “Damian wouldn’t approve.”
Seth paused, looking up at her in understanding. Then he said, “It doesn’t matter what he thinks, not anymore. You can do whatever you want—to hell with what the Agency would say.”
“It’s not easy to turn your back on everything you once were,” she noted. “You might not have a badge anymore, but you’re still abiding by the oath you took to protect the people of this city.”
He gave a low chuckle, adding salt to his chips as he said, “True enough. I guess we’re both damned to see this through, then.” After taking a swig of soda, he admitted, “I called my mum.”
Liane looked up, anger sparking in her eyes. “That was stupid of you.”
“I had to know she was alright. It’s bad enough not being able to help them get away; I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t even bother to check up on them.” He looked up at her, saying with a plea in his voice, “She’s my mum.”
Liane went quiet, shaking her head to herself and muttering under her breath. But then she gave a small nod, admitting, “If I had a mother, I’d want to make sure she was alright, too.”
Seth gave her a grateful smile, appreciative that even if she didn’t quite understand, she was still trying to. “So where to next?”
Liane crammed in another mouthful of fried fish, saying, “Let’s head to the second cache soon, and then go back. The sooner we crack into the Agency’s system, the safer we’ll be.”
CHAPTER 4
Damian had grown accustomed to the predictability of the Director’s schedule over the years. At nine in the evening, Damian sat outside the Agency building in his idling car, eyes fixed on the front doors. A few minutes past the hour the Director emerged, trailed at a respectable distance by his bodyguards. Damian’s dark eyes
followed them as they walked across the sidewalk to a waiting car. He let it pull away from the curb and reach the first traffic light before pulling his car out into the traffic lane to follow. There was no hurry; he knew where the car was headed.
There was a suite for the Director’s use within the Agency’s building, but the current one never bothered with it. He preferred the rowhouse in St. John’s Wood, one that offered him privacy. Damian parked his car a block away from the house, turning his mirrors so he could keep an eye on the door. As usual, the bodyguards left after sweeping the house. Ten minutes after they had gone, a taxi pulled up in front of the residence. The passenger opened to reveal a girl dressed in the fluorescent, skintight apparel favored by the club scene in the city. Her curled, violently purple hair flowed behind her as she minced up the steps and rang the buzzer. The Director himself answered, welcoming her with a smile. When the door shut behind them, Damian glanced at the clock before pulling out his tablet. They would be a while, and he always had work to do.
Two hours later, a taxi reappeared in front of the home. The girl emerged soon after, slipping a white envelope into her microscopic purse. The Director watched her get into the taxi from the window, but he turned away as soon as the car door closed. So, he didn’t see it stop just in front of Damian’s car, or see the girl abandon the taxi to slip into Damian’s passenger seat. As the door shut her inside, she glanced nervously at Damian, who barely looked at her before asking, “Well?”
“Just wanted to talk this time,” she said, slipping the recording device from her jacket and handing it over. “I asked him about his work like you told me to. He talked a lot, but I didn’t understand all of it. Just that he thinks everyone is out to get him.”
“And otherwise?”
The girl licked her tinted lips before saying, “He’s afraid. Jumps at shadows, checks the locks on windows and doors constantly. He’s at his breaking point.”
Damian nodded, pulling an envelope filled with cash out of his jacket and passing it to her. “You won’t be available to see him in the future. Don’t answer his calls or messages, no matter how much he offers. Believe me; I’ll know if you do.”
“I won’t. You don’t need to remind me of that.”
“I hope not,” Damian said, letting the unspoken threat hang in the air between them. “Go on...your taxi is waiting.”
The girl wasted no time in leaving the car, running to return to the taxi. Damian watched her go, then synched the recording
device to his car speakers to listen to the Director’s conversation.
It was after one in the morning when he pulled into the parking garage across the city. He drove up the ramps, winding up to the rooftop. There was a car waiting in a darkened corner, smoke curling from the exhaust pipe, and a woman in an expensive trench coat leaning against the side. Damian pulled his vehicle into the space next to the other car, getting out to approach the woman. Her face was so nondescript, it took him looking for her distinctive Libertas Party pin to determine if she was his usual contact.
“You’re late,” she said.
“And you’ll be glad I was,” Damian said, handing over the
recording device. “From my contact. The Director is slipping; he’s been sharing classified information with a professional intimate.”
The woman shook her head with a disgusted sigh.
“Unbelievable. She’ll need to be wiped, of course.”
“I’ll see to it; she’s done what she needed to do.” Damian moved closer, saying, “It’s clear to me—as it will be to you once you listen to the recording—that the time to act has come. None of us want a loose cannon at the head of the Agency.”
The woman nodded, pulling out a phone. “Give me a moment.”
Damian bowed his head in thought, drifting to the edge of the roof and feigning an interest in the view. The woman began softly speaking into the phone, while Damian strained to hear every word. She hung up, looking over at him as she said, “Minister Morrigan wants to see you. In person this time.”
Damian felt his stomach clench. He made every effort to hide it, his eyes still on the nightscape of the city. “Name the time and place.”
“Two days. You’ll come to the office in the Libertas headquarters, but the meeting won’t be registered in the log books.”
“That’s fine.”
“The Minister has been asking about your rogue Agent. Be
prepared to explain why you’ve not yet recovered her.”
Damian felt his jaw go tense, but he answered evenly, “I’m
prepared to discuss whatever I need if it will help the Party.”
The woman let out a soft laugh. “You’d be surprised how many of our contacts claim that. It never quite carries over to the actual meeting, somehow…”
She got into her car soon after. Damian stayed on the rooftop for several minutes, wondering with sudden dread what his
conversation with the Minister would hold.
CHAPTER 5
Seth awoke to the sound of rain beating against the shrapnel-pocked walls of their makeshift home. The darkness around him was absolute; they left no lights on when they could help it. But a flash of lightning from outside illuminated the figure sitting by the ruined back wall. The tarp they had stretched across the large hole had been peeled back, and Liane was sitting in front of it looking out at the ruins.
Seth rolled into a sitting position, calling out, “What time is it?”
“Early,” Liane said, her back still to him. She glanced over her shoulder though, as she added, “I couldn’t sleep.”
Thunder rumbled again, so close that Seth was amazed that he’d managed to sleep through it. Awake, he stood, tripping over the new duffel bags they’d added to their pile. Once he’d regained his balance, he went over to sit on the floor next to Liane. She sat so near the opening that rain splattered her clothes and her newly short hair lay damply against her cheeks. Yet she didn’t even seem to notice, staring out into the storm-swept
ruins.
Seth frowned as he asked, “Hey, are you okay?”
She nodded, although there was nothing in her voice that
convinced him when she said, “I thought I might be able to see the Agency from here. But I can’t. Cloud cover is too thick, air quality too poor.”
Seth squinted into the darkness, wondering aloud. “Why would you want to see that place again?”
She shifted her weight, tucking a knee against her chest as she sighed, “I miss it sometimes. Even though I know I shouldn’t.” She looked over at him, dread in her eyes as she asked, “That’s not normal, is it?”
The Osiris Contingency Page 3