corner, leaving him behind, she repeated Owen’s justification to herself like a mantra, They’re not people, they’re Agents...not
people…
But the words rang false and hollow in her head, and in the end, she couldn’t even convince herself.
CHAPTER 23
When the black vans first turned through the Dragon Gate and drove up the narrow alleys of Chinatown, the residents peered out through curtains in open curiosity. But when the vans halted outside of Ahmad’s pawnshop and the doors slid aside to allow the masked, armed Agents to spill out, the spectators ducked behind blinds and closed doors to be as invisible as possible. A black town car was the last to park, and Damian got out of the back seat, looking with distaste at the squalor around him before turning his attention to the pawnshop.
Looking to the Agent running point, Damian asked, “Is the back door covered as well?”
“Yes sir,” the masked Agent said, his voice muffled. “No one is getting out unless we want them to.”
“Good,” Damian nodded. “Then let’s go visit our dealer.”
The Agent gave the signal, and the other soldiers began to move swiftly and silently through the shop’s doorway, the purple glow of the black light sign reflecting wildly within their black armor. Damian followed them, two Agents walking just behind him as his guards.
The blue-haired youth was seated at the counter; when he spotted them, he stood, eyes going wide as he shouted out,
“Ahmad—”
The lead Agent raised his gun, and a silent shot went through the boy’s chest, the force sending him slamming back into the wall. He crumpled to the ground, lifeless, and the Agent kicked the body to one side so they could file through the doorway to the staircase and descend once more to the laboratory beneath the store.
Damian was only halfway down the staircase when he heard the screams; it was clear that the lab techs had seen them coming. Shouts and hurried steps echoed through the lab as they neared, but Damian was unworried. He passed with the Agents into the repaired clean room, though this time rather than waiting for the techs, the leader approached the sealed doors and fastened a small, beeping charge to the control panel. Damian looked through the glass to see utter chaos; the workers had tried to run out the back, and the Agents covering the stairs were shoving them back, using the butt of their assault rifles to beat down the ones who tried to resist.
The clean room control panel exploded, blasting the newly
repaired doors out into the lab in a mess of broken glass and warped metal. Unflinching, Damian followed the Agents as they ran into the lab with guns raised, shouting at the workers to be quiet and stay still. Damian moved out from behind the Agents, his eyes sweeping over the terrified workers huddled at the center of the room. Amongst them was Ahmad, bleeding from a cut across his forehead, as he stood wide-eyed with his hands raised.
The shouting died down as Damian walked forward, glass grinding under his shoes as he approached the dealer. He
regarded Ahmad for a moment, then asked, “What part of ‘detain her’ did you not understand?”
“I did what you asked,” Ahmad said, sweating with his hands still aloft. “I notified you the moment she arrived and got her away from her weapon.”
“Only to let her escape,” Damian noted. “And you kept a
souvenir of the experience, I understand.”
Blinking away the blood dripping down his forehead,
Ahmad’s eyes flicked over to a nearby workstation. Damian
followed the dealer’s eye line, walking over to the workstation and scanning the silver counter space. In a place of prominence was a vial placed in a holder, the contents opaque and dark red. Damian lifted it out, holding the vial up to the light as he asked, “This is hers?”
When Ahmad nodded, Damian tucked the vial of blood into the breast pocket of his tailored jacket as he said, “I’m sure you wouldn’t have been foolish enough to try and reverse engineer the Strain, but I’ll just remove that temptation for you.” Turning back to the dealer, Damian asked in soft consideration, “Now, what should I do about you?”
Ahmad’s hands rose higher, as did the pitch of his voice as he said, “She might come back here. If you leave me alone, I know I’ll be able to—”
Damian interrupted him with a low laugh. “She won’t be back ever again. You sold her out; she won’t come within a hundred yards of this place unless it’s to return the favor by shooting you.”
Ahmad attempted one of his easy smiles, but his mouth shook as he pleaded, “I can still be useful to you. I know every mod in the city and have ties to even more on the continent...”
He trailed off as Damian shook his head, saying, “I don’t need you, el-Razi. And no one else will, either.” He looked to the waiting Agents, giving a tiny nod.
The effect was instantaneous; using the butts of rifles and truncheons, the Agents smashed the equipment throughout the laboratory. Several of the techs shrieked, shielding their faces from flying glass shards and cowering. Ahmad just stared at the destruction, too shocked to do anything as his life’s work and
livelihood was demolished before his eyes.
When the last petri dish was shattered, Damian turned to leave. Ahmad watched him go, letting out a small exhale of relief. But as Damian passed the lead Agent, he glanced back over his shoulder at the dealer, adding, “And just to make sure you don’t come crawling out anytime soon…”
He nodded to the lead Agent, who raised his rifle and took aim at the crowd of workers. The rest of the Agents followed suit, and the workers screamed as gunshots rang throughout the lab.
When the last shot faded into nothingness, Ahmad lowered shaking arms to find himself standing alone amid the ruined lab. He looked down, taking in the sight of his workers lying on the floor at his feet, each shot through the head.
Damian continued to the stairs, calling out over his shoulder, “Good luck surviving in the city now.”
Ahmad’s knees gave out, and he collapsed on the floor looking as if he was going to be sick.
Damian let out a sigh of irritation as he left the pawnshop and headed towards the waiting car. Tormenting Ahmad and killing illegal tech workers were momentarily satisfying, but ultimately pointless. What he wanted was Liane, and the fact that he had had her, that she’d been in his arms only to escape again due to a stupid mistake, was making him feel murderous. As he slid into the leather seat in the back of the town car, his phone rang within his jacket pocket. He fished it out, the car pulling away from the alley as he said into the device, “Yes?”
Adrian’s cool voice came from the other end of the line, noting, “You’re using a considerable amount of manpower to threaten dealers.”
“He failed at the one task I gave him,” Damian said, indifferent. “Now he knows the consequences of that. Once the news spreads through the dealers and mods, there will be even fewer people in this city willing to help Liane hide.”
“Well, if you’re quite done, perhaps you can cut to the chase and do what I suggested.”
Damian shifted in his seat, looking out of the rain-streaked window as he said, “I don’t like using Trackers. I’ve always said it was a mistake creating human hybrids—”
“Mistake or not, they get the job done.”
“And often rip apart their targets when they find them,” he snapped. “They’re animals, not Agents.”
“Oh, you must allow them a little enthusiasm,” said Adrian. He could hear the smile in her voice as she went on, “It can’t be easy, cooped up in those sterile rooms day in and day out. You’d go a little mad as well, I’d wager.”
“They’re too unpredictable,” Damian said, struggling to keep his temper. “The mod we captured has nearly divulged the
location of their hideout, and I don’t want—”
“You should know by now that what you want doesn’t matter,” she cut in. “Just do it.”
The line went dead as she hung up. Damian lowered his
phone, taking a slow breath before looking to the driver and ordering, “Go to the Agency.”
With a nod, the driver turned the car around and headed
towards the skyscraper in the city center.
The lower levels of the building were dark and quiet as Damian headed towards a set of rooms at the perimeter of the underground labyrinth. The deeper he went, the darker the hallways became, and he had to pass through two sets of decontamination chambers. After exiting the second, he walked into a long, low hallway whose floor was illuminated by faint green light. A slender woman in white was waiting for him, smiling as she said, “The Prime Minister sent word to expect you, sir. Please, follow me.”
She turned, leading him down the dim hallway. Damian glanced to either side as they went; small chambers lined the hall, lacking any sort of doors but equipped with enormous windows that stretched from floor to ceiling. They were little more than cells, making the Agency dormitories seem luxurious by
comparison. Each had a narrow cot, and while most were empty, there were a few that held single occupants dressed in white sleeping clothes. Some were lying on their cots, others reading from tablets, but most were sitting still as if waiting for something. Damian could feel their eyes follow him as he moved past, and it was enough to unnerve even him.
“We’ve taken the liberty of selecting one of our most gifted Trackers for you,” said the woman. “He’s eager to begin.”
“I hope not so much that he’ll put my target at risk,” Damian warned quietly.
They came to a stop in front of one of the rooms, looking through the glass. A man was inside the darkened cell, seated cross-legged on the floor on a meditation cushion. His eyes were closed, giving Damian a moment to look him over. He was eerily pale, with closely cropped brown hair and even, unassuming
features. He was shirtless, and his bare chest was leanly muscled. After a moment he raised his head, opening light gray eyes. In a voice hoarse from disuse, the Tracker murmured, “Rubbing
alcohol, motor oil, and Hoisin sauce… What were you doing in a Chinatown lab, Handler?”
Damian glanced at the glass and the walls of the cell,
observing, “I thought this place was designed to keep out scents.”
The woman cast an amused glance at the Tracker, answering, “We do our best to minimize distractions. However, we are dealing with Agents engineered with almost ten times the olfactory power of a scent hound. Even trace scents are enough for them to work.”
“Well, hopefully, you’ll still be able to live up to your reputation,” Damian said to the Tracker. “I have a target for you.”
The Tracker’s pale eyes gleamed hungrily behind the glass, the muscles of his arms shifting under the skin as he slowly stood.
Damian held up the vial of blood he had taken from Ahmad’s lab, saying, “Female, twenty-years-old, a rogue Agent. She’s been on the run for over two months. I want her back, and I’m losing patience.”
“Modified, yes?” the Tracker said excitedly, shifting his weight in eagerness. “Skilled, too, I imagine.”
“Deadly,” Damian said, nodding. “If you manage to track her down, I assure you that your reward will be substantial.”
But the Tracker was shaking his head impatiently. “Don’t want any reward; just give me the scent and let me hunt. Let me out to do what I was trained to do.”
Damian’s dark eyes met the Tracker’s pale ones, and his voice was deadly serious as he ordered, “You can hunt, but there will be no kill at the end. Do you understand me?”
The Tracker nodded, his face alight with a smile. His speech patterns became more frantic and less coherent as he agreed, “No killing, no killing…just hunting and tracking. Let me out and I’ll be as obedient as you want. Just give me the scent, let me start…”
Damian approached the glass, slipping the vial of blood into a device set within the wall. A door slid shut around it, tubing connecting automatically to the top of the vial. As Damian watched, the tubes siphoned off the blood, drawing it up into the ventilation system. Within the cell, several vents opened, and colorless air blew into the room. The Tracker stilled, raising his head with closed eyes and breathing in deeply several times. After a moment, his eyes snapped open, and he shot back towards the sealed door at the opposite end of the cell, fingers scrambling along the opening as he panted, “Let me out; let me hunt!”
The doors stayed shut a few moments longer, and soon the Tracker was clawing at the door, howling for freedom by the time the woman stepped forward and pressed her thumb to the keypad beside the glass window. In the back of the room the door slid to one side, and the Tracker was through it immediately, running down a hidden hallway towards the prep room and passage to the world above.
The woman tapped several fingers to her tablet screen, saying, “His homing signal is now active and being transmitted directly to your phone. He’ll send word three times; once when he has the scent, once when he’s close, and once when he’s found the target.”
“You know that he’s on the brink of madness, don’t you?” Damian asked bluntly. “Nothing about that thing is normal.”
The woman, however, just smiled serenely. “What is madness if not the workings of an unfettered mind? And when you have your Agent back, I doubt that ‘normal’ will concern you so much.”
Turning on her heel, she walked deeper into the hallway,
impervious to the eyes of the Trackers that followed her as she went. Damian headed back towards the exit, berating himself for being so squeamish.
Desperate times, Damian thought grimly. The Contingency is progressing, and the time for games is over. Besides, maybe I’ll get lucky. After all, if Liane’s officer gets between the Tracker and its prey, then it will mean one less wasted bullet.
Satisfied that he had made the right decision, Damian headed back to his office to make headway on the necessary paperwork.
CHAPTER 24
The mission briefing for the attack on the Agency was held late at night. The mods who would lead the attack filled the lower level training room, sitting pell-mell wherever there was space on the floor, and Liane sat beside Seth near the front. The only light came from a projected, greenish image of the Agency skyscraper which rotated in the center of the room. Owen stood beside it, his pupils reflecting the sickly light.
“The building is over two hundred stories tall,” he began, the image shifting to flash through a series of schematics. “On the topmost story is the Director’s suite, while the floors between it and the ground contain show offices. What we’re concerned about, however, are the levels below ground.”
Owen paused, looking over to Liane. She let out a sigh, then stood and walked up to join him. She intensely disliked the feeling of so many eyes on her, but tried to ignore them as she said, “The underground facilities are extensive; they include dormitories for trainees, command rooms, detention cells, simulation chambers... There are over twenty stories, and each level is at least ten times of the size of this bunker.”
“There are also escape tunnels,” Owen said as the protection shifted to highlight the passageways below the building. “They lead out from the building in all directions, utilizing the
remaining infrastructure of the London Underground. These
tunnels are well-guarded, but we’ve found the entrance to one. Masha and Dasha have been working to override the security.”
Paz flicked the lights back on, the mods wincing in the sudden brightness. Owen unfurled a map on the floor, gesturing as he went on, “There’s only one shot at this, and there’s no question we will encounter Agents. Make certain you are armed and ready to face them. Once we are inside, we go down to the maintenance level and rig the charges. After getting out, we will set them off and watch the Agency crumble.” He looked up, his gaze drifting over each of the mods in turn as he finished, “You have your commanders and instructions. Follow them and we’ll all live through this.”
The mods nodded, standing and be
ginning to drift away in
conversation with one another. Liane had taken a few steps after them when Owen asked, “How are you feeling?”
She looked back at him as he crouched to roll back up the map, shrugging, “Fine.”
The truth was she felt far from fine; she had woken up in the middle of the night, bathed in sweat with her lips tingling as she struggled for breath. She also hadn’t eaten anything that day, as the smell of food was sending nausea rippling through her. But he didn’t need to know that, nor that she’d given herself a second dose of the Strain just that morning out of desperation to make it stop.
Owen nodded, standing with the map. “Good. You’ll need your wits about you when we’re inside. Where do you think the Agency would store mod serum?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. In the medic bay, I suppose. That’s only if I didn’t destroy it all when I burned down
Genentech…”
“Then the medic bay is where we’ll look first,” he said, looking past her to where Seth stood waiting. “Seth, you’re familiar with what weapons the police are using now. I’d like for you to have a look at our armory, make sure we’ll be able to hold them off if the Agency calls them in for backup.”
Seth hesitated, looking with concern at Liane, but she waved dismissively and said, “I’m alright. I’ll just be training.”
Seth nodded, falling in step with Owen and saying over his shoulder to her, “If you need me—”
“I’m fine,” she said with more heat than she’d intended, turning away and marching from the room. She went down to the shooting range, grateful to find it empty. She loaded up one of the practice weapons with paint bullets, finding some relief in the familiar movements. She raised the gun and looked down the sight at the human-shaped target at the end of the shooting
corral. Liane chose the heart as her target, letting off eight shots in rapid succession. As the echo of the last shot faded, she looked down to the target, feeling cold shock go through her. The target was littered with paint, but none of the shots were where she had intended them to go. In the case of one, she hadn’t even hit within the body outline. Moving over to the next corral, she once again took aim at the heart and fired eight more shots. But it wasn’t any better; if anything, her shots were even more erratic than before.
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