Sophia did not exist.

Officially.

Unofficially, she squeezed the trigger. The .50 BMG round the size of a cigarillo punched through the Minister of Defense’s head, popping it like a grape. The empty shell jumped from her rifle’s ejection port and rolled across the rooftop. She ignored it and thumbed a new round directly into the ejection port and slid the cocking handle to the rear. The working parts were smooth and well oiled.

Through her Nightforce scope, she shifted her aim from the decapitated body to a nearby parked motorcycle. She aimed for the explosives concealed on the bike and fired. The gases propelled the round through the free-floating barrel, out the muzzle brake and across downtown Tehran with a sound like a thunderclap. The explosives detonated, tearing open the Minister’s car and shredding everything around it. A cloud of dust billowed outwards.

Sophia crawled back from the edge of the rooftop, taking her Steyr HS .50 sniper rifle with her. The explosives would mask the assassination. On the other side of the world, the Fifth Column were busy inventing a previously unknown terrorist group to claim responsibility for what Sophia hoped would be regarded as a suicide bombing. The Steyr HS .50 was an added precaution. Iran had purchased 800 of the sniper rifles a few years ago, so any trace of the Steyr HS would cast suspicion on Iran. One of several necessary steps to vilify that country and butter up the western world for the next Middle Eastern power grab.

The rifle’s bipod detached in seconds, but field stripping the weapon took a bit longer. She rolled up the rifle components in her sleeping bag and stuffed it into her backpack.

Damien, one of the operatives under her command, was waiting for her with unblinking hazel eyes at the bottom of the stairs, backpack slung over his shoulders. He scratched his unshaven neck and slipped on a pair of imitation Ray-Bans. He nodded and moved for the elevator.

Neither of them said a word as they took the elevator to the hotel’s second floor and exited the lobby slowly and calmly. They looked like American tourists fresh out of college. They jumped on the second-hand Honda 125 motorcycles they’d purchased yesterday and disappeared.

***

The team of three operatives slipped across the Iranian desert in a Land Cruiser, the Honda motorcycles stowed in the back. Headlights off, interior lights off. Nothing but the coal-black night. Sophia sat in the front passenger seat while Damien drove and Jay sat in the back.

Jay broke the silence with a tuneless song. Something about living in a pineapple under the sea.

‘SpongeBob SquarePants!’ Damien said.

‘Who died in an oil spill because of BP?’

‘SpongeBob SquarePants!’ Damien said.

‘Stop,’ Sophia said.

Damien drew the Land Cruiser to a halt.

‘No,’ Sophia said. ‘Stop singing.’

‘Oh.’ Damien picked up speed again.

Over her shoulder, Sophia noticed Jay had something bright purple on his head. ‘Jay, are you wearing a glamor turban over your helmet?’

Jay was suddenly still. ‘No.’

‘Take it off.’

A Citroën sedan peeled from the night, heading straight for them. Its driver seemed oblivious to their presence.

‘Shit,’ Damien said, gripping the steering wheel.

Sophia leaned forward, peering through the darkness. ‘What’s someone doing out here at this time?’

‘You mean other than assassinating the Minister of Defense?’ Damien said.

‘Mickey-D’s run,’ Jay said, unwrapping his turban. ‘Someone’s hankering for a halal Happy Meal.’

Damien stifled a laugh.

‘Quiet,’ Sophia said. ‘They’re looking for us.’

If anyone spotted them over the Iranian border, the operation would be compromised. She knew what had to be done. She drew her pistol.

‘Damien, you’re playing sergeant,’ she said.

Damien nodded once. Jay rolled his eyes.

She’d chosen Damien because he wasn’t as likely as Jay to push anyone’s buttons. It was just for appearances. A woman commanding a security team was going to attract more attention than she wanted. She didn’t want any.

Jay opened his window, hauled his belt-fed Minimi machine gun onto his lap and pulled the cocking handle back. His way of saying he was ready.

The sedan’s windows were up, but Sophia could hear exotic stringed instruments and the undulating pitch of a female vocalist. Through the Citroën’s fogged windshield, she recognized faces from the street where she’d assassinated the Minister of Defense. They were Takavaran, Iranian Special Forces, the Minister’s personal guards tasked with protecting him. And if they hadn’t seen Sophia’s team at the time of the assassination, they certainly had now.

Jay rested the Minimi’s barrel on his windowsill. ‘What’s the call, Soph?’

‘It’s Sophia,’ she said. ‘Take them.’

The sedan’s back wheels kicked dust into the air, accelerating fast.

Damien pumped the brakes and pulled hard on the steering wheel. Sophia braced herself as he swung the Cruiser to one side, lining Jay’s Minimi up perfectly with the Citroën.

Jay opened fire. The sound was deafening inside the Cruiser. Empty cases from his Minimi bounced past Sophia, hitting the glove box. Through her driver’s window, she saw the sedan slow to a crawl. She hit the decocking block on her Walther P99 pistol—or ‘007’ as Jay insisted on calling it—then held the pressel switch on her throat mike. ‘Damien. Check the vehicle.’

Before the sedan came to a complete stop, Sophia was running towards it, her P99 trained on the shattered back window. Damien was on her right, his Colt Canada C8 rifle leveled as they rushed forward. The rusty hood looked like it was covered in crushed rubies. It was sticky and wet.

‘They’re toast,’ Damien said from the driver’s side, his breath fogging in the cold.

He indicated with his C8 barrel to what was left of the two heads. In the back seat, three more heads, like split watermelons.

‘Lucky we saw them first.’ Sophia spoke into her mike. ‘Jay, plant one of our IEDs. Now.’

She opened the back door on her side of the sedan. A young man fell out, face down. His body glistened red. She looked through at the other door as Damien opened it. A young woman tipped sideways. Damien caught her mid-fall. Her head lolled. Strands of tangled wet hair stuck to his arms.

Trembling in the center of the back seat was another woman, her head still intact, her round face and white T-shirt dotted crimson. Sophia nodded to Damien. He leaned in to grab her. The woman resisted, clawing at him. He pulled her out and dropped her onto the dirt. She kneeled before him, screaming under his Colt’s barrel.

Damien looked up at Sophia, his finger closing over his trigger. ‘Drop her?’

Before she could respond, he nodded to her nine o’clock.

Another vehicle. Wider, higher. Humvee. It pulled up fifty feet short, hip-hop music rattling hillbilly armor. A shortage of armor kits had forced the soldiers to improvise with scrap metal.

‘What are they doing over the border?’ Damien whispered.

‘Must’ve been nearby, heard the crash.’ Sophia said softly into her throat mike, ‘Leave the IED.’ She nodded at Damien. ‘The floor’s yours.’

Five US Marines climbed out and approached her team, dusted boots crunching on grit. They were dressed in desert camouflage, helmets fitted with night-vision monocles. Their M16A2 rifles gleamed in the moonlight.

‘Lemme guess,’ the staff sergeant said. ‘They don’t know a stop sign when they see it?’

His marines laughed like a cued audience.

They didn’t know the occupants of the Citroën were Iranian military, Sophia thought.

‘No kidding,’ Damien said, stepping in front of the Citroën so they couldn’t get a closer look. He spoke with a mild northeast England accent, as he’d been briefed.

American private security weren’t warmly regarded here, even by the US military. British security, on the other hand, made a point of not shooting every civilian vehicle off the road. They kept a low profile, stayed out of danger and consequently had better relations with the US military. Hence the cover story Sophia’s fireteam was running with: they were British private security and Damien was commanding the assignment.

‘What you guys doing out here, man?’ the staff asked.

‘Escort,’ Damien said.

The staff looked down at the surviving woman. His upper lip trembled into a grin. ‘We’ll go ’head take this girl in. Figure you wanna travel light.’

Damien shrugged. ‘Yeah, suit yourself.’

The staff’s lower lip jutted outward slightly. Tobacco was lodged in a wad between his lower teeth and lip. He angled his head away from Sophia. She caught him winking at Damien.

One of the marines seized the woman by her slender wrists and led her to the back of the Humvee. He was Hispanic and might’ve passed for Jay’s younger brother.

The staff shot Sophia a lingering glance, taking in her dark hair, desert cams and gray eyes. She knew what he was thinking. The scar on her right eyebrow was probably making him hard.

He scraped the stubble on his chin with a calloused hand. ‘Hey man,’ he said to Damien. ‘Ya night-vision ain’t on.’

Damien didn’t need it, but he turned it on. ‘Yeah, thanks.’

‘Screw me how you see without it.’

The staff drummed his fingers on his rifle in time with the beat from the Hummer’s CD player. Sophia noticed his M16 was shorter than it should’ve been. It wasn’t an M16 at all, but an M4 carbine. Strange, she thought. Only marine officers carried M4s. Something about these marines didn’t seem right.

‘Let’s move.’ The staff started walking back to the Hummer.

In unison, his marines—also carrying M4s—shouted a guttural ‘Uh-rah!’

One of them pushed the woman into the back compartment of the Hummer. Sophia caught a glimpse of her face. She wasn’t Iranian Special Forces. She was just a girl, no more than ten years old. She hadn’t been on the street during the assassination at all. How had Sophia mistaken a ten-year-old girl for a woman on the street in Tehran?

She looked back at the Citroën, at the torn, ripped faces in the front seat. They hadn’t been on the street either. They weren’t the Takavar guard unit. No wonder they’d been so easy to kill.

She turned to Damien. His fingers were white over his C8. His thick eyebrows pressed together, his teeth clenched. Something was wrong, and it wasn’t the marines’ taste in music.

Sophia heard a faint click. The discharge of a suppressed weapon.

The staff stumbled and fell face-first onto the dirt road. Hard. Sophia heard the air rasp from his throat. He scrambled to his feet, snatched his rifle. Spun around, eyes wide. Saliva, thick with tobacco, oozed down the staff’s chin and neck.

Two marines—the younger version of Jay, and an African American with a square jaw and a permanent scowl—rushed in to help him.

‘Mother . . .’ Sweat poured from the staff’s face.

Square Jaw moved in closer. ‘Staff?’

The staff shoved him aside. ‘Take cover!’ He ripped off his modular tactical vest, then the buttons from his uniform. ‘Some raghead just shot me!’

His eyes rolled up and he dropped to his knees, then his hands. His elbows buckled. His face hit the dirt.

The two soldiers rushed to him again. Square Jaw checked his carotid pulse, then saw the blood-soaked patch over his stomach. The other three marines—faces confused—dropped to their knees, rifles ready, snapping their night vision on to search the desert around them.

All was flat and featureless. There was nowhere for the enemy to hide. The marines wouldn’t stay confused for much longer.

Sophia dropped to her stomach, not bothering with night vision. She bent her right leg, giving her lungs room to breathe. Wind howled past, filling her nostrils with gasoline and the coppery tang of blood. With her peripheral vision, she could see Damien lying prone and holstering his suppressor-equipped pistol. He put both hands back onto his C8. She’d realized what he’d done. She just couldn’t believe he’d done it.

‘Bring it!’ Square Jaw yelled. ‘I’ll put a bullet right between ya eyes!’

Sophia figured it would only be a few minutes before they figured out there were no insurgents. There was only one way out of this now.

She raised her compact P99 pistol and squeezed off two rounds. Square Jaw’s rifle dropped. His mouth opened like a purse. Blood gushed down his neck.

The other marines took aim—not at her but at the invisible insurgent they thought had opened fire.

A marine’s head exploded.

The three remaining soldiers turned to Sophia’s team, rifles aimed. They knew they’d been had. They returned fire. Rounds cracked past Sophia. One broke the sound barrier inches from her head with the snap of a bullwhip.

From the Cruiser, Jay pinned the marines with heavy supporting fire. They dropped flat on their stomachs and shifted their arc of fire. Their rounds smacked into Sophia’s vehicle. Above the gunfire, the female singer informed everyone of the heat coming from the beat.

Jay’s Minimi continued its barrage. Sophia shifted on her elbows and found herself in line with one of the marines. Before she could squeeze off more shots, he folded into himself like a plastic toy. Damien had beaten her to it.

She rose into a crouch. All the marines were down. She got to her feet.

Damien was on his feet beside her, uninjured. With his trademark thoroughness, he swept his C8 over the dead marines a few times. There would be no survivors.

Sophia turned to check on Jay. It didn’t look good. The Cruiser was peppered with bullet impacts. None had penetrated the vehicle’s armor, but it was the bullets penetrating Jay that worried her. His Minimi was visible, but he was nowhere to be seen.

She marched towards the Cruiser, fingers trembling. ‘Jay? Call out!’ she yelled. ‘Call out!’

Jay’s Minimi almost fell out as he kicked open the door. ‘Yeah, I’m good,’ he said.

She watched his boots hit the ground. ‘Injuries?’

‘I said I’m good.’ He brushed dirt from the Minimi’s feed tray. ‘But this needs a clean.’

Sophia returned to Damien, who was busy checking the pulse of every marine. Jay stormed past and inspected the staff sergeant’s body. He rolled him onto his back and pried his clenched hands from the vest buttons.

‘I guess that’s the last time we let Damien run the show,’ Jay said.

Damien either hadn’t heard him or chose not to respond. Considering his enhanced hearing, it was probably the latter.

Sophia spotted movement at the edge of her vision. It wasn’t the girl. She was sitting in the back of the Hummer, still and breathless. Someone was in the front seat. They’d missed a marine.

He reached for a weapon. Sophia broke into a sprint, closing the gap. The marine was on the driver’s side. He wasn’t reaching for a weapon, he was reaching for a radio.

No time to draw.

He noticed her approach and drew his pistol. His arm leveled across the Hummer’s window. He would’ve had her too, if she’d been a step behind. She smashed his forearm down on the window frame. Bone shattered through the inside of his elbow. She cracked the stock of her pistol into the side of his neck. It struck his carotid sinus and sent a sudden surge of blood to his brain. In an instant, his body’s self-defense kicked in, slowing his heart rate and dilating blood vessels to drop his blood pressure. She watched him slump forward, unconscious, forehead hitting the steering wheel. The horn blared.

She reached in, cut the volume on the CD player. The girl sat in the back of the Hummer, trembling. Sophia opened the rear door and the girl scrambled away, lips quivering.

Sophia’s nostrils burned with the smell of sweat and urine. She opened her mouth but nothing came out. She wasn’t here to save the girl. She thought she’d killed a unit of Iranian Special Forces, but she’d killed a family and orphaned a terrified little girl. What the hell was going on?

‘Soph!’ Jay yelled over the horn.

A marine was standing ten feet behind her. She couldn’t believe she’d missed another one. His M4 carbine shifted in blood-coated hands. Rounds from the firefight had cratered the boron carbide plates of his vest, but hadn’t penetrated his flesh. He’d survived by playing dead. Damien hadn’t made it that far to check his pulse.

Before the marine could shoot her, he hunched over abruptly, eyelids twitching. Saliva dripped from his chin. He collapsed.

Jay was standing behind him, teeth clenched, breathing heavily. He looked like he was in pain. Sophia checked him over. No blood. His hands were empty. The marine’s flesh smelled burnt, as though he’d been roasted with a taser. But Jay was more effective than any taser. He’d touched the back of the marine’s neck and discharged a high-voltage electric shock. His enhanced ability came in handy once in a while.

She checked her own hands. She was still holding her P99. Their situation wasn’t looking too hot. Their presence in Iran had been compromised only hours after she’d slotted the Minister of Defense, and—

‘We just slotted a whole bunch of marines,’ Jay said. ‘That can’t be good.’

‘I thought they stopped issuing M4s to marines. The sand jams them too easily,’ Sophia said. ‘These look new.’

Damien kneeled to inspect the toasted marine. ‘They like to keep their weapons well oiled, I guess.’

‘Or they were deployed at short notice.’ Sophia nodded at the pistol near her feet. ‘With Heckler & Koch pistols.’

Jay chewed his lip. ‘Right, you have a point. So who are they? Private security? Special Forces?’

Sophia shook her head. ‘Whoever they are, I think we’ll need both IEDs after all.’

‘Too late for that,’ Damien said. ‘We have incoming.’

Sophia tracked his gaze to the west. Saw three vehicles crossing the Iraq–Iran border. They would’ve seen the firefight from there.

‘Orders?’ Jay said.

When she didn’t answer, he grabbed her shoulder. ‘Hey!’

His touch jolted her, but she stared through him. Her attention was riveted to the three vehicles. There was no time to escape.

‘Great,’ Damien said. ‘These guys probably saw us slaughter the marines through their night-vision.’

‘So either they shoot us or take us into custody,’ Jay said. ‘I’d like to think the latter.’

The screech of brakes. A spotlight splashed over them. The girl screamed from the back seat of the Hummer.

Two dozen marines poured from the newly arrived Hummers, barely silhouettes in the night. Whether they were real marines or dress-up marines, their spotlight made Sophia squint. Someone yelled at her, Damien and Jay to drop their weapons.

Sophia was the first to raise her hands. She showed her finger was nowhere near the trigger of her pistol, hit the decocking block and the magazine-release catch. The magazine fell out, landing by her feet. The marines kept their rifles trained on her as she placed the pistol on the ground and stepped back, her hands up.

In her peripheral vision, she saw Jay—who’d left his Minimi in the Cruiser and his pistol in his thigh holster—raise his hands in the air. Damien was out of her field of vision, but she heard him place his rifle and magazine on the dirt.

The marines rushed forward, rifles fixed on the trio. M4s.

‘Shit,’ Sophia whispered.

Two marines threw her against the side of the Hummer. There was no hesitation, no questions. They’d seen what had happened. She couldn’t talk her way out of this.

The girl screamed again.

‘Shut her up,’ someone yelled.

A marine pulled the girl out of the vehicle and put a bullet through the back of her head.

Sophia looked away from the ceiling to find her body in one piece. She was lying on a hospital bed. Her vision blurred and her head spun. She felt as though she had a lifetime’s supply of hangovers in one hit. She tried to move her limbs but they refused to obey. She opened her mouth. Her throat burned and her tongue felt swollen. She could barely swallow.

    Beyond her feet she saw a pair of military police sergeants standing in the doorway. One of them had a long, crooked nose and pencil-thin lips. The other was five inches taller and as white as the ceiling tiles. They stepped outside the room to get a better view of the television Sophia could hear in the opposite ward.

    The ward was empty, save for two beds on her left. She managed to turn her head in that direction. Beside her was a young, unshaven man in his early twenties. He had pale olive skin, dark hair that hadn’t been brushed in weeks and a nose slightly too big for his face. Damien. He looked like a young, ethnic version of James Dean.

    As Damien leaned back against the bedhead, Sophia was able to see the patient on the next bed. With even shorter hair, higher cheekbones and darker olive skin, Jay was hard to miss. There were quite a few Hispanic operatives, but Jay was Pardo: half Portuguese and half African. At a stretch, he could pass for Arabic, which made him a popular choice for Middle East operations.

    ‘They said Iranian missiles could hit the States in 2015,’ the MP sergeant on the left said, speaking softly. ‘Fucking hell.’

    The sergeant on the right laughed. ‘That’s a slow fucking missile.’ His voice sounded like gravel.

    Sophia tried to move her fingers but felt nothing. She could hear the news reporter talking on the television.

    ‘The United Nations representative for Human Rights was killed in a suicide bombing last night. The US Secretary of State said the bombing underlines the absolute moral bankruptcy and brutality of those who planned and executed it. A previously unknown terrorist group, the Holy Jihad Brigades, issued a statement claiming responsibility.’

    Suicide bombings by ‘previously unknown terrorist groups’ were a great way to cover up assassinations. Sophia wouldn’t be surprised if the real culprit was an operative just like her.

    Her blood iced up.

    It was her.

    Her memories shifted like a prism. The face of the person she’d shot flickered before her. It wasn’t the Iranian Minister of Defense. It was the United Nations representative.

    ‘No mention of our killing spree in the desert last night. Which is interesting,’ Damien’s voice croaked from beside her. He was listening too.

    She remembered everything now. But it was all different. The faces were different. The people were different. Even lying down, she felt dizzy. This wasn’t just an operational failure, this was catastrophic.

    She opened her mouth, pulling her dry lips apart. ‘Where are we? Iraq?’

    Damien nodded. ‘Looks like Camp Anaconda. Or Joint Base Balad as they call it these days.’

    ‘Why did you kill the staff sergeant?’ she said.

    Damien’s gaze hardened. ‘Why did you shoot the marines?’

    Her arms and legs tingled. ‘I don’t know.’

    Whatever sedatives she’d been given, they were starting to wear off. Her fingers flexed when she told them to. The fog was beginning to clear from her mind and something inside her was convinced she had to get away from here.

    Struggling to sit upright, she looked at the vital signs monitor beside her. It was measuring her pulse rate, blood pressure and respiratory rate. She knew as soon as she detached the wires from her body it would start beeping, alerting the MPs. She looked over at the ward entrance. She could only see one elbow, but she knew they were both still there, the television informing them of the latest celebrity breakup.

    Jay stood, peeled tape from the hypodermic needle embedded in the back of his hand. Sophia whispered for him to stay down, but as usual he didn’t listen. No wonder she trusted Damien more. But maybe Jay had the same urge to get away from here that she had. Only, in keeping with his style, he’d do it recklessly and get them all caught. She could already see a blood-pressure cuff hanging loosely from his right arm.

    Jay removed it and quickly wrapped it around Damien’s arm. The monitors didn’t have a chance to beep.

    Damien caught Sophia’s gaze with large hazel eyes. He held a slender finger to his lips.

    ‘Your wife kisses another dude, that’s cheating,’ one of the MPs said. ‘You down?’

    There was a long pause.

    ‘Wouldn’t happen,’ said the other one. ‘No point talking shit that don’t happen.’

    ‘You’re on the other side of the world, man.’ The first sergeant spoke slowly and deliberately. ‘What if she slips the tongue? That’s cheating, right?’

    Sophia used sign language to say to Damien, What are you doing, idiot? She didn’t know the sign for ‘idiot’ so finger spelled it instead. 

    Damien nodded, grinned, then turned his attention to Jay, who had just clipped a pulse oximeter onto Damien’s fingertip. One by one, Jay peeled the electrodes from his body, transferring them immediately to Damien, right next to Damien’s own electrodes. Jay’s vital signs monitor hadn’t beeped yet.

    ‘It ain’t proper cheating, man,’ the second MP said.

    ‘Totally is.’ The first MP was pacing now. His crooked nose strayed dangerously into view and then moved away.

    Barefoot, Jay hobbled unsteadily from the end of his bed to Damien’s, then to Sophia’s. He paused, his gaze locking with hers. He held his hand out, palm down, indicating for her to wait.

    She shook her head. No. But Jay was already staggering for the ward entrance. 

    She peeled the tape from her own needle. She couldn’t just sit here and wait for Jay to screw up. He was in no condition to take on an armed soldier, let alone two. She could see his movements were unsteady and sluggish. He was going to get himself killed. She wasn’t going to let that happen.

    ‘Why don’t you check on the vegetables in there,’ the second MP said.

    ‘Why don’t you not change the subject?’ Crooked Nose said.

    ‘Fine. If we’re getting into technicalities, then yeah,’ the second MP said. ‘But cheating is like speeding fines, you know? Who cares if you speed a bit? We all do it. And when you get caught you’re given a warning or a fine or whatever.’ He cleared his throat. ‘But what if you get wasted and crash into a bus? You’re screwed. And by bus, I mean vagina. And by crash, I mean have sex with.’

    Jay half-collapsed against the wall. Sophia could hear his heavy breathing. The second MP walked in, eyes narrowed and complexion chalk white. His eyes widened when he realized she was awake.

    Jay was behind Chalky, limbs moving simultaneously: knee into the back of Chalky’s thigh, hand slamming into his shoulder blades just to the right of the spine, and the other hand pulling his left shoulder back. All three movements sent the MP in a counterclockwise spin straight to the floor.

    Sophia pulled the needle from her arm and got to her feet. Crooked Nose stormed into the ward, chest puffed and mouth agape, to find Chalky lying on his stomach and Jay staggering over him.

    Crooked Nose drew his pistol. ‘What the fuck is this? Turn around!’ he yelled. ‘On the floor, spread your shit!’

    Jay wasn’t anywhere near close enough to attack an armed soldier.

    Crooked Nose eyed Sophia. ‘Hands where I can see them, princess!’

    Sophia raised her arms. Dizziness burned inside her head, blockading her thoughts. She did her best to remain upright and not pass out. A slight glance over her shoulder showed Damien lying in bed, eyes closed.

    Chalky pulled himself to his feet while Crooked Nose mumbled into his radio. ‘Echo Five Charlie to Echo Five Golf, we need assistance in Ward Three East Eighteen to Twenty Four, over.’

    Jay was on the ground between the two MPs. Chalky kicked him in the ribs. Jay roared in pain, folding into a fetal position.

    ‘Limbs spread, spic!’ Chalky said.

    Jay spread his arms and legs, but kept one knee slightly bent. Sophia knew why.

    ‘Echo Five Charlie to Echo Five Golf, patients trying to escape,’ Crooked Nose said into the radio. ‘One patient, aggressive behavior, attempted assault. Patient is restrained, over.’

    Sophia’s mouth felt incredibly dry. All she could think about was Crooked Nose’s bony finger resting on the trigger of his Beretta M9 pistol. A bead of sweat trickled down his skewed nose, hung from the tip. Sophia waited for it to drop. The wait seemed eternal.

    Crooked Nose’s attention shifted to Jay. ‘Five minutes. We got this. Let’s get this joker tied up.’

    He held his M9 in one hand and dug into a pouch for plasticuffs. Crouching down, he wrapped one of Jay’s legs with a pair, then moved to straighten his bent leg. Chalky was standing in front of Jay, near his hands. Jay moved quickly. He grabbed Chalky’s nearest boot with one hand and clamped behind his knee with the other. He pulled sharply. Chalky’s body twisted to one side and he dropped to his knees. As he went down, he tried to smash his pistol into Jay’s face. It glanced off Jay’s arm.

    Chalky straddled Jay’s head. Jay pulled his hand back and punched Chalky in the testicles. Hard. Chalky cried out in the highest pitch Sophia had ever heard from a grown man. ‘Motherfucker!’ He waved his pistol, trying to aim at Jay’s head.

    Crooked Nose moved for a clear shot. They were prepared to shoot. That wasn’t good news. Sophia ripped off her blood-pressure cuff. She had to do something.

    Jay ran his hand down Chalky’s firing arm. He wrapped his right hand over Chalky’s and took control. At the same time, he hit Crooked Nose’s neck with the edge of his other hand, then smeared an open palm over his face, fingers into his eye sockets.

    Crooked Nose had heard Sophia’s machines wailing. He aimed his pistol at her, but she’d already snatched the pillow from her hospital bed and thrown it in his direction. It was big and slow, but he still had to sidestep it. By the time he had, she was under his pistol. Thumb tucked under her palm, she brought her hand around in a smooth arc. Its inner edge crushed his windpipe. With his pistol-holding arm poised over her shoulder, she pivoted on her heels, turning her back to him. She grabbed his hand, clamped over the pistol and brought it down hard. His arm snapped over her shoulder. She thrust her elbow back, catching him in the ribs. He couldn’t breathe. She turned in time to see him collapse to his knees.

    On her left, Jay had one hand over Chalky’s face and the other over Chalky’s pistol. He pulled the pistol’s aim away from Sophia, towards Crooked Nose, then rolled Chalky’s head back, disrupting his balance and throwing him off his feet. Jay crouched behind him, M9 pointed at Crooked Nose.

    Sophia’s machines were still beeping.

    She glared at Jay. ‘Don’t.’

    He squeezed the trigger. The shot echoed into the corridor.

    There was a sickening snap. Chalky’s neck.

    ‘We have three or four minutes,’ Sophia said. ‘At most.’

    Damien was on his feet, his and Jay's machines creating a symphony of beeps and wails.

    Jay grabbed the clipboard from the end of Damien’s bed. ‘Four milligrams of haloperidol and four milligrams of lorazepam.’ He threw the clipboard aside. ‘What is this fuckery?’

    Damien removed his needle while Jay checked the window. Dawn was about to break.

    ‘Safe to say Denton won’t be impressed,’ Damien said.

    Sophia glanced at the clipboard. Antipsychotic and strong sedative. Potent amnesic effects. Had the drugs changed her memories and made her think she’d killed a bunch of innocent people? The clipboard said the drugs had been administered to Private Esposito: Damien’s cover surname. She checked her clipboard. It had her own cover name, the same drugs.

    ‘What are they doing to us?’ Jay said. He checked the rounds in Chalky’s M9, then dragged the MP behind a bed curtain.

    Damien took the clipboard from Sophia. ‘They’re not fooling around.’

    Sophia untied the string from the back of Damien’s hospital gown and, when he turned, pulled it from his body. ‘Get changed. Now.’ Her tongue felt like cotton as she spoke.

    Damien, naked, glared at her. ‘Was that really necessary?’

    ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Was killing that staff sergeant really necessary?’

    Damien hesitated. ‘The girl.’

    ‘You saw the girl as well?’ Sophia said. ‘It was a girl?’

    ‘I don’t . . . I didn’t,’ Damien said. ‘I thought she was a terrorist. But then she wasn’t. And  . . .’

    Sophia checked the clock on the wall. ‘Get changed. We’re out of time. After what we’ve done, there’s a very real chance we’ll be disposed of.’ She licked her dry lips. ‘We need to get as far away from here as possible.’

    ‘And then what?’ Damien asked.

    ‘Let’s concentrate on surviving first. We’ll last longer if we stick together.’

    Jay nodded. ‘Agreed.’

    ‘I don’t need you to agree,’ Sophia said. ‘I need you to do exactly as I say.’ Jay opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off. ‘Or you can wait another two minutes for the Fifth Column’s extermination squad to arrive. After all, you did open fire on US Marines, didn’t you, Jay?’ She raised an eyebrow.

    ‘I don’t know what the fuck went through my head there,’ Jay said. ‘I just . . . had to protect Damien. And you.’

    She indicated Crooked Nose’s limp body sprawled on the floor. ‘You have sixty seconds. It’s time for dress-ups.’

    Damien relieved Crooked Nose of his desert-cam trousers while Jay got busy fleecing Chalky of his uniform. They each strapped a tactical vest over the top. Unfortunately, the MPs weren’t wearing any armor. As if to make up for it, Jay snatched Chalky’s twelve-inch fighting knife.

    Sophia pulled a hip flask from Chalky’s pouch. It was half full. She tossed it to Damien and checked the clock again. ‘Time’s up.’

    ‘What’s your plan?’ Jay said.

    ‘Escort me out of the hospital.

***

    Jay took a sharp left in front of Sophia, breaking formation. With the M9 drawn, he stepped out of the exit and under a canopy. Sophia followed, with Damien beside her. They marched under a grammatically incorrect sign, HERO’S HWY, barely visible in the moonlight. 

    A pair of tan-colored Land Cruisers pulled up in front of the building. Sophia hesitated. She pulled back and crouched in the canopy’s shadows. Damien did the same. As long as no one walked into the canopy, they’d go unnoticed.

    Jay was already out in the open. He’d been spotted. She watched him approach the marines as they climbed out of the 4WDs. Even in the dim light, she could identify the three chevrons and rocker on the shoulder. A staff sergeant. Jay would’ve seen it too.

    ‘We have three escaped patients, armed and mentally unstable,’ Jay said, pointing left, down the road. ‘I saw them take a Cruiser and head for that entrance. They’re in stolen uniforms.’

    ‘Can you ID them?’ the staff said.

    Jay shook his head. ‘Only seen the back of their heads. They’re in that Cruiser at the rear.’

    The staff called to his marines, ‘Cruiser at the rear of the line! Move!’

    Jay was so busy watching the marines head for the base’s entrance that he bumped into one of them. Sophia knew why. The soldier just happened to be the driver, and carried his M16A2 rifle right-handed. Magazine catch button above the trigger. She saw Jay press the catch, saw the magazine drop into his hand. The marine didn’t even realize. Jay apologized for bumping him and kept walking.

    Sophia shook her head. Now he was just showing off.

    Jay called out to the marine, his breath pluming in the morning air. ‘Hey! Your mag!’ She saw the marine’s face flush.

    Jay handed him the mag, then moved in closer to point at the magazine. ‘Make sure it’s in tight.’

    Sophia watched Jay’s other hand run his stolen knife under the marine’s right hip pocket. The 4WD’s ignition was on the right so the keys would be pocketed with the right hand. Jay had probably pushed his hip against the pocket when he bumped the marine, just to be sure they were there. Real slick.

    A ring of keys dropped from the sliced pocket into Jay’s hand. He curled it into a fist so the keys wouldn’t jingle, then watched with mild curiosity as the marines ran ahead to the base’s entrance.

    Damien moved out from the canopy towards their new ride. Sophia followed him, trying to walk as naturally and purposefully as possible. Jay was in the driver’s seat, key already in the ignition. Damien jumped in the front passenger seat. Sophia took the back.

    The eight-cylinder engine growled at Jay’s behest. The tires were run-flat—more resistant against punctures—and had an extra lining that self-sealed in the event of a puncture. If this failed, they had additional support rings that, even with lost tire pressure, could support the weight of the 4WD at a reasonable speed for another 200 miles. Sophia knew that with run-flat tires came level B-6 vehicular armor. At this rate, they were going to need it.

    Jay put the 4WD into first. ‘Which way?’

    They were facing an exit eighty miles ahead. Beyond it, the twilight gradually revealed a main road and bridge. It would’ve been a possible escape route, had there not been a couple of armored Cruisers in the way and—thanks to Jay throwing the marines off their scent—a whole bunch of marines going haywire at each other with assault rifles.

    Out Sophia’s window, another dusty road. Too much traffic up ahead. She looked behind them. The road stretched on, flanked by concrete walls for a mile. Right into the heart of the base.

    ‘Turn us around,’ she said.

    She noticed a disposable cigarette lighter sitting in front of the stick shift. She pointed to it. ‘Damien, hand me the lighter.’

    Damien passed it to her while Jay pulled into second and punched the accelerator. Two Cruisers streaked past them. Jay hit third, passing a KFC and Burger King. The base was so large it even had its own fast-food places.

    Two faces from the second Cruiser registered in Sophia’s mind. Operatives. Her cheeks flushed as blood shunted to her muscles.

    ‘I thought we were the only team in Iraq,’ Damien said. He’d seen them too.

    ‘Then I guess you thought wrong,’ Jay said.

    ‘Slow down,’ Sophia said.

    Jay’s eyes went wide in the rear-vision mirror. ‘You for real? Jesus, Soph, I should be going faster, not slower.’

    ‘We don’t want to attract attention.’

    In all honesty, she wanted nothing more than to get out of there as fast as possible. Before the other marines worked out they’d been duped.

    The stretch of dusty road ended just shy of its second mile. A set of gates were open and manned. A single vehicle was waiting to be cleared. She searched the pockets in the back of the driver’s seat, found a first-aid kit and stole a small tube of Dermabond. Holding on to both, she curled up in the foot space behind the passenger seat. She pulled an olive-colored backpack over her, hoping it would conceal her in the waning darkness.

    Jay kept the 4WD in second gear. Sophia held her breath. She heard boots crunch on gravel as they moved just outside her door. A radio crackled and a scratchy voice said something. She listened, breathless.

    ‘Go ahead.’

    Jay whisked the 4WD through the gates, out of Joint Base Balad.

It had been twenty minutes since they’d left the base. Sophia wanted to change vehicles.

    The road Jay had taken was feeding them between two mountains, their peaks dipped in fog. Coming up on their left, a town peppered across the mountainside forest. Two-story yellow-clay houses were nestled in a stepped fashion, the rooftops acting as walkways for the levels above. Sophia couldn’t see any vehicles in the town itself, but up ahead was a repurposed hospital bus.

    ‘Jackpot,’ Jay said, pulling in beside it. He hunched over the steering wheel, rubbing his eyes. ‘On second thoughts, it probably wouldn’t make it over the next hill. I think we have a better chance sticking with what we got.’

    ‘A military Land Cruiser doesn’t exactly blend in,’ Sophia said. ‘And neither does a hospital gown or military uniform.’

    Jay was about to answer back but sneezed instead. It was absurdly loud inside the 4WD.

    Damien slouched in the front seat, arms folded. ‘So much for stealth. I’m pretty sure goat herders on the other side of the mountain heard that one.’

    ‘Shut it,’ Jay said. ‘You snore like a trumpet.’

    Sophia remained still in the back seat. Since their capture in the desert, something was different. She felt . . . strange. She examined the hospital bus parked next to them. At least, what had once been a hospital bus. The drab olive paintwork remained, but it was decorated with straw-colored curtains and had collected a small army of trinkets on the dashboard.

    ‘Where’s your knife?’ she asked Jay.

    He pulled the KA-BAR from its scabbard.

    She took it from him. ‘Take the bus.’

    He exhaled loudly through his nose. One nostril whistled in disappointment. ‘No way. Riding a brick would be faster than riding that bus.’

    ‘Not if the brick was painted in army cam,’ she said.

    ‘Fine. I suppose you have a point for once.’

    She could see a clothesline on one of the rooftops. Dry clothes. No one was outdoors yet, it was too early.

    ‘Think you can get us some clothes?’ she said. ‘And shoes for me if you can.’

    Jay grinned. ‘Easy.’ He stepped out of the 4WD. ‘I’ll steal some cash too.’

    ‘Jay.’ She climbed through to the front seat. ‘Quietly.’

    He winked. ‘It might interest you to know that I have the grace of a ballet dancer.’

    She shut the door in his face. ‘I sincerely hope not.’

    That should’ve earned a chuckle from Damien, but instead he said, ‘I shot the staff sergeant.’

    ‘I know,’ Sophia said.

    She watched Jay plot a careful path to the clothesline, then surveyed the town again. Not a soul in sight. Good. She pulled out the disposable cigarette lighter and began sterilizing the tip of the KA-BAR knife.

    ‘We killed that family,’ Damien said. ‘They looked like soldiers. But then they weren’t.’ He watched her sterilize the knife. ‘I grabbed that girl. I thought she was a soldier. I don’t know what I was doing.’

    Sophia withdrew the knife from the flame. ‘Get the hip flask.’

    Damien searched the pockets of his stolen uniform for it.

    She offered the underside of her right forearm. ‘Pour.’

    He unscrewed the lid, splashed alcohol on the skin over her RFID. Now she stank of cheap whisky.

    The RFID was a radio-frequency identification tag encased in silicate glass and implanted under her skin. It was pill-shaped and about twice the length of a grain of rice. It kept precise GPS coordinates on all operatives in the field, above or below ground. As long as they had them under their skin, Denton would always know where they were. He had been using the RFIDs with the Fifth Column Assetrac—asset-tracking system—since 2004.

    ‘I think we’re all a little confused right now,’ Sophia said.

    Damien watched with detached interest as she made an incision over the top of her RFID. Blood escaped. She ignored it, flexed her forearm a few times to nudge the RFID, then used the tip of the blade to coax it out. The fingers on her right hand twitched involuntarily. The pain almost made her drop the knife, but she clenched her teeth and fought through it. The RFID slid out. She discarded it between her feet. It can stay in the Land Cruiser, she thought.

    She wiped the blade, let Damien douse it in more whisky, wiped again, then swapped the flask for the blade and lighter. It was Damien’s turn now.

    She stared at the incision in her arm. It was hard to believe what she was doing. Her thoughts didn’t feel like her own any more. For a moment, she considered secretly approaching Denton and explaining she was no longer fit for service. But he would never trust her again. And there would be nothing she could say to change that. If she returned to the Fifth Column, she would face her end. All the more reason for them to cross the Iraq–Iran border again and get back to Tehran, where they had some chance of obscuring themselves from the prying eyes of surveillance satellites.

    She gritted her teeth, pulled out the tube of Dermabond and applied a thin stripe of the violet liquid across the cut. She held it in place with two fingertips on either side. Once it was set, she poured whisky on Damien’s forearm, then watched him cut out his RFID. When he was done, she gave him the Dermabond.

    Jay returned. He was wearing a thick woolen jacket and a headscarf, but fortunately no glamor turban. There were two other jackets slung over his shoulder. He opened the driver’s door. ‘Bus is ready to roll.’ His breath fogged the air between them.

    ‘I didn’t even hear you,’ Sophia said. ‘Good work.’

    He dangled a set of keys. ‘Someone up there loves me.’

    Damien snorted. ‘That’s hard to believe.’

    ‘And we’re rich.’ Jay shoved a wad of notes into Sophia’s hands. ‘Two million rials.’

    Sophia checked the notes. ‘That’s around 200 bucks.’

    Jay unraveled his headscarf. ‘Right. Well, it’s all I could get my hands on without being compromised.’

    Sophia took the headscarf and wrapped the notes inside. She jumped out of the driver’s seat. She could see a wafer of orange upon the horizon. The sun was rising.

    She turned to Jay and handed him the knife. ‘We can go to Tehran. But you need to remove your RFID first.’

    He glared at her. ‘Are you fucking insane?’

    ‘Jury’s out on that,’ she said. ‘But there’s no point changing vehicles if they can still track us.’

    Grumbling, he snatched the knife off her and rolled back the sleeves of his jacket. ‘I’m only agreeing to this because Tehran has some seriously good beer.’

***

    Denton sat alone in the private jet as it skimmed the North Atlantic skyline. From above, the water’s surface looked restless and murky, reflective of his mood. The air phone rang. A sharp, high-pitched noise that irritated him.

    ‘Go ahead.’

    ‘We’ve tracked every military Land Cruiser within a radius of thirty miles,’ Grace said.

    Denton had assigned Grace as leader of the team tasked with tracking and capturing the defective operatives: Sophia, Damien and Jay.

    ‘We have two suspect vehicles,’ she went on. ‘One is confirmed to contain military personnel, but the other has been abandoned at a large lake east of the border. It stopped moving one hour and twenty minutes ago. Echo Four India has disabled booby traps inside the Cruiser and recovered the RFIDs. The defective operatives cut them out.’

    ‘That shouldn’t be possible.’ Denton pinched his nose and exhaled hard. His ears popped. ‘Wait one.’

    He opened his laptop and navigated to the US National Reconnaissance Office portal. He logged in with his Department of Defense ID, then said to Grace, ‘Coordinates.’

    He keyed in the GPS coordinates as she read them out. He was using recent coverage recorded by the KH-14–2 spy satellite. Once the imagery loaded, he overlaid the road maps and fed in Grace’s team’s locations. With that done, he gave the terrain his full attention. He could see a lake near the eastern border that was shaped like an arrowhead and flanked by nearby mountains. He identified the abandoned Land Cruiser just north of a small town on the lake’s east side, and zoomed in on the ultra-high resolution image to inspect the river. Panning east, he followed the river as it snaked away from the lake towards a mountainous region.

    He checked the operations queue for all satellites in this area over the next six hours. Only one was in range—the same KH-14–2 that had recorded the recent coverage—but it was currently in use for a high-priority operation.

    ‘We won’t have the luxury of live satellite coverage,’ Denton told Grace, ‘so you’ll have to find them the hard way.’

    ‘Yes, Colonel.’

    ‘Do you have any leads?’

    ‘We suspect the defective operatives crossed the river either by boat, ferry or possibly by swimming. It would be logical for them to steal a vehicle and continue on a northeast bearing.’

    ‘Into the mountains,’ Denton said.

    ‘Difficult for us to ambush by vehicle. It’s a clever way for them to slow us down. We’ve placed a blocking party in just before the north border. We have four helicopters searching vehicle routes. There aren’t many, so it won’t take long to find them.’

    Denton zoomed in to inspect the Land Cruiser’s location. ‘I think you’re wrong.’

    There was a moment’s silence. ‘Colonel?’

    ‘They’re not heading for the north border,’ he said. ‘They’re still moving west. They’re heading deeper inside Iran, you halfwit. Move your—’

    He stopped, realizing the implications of what he’d just said. The defective operatives were heading for the holy city of Qom, right near a subterranean former military base the spy satellite was queued up for. The same former military base that a US Air Force B-2 Spirit stealth bomber was soon to take out with a GBU-28 bunker-buster bomb—the Fifth Column’s planned retaliation for the suicide bombing.

    Sophia and her team were walking right into the middle of a 2.2 ton bomb.

‘We could hand ourselves in,’ Damien said. ‘We don’t know for sure they’d kill us.’

    ‘It’s happened to other operatives,’ Sophia said. ‘What makes you so special?’

    ‘You’re the teacher’s pet, Soph,’ Jay said from the driver’s seat. ‘If anyone survives, it would be you.’

    ‘I’m not interested in testing that theory,’ Sophia said.

    ‘Then what are you interested in?’ Jay said.

    She watched as he steered their newly procured brick-on-wheels hospital bus over a long bridge and into a tunnel that ran deep inside a mountain.

    ‘Getting into Tehran, blending in and holing up,’ she said. ‘There’s a budget hostel on Amir Kabir Street that has dial-up internet and kettles that boil water. It’s basic but it’ll do us. We get a double room and bunker in as American backpackers.’

    ‘Again,’ Damien said.

    The bus crawled up the steep tunnel, churning through second gear.

    ‘And then what?’ Jay said.

    Sophia checked the rear-vision mirror. There was a fire truck starting up the tunnel behind them. It seemed to be having just as frustrating a time as they were.

    ‘Consider another career,’ she said. ‘Can you paint, Jay?’

    ‘With a sniper rifle.’

    Sophia spotted a Humvee entering the mouth of the tunnel ahead of them. ‘Twelve o’clock.’

    ‘Fuckers!’ Jay said. ‘Get down. And my face is showing—give me a scarf or something.’

    ‘I don’t think they’ll go too hard on your fashion sense,’ Damien said.

    Sophia took her eyes off the Humvee just long enough to check the rear-vision mirror. Even if they could reverse and get around the fire truck, the Humvee would outrun them. She could see the fire truck had turned around. It was heading back onto the bridge, water leaking from its fire hose. She looked back at the approaching Humvee. It pulled up broadside, window down. Javelin fire-and-forget missile launcher.

    Jay hit the brakes. ‘Forget the scarf.’

    ‘Get to the back,’ Sophia said. ‘Now!’

    She scrambled to the rear of the bus, Damien two steps ahead.

    Jay stayed in the driver’s seat. He threw the bus into reverse. Its right side scraped the tunnel, whipped around, its left side exposed to the Humvee. She didn’t hear the missile launch, but knew in a tunnel like this it would be firing in direct attack mode. It hit the road beside the bus. She covered her face as glass fragments showered her. One side of the bus buckled inwards. How the shooter had missed, she had no idea. But she wasn’t about to complain.

    The bus tipped onto its right side and slid, headfirst, back the way they’d come, down the tunnel’s sharp decline. Sparks skittered across either side of the bus like a parting wave. Sophia switched her grip to the seat beside her and held tight. Dizziness overpowered her. As she struggled to make sense of the world at a ninety-degree angle, she felt her right shoulder crunch against something . . . heard metal screaming . . . glass exploding . . . asphalt . . . darkness . . . black.

***

Sophia opened her eyes. The bus was still on its side and sliding. The sound of metal scraping asphalt filled her ears. She could see Damien. He was at the front of the bus, out cold, draped precariously close to a window frame, asphalt rushing past underneath. Jay was still conscious; he scrambled to pull Damien away from the window.

    The bus gathered speed as it plunged down the tunnel. Under the tunnel lights, Sophia noticed the asphalt looked wet. Then she remembered the fire truck behind them. How did she miss that? They were using the fire truck to hose down the tunnel. And the missile wasn’t a direct hit on purpose. They didn’t want Sophia and her surviving operatives dead; they wanted them captured. She supposed they were too expensive to just eliminate.

    The fire truck wasn’t carrying water at all. It was carrying polymer anti-traction material. That would make the tunnel about as difficult to drive on as ice. Even if she managed to get out of the bus, it would be like trying to run across a frozen pond. No wonder the bus was picking up speed so quickly. It was like sliding down an ice mountain.

    She turned to the back of the bus. The rear doors were open. The bottom door smashed repeatedly against the asphalt and the top door flapped above it, attached only by a single hinge. Sophia could see up the tunnel’s incline. The Humvee was accelerating downhill in pursuit. A head emerged from the passenger side window. She recognized the operative’s face: Luke, with the garlic-bread fetish.

    Her gaze locked onto the door as it flapped on its remaining hinge. She climbed over the seats. Sparks jumped up from grinding window frames. Glass slipped down her neck, scratched her skin.

    Luke took aim with his rifle. She reached for her P99. It wasn’t there. She was in civilian clothes now. Damien and Jay had the stolen pistols.

    The bus shuddered. She lost her balance, almost tumbled onto the asphalt rushing beneath. Somehow managing to hold on, she wrapped her arms around two seats.

    Luke fired. The rear door flapped, deflecting his shot. He fired again. A tranquilizer dart sliced past Sophia and plunged into a nearby seat.

    She climbed to the next row of seats. The door came free of its last hinge and slipped under the Humvee’s wheels. The vehicle wobbled, turned sharply. It tipped onto its side, crushing Luke.

    ‘Fucking ambush!’ Jay yelled, holding onto Damien. ‘Operatives!’

    Thanks, Einstein, she thought.

    Looking over her shoulder, she realized the bus had reached the mouth of the tunnel. They were in the open now. The road leveled out onto the long bridge. Six operatives stood off-road at the other end, tranquilizers waiting until the bus came within shooting range. She looked down at the asphalt passing beneath the window frames. The bus wasn’t slowing down. In fact, it was picking up speed. The operatives had sprayed the bridge too.

    Jay had roused Damien back to consciousness. Blood was congealing on his scalp, matting his hair. Damien and Jay were her last operatives, she wasn’t going to lose them too. They needed to get out of the bus if they were going to survive this.

    It would be difficult for them to hear her yelling over all the noise, so she waved an arm, catching Jay’s attention. She pointed up.

    Jumping from the seats, she gripped a window frame and hoisted herself through, squinting against the fragments of safety glass. She worked for a more secure hold, then crawled out the window and on top of the bus. Behind them, she could see the Humvee. It was out of control, sliding after them on the slicked bridge. Now both vehicles were in the same situation. There was nothing but a thin steel guardrail either side to stop them plunging off the bridge, a 100-foot drop into the river below.

    She recognized the Humvee’s driver, even though she hadn’t worked with him before. It looked like he was drawing a pistol.

    She estimated twenty seconds before the bus came into range of the operatives’ tranquilizer guns. Even if they couldn’t get a clear shot as the bus passed, all they had to do was wait for it to come to a standstill and surround them. If Sophia and the other two were going to escape, it had to be while the bus was in the middle of the bridge.

    She held onto the window frame, ignoring the bits of safety glass. They couldn’t jump off the bridge until they’d cleared the cliff walls.

    ‘Jay!’ she yelled. ‘Move!’

    On top of the bus, Sophia crawled over the window frames, heading for the back. She’d be in range soon and the operatives might have a crack at her while the bus was moving. She looked over her shoulder to find Jay crawling towards her. He had some ground to cover. She hoped he knew he had to do it fast. And where the hell was Damien?

    The movement of the bus shifted, swayed. She realized it was sliding sideways across the bridge. A segment of the guardrail curled into the air and struck the Humvee behind them like a coiled snake. The Humvee wobbled.

    Sophia gripped on tighter. Her knuckles turned white. She clenched her teeth, kept her body pressed against the bus. Over her shoulder, she could see Jay up to his chest in window frame, only one hand gripping on. He’d almost fallen back inside. She couldn’t work out why he wasn’t using both hands.

    When she looked back at the Humvee, the driver was aiming his pistol at her.

    A tranquilizer dart pierced the Humvee driver’s eyeball and stuck there. He tried to remove it, then let go and dropped out of view.

    Jay had snatched the dart from the back of the bus seat and thrown it. By hand. Even Sophia was impressed.

    The driver’s pistol flew over Sophia’s head. It landed on the bus, bounced towards her. She dropped flat over it, pinning it with her stomach, then grabbed it, still holding the window frame to keep from slipping.

    Any second now, she’d be in range of the operatives.

    She moved as quickly as she could towards Jay. Then discovered what the delay was. Damien was underneath him, his face covered in blood. He was conscious, but didn’t seem able to move. She saw a tranquilizer dart embedded above his left shoulder blade.

    Jay was helping him up. And it was taking far too long.

    She climbed to the next window frame. One more to go. She reached the last frame. One end of the bus ground fiercely against the bridge railing and she almost lost her grip.

    Right now, in this sliver of time, nothing mattered except saving her team. The Fifth Column didn’t matter. The failed operation didn’t matter. Security didn’t matter. Damien and Jay were all she had left to take care of. She couldn’t leave them here.

    Jay was holding one of Damien’s arms. He passed the other arm to Sophia so they could haul him out together. Damien had fallen limp; the benzodiazepine from the dart had relaxed his muscles. He wouldn’t be conscious for much longer. She shouted at Jay. She didn’t know what she was shouting and didn’t care, as long as Jay understood the range of the tranquilizer guns.

    She heard the chop of helicopters moving low over the mountain.

    ‘Get him out!’ she yelled. ‘Now!’

    She wasn’t sure if Jay heard her, but he pulled harder anyway and almost lost his own footing. He tried again. She wasn’t going to jump without them. She couldn’t do this alone. They had to survive. She needed Damien and Jay out of the bus.

    The helicopter shot into view. It wasn’t an attack helicopter: no autocannons, machine guns, rocket or missile pods. It looked like its entire stomach had been surgically removed, leaving only the cockpit, the six-blade rotor and the tail rotor. She realized it was a military heavy-lift cargo helicopter: CH-54B Tarhe. The missing chunk in the Tarhe was occupied by a cylinder and remotely operated hose. Non-lethal sticky foam.

    Sophia locked her feet under the window frame behind her and pressed herself firmly against the bus. With one hand, she aimed her pistol at the approaching Tarhe. The hose nozzle was pointed right at them.

    She squeezed the trigger, punching holes in the foam cylinder. She emptied half the magazine into it; the holes leaked a spray that reminded her of bubble bath liquid. It foamed in the air, streaking out behind the helicopter in thick white fingers.

    The Tarhe slowed to match the bus. The sudden decrease in speed sent the streams of foaming liquid forward. The streams lashed across the helicopter’s windshield and adhered to its polycarbonate polymer surface. The liquid bulked out into fluffy clouds that hardened over the windshield. The Tarhe faltered, its vision obscured.

    More liquid sprayed past her, into the front of the bus, where it foamed and expanded towards Damien. The pistol slipped from her hands. She climbed over another window frame, bringing herself close enough to help get Damien out. Something bit into her skin, just below her armpit. She looked down to see a dart wedged under her arm. With one hand, she plucked it free.

    The Tarhe plunged in front of the bus, nose down. Sophia leaped to the next window frame, closer to Jay and Damien. She reached a hand out to Jay. He dropped down, his legs sinking into the sticky foam beside Damien. All he could do was keep Damien’s head out of the foam so he could breathe when it hardened around them.

    The helicopter crashed in front of them and the bus ploughed right through the wreckage, pinwheeling from the impact. Sophia hung on desperately. The bus spun like a ceiling fan blade, faster and faster. Her vision slipped. Her fingers slipped. She saw Jay’s hands extend towards her. She reached down. Her fingertips touched his.

    The spin wrenched her from the window frame. A smear of gray sky. Fire. The bridge. Something shiny. Water crashed around her. She shut her eyes.

For someone considered by many to be the most powerful person in the world, the General kept his office surprisingly bare. A desk, a computer and . . . well, that was it, Denton noticed as he walked in. Oh, and a spare chair. The desk was smoked glass and the walls charcoal. It was only a fraction larger than Denton’s office, and located only nine levels below ground.

    The General always dressed in uniform, but one that pledged allegiance to no country. The Fifth Column had no flag, no symbol; it was merely a nickname for the dark side of the world’s military–industrial complex: the labyrinthine government that managed the real world while maintaining a fantasy world of freedom and democracy.

    As a six-star general—a rank that didn’t even officially exist—the General’s salary was very likely whatever he wanted it to be. And yet he dressed like a public servant. Denton felt flamboyant by comparison as he sat opposite the General and set his box of cupcakes carefully upon his lap. With his large, thin-rimmed glasses and tiny crinkled mouth, the General reminded Denton of an owl. Those magnified owl-like eyes didn’t waver from the streaming news report on his computer monitor.

    ‘. . . suspected to be domestic terrorists of Caucasian extraction who call themselves the Alquimie. Only hours after the attack, the United States President has suggested a nationwide state of emergency, placing the country under military authority, as a serious option—’

    The General closed the stream.

    ‘You could have given me more notice,’ Denton said, running a hand over his shaved head. ‘Sir.’

    The General raised an unruly eyebrow. ‘So you could have more time to recover your precious operative.’ He frowned. ‘What’s her name?’

    ‘Sophia.’ Denton shifted in his chair. ‘I thought you were going to save the nuke for America.’

    ‘That would be illogical,’ the General said, owl-eyes blinking at him. ‘Nuclear attacks are only for—’

    ‘The circus,’ Denton finished.

    ‘Precisely.’ The General smiled as much as his tiny mouth would permit. ‘Your operatives were given ample opportunity to clear the area. All followed orders without incident, except Sophia. She’s collateral damage and therefore no longer of any concern to me. What is of concern to me is Project GATE.’ He eyed Denton carefully. ‘Doctor McLoughlin is dead. Which means any chance you have of accessing your own technology is also dead. Do you know what this tells me, Denton? This tells me that Project GATE would appear to be a complete disaster. Which leads me to my first question. Are you able to continue?’

    ‘I assure you,’ Denton said, ‘that we can and will continue.’

    ‘But why should I allow you to? Tell me, what can be produced right now from Project GATE that would be of immediate benefit to us?’

    ‘Shocktroopers,’ Denton said.

    ‘Forgive me for being skeptical, but this is not a phrase to be bandied about. Unless you wish to make the same mistake your father did.’

    He was right, it wasn’t a phrase to be bandied about. But Denton wouldn’t have used it unless he was confident he could deliver. And right now, it was the one thing that would stop Project GATE from being shut down completely.

    ‘We’ve already perfected the technology necessary to mass-produce 100 Mark II operatives on a monthly basis,’ he said. ‘Carefully programmed and monitored, all with thoroughly tested Perseus- and Ambrosia-class pseudogene expression.’ He leaned forward. ‘We’re ready to deploy iron-bodied and iron-willed operatives: tireless, relentless, remorseless, unstoppable.’

    The General’s eyebrows rose ever so slightly. ‘Sounds just like a Mark I operative to me. What’s the difference?’

    ‘A shocktrooper is the hamburger with the lot,’ Denton said.

    ‘That’s the best analogy you could manage?’

    ‘Complete sensory augmentation. Every single Perseus-class pseudogene. Increased olfaction, infrasound, ultrasound, echolocation, sensitivity to temperature, balance, acceleration, you name it. They have heightened awareness of body placement, coordination, kinesthetics, acute detection of electric fields. They can see into ultraviolet and near infrared wavelengths.’

    ‘Mark I operatives can do all that,’ the General said.

    ‘Mark I operatives possess only one or two of these skills,’ Denton said. ‘Shocktroopers have them all. They are the finished product. And I can produce one squad every month. Give me six months, I’ll give you a battalion of the most dangerous soldiers on the face of this planet.’

    The General frowned. ‘Is this taking into account the untimely death of your most talented computer geneticist?’

    ‘With all due respect, General, I wasn’t aware that I’d flown halfway around the world to talk about Cecilia McLoughlin.’

    ‘No. You flew halfway around the world to explain to me why your team, led by your most promising operative, went haywire in Iran eight hours ago and started retiring friendly forces. And why, once apprehended and supposedly heavily sedated, they managed to escape from the most fortified air base in the country. All before your responding team was able to secure them.’

    ‘They are the most talented operatives under my command and consequently under the command of the Fifth Column,’ Denton said. ‘I have Al Jazeera ready to circulate a plausible suicide bombing scenario for the friendly forces, which we’ve tied in with your promotion of Al-Zawahiri as leader of the toilet,’ Denton said.

    ‘The leader of Al-Qaeda,’ the General corrected him.

    ‘The leader of the “foreign toilet”,’ Denton said, ‘if you translate into colloquial Arabic.’

    The General cleared his throat. ‘Let’s not forget who came up with such nonsense.’

    Denton scratched his trimmed beard. ‘And people say I don’t have a sense of humor.’

    The General exhaled through his nostrils, making a slight whistling sound. It set Denton’s teeth on edge.

    ‘I would suggest you modify the story according to this brief,’ the General said, sliding a folder across his desk.

    Denton didn’t look at it. ‘Change of plan?’

    ‘No, always part of the plan.’ The General flexed his hands, opening and closing them into fists. ‘The new terrorist will not wield an AK-47 or pray to Allah. The new terrorist will be the lily-white middle class taxpayer who has lost his job, his shares and his house. The new terrorist rallies for the easily swayed masses to occupy Wall Street. The new terrorist belongs to carefully selected groups with extremist views, which we need to manage and finance. Because if there’s a new terrorist in town that we didn’t create, I want control over him. The only terrorist attacks I want to see on the news are those I give you orders for.’

    ‘But a western terrorist,’ Denton said. ‘Will the west believe it?’

    ‘They believed in a mastermind hiding in a cave and nineteen box-cutting freedom haters,’ the General said. ‘If anything, this is more plausible.’

    Denton frowned. ‘Your replacement boogie man for the western world is . . . themselves?’ 

    ‘In case it’s escaped your notice, Denton, people aren’t afraid any more. I’m running out of countries in the Middle East to set up. The west needs something new to fear.’

    ‘Understood,’ Denton said. ‘But making them fear the unknown is easy. This . . . will take some work.’

    The General’s fingers interlocked a little too tightly. ‘Let me make this completely clear. We need terrorism to maintain public fear. We need terrorism to maintain support for our invasion and acquisition of the Middle East. If we have any intention of remaining in control, we need terrorism to lock down America. To lock down the west.’ He leaned forward and his voice dropped to a gravelly undertone. ‘I will have you invent as many terrorist groups, as many revolutions and wars and straw men, as I believe are necessary to keep us in control. We’ve come this far and I’m not about to stop now.’

    ‘I’ll make the required changes,’ Denton said. ‘I guarantee that we’re doing our best to contain the situation.’

    ‘Your best is clearly not good enough.’ The General ran his tongue between his lips to moisten them. ‘This sort of activity turns suspicion in our direction, which is cause for concern in itself because our direction doesn’t and shouldn’t exist.’

    Denton ignored the criticism. He wasn’t taking the fall this time.

    ‘We tracked the operatives over the border and managed to recover the two who accompanied Sophia: Damien and Jay. They won’t be ready for our shocktrooper program, but as soon as they recover from their injuries, they’ll be redeployed.’

    The General raised an eyebrow. ‘You intend to redeploy malfunctioning operatives into the field? Are you begging for a repeat of yesterday?’

    ‘Sir, operatives are programmed so they are unable to inflict self-harm, which includes removing their RFIDs. The fact that Sophia was able to remove hers and thereby remove the others’ strongly suggests it’s her programming that has malfunctioned. The rest of her team were simply following orders.’

    Denton wouldn’t know for sure whether Sophia had removed Damien’s and Jay’s RFIDs as well as her own until he questioned them during reprogramming. But the General didn’t need to know that.

    ‘Like you said,’ he continued, ‘collateral damage. And at 200 million apiece, I know you wouldn’t want to waste them.’

    The General might have smiled ever so slightly, but Denton couldn’t be sure. It was good enough. He lifted the small paper box from his lap and placed it on the desk.

    ‘I baked them this morning,’ he said, and opened the lid to reveal half a dozen red velvet mini-cupcakes piped with cream cheese.

    The General glared at him, but reached over to inspect them. ‘Just one.’

    He didn’t eat it, but placed it in his topmost desk drawer—a drawer already populated with cupcakes Denton had brought on previous visits.

    ‘Is there anything else?’ Denton asked.

    ‘Unfortunately, yes,’ the General said. ‘Your failure in this matter has earned you a temporary demotion to lieutenant colonel. Nothing personal, just politics. You know how it is.’ He cleared his throat. ‘You’ll no longer be facility coordinator at Desecheo Island, and your special access clearance has been reduced to level two.’

    Denton tried to contain his rage. A demotion? He’d just given the man a fucking cupcake. ‘Who will be the coordinator then?’

    ‘Doctor Komarov,’ the General said. ‘She is more than qualified and remarkably efficient.’

    Denton almost choked. ‘Komarov from Black Mesa? She hasn’t been sober since the Cold War.’

    ‘You will still be responsible for your existing operatives, of course,’ the General said. ‘One of your responsibilities is to ensure a thorough reassessment of all operatives under your command. I want to be convinced there will be no further malfunctions. And I also want to know why there was a malfunction in the first place. It seems to me that your latest programming technique isn’t as flawless as you’ve had me believe. You will also be required to meet the ambitious monthly shocktrooper quota you have just assigned yourself. With all bugs ironed out.’

    Denton stood. ‘If you don’t mind me asking, why are you interested in the progress of my operatives? You’ve never shown this level of interest before.’

    ‘You’ve never made a mistake before.’

The light burned. Sophia’s brain felt two sizes too big for her skull. She could make out muted sounds and light and dark blurs. Did she get to the river? She couldn’t even remember hitting the water. What happened to Damien and Jay?

    ‘Sophia.’ The accent . . . was it Russian? ‘Can you hear me?’

    He spoke softly, sounded middle-aged. His head and shoulders came into focus. He was standing about twenty feet before her. Unarmed. She could take him down. Clear the room. Find Damien and Jay.

    ‘Why am I . . .’ Her voice cracked through dry lips. Her throat felt coated in sand. She was sitting down. She tried to move. Only her hands twitched.

    ‘My name is Doctor Adamicz.’ He watched her with faded blue eyes through wire-rimmed glasses.

    She could see him in full clarity now. He looked old enough to be her grandfather. He was dressed in slacks, a navy blue vest over a pinstriped shirt, cuffs rolled up past his elbows and damp patches under his arms. He had a thin, aquiline nose and a puff of white hair atop his head. He looked dimly familiar.

    Sophia realized how rapid her breathing was. She tried to calm herself with slower, deeper breaths. She stood, but dizziness corrupted her balance.

    ‘I think it best if you remain seated.’ He gestured to the chair she’d been sitting on. ‘What I am to tell you may come as shock.’

    ‘I’d rather stand.’

    Her legs gave way beneath her, kicking up dust from the tribal rug underfoot.

    She heard the sound of approaching footsteps. Two armed men stood over her. Adamicz gestured for them to retreat. She stumbled to one knee and tried to stand. The room spun around her, making her eyes ache.

    She couldn’t quite place Adamicz. Was he the target? Was he an informant? She couldn’t even remember what operation she was on.

    ‘How did I get here?’ she said.

    Adamicz smiled. ‘With great deal of money, planning and some luck. The bus sliding across bridge was not part of plan, but we adapt.’

    The dull pain in her head began to recede. ‘What are you talking about?’

    ‘The former Blue Berets you see here are responsible for your capture.’

    Her vision found an anchor. Men dressed in jeans and dark T-shirts, carrying M4 carbines, flanked Adamicz. The rifles looked heavily customized with suppressors and square-shaped holographic display sights. Sophia’s gaze locked onto the balcony overhead. Four other men with M4 carbines. She checked her flanks. Just dark-stained bookshelves. She was in a library.

    ‘You’re holding me hostage?’ she said.

    ‘Actually, I hope to set you free.’

    Great. What the fuck was that supposed to mean?

    Back on her feet, steadier this time, she turned around. A heavy door twice her height was blocking her exit.

    She wanted desperately to escape.

    She wanted to listen to what he had to say.

    She wanted to kill him.

    She needed to regain her senses, observe her surroundings and, above all, think. If she couldn’t think, she couldn’t escape.

    She sat back on the chair. ‘I need some water.’

    Adamicz gestured to one of the men beside him, who disappeared from her line of sight. He returned a moment later with a dusty glass of water. He placed it ten feet before her, then retreated, rifle aimed. His behavior seemed odd. Why was he scared of her?

    She stood, scooped the glass from the antique rug, but decided not to drink from it.

    ‘I don’t remember what happened.’

    ‘Memory shall return. In time,’ Adamicz said.

    She tried to think of what she was doing before she was captured. It felt as though her mind was wrapped in a heavy fog.

    ‘Where’s my team? What have you done with them?’

    ‘They were recovered by Fifth Column.’

    ‘Who do you work for?’

    ‘No one. But I used to work for Fifth Column.’

    ‘Do you really think I’d believe that?’ she said. ‘How do you know about the Fifth Column?’

    He frowned. ‘I was there when they abduct you from family and begin training you. I know in great detail every operation you take part in. Your first operation as team leader was a false flag in November, three years ago. That was when your career went off with bang. Three bangs, actually. How do you say . . . simultaneous suicide bombings.’

    She had a faint recollection of the operation. But she remembered it differently this time. The terrorists no longer existed; just civilians. A little girl offered her an arrangement of flowers, said they would make her smile. The girl even had her name, Sophia. But a very different life. A normal life. Then Jay cut the lights. Sophia’s team, one of three inter-reliant teams, had the explosives ready in the ceiling. Sophia gave them the green light. The wedding guests never saw it coming. Little Sophia never saw it coming.

    Adamicz moved to a bookcase. He rolled a ladder aside to reveal a wind-up gramophone and an old wood-paneled television with a late-1970s videocassette recorder. He turned on the television and recorder, then hit the play button. He stepped back, allowing Sophia to see the dusty screen.

    At first, she figured the footage was from a security camera, only it was placed in an unusual position. It could have been a pinhole camera. Disguised in a fire sprinkler or smoke alarm. Onscreen, she saw a middle-aged man lying on a bed, his business shirt undone to reveal a pallid chest. A young woman sat astride him, dark hair and ivory skin. She unraveled his tie and passed him a glass of caramel-tinted liquid. He gulped thirstily, emptied the glass, then let the woman place it on the nightstand for him. Sophia caught a glimpse of the woman’s face.

    It was her.

    Adamicz hit the fast-forward button. The onscreen Sophia stroked the man’s chest, let the tips of her hair drape across his skin. When Adamicz stopped fast-forwarding, the man had passed out. Onscreen, Sophia stripped the man of his clothes. Two men and two women entered the room. She recognized the men as Damien and Jay. They flipped the man onto his side and slowly inserted a tube between his buttocks. One of the women unscrewed a bottle, removed several tablets and slid them down the tube.

    Adamicz fast-forwarded again. This time it was a different camera, different room. The bathroom. The bath was filled with water and ice. Damien and Jay carried the sleeping man—now tubeless—to the bath and placed him inside. His face and body were slicked with sweat, his cheeks flushed red.

    ‘That’s not what happened.’ She looked at Adamicz. ‘I remember that man, and we did not do that.’

    Adamicz hit the stop button. ‘The tablets placed in man’s anus raise his body temperature to dangerous level. By placing him in bath of cold water, you quickly and efficiently induce heart attack.’

    Sophia’s skin felt like it was burning. ‘That’s ridiculous.’

    She half expected the man standing behind Adamicz to start laughing, but his face was drawn, gaze fixed.

    Adamicz switched off the television. ‘All of your work as operative for Fifth Column, like what you see here, was not done of your own free will. Your programming involves artificially splitting your personality into dissociated alters, as is case with multiple personality disorder. This is accomplished using combination of hypnosis and infliction of extreme trauma, which in turn splinters mind into dissociated compartments.’

    She licked her cracked lips; held the glass of water tightly, but did not drink. ‘Are you suggesting I’ve been hypnotized?’

    ‘Your mind was split in two: one half was your real personality—your archeopsyche. The other half was your programmed personality, the neopsyche, splintered into little parapsyches. Used for assassination, espionage, even suicide if required. All this while your real personality sees something quite different. You exist in real personality right now, so have no clue that your parapsyches even exist. But while in the employ of Fifth Column, you are always operating in one of your parapsyches. Everything happens through veil. Operationally, you have no idea your archeopsyche exists.’

    ‘But I remember everything,’ Sophia said. ‘Don’t I?’

    Adamicz nodded. ‘Your memories are accessible across both psyches, but each has different interpretation. Your neopsyche is programmed to believe certain ideology so you will agree to undertake black operations that Special Forces soldier with morals and conscience might not have stomach for. Your memories are false. They mimic what you are really doing, but they are false. False but morally acceptable. The soldiers you killed in Iran were not soldiers—you know this, yes?’

    Sophia smiled weakly. He was trying to screw with her. ‘And how exactly do you know this?’ 

    ‘Because I am one who programmed you.’

    Her smile broke into a scowl. ‘Bullshit. The video is fake.’

    Adamicz took two deliberate steps back. ‘Mix sand with cider and wool with wine.’

    Sophia’s face flushed hot.

    ‘The man behind me,’ Adamicz said. ‘He is the soldier who was pursuing you in Iran.’

    Adamicz was right. How had she not noticed this before? The former Blue Beret standing at her ten o’clock was the Citroën driver. Iranian Special Forces. She was sure she’d killed him, but here he stood.

    She moved nimbly across the rug towards him. He aimed his rifle at her chest.

    ‘And welcome Queen Alice with ninety times nine,’ Adamicz said.

    Sophia was holding the soldier’s own knife, unsheathed, just inches from his neck. She blinked. He wasn’t who she’d thought he was.

    ‘Mistaken identity?’ Adamicz said, and nodded, mostly in agreement with himself.

    Something thin and shiny caught Sophia’s attention, on the floor beside her. The soldier’s rifle. She’d disarmed him and taken his knife. She could barely remember doing it. She pulled back. The soldier did the same, terrified.

    ‘I suppose you thought that was funny, setting your Pavlova dog on me,’ he said to Adamicz. His accent was Australian.

    Adamicz remained focused on Sophia as he replied. ‘Pavlovian. It’s Pavlovian dog. And I no longer require your services. Thank you kindly for your time.’

    The soldier didn’t go near his stripped rifle. He looked up at the other men on the balcony. ‘We’re out!’ he yelled. ‘Leave them to slice each other up.’

    Sophia watched the other soldiers disappear from the balcony. She inspected the knife in her hand.

    She glared at Adamicz. ‘What did you do?’

    ‘I switched you back to your neopsyche, activated the Ares parapsyche and gave you order to kill the former Blue Beret,’ he said in his heavily accented English.

    ‘Activated the what?’

    ‘The Ares parapsyche is responsible for assassination. If I had not stopped you when I did, the rifle would not be only thing in pieces.’

    She glared at him. ‘And with five highly trained soldiers ready to cut me down, I would have ended up in pieces too.’

    He nodded. ‘Lucky I stop you.’

    Her hands balled into fists. ‘You’re lying! You’re trying to trick me into defecting to your side!’

    Adamicz smiled. ‘Do you even know what my side is, Sophia?’

    She opened her mouth to reply, but she had nothing to say.

***

    Sophia was six years old. The strange men had put wires on her head, the ones that hurt. Her arms had gone fizzy. They placed an earphone in her left ear, but it didn’t seem to be working because all that came out was a funny noise. They injected something into her arm. It made her feel weird. Above her, a fluorescent light buzzed angrily. Two men stood at her feet, their faces smudged in the dim light.

    ‘You are loyal to the government,’ said a man with a very tired voice.

    She could hear him only with her right ear. Her heart was beating really fast.

    ‘What are you doing to me?’

    She couldn’t stop her body from shaking. She screamed. The wires were making it hurt again. Then it stopped. She tried to catch her breath. She trembled. She couldn’t stop it. The light was paralyzing her.

    ‘You are loyal to the government,’ the tired man said.

    She could barely breathe. ‘Yes.’

    ‘And because you are loyal to the government, you will do anything in the name of freedom and liberty to serve the government.’

    ‘What do you mean?’

    The wires made her hurt again. She tried to move her arms and legs to escape the pain, but they’d strapped her to the table.

    ‘You will do anything in the name of freedom and liberty.’

    ‘Please, stop it! I’ll do anything!’

    She shut her eyes. The hurt came back. She’d never felt anything like it. She just wanted it to be over. Tears squeezed from between her scrunched eyelids.

    ‘You will do anything to protect the government. Do you understand?’

    The table felt cold against her skin. Her arms were covered in goose bumps. ‘Yes.’

    ‘We don’t believe you.’

    The wires hurt again. She wanted to die. Anything to make it stop.

    ‘Yes!’ she yelled. ‘I’ll do anything to protect the government!’

    The tired man leaned over her, his nose wrinkling in disgust. ‘Tell us again.’

    ‘I’ll do anything!’ Breathe. ‘To protect!’ Breathe. ‘The government!’ she screamed.

    She opened her eyes and tried to slow her breathing. The walls were liquefying around her.

    The tired man said, ‘You are one with the government. It commands you. It pours through you. You respond unquestioningly to its will. You are a valuable and integral cog in a vast and powerful machine. A machine that keeps civilization from the brink of destruction.’

    Cracks began to appear in his face.

    ‘We’re going to take a break, Sophia. And then we’re going to break you into tiny little pieces.’

    A split ran through his right eye, down his neck. He checked his watch.

    ‘Shall we continue in, say, fifteen minutes?’ He grinned.

    She watched his left eye slide down his cheek. Was she going crazy? This had to be a dream. Everything she saw looked weird. His eye slipped onto his neck, but he didn’t seem to notice. He turned and followed the other man out of the room. The door melted behind them.

    Sophia felt cold metal in her palm. She looked down. Her hand looked about ten years older. Her grip on the pistol was comforting.

    Other trainees stood either side of her, holding identical pistols. They each faced a quivering naked body with a black bag over its head. The bodies looked no more than fifteen or sixteen. Same age as her.

    ‘The cowards you see before you are failures,’ Denton said. He was standing behind her and the other trainees. ‘They are not entitled to sympathy. They are not entitled to forgiveness. They are not entitled to charity. They, like you, knew the consequences of failure.’ He paced behind them. She could feel his gaze weighing on her. ‘And yet they still chose to fail. They ask you to take mercy on them and bring an end to their dishonor. If you do as they ask, you will graduate as qualified operatives.’

    Some of the trainees were already taking aim at their targets. Sophia looked at her target. A young woman, not much different to herself. Her ribs pressed against her skin with every snatched breath.

    One of the trainees beside her opened fire. A double tap to the head. Sophia heard a body crumple onto tarpaulin.

    Fingers curling around the grip, Sophia raised her pistol until she had a bead on her target. The girl’s ribs were becoming more visible with each breath, as if she had somehow sensed Sophia’s intention.

    ‘Their failure is your success!’ Denton shouted.

    Her forefinger curled behind the trigger guard. The target’s ribs were almost ready to burst from her chest.

    Another trainee opened fire. And another.

    Sophia pressed lightly on the trigger with the pad of her forefinger. The girl’s legs trembled. On the tarpaulin, Sophia saw a small pool of straw-colored liquid. The girl’s fear tasted bitter in the back of her throat.

    She closed her eyes. The girl was not human.

    Sophia could do things to her she would never do to another human.

    Like splash her brains over the tarpaulin.

***

    When she opened her eyes, her target was gone. She was back in the library, under the watchful eye of Adamicz.

    ‘What were the men doing?’ she said. ‘The static, the needle, the light buzzing in my face.’

    ‘Fluorescent strobe light, yes?’ Adamicz said. ‘With monoatomic gold filament. It is hypnotic opener.’

    ‘Opener for what?’ Sophia yelled.

    ‘For hypnotic suggestion. First step is to implant your loyalty. Then I enter picture, to program you completely.’

    ‘I killed an operative,’ she said. ‘She died. And I was allowed to live.’

    Adamicz said nothing.

    Why was she even telling him this? His silence sparked a deep-seated rage.

    ‘Say something!’ she yelled.

    Her voice boomed through the library, bouncing back at her. Her lower lip trembled. She bit it, held it between her teeth until it tasted sour.

    ‘You hesitate that day,’ he said. ‘I had no choice but to scrub hesitation from records. Just to keep you in project.’

    ‘Stop it!’ she yelled again, turning away from him. ‘I don’t want to hear any more of your lies!’

    She heard him say, ‘The exquisite corpse will drink finest wine.’

    For a moment, she was certain nothing had happened. But when she looked down, she was shocked to find that same knife in her hand again. This time, it was inches from her neck. Blood ran from her hand, down her arm.

    Her last thread of certainty drained from her like a viscous liquid. The piece of glass fell from her hand. She felt nothing.

    No.

    She felt hollow.

An army of do-it-yourself satellite dishes were angled towards the Super Jesus statue perched high on the mountain above Rio. Six-year-old Jay ducked under a swathe of cables patched into a utility pole. His younger brother, Hélio, had fallen behind again. Jay checked over his shoulder. Hélio was still running heartily to keep up, a small blur alongside the concrete walls and graffiti.

    Jay scaled the tin roof and stepped through a broken window. He had found his way inside a recently abandoned hideout before Hélio had even started climbing. Lots of empty rifle shells and racks that a few days ago would have been brimming with cable television equipment. Jay had heard someone had been planning to set themselves up as illegal cable providers—before BOPE, Rio’s Police Special Forces, had raided the place.

    A rabbit scurried around a large hole in the floor. Jay ignored it. He saw rabbits all the time, many of them, but they were too disease-ridden to eat. Jay was more interested in finding whatever BOPE might’ve missed. Anything he might be able to sell for money.

    Hélio stumbled through the window behind him. Jay ignored him and checked the next room. It was bare except for three empty fireworks cylinders and a dusty bottle of soda.

    ‘Nada,’ Hélio said, kicking a glass bottle. 

    Jay heard the bottle drop down the hole. A few seconds later, it smashed onto concrete several floors below.

    Jay picked up a fireworks cylinder and inspected it. Empty shells fell out and scattered on the floor. But they didn’t sound hollow. He picked one up. It wasn’t empty at all. He was holding a real bullet! And it was a big one too. As thick as his thumb and as long as his whole hand. He picked up the other bullets, one after another.

    Hélio called out to him. ‘Irmão!’ Brother. 

    Jay counted thirteen big bullets.

    ‘Irmão!’ 

    Jay wondered if he could sell them to a gang member. How much would he demand for them? He’d have to act tough otherwise they’d try to scam him.

    A sharp popping sound made him jump. Fireworks.

    The gang used fireworks as a warning when BOPE arrived.

    ‘Irmão! BOPE!’ Hélio screamed. 

    Then came the cracking sound of bullets. One smashed through a window.

    Jay ran back to Hélio. The glass had sprinkled over the floor. Close call. Hélio hadn’t been hit. More bullets cracked past the building. Jay ducked. Where was his brother?

    Hélio’s head of matted black hair bobbed just over the edge of the hole. His fingers were clinging to its edge. ‘Irmão!’ He was sobbing. 

    Jay couldn’t move. Fear had riveted him to the spot.

    More rounds cracked past.

    Hélio’s fingers were white at the tips. He hung there, just his fingers and head visible. Jay could see his eyes. Tears streamed from them.

    ‘Ajuda mim!’ Help me! 

    The unused bullets slipped from Jay’s hands, scattering across the concrete. His heart was racing. BOPE would be here any moment.

    ‘Irmão!’ Hélio screamed. 

    Jay’s legs wobbled. He wanted to help, but his body wouldn’t listen. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t look away.

    He shut his eyes.

    Every time he had this dream, it always ended the same way. His brother let go of the edge. And he would never get him back.

    When he opened his eyes again, he was sitting in a mess hall with over seventy other kids, some a bit younger, some older. Boys and girls. He’d passed all the selection tests in Rio, and then all the entrance tests at the Desecheo Island training facility. And now, he wasn’t sure why he was here, but he secretly hoped that he was sitting with all the successful entrants into the Argus Foundation’s scholarship program.

    People in white coats were serving them lunch. Neatly cut sandwich triangles, a small bladder of long-life milk and a choc-chip cookie on a plastic tray. Everyone had the same food, but Jay’s table hadn’t been served yet. There were more people in white coats pacing about, checking kids’ names off their tablets and asking questions.

    Sitting opposite Jay was a boy, about his age. A quiet one. He looked a bit nervous. He had a round face, slightly curled brown hair and pinkish cheeks. His skin was paler than Jay’s, but he didn’t look American. He sat with his hands in his lap. All Jay could see above the table was a head and shoulders.

    ‘Hey, I’m Jay. Do you speak English?’

    The boy blinked.

    ‘What’s your name?’

    ‘Damiano,’ he said. ‘Uh, Damien.’

    ‘Damiano.’ Jay grinned. ‘Sounds like a superhero name. What’s your superpower?’

    Damien blinked again. He looked confused.

    ‘Your ability?’ Jay leaned closer, whispering. ‘I think everyone here can do something cool, you know? Like run super fast. Or see people naked!’ He nodded. ‘I want that one.’

    Damien shook his head furiously. ‘No. I don’t have anything.’ His cheeks flushed.

    ‘Yeah, right.’ Jay winked. ‘It’s a secret, huh? So, do you think we’re going to be X-Men?’

    More kids milled about, taking whatever seats they could find. Jay leaned back, didn’t say anything more. The spaces next to him and Damien filled quickly. And, finally, the food trays arrived. Jay’s side of the table was served first, then Damien’s, but they were a tray short. A boy on the end, sitting next to Damien, had missed out.

    Damien was inspecting his food, perhaps deciding what to eat first.

    ‘You’re not eating that?’ the boy said, and slid Damien’s tray towards himself.

    Damien looked confused. ‘That’s my tray,’ he said.

    It was the boy’s turn to look confused. ‘No, this one was meant for me. You stole it!’

    Jay ignored them and started eating. He was so hungry. He shoved a sandwich triangle into his mouth in one bite.

    A man in a white coat returned with another tray of food, which he gave to Damien. The boy scooped up Damien’s choc-chip cookie.

    ‘Can I have your cookie?’

    Damien froze again. ‘No, that’s mine,’ he said softly.

    Jay swallowed his sandwich triangle and picked up another.

    ‘But you’re not eating it,’ the boy said. He took a mouthful out of the cookie. ‘Hey, these are nice!’ He chewed enthusiastically and took another bite.

    Jay felt the air heat in his nostrils. He dropped his sandwich triangle, picked up the milk bladder and peeled the foil cover open just a little bit.

    The boy finished Damien’s cookie and picked up his own.

    Jay extended the milk bladder towards the boy. ‘Want some milk with all your cookies?’

    The boy looked surprised. ‘What for?’ He sprayed crumbs as he spoke.

    ‘To wash it down.’

    Jay squeezed the milk bladder. The foil cover shot off and milk exploded over the boy, coating his hair and face. Laughter erupted from around them. Jay laughed too.

    Damien moved unexpectedly fast, snatching the boy’s cookie from his grasp. There was a splash of milk on it, but Damien didn’t seem to mind. He grinned at Jay. ‘Nice one.’

    Jay shoved another triangle in his mouth. ‘Thanks.’

    Suddenly, his body seized up. Jay shut his eyes and cried out. He fell off the seat, onto the floor. Pain surged through him.

    He opened his eyes again. The dreams were over. He was awake now, back to his adult self. On an operating table. He couldn’t quite remember how he’d ended up here.

    He craned his neck to look down. Legs. Check. Arms. Check. Good, he wasn’t injured. Or limbless. But the pain was fucking unbearable. He lay there, breathing heavily, as it receded.

    A man in a white coat lingered over him. ‘Please relax, we’re almost done.’

    Jay turned his head to see Damien lying on a table next to him. His brother.

    The man in a white coat stepped between them, blocking his view. He slipped a needle into Jay’s arm. Liquid rushed his bloodstream. He couldn’t feel the needle’s sting any more.

***

Denton wiped a smudge from the one-way glass. He turned to Major Novak, a short, solid man with rosy cheeks and a thick mop of black hair that he wore a little too proudly.

    ‘Scrub them from the shocktrooper program and requalify them for service,’ Denton said.

    ‘Yes, Colonel.’ Novak left the room.

    Denton turned back to the window. Damien and Jay were lying peacefully on their operating tables, their reprogramming in its final stages.

    Denton inhaled sharply. ‘I have plans for you two.’ Leaving them to rest, he headed for the Blue Gene lab.

    Glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose, hands resting above the keyboard, Dr. Benito Montoya worked the front-end node of the facility’s supercomputer. As Denton entered the Blue Gene lab, he could see jeans under Benito’s lab coat. Probably accompanied by a shirt that hadn’t been ironed for a year. The cryptanalyst looked a bit worse for wear today, his iced-coffee complexion shadowed by dark circles under his pale green eyes.

    ‘I want good news, Benito.’

    Denton’s words echoed through the vacant lab, making Benito jump. He turned to face him, ash brown hair still damp from his morning laps at the facility gym. At least he was exercising.

    ‘Yes, Colonel,’ Benito said. ‘We have more information on the encrypted data.’

    ‘Can you break it?’

    ‘It’s over 40,000 characters long. I hate to say it, but even if we send it to our quantum computer in Denver, it would take somewhere between five and twenty years to breach it.’

    ‘In five years, breaching encrypted data will be the least of your concerns,’ Denton said. ‘It would be quicker to find the Chimera pseudogenes from scratch.’

    Benito’s hands fidgeted beside the keyboard. ‘That’s a very small needle in a very large haystack.’

    Denton folded his arms. ‘Define small.’

    ‘OK, well . . . the code contains the chromosomal locations for the Chimera pseudogenes; that’s spread over more than a dozen chromosomes. Each pseudogene is no fewer than 10,000 base pairs long.’ Benito’s gaze dropped to Denton’s shoes and he shook his head. ‘I don’t think Doctor McLoughlin was looking for the Chimera pseudogenes on purpose. It’s more likely she found them by accident.’

    Denton unfolded his arms. ‘I need the encryption breached; there’s no other option. Have you tried her login password? It’s NephalimGene94.’ 

    ‘I doubt she’d use a password we can gain access to. And besides, I can’t try anything. The encryption has a destruction mechanism in place. If we get it wrong the first time, it destroys the Chimera vector code. There’s no second chance.’ 

    He matched Denton’s gaze, a little too confidently for Denton’s liking.

    ‘Colonel, the reason I called you here is that Doctor McLoughlin seems to have used a very strange encryption. The key is 40,713 characters long.’

    Denton arched an eyebrow. ‘And that’s strange because?’

    ‘Because the standard key length closest to that is 40,960. It doesn’t make sense why she used such an unusually specific key length.’

    ‘Divide 40,713 by three,’ Denton said.

    Benito appeared confused, but did as ordered. The answer was 13,571.

    Denton didn’t take his eyes off the screen. ‘Do you know what this is?’

    From the corner of his vision, he saw Benito shake his head.

    ‘Genetic code comes in sets of three, correct?’ Denton said.

    ‘Correct. The three-letter code is used to encode an amino acid.’

    ‘McLoughlin was a computer geneticist,’ Denton said. ‘The key length is divisible by three. Genetic code is divisible by three. The encryption key is genetic code.’ 

    Benito nodded his head slowly. ‘You could be right.’

    ‘Of course I’m right. Run a search,’ Denton snapped. ‘Find any catalogued pseudogene clusters containing 13,571 nucleotides.’

    He looked over Benito’s shoulder, arms folded, watching as the cryptoanalyst queried the pseudogene database.

    bmontoya@DesBlueGene:~$ sqlplus 

    SQL*Plus: Release 10.2.0.3.0 

    Copyright (c) 1982, 2012. All Rights Reserved. 

    Connected to: 

    Database 10g Enterprise Edition Release 10.2.0.3.0—Production with Partitioning, OLAP and Data Mining options 

    Projectgate.org 

    Enter username: BMontoya 

    Enter password: 

    SQL> SELECT family_name FROM pseudogenes WHERE nucleotides = 13571; 

    C_REMCOG 

    SQL> _ 

    ‘I have one pseudogene family listed with the specific amount,’ Benito said. ‘But we don’t have the—’

    ‘Open it,’ Denton snapped.

    Benito pulled up the data on the cluster.

    Pseudogene Family id: C_APSY_AXTL 

    Class: Chimera 

    Expression: _ 

    Transcription effects: _ 

    Family members: 2 

    ‘Good. Our family of Chimera vectors,’ Denton said. ‘Show me one of the family members.’

    Benito did as ordered without saying a word.

    Member #001: Essential Psychopathy 

    Name: C_APSY 

    Gene map locus: Human.chrXp11.23 

    Start: ******** 

    Stop: ******* 

    Strand: * 

    Type: Allelic variant type.0003 

    Parent Protein Accession Num: C_APSY***** 

    Parent Protein Name: C_APSY***** 

    Parent Gene ID: * 

    Genome Build: *** 

    Denton stared at the screen in earnest. He was close. ‘Where are the chromosomal locations?’

    Benito shook his head. ‘It’s encrypted. I can’t find out.’

    Denton rubbed his inch-long beard. It was overdue for a trim. ‘That’s good,’ he said. ‘The car’s locked and the key to unlock it is in the fucking car.’

    Benito frowned. ‘And the key-maker is dead.’

    Denton ground his teeth. ‘Run it against the subjects’ genomes. See if there’s a match in their DNA. Wait, that’s too long. Narrow it down. All operatives. No, all current operatives.’ 

    Benito’s fingers pecked furiously at the keyboard. Denton waited for the results to come up onscreen.

    SQL> SELECT * FROM Operatives WHERE Genome = “13571”; 

    No matches. 

    SQL> _ 

    Benito pushed his glasses up again. ‘Colonel, what exactly are you—’

    ‘Staff,’ Denton said, pointing at the front-end node. ‘Run it against the DNA of anyone who’s ever been assigned to Project GATE.’

    Benito worked the keyboard in silence.

    SQL> SELECT * FROM Staff WHERE Genome = “13571”; 

    No matches. 

    SQL> _ 

    Denton ground his molars with slow, steady precision. ‘Pull up McLoughlin’s record.’

    Benito typed some more, then leaned in to double-check his query. ‘That’s strange. She’s not on here.’

    He tried the same query again.

    Denton could see it was met with the same result.

    He shook his head, partly in frustration and partly in admiration. ‘Search for all projects. Everywhere.’

    No matches. 

    Denton laughed. A little too loudly. ‘The bitch used her own DNA.’

Sophia peeked around the corner, into the living room. The man with the shaved head from the Argus Foundation stood there, briefcase in one hand. There was another man who stayed outside the apartment. He had rosy cheeks and a thick mop of hair. The bald man called him Major.

    The bald man handed the briefcase to Mama. She placed it on a chair, then tucked wisps of hair under her shawl.

    ‘Welcome to Kamýk,’ she said. ‘I am sorry for this heat. The pipes are very hot and we have to open the windows even in—’ She spotted Sophia and a smile appeared under her squashed nose. ‘Sophia! The lovely man from the Argus is here to see you.’

    Reluctantly, Sophia stepped out where Baldie could see her.

    He smiled at her. ‘Hello, Sophia. It’s good to see you again.’

    He mopped sweat from his shiny forehead with a handkerchief.

    ‘Are you excited?’ Mama said. ‘Today you go to the smart school.’

    ‘It’s not called the smart school, Mama.’ Sophia rolled her eyes. ‘It’s the Argus Foundation.’

    She pronounced it slowly and carefully to impress Baldie. He nodded but didn’t seem overly impressed. Did she say it wrong? She didn’t know what to do with her hands, so she clasped them in front of her and fidgeted. Her stomach was spinning with butterflies: pink butterflies of happiness and blue ones of nervousness. The blue ones were winning.

    She’d been picked out because she’d done very well in her tests at school. Baldie had been watching. They must watch all the schools to pick out the clever children, she thought.

    During his previous visit, over a mug of tea with two sugars (she remembered because she’d helped make it for him), Baldie had told her she’d done very well in all of the different tests. Some had been on paper, to see how well she could think and solve problems; others involved running, jumping, dodging foam balls—she thought she’d been clumsy in those tests, but he didn’t think so. Maybe he hadn’t been looking at her when she was tripping or falling. And there were the tests with doctors that used complicated machines and weird computers to measure things like her heart and her brain, and even a few needles, which she didn’t like much at all. She’d been quite proud for not crying like some of the boys. But Baldie was really impressed with something inside her body, so tiny no one could see it without special machines.

    ‘All the children at your new school are looking forward to meeting you, Sophia,’ Baldie said. ‘Have you packed your suitcase?’

    ‘Oh yes,’ Mama said. ‘We have everything ready to go, don’t we, Sophia?’ She turned to Sophia. ‘Sophia? Do you have your suitcase?’

    Sophia nodded. She went to her room to fetch it. When she walked in, she realized it would be a while before she would see her room again. There would be visits. They would fly Mama and her brother and sister to see her, and sometimes she would be able to come home on semester break. But once school was over, she could do anything she wanted, and her schooling would all be paid for. Most importantly, Mama and her sister and brother would have enough money to buy what they needed. It was a dream come true.

    She picked up her suitcase. It was Mama’s, big and clunky, even though she hadn’t filled it with much. She didn’t have teddy bears or dolls like her sister. She didn’t have many things actually, so she’d filled it with her clock radio, hairbrush, toothbrush, cassette player and her tapes of David Bowie—Papa’s favorites—and her favorite clothes and her pillow with the purple pillowcase.

    Sophia’s little sister, Tereza, lunged at her from behind, hugging her and pinning her to the suitcase.

    ‘It’s not fair!’ Tereza yelled. ‘Why can’t you take me with you?’

    Tereza wasn’t old enough for school yet, but their older brother, Petr, was at school today. Sophia tickled Tereza until she screamed and leapt away.

    ‘They won’t let me do that!’ Sophia said. ‘But you have the big bed now.’

    Tereza rolled her eyes. ‘I know, but it’s boring and I want to go with you.’

    ‘When you go to school next year, you can do the test and then you can come.’

    Sophia tickled her again and Tereza squealed.

    ‘Stop it! OK. Can I have your bed forever?’

    ‘No.’ Sophia smiled. ‘Yes, of course! But promise me you’ll share it when I come back!’

    Tereza nodded, then put on her best sulking face. She still let Sophia hug her though.

    As Sophia took her suitcase out to Baldie, the blue butterflies were having a party inside her. It was scary and exciting at the same time.

    ‘Are you ready, Sophia?’ Mama picked her up and squeezed a big hug from her before plopping her back down. ‘We’re all very proud, Sophia. Aren’t we, Tereza?’

    Tereza leaned into the kitchen doorway. ‘Yeah,’ she mumbled.

    Sophia fidgeted with the briefcase handle. ‘I’ll miss you lots,’ she said to Mama.

    ‘There will be many other girls and boys your age at the school,’ Baldie said. ‘Just as special as you. I’m sure you’ll make plenty of new friends.’

    ‘OK,’ Sophia said, nervous again.

    Mama saw her and Baldie out. Baldie’s friend, Major, took her suitcase and together they walked down the stairs because the elevators were playing up again. They took her to their car, a dark gray one. It didn’t look like a car for a fancy school, but Baldie told her it was just a hire car. Both men sat in the front, but Baldie was polite and opened the back door for her first. She sat on the right side, putting her suitcase on the left.

    Major drove while Baldie sat beside him.

    ‘Excuse me, mister,’ Sophia said.

    ‘You can call me Denton,’ Baldie said.

    ‘OK, Mister Denton,’ she said. ‘If I don’t do very well, will my parents have to pay back the money?’

    He laughed. ‘No, of course not. That won’t be necessary.’

    ‘What if I do really, really badly? Will you send me home and I’ll have to do school all over again?’

    ‘I don’t think you’ll do badly at all.’ He turned to look at her. ‘In fact, I have a feeling you’ll be the best student we’ve had.’

***

Sophia woke in a sweat. She was lying on a bed, still dressed in her civilian T-shirt and jeans. It was cold, her arms had goose bumps. The sour mix of body odor and dried algae hit her immediately. She sat upright. Her surroundings were unfamiliar. The depth and width of the bedroom were somehow wrong, the light below the door was different, even the position of the door was strange. It took a moment for her to remember she was Adamicz’s prisoner. The last few weeks had been a haze of what Adamicz had called ‘deprogramming’.

    She wished for a moment that she was back in her childhood bedroom, tucked in bed with her purple pillow and her David Bowie tapes, while Mama watched her favorite James Dean movies on TV. She could almost hear the tape playing her favorite song, ‘Yassassin’.

    She’d been convinced for quite some time that Adamicz was part of an elaborate operation to test her loyalty and sense of perception. That it was a new form of interrogation training. But the volume of documentation on Project GATE that Adamicz had shown her was extremely thorough. If this was a test, it was an extraordinarily elaborate one. And she wondered why the Fifth Column would go to so much trouble to instill distrust in her. The only possibility left was that Adamicz was some sort of terrorist who hated the Fifth Column. Adamicz had struck it lucky capturing her and now planned to use her against her own people. Either way, this wasn’t going to end well.

    There was a dull pain over her left eyebrow. She touched it and found stitches. She didn’t remember anyone putting them in. She could hear music, but it wasn’t in her head this time. It wasn’t Bowie; it was classical piano. She remembered the record player she’d seen on one of the bookshelves in the library. Adamicz was playing a record. She could hear it.

    And she could see it. 

    She sat upright. Electric tadpoles swam through the air around her, turquoise and vivid. She had no clue what they were, or if she was just hallucinating, but they were actually quite soothing.

    She watched in amazement as the turquoise tadpoles stroked the room with lazy, sweeping arcs in accordance with the notes of the piano. Some of the tadpoles matured into a pure blue while others turned green. A cluster of vigorous notes rippled them into an excited frenzy.

    Adamicz must have done something wrong. This was not normal.

    She leaped from the bed. There was a pile of folded clothes on a dusty nightstand. She checked the fabric for tracking devices, mostly out of habit, before changing into a T-shirt with a faded Pepsi logo and gray sweatpants.

    She opened the bedroom door. Blue and green tadpoles propelled themselves down the hall ahead of her. She followed them, and found Adamicz in his makeshift office, sorting through notes. The tadpoles danced around him. He seemed oblivious to their presence.

    ‘What have you done?’ Sophia said.

    His gray eyebrows pressed together. ‘I am deprogramming you.’

    His voice was disarmingly gentle. She didn’t like it.

    She left the room—and its faint smell of gingerbread—and followed the source of the music until she found the gramophone. The tadpoles poured from the its funneled barrel, thick like ocean foam, then floated away. It was warmer in here, she noticed. She heard Adamicz’s portable heater purring softly nearby.

    Sophia lifted the needle from the record. The tadpoles dissipated.

    Adamicz was standing nearby. He didn’t seem annoyed. Just intrigued.

    ‘What is the problem?’ he said.

    She could smell something again. It smelled like Adamicz was cooking some sort of dessert.

    ‘I can see the music,’ she said. ‘That’s the problem!’

    Adamicz looked puzzled, as though he hadn’t understood her.

    ‘The music you were playing!’ She glanced at the record. ‘Opus Nine, Number Two. It makes glowing blue and green tadpoles; they were swimming around me.’ She shook her head.

    ‘I see.’

    ‘That’s not normal, is it?’

    He clasped his hands in front of him, as though shaking hands with himself. ‘Not exactly,’ he said. ‘But is interesting.’

    She caught the scent of his cooking again. ‘No. It is not interesting. I’m not meant to see music, I’m meant to hear it.’

    ‘It appears deprogramming has removed line from between your senses. You have multi-sensory experience at this time.’ Adamicz pronounced the word ‘have’ as ‘here-v’. ‘Do not worry, is just temporary.’

    She inhaled deeply. ‘And . . . and your accent. It smells like cinnamon.’

    ‘My voice is cinnamon?’

    Each word had a slightly different aroma and texture. When he spoke softly, the aroma was fluffy and light. It reminded her of gingerbread.

    ‘Yes. Your voice.’ A chill ran across her arms. ‘Why are you living in an old library? It’s freezing in here.’

    Adamicz clasped his hands behind his back and straightened his posture ever so slightly. ‘This is Guarnacci Library. It was closed when second global financial collapse hit Italy. A colleague of mine, Doctor McLoughlin, purchased this place for us to hide in. For time being.’

    ‘How did . . . how did you capture me?’ Sophia said.

    Adamicz nodded his head, smiling. ‘Oh. This was tricky, yes. The former Blue Berets we sent were dressed in very low-temperature, arctic-rated thermal clothing, gloves, balaclavas and socks. They take you to furniture factory and set temperature of thirty degree Celsius. They lay you on floor and shift glass coffee table over you. Then put another plate of glass over and place mannequin on top.’

    Sophia rubbed her nose. ‘Mannequin?’

    ‘Your stunt double,’ he said. ‘Homemade, hollowed-out mannequin fitted with battery, heater coil and tubing to distribute heat. To mimic your heat signature.’

    Sophia thought for a moment. ‘In case infrared satellites were watching.’

    ‘Precisely,’ Adamicz said. ‘Once they have mannequin and body in perfect alignment, they turn on mannequin and wait for heat signature to replicate yours. Then they lift second glass plate and slide another plate between. Special glass, coated in tungsten-doped vanadium dioxide.’

    ‘I’m guessing that blocks infrared,’ Sophia said.

    Adamicz nodded. ‘Your RFID was to be surgically removed—but of course you had already done so. The soldiers cover your clothing with arctic-rated thermal clothing. You felt very hot as heat is contained.’

    Sophia folded her arms. ‘And with my stunt double in place, they just yanked me out and took me away.’

    ‘Yes. And the satellite show you still there, lying down.’

    Sophia said, ‘You sent those soldiers, didn’t you? The ones pretending to be US Marines. You hired them.’

    Adamicz was silent for a moment. Then he nodded. ‘There is no point denying this.’

    She unfolded her arms, her hands balled into fists. ‘They killed a little girl.’

    ‘That was not meant to happen,’ he said. ‘We hired mercenaries because they are ruthless. Jackals. It was necessary to break your programming. I had to set up conditions to do it.’

    ‘No, you didn’t,’ Sophia said. ‘I should go.’

    ‘Where?’ Adamicz said, his voice still gentle and gingerbready. ‘To Fifth Column?’

    Sophia opened her mouth. It was dry. She realized how parched she was.

    ‘After all these things they have done to you, why would you want to go back?’

    She pressed her lips together, then pulled them apart. ‘That doesn’t concern you.’

    Adamicz smiled. ‘Is this library really worse than secret government concentration camp?’

    ‘Fine. Whatever. That’s your opinion. But I’m not staying.’

    His tone was at once darker. ‘This place is safe place for you. If Fifth Column learn you are alive, they will interrogate you and then kill you. There is no doubting this.’

    She swallowed. Her throat was sticky. She could feel her hands trembling.

    ‘You’re making me stay here? I don’t even know what you want me for!’

    ‘Until it is safe to relocate.’

    Adamicz walked over to the gramophone and removed the record. She watched him slip the record into its cardboard sleeve.

    ‘How long is that?’ she said.

    ‘We estimate four to six months before it is safe,’ he said.

    Her fingers curled into fists. ‘How dare you!’ she yelled, surprised by her own rage. She had forgotten her thirst. ‘You should never have abducted me!’

    His eyebrows rose slowly. In curiosity. ‘I rescued you.’

    The strong aroma of cinnamon hit her.

    ‘You should’ve just left me alone!’

Slumped in his office chair, Denton swallowed the last of his Guaraná Jesus. It had been two days since he’d slept for more than an hour. He’d searched McLoughlin’s office and labs. Not a single hair or skin flake. It was McLoughlin herself who’d ensured the labs were sterilized regularly. Something nibbled at the back of his mind. Cecilia McLoughlin had been up to something before her unfortunate death. He had no evidence to prove it, but he knew her well enough to know her mind worked a lot like his. And that was bad news.

    He’d worked his way through hundreds of Project GATE documents. Now all he could do was stare, uninspired, at the four screens before him. None of them offered hope. His eyelids were growing heavy. Cursing himself, he sat upright and blinked three times to shake away fatigue.

    The inner left of the four screens listed the vaccinations and vectors McLoughlin had given to the operatives in the last three months before her death. The vector she used for operatives was a non-pathogenic adeno-associated virus, serotype 8. A vector was basically just a vehicle through which to deliver a package. Blood could be the vehicle. So could air. But the adeno-associated virus serotype 8—or AAV8 for short—was the vehicle of choice for Project GATE because it was exceptionally good at circulating through the operative’s bloodstream. It was the best way to switch on pseudogenes in every single cell.

    Pseudogenes—or junk DNA, as it was once known—used to be considered useless. It never occurred to anyone at the time that they were real genes, merely disabled. If you switched them on, they coded for interesting abilities. But only if you knew the right combinations to switch on. And you needed something to deliver the switches. Something like the AAV8 vector. 

    The list of vaccinations and vectors was exactly as Denton had expected to find it. Everything was in order. He slammed his hand on the table. He had to be missing something. He’d been hoping McLoughlin had kept a backup copy of the decryption key for the Chimera vector code somewhere. But it seemed such hope was ill conceived.

    Even if he was lucky enough to recover a sample of McLoughlin’s DNA, without the precise chromosomal locations of all the pseudogene clusters it would be like trying to find one grain of sand in a sand dune. And without a sample of her DNA, it was one grain of sand in the entire Sahara desert.

    In short, he was fucked.

    For what felt like the thousandth time that night, he scanned through the list line by line. There was one injection for Sophia that caught his attention. It seemed different. But each time he inspected the contents, he found it wasn’t different at all.

    He was getting too paranoid, even for him.

    With a grunt, he pushed himself away from the desk. His chair wheeled him two-thirds of the way to the vending machine. He stood and trudged the last few steps. Swiping his ID, he punched in the numbers for another can of Guaraná Jesus. The machine beeped indignantly. He was about to kick it when he realized why it was beeping. Out of stock. Next to the empty rack, he noticed an imposter. A green can labeled Guaraná Antarctica Ice. 

    ‘I do sometimes live dangerously,’ he said to the vending machine.

    He punched in the code for a Guaraná Antarctica. It might not be named after a drug lord, but he was never one to shy from trying something different.

    The can bounced into the tray before him. He didn’t take it.

    Something different.

    He ran back to his office, shoving his chair aside. He checked Sophia’s pseudogene injections and juxtaposed them against Damien’s and Jay’s.

    He couldn’t believe it. Hyperproprioception was listed twice for Sophia, with different base pairs. Why would McLoughlin inject the same vector twice?

    He knew why. Because she hadn’t.

Inherent: Electrogenic - Jay

Inherent: Thermogenesis - Damien

Inherent: Hypergnosis - Sophia

Perseus: Tetrachromacy - Damien, Sophia

Perseus: Hyperaudition - Damien

Perseus: Hyperosmia - Jay

Perseus: Hypertactition - Damien

Perseus: Hyperthermoception - Damien

Perseus: Hyperequilibrioception - Jay, Sophia

Perseus: Hyperproprioception - Damien, Jay, Sophia

Perseus: Hyperelectroception - Jay

Ambrosia: Pentachromacy - Jay

Ambrosia: Hyperkinesis - Damien, Jay, Sophia

Perseus: Hyperproprioception - Sophia

***

As soon as Benito opened the door to his sleeping quarters, Denton thrust the papers in his face. ‘Translate.’

    Benito rubbed his eyes and gathered the papers in his hands. ‘What is this?’ Blinking furiously, he started reading. ‘Right. A list of vector injections.’

    ‘Tell me why McLoughlin would be injecting the same vector into the same operative twice,’ Denton said.

    ‘She shouldn’t be.’ Benito scratched his cheek stubble with his thumbnail. ‘If the first injection wasn’t successful, there’d be a notation.’

    ‘There isn’t one,’ Denton said. ‘But the base pairs are different. Why is that? Was it changed?’

    ‘No, it wasn’t changed,’ Benito said. ‘But the base pair list is generated automatically. That doesn’t make any sense.’

    ‘It doesn’t make sense because that last vector doesn’t contain hyperproprioception at all,’ Denton said. ‘It’s a cover-up. McLoughlin injected some of her own DNA into Sophia. Sophia is the key.’

    Benito scratched an armpit. ‘But they’re both dead, aren’t they?’

    Denton smiled. ‘Are they?’

The smell of fresh bread and garlic lured Sophia into the small makeshift kitchen. Adamicz was standing in front of the oven. He opened the door and, with a dish towel wrapping one hand, removed a skillet from inside. She could see what looked like a thick, pie-shaped frittata, puffy and golden, with patches of dark green and white.

    She had yet to figure out Adamicz’s motives. She’d checked her bedroom for surveillance devices. There were none. She’d checked the bed frame, her clothes, even her own body. Nothing. The situation seemed genuine. Everything added up. There were no alarm bells going off in her head about Adamicz. And that’s what disturbed her.

    ‘My family weren’t killed in a terrorist attack, were they?’ she said.

    Adamicz jolted, surprised to see her. He frowned. ‘No.’

    ‘Denton told me they—’ She stopped herself. ‘The Fifth Column killed them.’

    Adamicz nodded. ‘More or less.’ He cut the frittata in half, and half again. ‘You are hungry, yes?’

    ‘No,’ she said. ‘Yes.’

    He served her a quarter on a plate. ‘You like frittata?’

    ‘It’s OK.’

    Adamicz smiled, served himself a slice. ‘I make it with spinach, onion, garlic, Parmesan, goat’s cheese, sun-dried tomato.’

    She picked it up from the pastry end. It was so hot it nearly burned her fingers. She dropped it back on her plate.

    He handed her a knife and fork. ‘We can eat in Pacciani Room. There is table and my spare heater is there.’

    Sophia reluctantly followed Adamicz down the hall, under a low archway and into another room. The ceiling wasn’t as high in here. Sure enough, his little portable heater was humming away quietly. Lining the far wall of the Pacciani Room were glass cabinets. Inside them were centuries-old parchments. In the center of the room was a magnificent antique dining table that catered for six. Adamicz sat at one end, so she sat at the other.

    He asked if she wanted tea, then left her alone, returning a moment later with two mugs. He gave her one and began sipping from his own. She didn’t drink hers. It was unlikely to be poisonous, but old habits die hard.

    She cut a piece of frittata and shoved it into her mouth. It was actually pretty good. She tried not to look like she was enjoying it too much, but couldn’t help chewing vigorously.

    ‘Why did you leave the Fifth Column?’

    Bits of food flew from her mouth as she spoke. She covered it with one hand.

    Adamicz sipped his tea and cleared his throat. ‘I learn how to make monsters out of children. Children like you. Children who were trained to kill people like my family.’

    Sophia lowered her fork. ‘Who killed your family?’

    She didn’t care how blunt the question sounded. Now was a good time to collect intel.

    Adamicz put his mug down, but still held onto it. ‘I know of yours, you should know of mine. My father was put to work by Nazis. Our city, Breslau, was part of Germany. It was the favorite destination for war refugees. My father refused to work for Nazis, so they shoot him. When the Soviets attack, many of us were killed.’ He pronounced ‘killed’ as ‘keeld’. ‘By the time Nazis allow us to evacuate, most of city is on fire. And yet my mother froze to death trying to keep me warm.’

    Sophia didn’t know where to look. She stared at the cracked edges of her mug.

    ‘You didn’t have to tell me that,’ she said.

    Adamicz opened his mouth, then closed it again, deciding instead to sip his tea.

    ‘Why did you join the Fifth Column?’ Sophia said. ‘Did they force you to work for them?’

    Adamicz shook his head. ‘No, of course not. It is sad. I wanted to work for them. Government grant was scarce in Prague, but Institute for Advanced Study in America had good prospect. No teacher, no student, no class. Just researchers. Funding was very good. All they needed was talent. Kurt Gödel, Hermann Weyl, John von Neumann, Albert Einstein.’

    She only recognized Einstein’s name. ‘They wanted you?’

    Adamicz nodded. ‘For my expertise in hypnosis. It is there I was able to hypnotize someone to pull the trigger.’

    ‘Like me?’

    ‘Not at that stage. I hypnotized ordinary people. Lee Harvey Oswald, James Earl Ray, Arthur Bremer, Ramírez Sánchez—’

    ‘Carlos the Jackal,’ Sophia said.

    ‘Fifth Column teach you some history, yes?’ Adamicz paused to chew on another mouthful of frittata.

    Sophia wrapped her fingers around her mug. ‘He was programmed?’

    Adamicz nodded. ‘The Jackal caught the attention of Sidney Denton. He make me an offer and, foolishly, I accept. In early eighties, I begin working on project that owes its roots to Nazi research. A project that becomes . . . how do you say . . . precursor to Project GATE, which did not begin until 1991.’

    ‘Project GATE wasn’t—we weren’t the first?’

    Adamicz shook his head.

    ‘And you had the technology to program people’s minds in 1991?’

    He chuckled. ‘Technology has been around since 1930s. It only gets better, and easier, over time.’

    ‘What about the genetic stuff?’ she said. ‘The pseudogene technology?’

    He nodded. ‘Yes, this is quite a bit later. In the seventies, I believe. Fifth Column geneticists insert into test subject a modified IGF-1—a gene we use to repair body. Subject’s muscles become thirty percent stronger.’

    Sophia blinked. ‘The Fifth Column had this technology all this time? I had no idea.’

    ‘Fifth Column does not need funding; it owns almost every government in world. They can take from anywhere and put it where they want. By the time this breakthrough reaches public science forums, it will already be classified for decades. By the time average person is aware that someone like you exist, you will be my age.’

    ‘So what I thought is cutting edge—’

    ‘Is outdated by two, three, sometimes four decades,’ he said. ‘If you have seen the technology that exists in black world—and indeed you have seen some of it, which is in you—it comes from the shadows of military–industrial complex. The very crucible of Fifth Column.’

    Sophia cut another slice of frittata. ‘Is the pseudogene tech public yet?’

    Adamicz nodded. ‘Only in its infancy. In 2005, a university geneticist in America discovered a way to deliver gene through target’s bloodstream using adeno-associated virus serotype 8 as vector. He use it to treat muscular dystrophy in eight-year-old boy—twenty years after we use vector on someone without muscular dystrophy. You,’ Adamicz said. ‘You see what I am telling you, yes? Fifth Column can only let public science progress so far, and only in compartmentalized fragments that can be monitored closely. They cannot let their power over human race slip. Any science that could jeopardize this will be quashed. You see, best scientists will work for Fifth Column only if they are willing to sell their soul. Fifth Column uses dummy corporations to fund science they want and starve the rest out.’

    ‘Can’t scientists get funding some other way?’

    Adamicz’s fist hit the table. ‘No, because we do not know how to do anything except prostitute ourselves for funding and shout down opposing ideas.’ He relaxed his fist. ‘If people outside science know how we really work, they will be disgusted. We are pigs and whores.’

    ‘Surely you could find an angel investor or something who isn’t working for the Fifth Column?’ Sophia said.

    Adamicz nodded. She thought he was agreeing with her at first.

    ‘That money is small change compared to what Fifth Column can offer,’ he said. ‘They consolidate and maintain their power, and have army of science drones—people like me—to help them. The outsiders, they can be insulted, discredited and blacklisted so they never get funding again. While they want to use their gifts to benefit humanity, we use our gifts to deny them.’

    ‘How did they get in power—the Fifth Column?’ Sophia said. ‘How did it happen?’

    ‘That, my friend, is best left for Doctor McLoughlin,’ Adamicz said. ‘You will meet her soon enough. And she can tell you everything.’

    ‘Doctor, if—’

    ‘Please do not call me Doctor,’ Adamicz said. ‘It is much too formal. My American name is Leon.’

    Sophia drank from her mug. If he wanted to poison her, he’d have done it long ago. As ridiculous as it seemed, the old man appeared to have no interest in harming her.

    ‘What’s your real name? In your language?’ she said.

    He blinked, as though he hadn’t heard her. Then he finally said, ‘My Polish name is Leoncjusz.’ He pronounced it as Leon-chudge. ‘Only people I trust know this name and call me by it. You may use it.’ 

    ‘Leon, if they find you here, they’ll kill you,’ Sophia said.

    ‘I am least of their concerns. And I have spent enough time being scared.’

    Sophia lowered her mug. ‘Me too.’

***

Sophia had decided she’d play along with Leoncjusz’s deprogramming, at least until she had her first opportunity to escape. She couldn’t trust anyone; she was better off by herself.

    He had forbidden her from venturing outside. He said it wasn’t that she couldn’t take care of herself; he knew she most certainly could. But her existence had to remain a secret. For all Denton knew, she was dead. And that was exactly how Leoncjusz wanted it.

    It was almost five weeks before he trusted her enough to leave her by herself in the library. He needed to restock their supplies from the local market, and said he wouldn’t be gone for more than an hour.

    Sophia waited fifteen minutes before approaching the grand oak door. Did he really think she’d just wait around for him to return? She gripped the door handle and found herself unable to turn it. She’d built up her strength and stamina over the last few weeks, despite the library’s confined spaces. Her body was definitely up to the task. The door wasn’t locked. The handle wasn’t jammed. That wasn’t the problem. The problem, she realized, was her mind.

    The cunning bastard.

    She tried again. Her hand refused to turn the handle. It was impossible for her to leave.

    She yelled, kicked the door. Smashed a chair into it. She tried again. Still, she couldn’t. Somehow, he’d switched something on inside her mind that kept her here. He didn’t need to tie her up with anything. She was holding herself prisoner.

    Pulling her hand away in disgust, she listened to the silence around her. She felt pathetic. He’d stripped her of everything. There was nothing left. No purpose, no friends, no family, no certainty, no life. She had nothing left to believe in. There was Adamicz, of course, but that was it. Really, there was no one here for her but herself.

    She collapsed on a dusty tribal rug, her gaze glued to the oak door. She let it taunt her for a while. She felt like she was falling endlessly. Adamicz had peeled away at her like the rind of an orange and the only thing left inside her was a lie.

    She allowed herself to stretch out on the rug. Spreading her hands out at her sides, she looked up, watched dust particles float lazily above her. Tears escaped, ran down her temples. She ignored them and closed her eyes. She couldn’t feel anything. All this time she thought she was being virtuous. Now it was just a gaping black hole of nothing. And she had been feeding it all this time.

    But there was something. Like a single particle of dust. Tiny and almost non-existent. It might very well have been her imagination, but whatever it was, it caught her attention. It wasn’t dark and it wasn’t feeding and it wasn’t a lie like everything else. Before she knew it, she was riveted to it. She didn’t know what it was, but the more attention she gave it, the more it grew. 

    She sat up and touched her right eyebrow, where her stitches had been. Opening her eyes, she realized what she had found. Her will.

    She marched into Adamicz’s office and began with his desk. It was covered in mountains of papers and books. She rifled through them, one stack at a time, tossing them aside when she was done. Whatever was lying on top would be cover documents, of course, placed there on purpose, possibly to influence her. She glanced over them for only a moment before casting them aside.

    Once she was through the layers of distraction, she began searching his desk drawers, his bookcases. She found a stash of euro banknotes in one of the drawers, twenties and fifties. There had to be at least a thousand euros in there. She ignored the money, and checked for hidden papers and books. Anything he was concealing from her.

    She only found one book. She opened it at the bookmark just shy from its center, revealing half a page of handwritten text, black ink with a hint of blue. The words were Polish, tightly packed and skewed a fraction to the right. She recognized it as Leoncjusz’s handwriting. She could read Czech, but wasn’t sure how well she could decipher his Polish. She skimmed through the entry. He seemed to use W instead of V and G instead of H, but other than that she could understand it quite well.

    The entry was dated in German; she recognized the month as August.

After a week of intense deprogramming, I am able to bring Sophia out of her slave state for the first time to archeopsyche—the real Sophia. She is calm and composed, but is suspicious still. I make a point not to prove any more to her; I only ask of her health, of her emotion and of her memory. I take notes of this. She tells me she cannot remember her true childhood. I do not know if the memories will come back in time or will be lost forever. 

    Her behavior is erratic. On some occasions, she is composed, others she is enraged, others she is silent and does not respond to conversation. Nothing I say appears to comfort or soothe her. I do not know what to do so I leave her alone when she behaves this way. 

    I am in regular contact with Cecilia McLoughlin now. She is with the Akhana. After all this time of hoping, now I know they are real. She says once I have successfully deprogrammed Sophia I must send the deprogramming procedure in case my copy is lost or stolen. I tell her  this could take many weeks to achieve. She agrees with me and points out that I cannot risk traveling to the Akhana until Sophia has fully recovered. This is very important; we are too vulnerable and will be safer in hiding for now. I am hesitant to give Cecilia the deprogramming procedure; I will think on this further before making a decision. 

    I bring vegetable soup to Sophia’s room. She is asleep so I leave the soup with her and do not return for the day. The following morning we continue deprogramming. Portion by portion, I dismantle the subpsyches and parapsyches inside Sophia’s neopsyche. It is a long and arduous process that exhausts both of us. 

    When I visit her again, she tells me to stop doing this or she will kill herself. I still have some of the trigger phrases in place to protect myself, but I do not think I will have to use them. I tell her I will stop for now and tomorrow we can talk over lunch. She can ask me as many questions as she likes. 

    I make us some gnocchi from the market and tea. She asks many questions. About her life. About how she was recruited. About the real world. About families. About love. About vengeance. Sometimes, her hands shake as she listens to me speak. Other times, she is silent and does not ask anything. Once, she even smiles. It is the most amazing thing I have seen this year. 

    If one good thing comes of my dark existence, it will be Sophia. 

    She turned to the next page. It was blank. She flipped back to the previous entry, only to find it written in German. Was he trying to conceal something? She rushed to the shelf of dictionaries and picked out an Italian–German dictionary. It would be nice if there was an English–German one, but she was in Tuscany after all. Instead, she found an Italian–English dictionary. It would have to do.

    Sitting at the desk she’d moved into the Pacciani Room, she scanned the German entries for anything that might catch her attention. She didn’t know what she was looking for, so she decided to just pick a paragraph with her name in it and work through it with the dictionary, translating from German to Italian and—if her basic Italian wasn’t sufficient—Italian to English. It was painfully slow, but she moved as quickly as she could, scribbling her translations on a loose sheet of paper.

    Sophia has stitches . . . right eye and bruises . . . arms and face . . . unharmed. I . . . injuries but . . . to see her. I have the Schlüssel. 

    She checked the Italian–German dictionary for the word Schlüssel. The Italian equivalent was chiave. She checked the Italian–English dictionary: it meant key. Leoncjusz had the key. 

    This was going to take some time. She’d give anything for Google Translate right now. She skimmed through the rest of the page. Its contents seemed mundane. She turned to the previous page and found a word right after her name that she didn’t recognize: defekt. Did it mean to defect, to work for the other side? She checked the Italian–German dictionary. It meant difettoso. She checked for the English translation. Defective. 

    She continued with the rest of the paragraph. On her sheet of paper, the meaning was beginning to take shape.

    Another operative became defective . . . field . . . night and . . . killed. Denton dismisses me . . . service. Just as we planned. I am relieved, but I do not show it. 

    She turned to the previous page. If Adamicz had mentioned his true intentions anywhere, it might be in an earlier entry. With both dictionaries open, she got to work translating.

    Sophia . . . operation . . . routine assessment. Precise changes. Sophia’s behavior . . . normal . . . tampered . . . neopsyche . . . under stress Sophia . . . shift to archeopsyche . . . performance . . . and I . . . held responsible. Cecilia McLoughlin stages . . . death. And . . . part of our plan. 

    Sophia checked her watch. She had another thirty minutes. It wasn’t enough time to translate the whole journal. And it would be a while before she would get another chance. She had to translate what she needed now. She flipped to the previous page.

    I am scared . . . sleep . . . not wake up. Denton . . . is he waiting . . . us out? Or will . . . and torture . . . answers? I realize . . . belly of the beast . . . stay brave. 

    Trials . . . operative . . . routine assessment. Possible . . . suggest . . . Cecilia McLoughlin . . . Benito Montoya . . . operative . . . in mind. She . . . six on . . . 

    One string of words caught her interest. Posthypnotischen Suggestibilität Index. The German was so close to English she didn’t need the dictionaries. 

    She continued translating the rest of the sentence.

    Easier to deprogram . . . our cause due to . . . betrayal . . . violation . . . Fifth Column. 

    She licked her finger, then thought again and wiped her saliva away before turning to the previous page, where she saw Chimäre Vektors written three times. 

    McLoughlin . . . confident. I fear . . . get caught . . . thought everything . . . well. Benito Montoya . . . Chimera vectors . . . impossible . . . circumstance . . . high security and of course Denton’s . . . Chimera vectors. McLoughlin . . . lock it up for now . . . back later . . . lower security. She . . . encrypt the Chimera vectors . . . encryption key. 

    Sophia froze on the word Schlüssel. She checked the dictionary, translated the complete sentence. 

    She plans to encrypt the Chimera vectors and use part of her DNA as the encryption key. 

    Sophia realized she was holding her breath. Inhaling quickly, she continued translating.

    But . . . Cecilia McLoughlin . . . back to the facility . . . very risky. I cannot . . . how we do this. Cecilia McLoughlin . . . of this too. She asked me . . . operative as the key instead. 

    This had to be important. Backtracking, she translated every missing word.

    She asked me today if we could use an operative as the key instead. 

    Sophia leaned back in her chair. ‘I am the key.’ 

    Back another page. She had to translate faster if she was going to get anywhere.

    My . . . offering . . . to me. I suggest to Cecilia McLoughlin . . . destroy the Chimera vectors. But she . . . idea. She wants to . . . against the Fifth Column. She . . . resistance called the Akhana  . . . 

    There was no entry for Akhana in the dictionary. Perhaps it was an English word. She continued reading. 

     . . . nothing about. This . . . more complicated. Does . . . really exist . . . Belize. If there . . . need the Chimera vectors . . . destroy the Fifth Column. 

    She checked her watch. Fifteen minutes to go.

    If she was, somehow, the key to the Chimera vectors, then the first thing she needed to figure out was what they were and what Leoncjusz and his resistance pals were planning on doing with them.

    She continued reading.

    I do not . . . Cecilia McLoughlin for many days. Our next . . . rushed. She tells . . . the Chimera vectors out . . . Fifth Column . . . safe. Before . . . I want to help. McLoughlin . . . and leaves. I have purpose again. Yet . . . burn these pages. 

    The entry ended. She turned to the previous page and started reading. No more mention of McLoughlin, of the Chimera vectors, of the Akhana. Just his research on programming. She turned back further. A poem in Polish. Another page. The Fifth Column and its imperfections, its flaws, morals, evil, test subjects, more programming. She continued, skimming for any words that would jump out at her. The further back she looked, the more introspective and vague the entries became. One on mind-programming research, one on his education, and several going further back to his university years.

    She closed the book, checked her watch. Eight minutes. Her estimate had been conservative; it was likely he wouldn’t be back for a further half-hour. It was risky, but she couldn’t stop now.

    Returning the dictionaries to their exact places on the shelves—her translations slipped into the middle of the Italian–German dictionary—she returned the journal to where she’d found it, and decided to go through his desk again, paying more attention to the papers she’d previously thought to be diversions.

    The office door creaked.

    She’d been so busy throwing papers around that she hadn’t heard him return. Her face warmed with embarrassment, then burned with anger.

    ‘You have some explaining to do,’ she said.

    Leoncjusz frowned. ‘I imagined it was only matter of time before I caught you here.’

    She dumped the papers she was holding onto his desk. ‘I’m your prisoner, after all.’

    He hung his coat on the coat stand. ‘That is not true.’

    ‘Not true?’ she yelled. ‘You’ve had me cooped up in this shitty old place for how many months now? And to what end?’ Her saliva sprayed onto her arm. She didn’t bother wiping it away. ‘To keep me safe?’ 

    She swiped at a stack of books, sending them crashing to the floor. ‘Why did you have to choose me? Of all the operatives running around playing terrorist dress-up, why pick me? Being kidnapped once is enough!’

    ‘Your post-hypnotic suggestibility index is lowest of all operatives,’ Leoncjusz said. ‘It makes you most difficult test subject to program.’

    Sophia’s hands clenched into fists. ‘Then why did you program me in the first place?’

    ‘Most difficult to program means easiest to deprogram. Also, you make better decision than every other operative in every training exercise we make for you,’ he said. ‘You are least ruthless operative, but this is precisely what makes you best Denton has ever seen.’

    ‘I . . . I thought Denton kept testing me so I would fail,’ Sophia said. ‘And I eventually did.’

    ‘No. He keep testing to find your limits,’ Leoncjusz said. ‘You are both greatest threat and greatest promise to him.’

    Sophia let her fists relax. ‘What does that mean?’

    ‘First time your programming break is on operation in Jordan,’ he said. ‘In your report you accurately describe every terrorist in hotel ballroom. But you also mention a girl, who you don’t describe at all. When I question you afterwards, you admit there is no girl, that it is an error on your behalf. That is when I know your programming has been compromised.’

    Leoncjusz cleared his throat. ‘Your second break—Iran. The operation I rescue you from. I knew you are capable of this. Of all operatives, you are unique. But I did not know when and where you would break again.’ He shook his head. ‘We were running out of time, so we had to induce break. We are, how you say, rolling with the punches.’

    She turned to his bookcase and pulled out his journal. ‘When were you going to tell me all of this?’

    Leoncjusz took a tentative step forward. He opened his mouth to reply but she cut him off.

    ‘Why did this Cecilia McLoughlin person put a key inside me? What gives her the right to do that? What gives any of them the right to do anything like that to me?’ She shook her head. ‘You’re all the same. The lot of you.’

    ‘The key is provirus. A harmless carrier,’ he said.

    ‘Harmless? What’s it carrying?’ she shouted.

    ‘An encryption key. A key to Fifth Column’s greatest success and greatest failure.’

    ‘And why make me the key?’ Sophia said. ‘Am I supposed to go back and steal the code for you? When exactly were you planning on filling me in?’

    He exhaled slowly. ‘I wasn’t. Yet. Because I think is too dangerous. This is why I tell her I do not want you to do it. And I do not care what she says. As long as I am here, you will not do this. It is suicide.

The subsonic round from Damien’s MP5SD6 struck the guard under his nose. A burst of red and he was gone.

    ‘You’re clear,’ Damien said.

    Jay ran. Without moonlight, the Algerian desert was ink black. But his vision was sharp enough that he could manage to weave among the palm trees without too much trouble. After that, it took him twenty long, anxious seconds to cover the flat, mostly open ground and reach the back wall of the two-story house.

    Pressed against the white bricks, he slowed his breathing and lowered himself silently into a crouch. A helicopter insertion would’ve been easier than crossing the freezing desert at night, but everyone in the small town of Djanet would have known they were there before they’d even zip-lined out. This wasn’t Hollywood; they had to do it properly. That meant less glamor and more hard work.

    He extended the retractable stock on his MP5 and wedged it in the soft muscle between his shoulder and chest, then took a moment to scratch his two-month beard.

    ‘When you’re ready,’ he said into his throat mike.

    Damien broke into a run, slower than Jay as he moved around the palm trees with only a night-vision monocle to aid him. Jay didn’t have a particular arc to cover, so he raised his MP5 halfway. If anyone spotted Damien, they’d likely be on the roof, and he didn’t have line of sight for that.

    Damien reached the wall, at the other end. Between them, the blue door. Jay waited for Damien to lower his breathing and remove his lock-picking kit. He looked hilarious, the whites of his eyes contrasting with the camo paint used to darken his skin color. He was darker than Jay.

    Jay moved closer to his side of the blue door and kept his MP5 ready. Damien switched his to safe and let it hang from a tactical sling, then tested the door handle as quietly as possible. No point starting picking only to discover the door’s already unlocked, Jay thought. Damien inserted a wide pick into the keyhole. His enhanced hearing made him especially adept at lock picking. Jay simply didn’t have the patience for it.

    Damien turned the lock with a tension wrench—a tool that reminded Jay of a miniature golf club—and withdrew the pick quickly, bouncing the pins. Jay hoped he’d get lucky and lodge all the pins with a quick rake or two. Otherwise he’d have to get more precise and pick the lock pin by pin. But the longer they could hold off going loud, the better their chances of nailing their target.

    Jay held his MP5 with his other hand, supported by a tactical sling, and shoved the cold fingertips of his firing hand under his armpit to warm them. He didn’t want slow fingers when it came to shooting. He couldn’t wear gloves because they made firing a weapon clumsy and slow. Both he and Damien had removed their thick gloves before reaching the town, just keeping the fingerless gloves they wore underneath, which were mostly concealed by their traditional, dusty Arab robes. Under the dishdasha, they wore para-aramid vests loaded with their radios, flashbangs, smoke grenades and ammunition. Lacking pouches on their belts, they’d instead holstered their SIG pistols under their arms. Not the easiest place to get to, but as good as it got while dressed like a local. Never mind the fact that half the people he’d seen here tonight were dressed in khaki or black leather jackets. On the upside, the robes made it easy to conceal their MP5s.

    Damien paused. He looked tense. Had he heard something? Jay checked the safety catch on his MP5. It was off. He focused on the door.

    He could hear it too. Voices from inside. Arabic. He couldn’t make out the words, they were too muffled. Damien probably could. Problem was, Damien couldn’t speak much Arabic.

    The voices were louder. Closer to the door.

    Jay indicated with his MP5 barrel for Damien to move away. Carefully withdrawing the tension wrench with a soft click, Damien crawled back. Jay hoped they hadn’t heard that. He aimed at the door, ready to shoot anyone who opened it.

    Damien packed away the wrench and pick, then took the safety off his MP5.

    A chill ran through Jay. Whether it was from the cool night or the situation, he wasn’t sure. How long should they wait before Damien started picking the lock all over again? What if the men had heard them and were at this moment rallying their forces to ambush them? What if they were just sitting there inside, AK-47s ready to shoot?

    The longer they waited, the greater the risk of being discovered—if they hadn’t been already. Their choices were to pick the lock or risk going loud. Damien wouldn’t like this. Jay tapped his MP5, then pointed at the door.

    Damien gave him a reluctant nod.

    They were both in position at a forty-five degree angle from the doorway, giving them the widest view possible once the door was open. Damien was standing, legs slightly bent; Jay was crouching.

    Jay fired a suppressed three-round burst into the handle of the blue door. He heard the wood splinter, moved in quickly and gave the door as soft a kick as he could manage. It creaked open. Chunks of wood clattered to the floor.

    Jay stacked on Damien and they entered the room. Damien aimed left so Jay aimed right. Clear.

    There was a flight of stairs leading to the second level. The bedrooms were upstairs. But there was also a passage that curved around the first level, connecting the rooms together in a loop.

    Damien seemed to have already made the decision. He pointed to the passage. He would clear the second floor, quickly.

    Jay couldn’t support him; he had to go up the stairs or risk losing the target—if, in fact, he was here.

    Jay was halfway up the stairs, finger resting lightly on the trigger, when he heard the soft thump of a body falling. Then another. He pictured Damien taking out the enemy one by one. He hoped that was the case. His instinct was to rush down to Damien and make sure he was OK. But he reminded himself that Damien was capable of taking care of himself.

    No more thumps.

    ‘You OK?’ Jay said softly into the mike, running the risk of being heard on the second floor.

    One click response. Yes. 

    Good, he thought. Let’s do this.

    The first doorway was on the left, two more beyond. Jay moved to the right side of the stairs as he climbed. There wasn’t a wall but a landing, looking out onto the floor below. More exposure than he would’ve liked. And Damien hadn’t cleared that floor yet either.

    The house smelled faintly of tobacco, gunpowder and motor oil. The oil was most likely used to clean the AKMs—updated versions of the AK-47. He noticed movement in the first doorway. A robed man dropped into a crouch, rifle aimed. Jay shot him in mid-crouch. Blood smeared the doorway as the man collapsed into a seated position.

    Jay reached the top of the stairs and surveyed the level below. He saw Damien move silently past two bodies lying in pools of viscous liquid. A moment later, he was at the bottom of the stairs.

    ‘The middle door’s closed,’ Jay said into his mike. ‘Check it last.’

    There were three rooms. It was up to Jay to clear the first. Damien couldn’t cross to the other side without exposing himself.

    While Damien kept watch over the landing, Jay moved in a wide arc, keeping as far away from the doorway as possible. It was clear.

    He moved step by step, testing the floorboards for creaks as he made his way to the third room.

    Walking past the doorway, he cleared eighty percent of it. But there was an unseen corner tucked away on the far right. He needed to enter the room to check it. If anyone was hiding in there, that’s where they’d be. He didn’t want to use a flashbang yet. There was no other way to do this except make himself a small target and go in fast.

    He swallowed, lowered his MP5 to chest height and moved quickly.

    A woman trembled in the corner, dressed in purple robes. She held an AKM in her lap. Her reactions were slow. She pulled the barrel around to Jay, but he beat her to it. Three-round burst to the head. Bone and brain matter splattered the wall behind her.

    Jay checked behind and under the bed, then stepped back onto the landing. Damien was waiting on the opposite side of the middle door.

    This was it.

    Jay moved into position. He flicked his MP5 trigger group switch down from three-round burst to semi-automatic, then plucked a flashbang from his vest. He uncurled his trigger finger and slipped it through the ring of the flashbang, ready to pull. After he pulled it, he’d keep the ring around his finger and be able to shoot without delay. He glanced at Damien.

    Damien finger-counted him in from five, stopping at three to ready his own MP5. He stood directly in front of the door. Together, they counted the final two in their heads. Damien kicked the door in, withdrew his leg, then pulled back to the side, MP5 aimed.

    The moment the door opened, Jay pulled the ring from the flashbang and flung it inside. Opposite him, Damien retreated. The suppressed barrel pointed at the ceiling. Jay braced himself, shut his eyes.

    The room lit up with a white flash and a sudden bang that rattled Jay’s head. But he was ready. He entered the smoke-filled room, his pseudogene-enhanced vision burning through the smoke and dust. Five human-shaped forms rippled like flames. Four of them were armed. Two had collapsed to their knees. The other two tried to aim their AKMs at Jay. One let loose a volley of rounds that punched through the wall beside him.

    Jay dropped instinctively to one knee, shot him in the face with a single round, snapped his barrel towards the second target, single round. Moved to the kneeling men, just one round each. The fifth man was still unarmed and made no effort to reach for a weapon.

    Keeping an eye on him, Jay switched his MP5 to three-round burst and concentrated to filter the infrared wavelengths from his vision. He drilled a set into every one of the four men as they lay crumpled among bone and brain matter.

    The smoke cleared. Jay pulled a card from his vest. It had the target’s face on it. Thick, long black hair, drooping eyelids and wide, thick lips. Denton had codenamed him Crackerjack. Jay matched the image with the man before him. He hadn’t shaved in a few days and had more stubble than Jay, but he was definitely their target.

    Jay aimed his MP5 at Crackerjack’s head. Then he heard Damien coughing in the corridor.

    ‘Damien?’ he said.

    Crackerjack was recovering from the flashbang, blinking quickly. ‘Don’t shoot,’ he said.

    ‘That’s original,’ Jay said.

    ‘Everything they told you,’ Crackerjack said in accented English, ‘it is not true.’

    ‘You’re a mass murderer,’ Jay said. ‘You deserve worse than a bullet in your head.’

    ‘I have not killed a single soul!’ Crackerjack’s eyes were rimmed with tears.

    Jay adjusted his aim, sighting the bridge of the man’s nose.

    ‘Please, listen to the truth,’ the man said. ‘They want me dead because I threaten their control!’ Jay ran his tongue along the roof of his mouth. He could taste the man's fear.

    ‘You better take out the target,’ Damien whispered into Jay’s earpiece. ‘We have company.’

    Jay squeezed slowly on the trigger, reached first trigger pressure. ‘Shut the fuck up,’ he said to Crackerjack.

    ‘All I wanted was for my country and my neighbors to be independent.’

    Jay’s finger uncurled a fraction. ‘Then why did your country revolt against you?’

    Crackerjack looked genuinely confused. ‘They . . . there was no revolt. NATO bombs destroyed everything.’

    Jay ground his teeth together. ‘You lying piece of shit.’

    ‘Ninety percent of my people supported me!’ Crackerjack yelled suddenly. ‘What does that tell you? I suppose you will never know this because—’

    Jay squeezed the trigger. Blood splashed the wall behind the man. Jay felt some hit his face.

    Damien entered the room and held up four fingers. Jay could hear the four men moving up the stairs. Shit.

    He wanted to change mags, but didn’t trust that he could do it in complete silence. He had ten or eleven rounds left. That would have to do.

    Damien moved next to Crackerjack’s body, taking position on one side of the doorway. Jay backed away, covering the right. Damien pointed downward, gesturing across the landing. Jay heard it too. More of them, trying to move quietly through the first level.

    Fuck, how many were there?

    The worst thing they could do was hide in here. All it would take was one frag grenade and they’d be toast.

    There was a window behind them, shades drawn. Damien lifted one corner, revealing iron bars. He shook his head at Jay.

    Crackerjack’s men had stopped moving. Stalemate. The men couldn’t enter the room without being shot. And Damien and Jay couldn’t leave the room without being shot. He hoped they didn’t have grenades.

    ‘Any bright ideas?’ Jay whispered.

    Damien looked at him, then shook his head.

    ‘Plan B then.’ Jay pulled the ring off his last flashbang and hurled it over the landing.

    Damien’s eyes were wide.

    ‘Close your eyes!’ Jay hissed.

    Here we go again, he thought, clenching his eyelids tightly. This time, the bang was louder. His eardrums whined.

    He opened his eyes. Damien was beside him, ready to move. Jay stepped out onto the landing. Three men were waving their rifles aimlessly. Jay raised his MP5 to shoot.

    More men on the staircase. Below the landing, he saw four others below, also disoriented.

    Too many of them. Jay couldn’t clear a path in time.

    Fuck it.

    He leaped over the edge of the landing. It seemed like a good idea at the time. He aimed for one of the men below, almost landing on the man’s chest. One of his knees inadvertently cracked the man’s nose. Blood splashed onto Jay’s already crimson-dotted dishdasha. Gunfire lit up the room. Someone else started shooting blindly. Jay lunged under the arc of fire and stepped behind the man. Damien landed gracefully beside him.

    Damien stayed down while Jay gripped the man’s shoulders with both hands and directed his aim, splashing 7.62mm rounds through the house. Damien used his MP5 to catch the targets Jay missed.

    Jay released the man’s shoulders, cupped his hands and slammed them over the man’s ears. The man cried out in pain as his eardrums burst. He collapsed, hands over his bleeding ears. Jay collected the man’s AKM in mid-air and dived under the landing. Unfurling from his shoulder roll, he punched rounds through the ceiling, emptying the magazine.

    Silence.

    He waited a further ten seconds, then gave Damien the signal that he was reloading.

    Damien shuffled underneath the landing and watched both entries into the room. A tough arc to cover, but he had no choice while Jay ditched the AKM and returned to his MP5.

    On one knee, Jay gripped the MP5 mag, thumbed the release catch, placed the mag on the floor and engaged a new mag from his vest. He tugged the new mag to make sure it was in, then stuffed the old one in his vest. Even if it was empty, he wasn’t about to leave it lying around.

    ‘Ready,’ he said.

    It was Damien’s turn to reload. Like Jay, he didn’t waste his time with the tactical reload that some special forces preferred. They’d quickly learned in their training that attempting to juggle two magazines in the same hand while in a combat situation was like trying to thread a needle on a roller-coaster. It was slow, stupid and a sure way to get yourself killed. Instead, he speed-reloaded with the safety off. He already had a round chambered and the bolt was closed. All he had to do was swap the mags. He took a fresh mag from a left pouch of his vest and placed the near-empty mag in a pouch on his right side. He was smooth and focused. Even with the dishdasha to contend with, he was ready in seconds.

    And just in time, as Jay heard more footsteps. This time from the front of the house, which ruled it out as an escape route.

    Damien pulled the pin on his flashbang, tossed it into the front room. Same drill: shut eyes, cover ears, move.

    Moving forward, Damien swept his aim over the landing above them. With that covered, Jay made the corner, switching his aim from the front room to the back. Two men were waiting for him; one halfway through priming a grenade, not a flashbang.

    Jay dropped him without thinking, and the man next to him. Stray rounds smacked the tiled floor. The grenade fell. Pin missing.

    ‘Grenade!’ Jay yelled.

    He leaped back around the corner, colliding with Damien. They both went sprawling into the middle room. Jay was prone now, MP5 in both hands. He focused on the front room in case anyone came out guns blazing.

    Damien was beside him, still partly exposed to the back room. He dived over Jay, rolling under the landing.

    The explosion was deafening. Twisted bits of metal sliced across the room, cutting into the wall and smashing glass and pottery. Jay heard men groaning on the stairs.

    More footsteps at the front of the house.

    On his feet, he helped Damien up and they sprinted around the corner. Behind them, devastating 7.62mm rounds cracked through the air.

    They moved out the blue door with little precaution. Jay felt dread, knowing it would be easy for anyone waiting for them to cut them down.

    He ran for the corner and peered around. He wanted to see what was going on at the front of the building. He could see three 4WDs and he could hear shouting in Arabic. Either his hearing was fucked or his Arabic wasn’t as good as he thought it was, because he couldn’t make out what they were saying.

    Damien was busy priming his last flashbang. He lobbed it into the back room. Whether he’d got the timing right or not, neither of them could know, but it was better than nothing.

    ‘Go!’ Damien yelled.

    Jay shook his head and pointed to the tree line. He wasn’t giving Damien a chance to argue. He positioned himself off-center from the blue door, elbow resting on one knee, and waited for the first unlucky bastard to step through. Behind him, he heard Damien sprinting for the trees.

    ‘Go!’ Damien yelled again, over the earpiece. His voice was dull over the ringing in Jay's ears. Damien was in position, covering Jay.

    Just as Jay was about to launch to his feet and run, there was a sliver of movement. He spotted a man advancing from the middle room. And someone behind him. Jay switched to full automatic and splashed a good ten rounds inside the room, just to pin them down, he hoped. Then he remembered his rounds were suppressed. They probably hadn’t even noticed. He ran like fuck.

    Ahead of him, he could make out Damien lying prone behind a palm tree, his left elbow and MP5 barely visible through Jay’s enhanced vision. It took ten seconds to clear the open ground. Jay dropped flat onto his chest, breathing deeply, then shuffled around so he was facing the house. Two men emerged from the blue door, rifles leveled. One flash of red. And another. They collapsed. Damien had dropped them.

    ‘Go,’ Jay said.

    Damien was off the ground and moving deeper into the band of palm trees that divided the town from the desert.

    ‘Go,’ he said.

    Jay jumped to his feet, adrenaline super-charging his movements. He ran. The cold desert air bit into his face and neck. Crackerjack’s words played over in his mind. Ghost explosions rang in his ears.

Denton’s attention was transfixed on archival footage. From the satellite, Qom was a handful of glittering diamonds on black velvet. And in the center of the diamonds, he noticed a brief flicker. At first, he thought it was just a glitch, a digital artifact in the footage. But a fraction of a second later the glitch was replaced by an object that looked like a bell-shaped jellyfish. A jellyfish that might’ve swallowed a bioluminescent tangerine.

    For a second, the tangerine jellyfish remained stable. Then it grew, expanding as though the city was its next big lunch. An explosion at a jerky twelve frames per second.

    Denton followed its hazy edges as it stretched outward in an ever-expanding sphere, shaking buildings and curdling the mountains in the north. He couldn’t see what happened next because the jellyfish—now a furious scarlet—blossomed into a white flash that expanded from Qom and consumed Tehran. When the white faded, all that remained in the immediate blast radius was a city-sized blanket of ash.

    Denton chewed his lip. With his thumb on the tracking ball, he wheeled the footage back to before the jellyfish, back to the time when his operatives had recovered Damien and Jay, and Sophia had escaped. He transposed the location where Sophia had last been seen over the top of the footage. Although Sophia had cut out her RFID, Denton had been lucky. The surveillance satellite was already in place to monitor the nuclear fallout, and that served him very well. Had Sophia continued north, his coverage would’ve been toast. But by heading west, she’d made a grave mistake. She’d unknowingly slipped into the satellite’s range, giving him this extraordinarily high-resolution footage in visual and infrared spectrum.

    He licked his lips, tasting the peculiar apple flavor of the Guaraná Antarctica Ice Penguin or whatever it was called. Switching to the infrared spectrum, he magnified in close to watch the interception.

    The bus smashed into the fire truck. Damien and Jay were stuck inside, buffered with sticky foam. Sophia plunged into the river and disappeared. Three hundred yards south of the bridge, her fuzzy outline crawled ashore. From there, she continued south on foot beside a hydroelectric plant. She kept herself concealed in the foliage. Had it not been for the infrared vision, he would’ve spent hours trying to pinpoint where she’d emerged. When she did, she was on a highway that ran parallel to the river. The first time he’d watched the footage, he was surprised she’d exposed herself to a main road, especially unarmed and wearing drenched, ill-fitting civilian clothes. But this time around, he wasn’t surprised. He was curious. Maybe it was the apple flavor.

    A pale blue car pulled up alongside Sophia. She approached the driver’s side and pulled the driver out. He wobbled, lost his balance and hit the asphalt. She took his place and drove the car southwest along the highway. Denton measured 1.4 miles before she took a right off the highway, then the first right after that, feeding her into a small street. She circled what looked like a factory, then parked in the parking lot and exited the vehicle. Denton watched with rising interest as she walked straight inside the factory. It was a Sunday. The place was likely to be closed.

    Now Sophia had a roof over her head, Denton could only use the infrared. He watched the blob that represented Sophia move around the factory before it decided to lie down. Was she injured? Had she found a concealed place to get some rest? He didn’t have the answer. Yet.

    He panned around the surrounding terrain. Mostly residential; some large vacant blocks. Others appeared to be growing crops. It was flat, spread out and exposed. Sophia wouldn’t attempt to cross it during the day, even by vehicle. She would wait until night, completely unaware that in two hours she’d be killed in a nuclear explosion.

    He leaned back in his chair. There was something about her movements that bugged him. Out in the open, on the highway. It didn’t make sense. She was trained to know better than that. Was she really that desperate? And lying down to rest in a factory. Why there?

    He shuttled the footage back and played it again, starting from her fall into the river. Out of the river. Move alongside the hydroelectric plant. Out onto the highway. Steal a car.

    He paused, watched again.

    Sophia pulled the driver out of the car.

    Denton zoomed in tight. At this altitude, it was getting blurry. He switched off infrared and replayed. She pulled the driver out of the car, but didn’t strike him. She didn’t need to. He’d lost his balance and fallen.

    There was something about the driver that prickled Denton’s mind. He couldn’t put his finger on it so he let the footage play out. Only this time he didn’t track Sophia, he stayed on the driver.

    The driver stood on the side of the highway for seventeen minutes and forty seconds, then waved down a van. The van pulled up and, after a quick verbal exchange through the window, the driver hitched a ride.

    Denton paused the footage to visit the vending machine. He swiped his ID for three more cans of Penguin Antarctica and carried them back to his desk. He cracked one open, filled his glass, then turned the infrared back on.

    Inside the van, a single person glowed. Denton almost choked on his drink. As far as the satellite was concerned, the driver Sophia had kicked out of the pale blue car seventeen minutes ago was the only person in the van. That was quite a feat, considering he wasn’t even fucking driving.

    There was something deeply troubling about this whole thing. Either the van was remote-controlled or the actual driver had blocked his infrared heat signature. Neither option was easy to pull off. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to do this. And it had to be connected with Sophia.

    He drained his glass and refilled it. Then dialed a number on his com.

    The call connected immediately.

    He said, ‘I need a hazmat team prepped 2200 hours Zulu Time Four.’

***

Through the visor of his XM50 mask, Denton observed the rocky mountain peaks south of Qom. Behind him, boots crunched over debris. He turned to see the team leader approach.

    ‘We’ve swept the factory for the third time,’ the team leader said, his tinny voice amplified through his mask’s voicemitter. ‘There’s nothing to recover here, Colonel.’

    Denton went to fold his arms, but the nuclear, biological and chemical warfare suit he was wearing made the movement too uncomfortable. He settled for hands on hips instead.

    ‘You’ve spent the entire afternoon in this factory and you haven’t even found a goddamn finger?’ he said.

    ‘I’m afraid not. The only bodies we’ve recovered are in the surrounding streets. No evidence inside the factory at all.’

    Denton grunted. ‘And what does that suggest to you?’

    ‘It suggests to me that Sophia was killed by one of the several explosions that went off inside this factory when the nuke hit.’

    ‘Actually,’ Denton cast a final glance at the empty factory, ‘the lack of evidence suggests to me she wasn’t killed at all.’

Sophia had read just about every English book in the library. Her Italian wasn’t strong enough to attempt any of the Italian-written seventeenth- and eighteenth-century works on theology, literature, history, botany, medicine or geography. She’d spent so much time learning Polish that her Italian left a lot to be desired.

    She placed the gramophone’s needle on her favorite piece, Variations in A-Dur. The light cadence reminded her of rain on the rooftops and it relaxed her in a way that no other piece could. Ribbons of glowing silvery pink drops danced above her, shimmering and swaying like flocks of candlelit birds. She enjoyed their movement. Instead of distracting her, they actually helped her focus as she skimmed through an Italian book on history. Which was probably why this was her favorite piece. She was beginning to grow fond of her mixed senses—or ‘synesthesia’ as Leoncjusz had called it. Though he’d said it wouldn’t last. 

    She turned the pages of the Italian book, able to identify some words while just glazing over others. It was like a puzzle without enough clues. She picked up enough of one section to work out it was about Christmas. In Italy, Christmas was celebrated from 24 December through to 6 January, with Christmas markets beginning weeks in advance. She didn’t understand much of the rest of the text, except that families hung ornaments from their Christmas trees and attended the local Mercatino di Natale, Christmas market, to eat and celebrate. 

    Over the music, she heard the faint squeals of children playing in the streets. There were more of them than usual. Then she realized they must be going to the Christmas market. Putting the book aside, she went to seek out Leoncjusz.

    He was in his office, which wasn’t at all unusual, sitting in almost trance-like stillness, his reading glasses resting low on his nose. He was studying a handful of papers with notes scribed in black ink. The glowing drops from the gramophone followed her into the heated office and playfully swooped down on Leoncjusz from the high ceiling.

    ‘I’ve been trapped in here for months,’ Sophia said. ‘It’s the twelfth day of December.’

    Leoncjusz slowly looked up from his papers. ‘I am not fond of eggnog. However, if cup of tea is on offer before dinner  . . .’

    ‘I can hear the Christmas market.’

    He raised an eyebrow; his sign that he was waiting for her to make her point.

    She wanted to escape and this was her chance.

    ‘I want . . . well, I want a Christmas tree.’

    Leoncjusz leaned back in his chair. ‘Why do you want this?’

    She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I guess because I’ve never had one before.’

    He placed the papers on his desk, then cleared his throat with two deliberate breaths. ‘We cannot risk you leaving library. You know this.’

    She crossed her arms. ‘Can you get a tree then? I’ll stay here. As usual.’

    Leoncjusz stood. His face cracked into an unexpected smile. ‘But what is Christmas tree without decoration? And surely I will need help picking them out.’

    He switched off the column heater and moved towards the coat rack.

    ‘It is cold out there.’ He pulled a coat off the rack and gave it to her. ‘You will need my second favorite coat.’

***

With her neck wrapped in a scarf and hands jammed into lambswool coat pockets, Sophia followed Leoncjusz to the oak doors. He opened them and stepped outside. She followed him onto the cobblestoned side street. It was her first time outdoors in months. She watched her breath melt into the frosted night.

    The narrow side street was seamed with three-story stone buildings with iron-barred windows and doors nearly always shaped in an arch and tall enough to have been made for giants. Fairy lights crisscrossed above the cobblestones, glittering vibrantly under brick archways. A band of musicians marched past, three by three. They wore blue jeans and Santa hats and played clarinets, flutes and drums. One musician was dressed head to toe as Santa Claus, his white beard tucked under his chin so he could play his trumpet.

    Orange shapes, rich like chocolate, poured from the trumpet’s bell. Other shapes, thousands of them, danced playfully in the wake of the marching musicians. Some were yellow and pliable, others were white and rich. Sophia stepped forward so they jiggled and bounced all over her in a sort of citrus candy dance.

    ‘This way,’ Leoncjusz said, following the band. ‘No more than ten feet from me at all time.’

    Sophia fell in step beside him, his cinnamon-scented accent making her hungry. The citrus shapes scattered before her, melting before her shoes reached them. A Dalmatian dog on a balcony above poked its head between the iron bars for a curious peek at the jeans-and-Santa band. A mischievous yellow triangle bounced off its ear. The dog scratched its ear, pricking it up while the other one remained flat. Sophia laughed, and the sound created a momentary hole in the dancing citrus shapes.

    The Christmas market was located in the town square, its centerpiece a magnificent Christmas tree at least six levels high, adorned with lights and scarlet orbs. Underneath the tree were an impressive array of nativity scenes and crib displays. Sophia didn’t pay it attention for long, however, as the displays of cheeses, vin brulé and polenta proved too hard to resist. One display that caught her attention featured four majestically dressed pigs sitting at a table and dining on chestnuts and port.

    ‘You are hungry, yes?’ Leoncjusz said. ‘The polenta looks lovely. I will get some for dinner. Wait here.’

    ‘Shouldn’t I keep no more than ten feet—’

    He walked off, her words lost in the music around them.

    Doing as he said, she stayed exactly where she was, near a stall of toy Santas climbing rope ladders. Why they were climbing rope ladders she had no idea, and made a note to ask Leoncjusz when he returned. None of the children’s toys were packaged in boxes. Everything seemed so much more real here, so trustworthy. She couldn’t help but contrast it with the Fifth Column, Denton, the false construct that was her life. Where had it come from, this immutable, vicious evil? How had it stolen its way into humanity, into the world? She didn’t have the answers, and it bothered her.

    She stepped aside as half a dozen children scampered past her, shouting and giggling, hands full of chocolate and Santa’s black coal candy. A happily inebriated egg-shaped man stuffed his wallet into his back pocket and emptied wine from a plastic cup into his mouth. Although he looked Italian, he was dressed as a tourist. Sophia pushed past him, pressing her hip against his wallet, and slid it out with her nearest hand. She slipped it into her jacket pocket for now.

    Behind her, there was a new band of musicians, with violins and flutes this time. They played Christmas carols that spurted glittering fireflies up above the crowd. It was a private masterpiece only she could see, and it made her smile.

    Following the musicians came a perfectly timed flow of line dancers connected by interlocked elbows. They reminded her of the Barrel of Monkeys game she used to play as a kid with her younger sister, Tereza.

    Sophia found herself smiling as she watched the locals dance past. She checked the stolen wallet. Two fifties and two twenties. A total of 140 euros, which would do her just nicely—she would convert them to the correct currency when the time was right. She discreetly dropped the wallet on the ground and slipped the euros into the hip pocket of her jeans.

    An older woman with the energy of someone a third of her age seized her hand, taking Sophia completely by surprise. The woman pulled her into the line, shaking her arm to encourage her to dance. Sophia’s instinct was to pull away, but she found herself moving in step with the music, the fireflies glittering past her in encouraging spirals, and realized she was actually enjoying it.

    She spotted Leoncjusz as her line of dancers rounded past him. He was looking serious as he lined up at a food stall. As she passed him, he noticed her and a look of surprise came to his face. She flashed him a smile and hooked her arm around his. He didn’t have time to avoid her, or even to get angry because she wasn’t waiting where he’d said. He didn’t break the line and walk away either, so that was a good sign. Instead, he laughed nervously as he struggled to get in step with everyone else.

    ‘I lose my place in line!’ he yelled over the music.

    She spotted evidence of a half-smile. Two fireflies circled him like moons around a planet.

    The band reached the center of the town square and the ever-growing line of dancers coiled in closer and closer. The fireflies whipped themselves into a frenzy above their heads, funneling into an ever-intensifying spiral. She looked up from Leoncjusz’s feet to find him grinning from ear to ear. A great many people had joined in the line behind him. He couldn’t break away now if he tried. She laughed. That’s what he got for making her a hermit for all these months.

    The fireflies burst from their formation, exploding outwards like a family of shooting stars and fading into the ink of the night. It was then she realized the musicians had stopped playing. The dancing locals began to disperse, exhausted but smiling.

    Sophia was hot inside her jacket. She unzipped it to cool down and turned to Leoncjusz. He was laughing between heavy breaths.

    ‘This is last time I take you out of library,’ he said. ‘I am too old for dancing!’

    ‘Sure you are,’ she said. ‘You had the most fun out of everyone!’

    He shook his head, smiling. ‘If I ever had daughter, I would hope her to be like you, the real you.’ 

    She smiled. It felt good having someone around who wasn’t a programmed killer. Maybe she’d save her escape for next time and stay just a little bit longer. After all, it was quite some time since she’d decorated a Christmas tree.

    ‘Look there,’ he said. ‘I see ornaments we might like.’

    Her legs felt like Jell-O after the dancing, but it didn’t stop her hurrying to inspect the glass balls. She held up a violet-colored one. ‘We should get some of these.’

    Leoncjusz smiled, and picked up a ruby-colored ball. ‘My mother call these bombka.’ 

    ‘What does that mean?’

    His smile disappeared. ‘It Polish for “little bomb”.’

    Sophia took the bombka and inspected it. ‘It’s a bit like me.’ 

***

Sophia hooked the last of the bombka onto the Christmas tree. It was only the same height as she was when kneeling, but perfectly adequate. The glass balls adorned the tree like a rainbow of gemstones: ruby, amethyst, irradiated blue sapphire, turquoise and even a mottled black and gray one that could have passed for snowflake obsidian. 

    ‘I don’t think we’ve done too badly,’ Sophia said.

    Leoncjusz exhaled as he sank into an armchair, still wearing his winter coat. There was no roaring fireplace, but they had the spare heater Sophia normally used while reading.

    ‘I have present for you,’ he said, removing a cloth package from a deep pocket in his coat and unwrapping it upon his lap.

    She half-expected a lump of coal, but there was a passport inside.

    ‘Your new identity,’ he said, and held it up to reveal a pistol and flashbang underneath.

    Every instinct fired inside her, and it took every effort to suppress them.

    But he didn’t take the pistol in his hand. Instead, he lowered the cloth package, the pistol still inside, to the rug on the floor. She could see the pistol was unloaded, and there was another item in the cloth wrapping—a magazine packed with live rounds.

    Sophia shifted into a crouch. ‘What’s that for?’

    He met her gaze, unusually relaxed. ‘I also have bullet-resistant vest for you and some other items that might be of use.’

    ‘But what for?’

    ‘How many months has it been?’ he said.

    She blinked. ‘Five, I think.’

    ‘Five. And I have shown you all I can. Now,’ he nudged the cloth package towards her with his foot, ‘you kill me. If you want to.’

    ‘Why?’

    He looked confused. As though he was making perfect sense and she wasn’t listening properly. ‘This is my Christmas gift for you. Liberation.’

    ‘Liberation?’

    ‘How doth the little crocodile improve his shining tail? And pour the waters of the Nile on every golden scale.’

    It was a test, she told herself. It had to be. Had he been working for Denton all along? Was the journal written to fool her? He hadn’t seemed too upset when he caught her looking through it. Had he even gone to the market to do their grocery shopping or had someone else done it while he waited close by to catch her? Perhaps it was all part of the plan. Everything carefully staged to test her. To see if she was fit for service.

    Worse, he might be completely delusional. That journal of his could be pure fantasy. McLoughlin could be imagined. The deprogramming might not be what he said it was. Maybe just a few parlor tricks he’d picked up in some sort of hypnotherapy book. Or maybe something far more insidious.

    She picked up the pistol and inspected it. It was a slim-framed Glock 36. The magazine appeared to be loaded with .45 ACP rounds.

    It didn’t matter what side he was on, whether he had good intentions or bad ones, whether he was telling the truth or lying, whether he was delusional or sane. She had been his prisoner for five months. Physically and mentally.

    ‘You have two choice,’ he said. ‘You can help us or you can walk away.’

    ‘All my programming, is it gone?’

    He nodded.

    Sophia loaded the magazine. ‘And the parameter that kept me from leaving?’

    ‘Everything, Sophia.’

    She cocked the pistol. Instinct took over. She didn’t have control any more. Her eyes welled up, spilling tears onto her cheeks. She aimed at his head.

    ‘What are you doing?’ he said.

    ‘I’m sorry.’

    She fired.

Sophia lowered her pistol and decocked it. She let it drop to the carpet. Leoncjusz inspected her desk and the hole it now sported.

    ‘I thought you were going to shoot me,’ he said.

    She wiped the tears from her face. ‘So did I.’

    She was different now. She couldn’t hurt Leoncjusz.

    He picked up her passport and handed it to her. There was money inside.

    ‘This is your new life,’ he said. ‘You can do what you like now.’

***

The next morning, Sophia got dressed in a pair of jeans and a hooded sweater from the stash of clothes Leoncjusz had organized for her. She put the kettle on in the makeshift kitchen and noticed a dust-laden photocopier next to the bin. Leoncjusz must have found it in the library and moved it here.

    She turned it on. It beeped and a strip of dust glowed green above a liquid crystal display. She lifted the cover and planted her hand on the glass, then hit the start button. The photocopier hummed to life and swept under the glass with a begrudging whine, then spat a piece of paper into the side tray. She picked it up and smiled. It was in perfect working order.

    She screwed up the paper and tossed it in the kitchen trash can before entering Leoncjusz’s office to ask if he wanted a cup of tea. She’d already prepared the teapot for two, knowing he’d say yes. But he wasn’t in his office. She checked the clock on his desk. It was twenty to nine. He was usually in here from seven onwards, working away on his programming papers. He didn’t budge until he was hungry enough to make breakfast. And that was rarely before ten. Perhaps he was in the bathroom.

    Letting the tea steep for a few minutes, she entered the Pacciani Room. Leoncjusz was there, dusting off a desk she hadn’t seen before.

    ‘A new desk?’ she said.

    He looked over his shoulder. ‘Oh, yes. Well, no. Old desk actually. I found it in storage this morning.’ He gave it one final wipe with an old rag he’d made from torn clothing. ‘This should be suitable, yes?’

    Sophia smiled. ‘Yes.’

    He clasped his hands before him. ‘You have made decision then.’

    She pressed her lips together. ‘There’s a bus I can take.’

    He nodded. ‘It is best I don’t know where.’

    ‘Leon,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’

    He shrugged. ‘I shall thank you,’ he said. ‘I must to redeem myself some way.’

    She forced a quick smile. ‘Me too.’

    ‘The resistance I am part of, it is called Akhana,’ Leoncjusz said. ‘I am meeting liaison this afternoon in Pondetera, to negotiate safe passage to Akhana base in Belize. It would mean lot to me if you stay until I return this afternoon. I cannot have you travel on empty stomach.’

    Sophia found herself agreeing. ‘OK. I’ll hang around a bit.’

***

While Leoncjusz was away, Sophia found herself sitting at her new desk, her tea long gone cold. All she could think about was her dead family. She had to go home. At the very least, she felt she needed to say goodbye.

    She returned to her room, took off her clothes and put on the para-aramid bullet-resistant vest Leoncjusz had given her. It was part of the package, along with the passport, flashbang and Glock that the Akhana had delivered to Leoncjusz. He had placed it outside her bedroom door last night. She inserted the boron carbide plates that came with it, then covered it with a T-shirt, a fitted black jacket and jeans. She double-checked her bag. Inside, her passport, the Glock and the flashbang.

    There was one more thing she wanted to take. She returned to Leoncjusz’s office and fished out his journal. She took it to the photocopier and made a copy of every two-page spread. She bound them with bulldog clips and stuffed them into her bag. She had translated most of the journal already but there might be something she’d overlooked. She packed the Italian–German and Italian–English dictionaries too, only to find they weighed her bag down. She removed them and made a mental note to purchase a pocket-sized German–English dictionary.

    As an afterthought, she stuffed the flashbang up the right arm of her jacket, pressed against her forearm, then zipped the cuff to stop it falling out. She moved her arms in circles and walked around, testing to make sure the grenade wasn’t going to slip out or impair her movement. Once she was satisfied, she unzipped the cuff and slipped the grenade into her bag again for now, then changed her mind in case someone wanted to search her bag and zipped it in her cuff again. She had the money she’d pickpocketed at the Mercatino di Natale as well as the stash Leoncjusz had put in her passport. In total, that gave her 1025 euros. 

    It was below zero outside, so she borrowed Leoncjusz’s second favorite coat and pulled it on over her jacket.

***

Firenze Santa Maria Novella station was all marble, concrete and skylight. The night train set Sophia back ninety-six euros and departed just after 1900 hours. She passed the time by drinking too much espresso and watching a well-dressed half-European, half-Asian woman con tourists out of loose change. By the time the train arrived, the woman had collected from no less than twenty-six tourists. Sophia had to admit she was impressed.

    On the train, she tried to take advantage of the reclining seat by getting some sleep, but it was a conflict of old habits: trying to snatch sleep wherever possible and keeping her wits about her in public. She’d selected a seat in the corner, with easy access to the adjoining carriage and where no one could sneak up on her, but by the time the train pulled into Vienna the next morning, she’d only managed three hours of sleep. She felt like she’d been hit by a train instead of riding one.

    The next leg of the journey didn’t have a reclining seat, but by that point she was too wired even to think about getting some rest. She played the scenario over and over inside her head. What if her parents opened the door? But it wasn’t possible. She knew they were dead. What if Denton had permanent surveillance on the apartment block in case she was alive? She had to be careful.

    The train crawled under the arched skylight at Prague train station. She pulled the collar of Leoncjusz’s coat tight around her neck, grateful for its lambswool lining, and moved with the crowd onto the platform.

***

The dirty gray Communist-era paneláks—prefab public housing blocks—stood as concrete guardians in the snow. They looked like makeshift fortifications constructed by an army that was desperately short on funding. 

    She recognized her parents’ panelák, only the concrete panels had eroded since she’d seen them last. She walked up the slick concrete path to find the nameplates on the intercom buzzer had been torn off. 

    Entry into the panelák wasn’t a major issue. The door was open, but the entrance was cluttered with idle residents, mostly women save for a topless barrel-chested man and a three-year-old boy who rode up and down the icy sidewalk in a little red plastic car. The women glared at Sophia as she walked up the concrete steps, but said nothing. A rake-thin young man wearing a white baseball cap and a sleeveless puffy jacket leered at her from where he leaned against the open door. She walked past him, inside, ready for anything he might try on her. But all he did was stare. 

    She moved through the lobby to the stairs. Even if the elevators worked—and they rarely had—she didn’t want to risk being stuck in one. Plus, she needed the exercise. It didn’t take her long to climb the six flights of stairs, although it did leave her out of breath and sweating inside the lambswool coat. She made a mental note to ramp up her physical training when she returned to the library.

    The corridor walls were scrawled with graffiti in several languages. Sophia reached the door for her parents’ flat. None of this seemed familiar. But she knew it should. She felt sick in her stomach. She didn’t know what to expect.

    She knocked, then counted to twenty. Once she reached twenty she would—

    The door opened, the door chain still attached. An elderly woman peered through the gap. ‘Máte prání?’ Her voice smelled slightly sweet, like stewed apple with raw sugar. 

    ‘Mrs. Novotný?’ Sophia said.

    ‘You have wrong place.’ Another voice, male. Strong and confronting, like burnt coffee.

    Sophia looked over her shoulder to find the person who had spoken English. A waif-thin elderly man stood twenty feet away, oversized knuckles clutching a spindly walking stick. He seemed perfectly able to stand without it.

    ‘Josef and his wife,’ he said, ‘they were robbed years before.’

    Her first operation had been made to look like a robbery. She’d stopped a cell of Al-Qaeda terrorists from preparing a dirty bomb in an apartment just like this. She had killed them all. The sick feeling in her stomach dispersed into the rest of her body.

    ‘Where are they now?’ she said.

    ‘Bless them. They were killed in the robbery. And their children too.’

    All feeling drained from Sophia. She focused on an empty plastic bag in front of her. It drifted aimlessly across the floor. She turned and headed for the stairwell.

    ‘It wasn’t a robbery,’ she said.

Sophia returned to Volterra the same way she had come. Two buses and two trains. This time, the trip seemed longer. She slept the last leg of the train even though it ran through the day.

    When she arrived back in Volterra she was exhausted and hungry. And empty. She shut the large wooden doors behind her, locked them, then proceeded through the glass and iron-barred doors that separated the lobby from the library proper. She prepared in her head what to say to Leoncjusz as she walked into the Pacciani Room. But when she saw him, she forgot all about it.

    He was lying in a pool of blood.

    She inhaled sharply, fought the urge to vomit. Her attention was transfixed on his body. Several gunshots to the chest. The blood didn’t look fresh. He wasn’t breathing. He wasn’t wearing his vest. He was supposed to wear his vest but he wasn’t. It looked like he hadn’t been breathing for quite some time. She couldn’t think. Her breathing was sharp and erratic. She forced herself to take deep breaths. She leaned forward, hands on knees.

    Focus. Think. Focus. Breathe. Breathe. Carpet. Black and red dye. Breathe. Shot in the chest. She wasn’t here to save him. She fucking wasn’t here to save him.

    She stopped breathing, her senses tuned to the silence.

    She wasn’t alone.

    Emerging from the front, to her left and right were—how many of them were there?—Blue Berets. Their MP5s with suppressors aimed at her head.

    If they find you, they will kill you. 

    One of them, likely the sergeant although he wore no rank insignia, yelled, ‘Hands on your head!’

    Sophia slowly raised her hands to the back of her head. She blocked out Leoncjusz as best she could and analyzed their movements, their location, their weapons, her weapons. Everything. She processed everything.

    They moved carefully to form an asymmetrical circle around her. There was movement on the balcony above. A figure appeared, leaned against the railing to watch her. Denton. Her captor. She imagined putting two rounds into the bridge of his nose.

    ‘You told me my family died in a terrorist attack,’ she said as she slipped her little finger into the cuff of her other sleeve.

    Denton smiled. A calculatingly gradual smile. It seemed rehearsed. ‘Considering our specialty is fabricating terrorist attacks, I actually told you the truth.’

    Her little finger explored the cuff, touched the ring of the flashbang.

    The lights from the high ceiling cast a white silhouette over Denton’s shaven head and imprinted a heavy shadow over his gaunt face. His cheekbones looked razor sharp and the shadow of his slightly hooked nose formed a black arrow from his nostrils down to his thin lips.

    ‘Apologies for the intrusion,’ he said. ‘For each operative I bring out here, they need to babysit ten Blue Berets apiece. Hardly convenient.’

    ‘Neither is having a conscience.’ Sophia tugged at the ring. ‘But I suppose you wouldn’t know.’

    Denton caressed the railing with both hands. ‘I’m not here to kill you, Sophia. In fact, I was hoping we could come to some sort of arrangement.’

    The muscles working in his jaw were visible as he closed his mouth and clenched his teeth. A spaghetti-shaped vein quivered above his right eye.

    Minimum of ten Blue Berets and one operative. She wondered where the operative was.

    ‘The decision is entirely yours,’ he said. ‘Of course, if you decide not to accept, then our contract will need to be terminated.’

    The flashbang slipped from her jacket cuff and hit the ground behind her, the ring still in her hand. The grenade bounced towards a Blue Beret at her seven o’clock.

    She planted her hands firmly over her ears and, through clenched teeth, said, ‘I couldn’t agree more.’

***

Jay stood on an Etruscan watchtower, the suppressor on his M110 SASS rifle leveled over Volterra’s moonlit rooftops. He’d heard the flashbang go off. Now all he could do was wait. And watch.

    ‘Oscar Five Delta to Tango Zero Juliet.’ Denton’s out-of-breath voice hissed into his earpiece. ‘Eyes on the rooftops. It’s the target’s only way out, over.’

    ‘Tango Zero Juliet to Oscar Five Delta,’ Jay said softly into his throat mike. ‘If she’s on the roof, she’s all mine, over.’

    He allowed his vision to slip into the near-infrared range and watched for fiery red and orange shapes in the distance. He might’ve missed the intake for the Mark II shocktrooper program, but at least he’d scored the pentachromatic upgrade. Not only could he see ultraviolet like the other tetrachromatic operatives, he could see infrared as good as any pigeon or butterfly. Forget the night-vision and thermal goggles, he was a motherfucking butterfly now. And it made for a nice party trick.

    He could make out Blue Beret snipers posted in two other locations, and a local middle-aged male about three blocks from the library. He leaned against a wall, drawing impatiently on a cigarette. Jay ignored him and focused on the hot zone.

    ‘This is Echo Four Whiskey,’ a Blue Beret said. ‘Target has vacated the building from the second floor. I repeat, target has vacated the building from the second floor, over.’

    A red human-shaped blob slinked across a neighboring rooftop, rose to full height and then began running, head down low for balance.

    He tracked her through his telescopic sight. He didn’t even need to line her height against the mil-dots that formed the center of his crosshair; he already knew she was a quarter of a mile away, having measured the distance from the rooftop earlier that night. A quarter of a mile meant a four inch drop. And that meant he needed to aim four inches above her head to acquire the headshot. He knew she’d be wearing armor.

    Sophia ran across the rooftop. Jay exhaled, the ball of his finger over the trigger. Sophia crouched down, ready to jump to another rooftop. He aimed for her head. He inhaled slightly, by accident, and had to exhale again. He squeezed the trigger.

    Sophia never made the jump.

***

Sophia fell headfirst. Right through the giant Christmas tree. Blood flowed warm over her cheeks. A thick, unforgiving branch crunched against her shoulder. She slipped past it, plummeting further through the tree. At the risk of breaking her arms, she reached out, clawed desperately at branches to slow her fall. She could hardly breathe, the large-caliber round having knocked the wind from her. Bark scraped her neck. A branch smashed her wrist. Another caught her leg, slinging her entire body around. She was almost the right way up. She hooked a branch with her leg and swung upside down. Her bag hit her in the back of the neck. Blood rushed to her head. She’d stopped falling.

    Opening her eyes, she found herself only twenty feet from the ground. There was nothing below but cobblestones and a stone carving of Jesus. She breathed. Hard. Her lungs burned but she didn’t care. She was alive. The Christmas tree had saved her.

    Carefully, yet as quickly as possible, she climbed down the tree trunk. She landed quietly on her feet beside the Jesus statue. He stared blankly at her. She patted him on the head. ‘Thanks, Jesus.’

    She found a dark crevasse of an alleyway and hid there for a moment, catching her breath. In the darkness, she let her night-vision adjust as she checked her body for injuries. Nothing broken, amazingly. But plenty of cuts and scrapes, most of them concealed. One very tender portion between her shoulder blades where the large-caliber round had struck just above her bag. She was wearing her vest and front and back plates, luckily. The sniper had hit her upper back, shattering the back plate, which had absorbed at least some of the blow. But it was going to be even more painful in the morning.

    Whoever the operative was, they’d messed up the shot. She was lucky to be alive.

    Denton’s Blue Berets might be incapacitated, but there would be more. And the operative was still out there. They’d be looking to recover her body. She had to get out of here right now.

    She could hear the sound of guitars and singing up the road, along with the crackle of a bonfire. A cluster of people around what would be a very large heat source. Exactly what she needed to slip away undetected from Blue Berets, operatives and eyes in the sky.

‘Ti sei fatto male?’ the woman behind the counter at the bookstore said. Are you hurt? 

    Sophia winced. She smiled and shook her head. ‘No, ero solo fare una corsa.’ No, I was just running. 

    She placed her purchases on the counter: a blank notepad, two pens, a pocket-sized Polish–English dictionary and an English Lonely Planet guide to Belize. She paid in exact cash and headed for the exit, focused on walking as naturally as possible despite the incredible bruise that tarnished her shoulder blades.

    She had stolen a car from Volterra and driven to Florence. She’d left the car in an alleyway and changed her direction three times before approaching the bookstore. As she made her slow walk out of the store appear leisurely, she double-checked everyone walking in and out.

    Above the store’s entrance, a television displayed a newsreader covering the long-term health effects of the Gulf of Mexico oil spill, which was now being blamed for everything from the catastrophic weather, destroyed crops, rising cost of food and doomsday hysteria. Sophia slowed to watch. After the newsreader’s bit was done, they crossed to a reporter for some breaking news. In the background, US soldiers and armored personnel carriers patrolled the city streets. The reporter gave her most informed opinion on the rumors of martial law for the United States.

    As Sophia walked under the television, it cut back to the studio where the anchorman and woman nodded stiffly as the teleprompter fed them their next story. Something about a dangerous cult called the Alquimie, suspected of being responsible for the recent spate of violent protests in Washington. Denton had probably written the script for them. Did this Alquimie even exist? If it was real, it’d surely be carefully managed by the Fifth Column. Even the Akhana could be. She didn’t know. But she wanted to find out.

    She walked out onto the cobblestoned street, her bag hugging her bruised back. She avoided a large middle-aged woman on a bicycle, then made her way past a fleet of parked Vespas and down the narrow sidewalk of an equally narrow one-way backstreet. The right-hand side was lined with Smart cars, Volkswagen Minis, Renaults and other conveniently compact cars. Even in the afternoon, the street was void of any foot traffic, with only the occasional scooter, van and a single black Porsche.

    Florence had a lot in common with Volterra. The tall, arched wooden doors, the wrought-iron street lamps extruding from the buildings, the wooden shutters on the windows of the three-story buildings. She reached a small intersection with a theater on the left and a newsstand on the right. She continued ahead, cutting through a small park and past a church. In front of her was a large grassy traffic circle. Beyond it, the Firenze Santa Maria Novella train station, which looked somewhat drab when compared to the Gothic architecture that surrounded it. She lined up at the automatic ticket machines to purchase a ticket.

    As she’d expected for Christmas season, the station was swarming with families. She weaved through them, doing her best to smooth out her limp on the striped marble floors. Despite the ticket-machine lines, she reached her platform with twenty minutes to spare. The high-speed train would take her to Rome. Then a traditional train would take her to Naples, and then another high-speed to Palermo. From there, her best way out of Europe was by tanker ship to South America. It would take quite some time to reach her destination, but it was the safest option. It also meant she could keep the Glock.

    Seven hours of travel time awaited her. The first two trips she planned to spend working out where this Akhana base might be, and on the last trip, the longest, she would plot exactly how she was going to get there.

***

The train jolted, banging Sophia’s head against the window and waking her. The carriage was almost empty. She remembered deciding to rest her eyes as the train entered the underwater tunnel. Now, she found herself looking out at the coastline. The population was sparse out here in the Sicilian countryside. A few houses overlooked a calm, pale blue ocean. Out the other side of the carriage, she could see rocky knolls and a main road buzzing with small cars.

    Sophia blinked several times, pushed herself upright in her chair. Her bag was sitting on her lap, her hands still gripping it. She pulled her notes out. During her travels so far, she’d read Leoncjusz’s journal from when her name was first mentioned to the very end, checking every word she didn’t recognize in case it offered a hint to the location of the Akhana base. It had gradually become clear to her that even Leoncjusz didn’t know the exact location. It would’ve been smarter to find the Akhana liaison he’d met with, but that had been at least twenty-four hours ago.

    With only an hour and a bit of her train ride remaining, she dug out the Lonely Planet guide to Belize. Despite it being a book for tourists, she thought it would offer enough about the terrain to help her figure out the most likely place for a secret resistance base. Or at least that was what she hoped to do.

    She found a full map of the tropical country and sketched it out on her notepad. Then she returned to the first page and started from there. The first thing she noted was that forty percent of Belize was protected, mostly in the form of national parks, wildlife sanctuaries and marine reserves. The second thing was that it had the lowest population density in the world. Page by page, she marked on her notebook all the places mentioned by Lonely Planet. By the time she was done, she had a map of every area where the base would not be. Now it was up to her to fill in the gaps. 

    She circled the Cayo District, affectionately known as the Wild West of Belize, and took note of the areas that were unmarked. There were a couple of forest reserves and national parks that looked promising, especially since the book warned that vehicles passing through were sometimes ambushed by bandits. She paused for a moment. It was dry season, but there would still be a great deal of rain, and in the south there’d be at least one downpour every day. That meant the base had to be on high ground so it wouldn’t get flooded out during the wet season.

    Sophia crossed out her selections and instead circled the Maya Mountains, just south of where she’d been looking. Lonely Planet had mentioned limestone caves inside the mountains, once used as gateways to the underworld by the Mayans to give sacrifices to their gods. It made sense to utilize existing cave networks to fashion a base. All the more reason to suspect the Akhana headquarters might be hidden inside a Belizean mountain.

    She circled all of the mountainous regions not frequented by tourists. One such region fell into two forest reserves that joined: the Columbia Forest Reserve and the Deep River Forest Reserve. According to the map, the Southern Highway ran straight through the middle of the Deep River Forest Reserve, so that immediate area was out. But further along she spotted an interesting cluster of mountainous terrain. There was the occasional camp listed, but that was it.

    Rivers. It seemed likely the base was located within range of a river. They couldn’t get all their water from condensation or shipping. Unless they had their own underground well. She hoped not, and marked the one notable river that could supply them with good water: the Rio Grande.

    She followed the river as it snaked north, deep into the forest reserve. She circled it twice. If she wanted to build a concealed base, she would build it there. She just hoped these Akhana folk thought the same way.

Every time, the dream was the same. He was six years old again. He looked up to see the twisted olive branches weaving into each other, creating a thick-latticed arch above that broke the crystal-blue sky into slivers. It was the longer way home from school but Damien liked it better than the gloomy alleyways. He was knee-high in soft emerald grass, his schoolbag slung over his right shoulder. A breeze tickled the grass. It reminded him of the way the fur moved on the back of his dog, Primo, when he shivered at the back door, wanting to be let inside. The shivering was just for show, but if no one was looking Damien would let him inside anyway.

    He heard voices not far behind him. They sounded about his age. He recognized one of the voices as Ernesto’s. It wasn’t surprising: the olive grove was no secret and lots of kids played here. Damien sped up just a bit, not too much in case it caught Ernesto’s attention.

    Not that it mattered. Ernesto had already seen him.

    ‘Damiano!’

    Damien ignored him and kept walking. This was the ‘pretend to be your best friend’ part. He could hear them stomping through the grass behind him. He stayed his course and let Ernesto sidle up to him and slap him on the back.

    ‘Damiano, I have to ask you something.’

    Damien kept walking. He knew Ernesto’s boys were surrounding him. He’d thought that if he stayed quiet and kept from drawing attention to himself, Ernesto’s gang wouldn’t notice him. But they had. Last time, Ernesto had told Damien he could beat him in a fight. Damien knew that if he disagreed, Ernesto would want to prove it. So he’d agreed. But Ernesto had just pushed him over and laughed.

    Damien had never fought anyone before. He had an older sister and no brothers to fight with. But he’d seen his father punch a few grown-ups. He’d held his thumb outside of his fist and aimed with his knuckles to the side of the face. Damien wasn’t sure he could do that to Ernesto. But if Ernesto tried to punch him, he couldn’t just stand there.

    Damien’s heart pumped faster. He gripped onto his schoolbag with his right hand. If he was going to punch anyone, he’d be better with his left. He was left-handed, and kicked the ball with his left foot.

    Ernesto spent most of his time with his finger up his nose or scratching dandruff, but this time his meaty hands dangled at his sides.

    ‘Damiano, are you heterosexual?’ he said.

    Damien didn’t know what a heterosexual was. It had to be something embarrassing, he guessed.

    ‘No, non credo.’ 

    Ernesto burst out laughing. His boys joined in. They slapped Damien on the back and shoved him around as they laughed. He continued walking, making sure to keep his steps steady so he wasn’t knocked over. He could hear voices at the far end of the olive grove. If he could make it that far he’d be alright.

    ‘You’re a fag!’ Ernesto said, and shoved Damien’s schoolbag hard from the side.

    Damien moved quickly, leaping to the left. Just managed to keep his footing. But another boy was waiting for him and shoved him back the other way. He stumbled towards Ernesto, tripped in the long grass and fell on his side. Ernesto kicked him hard in the back. Damien’s schoolbag absorbed the blow.

    He quickly got to his feet. The wind whistled through the grass, making it ripple around him.

    Ernesto grabbed clumps of Damien’s shirt at the shoulders. He swung Damien around, trying to make him lose his balance again. As Damien staggered past, one of the boys extended a foot. Damien stumbled but managed to stay upright. His bag came free, dropping into the long grass. Ernesto and his boys surrounded him, chanting together, ‘Fag!’

    ‘I bet I can beat you in a fight,’ Ernesto said.

    ‘I guess so,’ Damien mumbled.

    Ernesto laughed. His right shoulder rolled back, then his meaty arm hooked through the air. He wanted to prove it.

    Damien didn’t know what to do. His knees bent and he ducked the fist. Before he even realized what he was doing, he launched forward, his arm stretched out. His fist didn’t hook through the air like his father’s punches, but it still connected with Ernesto’s nose. A direct strike, like one of those jack-in-the-boxes.

    Ernesto stepped back. Not from the punch, it wasn’t powerful enough, but out of surprise. Blood poured from his nose.

    ‘I’m sorry!’ Damien said. ‘I’m sorry!’

    Someone grabbed him from behind and kicked his feet out from under him. He fell backwards, swallowed by grass. The boys started kicking him. Pain flared in his stomach and ribs. He curled up, arms over his face. One kick glanced off his forearm, grazing the skin and drawing blood.

    Blood stained his shirt, but it wasn’t his. Ernesto was on top of him, fists raining down, smashing into Damien’s thin forearms. The other boys grabbed Damien’s wrists and stretched him out so he couldn’t defend himself. Ernesto wrapped one hand around the front of Damien’s throat and pulled his other arm back, ready to punch him in the face. Blood dripped from Ernesto’s contorted lips onto Damien’s lips.

    Damien bucked underneath him, breathing faster, trying to draw in air. He managed to pull an arm free and tried to pry Ernesto’s hand from his throat. Damien could barely wrap his fingers over the boy’s thick wrist, let alone pull it off. Ernesto’s grip was too strong. He reached out and covered Ernesto’s eyes instead, delaying his punch. Growling, Ernesto pulled Damien’s hand away and went to punch again.

    Damien pressed his hand against Ernesto’s forehead. He focused on a part of Ernesto’s brain; he could see it in his mind. He had no idea what he was doing, but he found something. His hand tingled.

    Ernesto blinked. Sweat poured from his beet-red face. He started to cough and his grip relaxed.

    Damien inhaled the deepest breath he’d ever taken.

    Ernesto’s arms shook uncontrollably. His whole body trembled. He looked as if he was possessed by the devil. The other boys fled without a word.

    Damien had seen the hero take down the big bad guy in movies, causing the other bad guys to run away. He’d never thought it could happen in real life. But it just had. What had he done?

    He peeled his hand from Ernesto’s forehead. Ernesto collapsed onto his side, giving Damien just enough room to wriggle free. By the time he got to his feet, a woman was standing there, shouting. She knocked him aside and kneeled before Ernesto.

    Ernesto’s body had stopped shaking. He lay still.

    The woman pressed her fingers against Ernesto’s neck. There were more people in the grove now: mothers, fathers, children, their attention all on Ernesto.

    The woman stood and gripped the crucifix around her neck. ‘Ragazzo del diavolo!’ she cried, pointing at Damien. ‘Ragazzo del diavolo!’ 

     Devil boy. 

    Other grown-ups echoed her words. Some of the kids from school joined in.

    Damien felt his cheeks flush red, wet with tears. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry.’

    He hadn’t wanted to kill Ernesto. He hadn’t wanted to kill anyone.

***

With a six-pack of Coronas in one hand, Jay walked down the corridor to Damien’s quarters. Another operative was coming towards him, probably heading to the mess for a late-night snack. Food at the Desecheo Island R&D facility—Project GATE’s forward-operating base—was available at all hours, which Jay regularly took advantage of. The operative strode past him. He’d had a few beers, but still managed to recognize her from a previous operation in the Balkans. Grace. He winked at her. She glared at him from under her sharp black bangs.

    It took Jay a while to find Damien’s room, which he blamed on his blood alcohol level. He knocked twice, then heard Damien yell something in Italian. He sounded upset.

    ‘Hey!’ Jay said. ‘Damien?’

    He tested the door handle. It was unlocked. He opened it and stepped inside. Damien was lying on his bed, asleep. He screamed something in Italian.

    Jay slammed the door shut, hoping to wake him. It worked. Damien opened his eyes and jolted upright.

    ‘Are you OK?’ Jay said, planting the six-pack on Damien’s desk beside a small bowl of M&M’s. He scooped up a handful and stuck them in his mouth.

    Damien rubbed his eyes. ‘I’m fine.’

    ‘Why the fuck were you talking in Italian?’

    ‘Just a dream. Don’t you dream in Spanish?’

    Jay rolled his eyes. ‘Portuguese. And hell no. It’s only good for the ladies. Except the one I just passed in the corridor, Grace—she doesn't like me.’ Jay dropped his voice to a whisper. ‘Probably a lesbian.’

    Damien blinked at him.

    Jay ripped two beers from the six-pack. ‘These aren’t going to open themselves.’

    Damien groaned and got to his feet, disappeared into the kitchenette. Like Jay’s own quarters, the place was just big enough to swing a cat in. A bottle opener flew out of the kitchenette. Jay caught it and put it to work.

    Damien came back with a saucepan filled with water and drank from it. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be in Italy?’ he said.

    ‘Finished,’ Jay said. ‘Why are you drinking from a saucepan?’

    Damien looked surprised. ‘It’s refreshing.’

    Jay shrugged and handed him a beer.

    ‘What was the op in Italy?’ Damien asked.

    ‘Nothing big,’ Jay lied. ‘Just another day, another terrorist leader.’

    He’d had one chance to take the crucial shot but he’d fucked it up. He was beginning to worry that something had gone wrong with his retraining program. The last thing he needed was to still be defective.

    He turned to Damien’s laptop for distraction and noticed an extraordinarily long hair on the desk. He held it up in the light.

    ‘This isn’t your hair,’ he said to Damien. ‘I thought you were celibate or something.’

    Damien didn’t answer.

    ‘Who is it?’ Jay said. Then he realized. ‘Oh no. Not a chance. Grace? She was over here? She actually talks to you? Since when?’

    ‘Since recently,’ Damien said.

    ‘Are you serious?’

    ‘She’s been round a couple of times.’

    Jay threw his hands up in the air, almost spilling his beer. ‘A couple of times? You don’t even have a freaking TV! What do you do? You both drink from saucepans together? Fucking hell. So she’s not a lesbian?’

    Damien glared at him. ‘I know what you’re thinking. And no, we haven’t slept together.’

    ‘Good.’ Jay pointed his finger at Damien. ‘Because that would annoy me. A bit.’

    He reached forward with his beer and clinked it against Damien’s. ‘Cheers.’ Beer swished from his bottle onto the carpet. ‘You know, you’ve always been a loner,’ he said, taking another swig.

    ‘What makes you think that?’ Damien said.

    Jay shrugged. ‘You don’t hang out with anyone except me. Otherwise, you keep to yourself.’

    Damien snorted. ‘And you don’t? Since our retraining, you’ve hardly talked to anyone. You go to the gym by yourself, you swim by yourself, you’re at the firing range by yourself. You even eat by yourself. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’m the only person you talk to.’

    ‘And that’s evidence of what?’ Jay crossed his arms. ‘You think I’m losing my mind because I want a bit of privacy when I eat my cheesecake?’ He took another slug of beer. ‘Actually, one of those would be pretty good right now.’

    He emptied the bowl of M&M’s into his mouth instead, then laughed. ‘You know, when I first met you, I thought you had a stick up your ass. But I was wrong.’

    Damien raised his eyebrows. ‘When I first met you, I thought you were an arrogant prick.’

    Jay paused to consider that. ‘Yeah. Well, you weren’t too far off.’

    Damien took a mouthful of beer. ‘What if the world knew what really happens?’ he said. ‘What we really do?’

    Jay rolled his eyes. ‘They wouldn’t understand. That’s why we don’t tell them.’

    ‘I just wish it could be different.’

    ‘What’s with all this touchy-feely talk?’ Jay said, perching on the desk. ‘You don’t like the secrecy any more? You want to tell someone all about how hard your job is, Double Oh Sensitive?’

    ‘It’s not a job,’ Damien said. ‘It’s an entire life.’

    Jay was silent.

    Damien took another swig of beer. ‘Denton wants us on a flight to Paris tomorrow. For a briefing.’

    ‘You know what the op is?’

    ‘No.’ Damien looked at Jay. ‘But I know what your last one was.’

    Jay washed down the last of the chocolate in his mouth with more beer. ‘What do you mean?’

    ‘You shot Sophia.’

    Jay opened his mouth, then shrugged. There was no point hiding it.

    Damien put his beer down. ‘So we’re hunting her now?’

    ‘Yeah.’ Jay suddenly felt awkward. ‘I guess we are.’

    ‘No bets for guessing why we’re going to Paris then.’

    Jay exhaled and leaned back on the desk. ‘Why do you care anyway? She’s a terrorist now. You know, hates the world, hates our freedoms, crazy, blows up random people. All that crap.’

    ‘That’s what Denton told you?’

    Jay had the bottle at his lips. He held it there for a moment, then lowered it. ‘Yeah, that’s what he told me. And if your guess is right, he’ll tell us again tomorrow. And we’re not in the desert any more so you can trim that embarrassing excuse for a beard.’

    ‘Maybe.’

    He picked up his remaining beers. ‘I should probably get some sleep. I don’t sleep well on planes.’

    ‘The whole scared-of-heights thing, right?’

    ‘Uncomfortable with heights.’ Jay opened the door, then hesitated. ‘Do you like her?’ 

    ‘Who, Grace?’

    Jay rolled his eyes again.

    Damien took a moment to respond. ‘Yeah, I do.’

The thick, humid air hit Sophia like an invisible cushion. She breathed deeper to quickly acclimatize herself as she disembarked the tanker and walked down the pier to Belize City. Belize City’s version of a marina was less recreational and more fishing boats. As her sneakers hit earth for the first time in a week, she noticed the tourists actually outnumbered the locals. Over her shoulder, she could see two goliath-sized cruise liners anchored beyond the coral shelf.

    The tourists were anxious and excited while the locals seemed exceptionally relaxed. The men wore western-style shorts and T-shirts, and the women wore colorfully trimmed dresses and skirts with embroidered blouses.

    Passing a legion of buffet-fattened tourists sucking back papaya smoothies and double servings of lobster, Sophia headed straight for the hiking store listed in the Lonely Planet guide. She had to get her kit together. That meant appropriate clothing that would breathe well and still afford protection from stings and bites, a decent pair of hiking boots and a lot of water.

    She managed to get most of what she needed from the hiking store, including a GPS device that sucked up half her remaining cash. She hit an internet café and Google Mapped her potential locations. Unsurprisingly, Google didn’t let her zoom in very far. Right about now, she would’ve loved to have Fifth Column access to any military satellite she liked. Instead, she analyzed what she could from one mile above, plotted out her route, then used the café’s scanner to scan every page from Adamicz’s diary. She needed a digital backup in case she lost it or it was destroyed. She uploaded the scans onto a draft email on an anonymous email account and left it there for safekeeping. Then she wiped the computer’s free space and paid for an hour’s use at the register.

    So far, she had clothing, boots, compass, a roll of twine, flint, water-sterilizing tablets, intestinal sedative, needle and thread, butterfly sutures, a general-purpose folding knife with a wooden handle and a sheath, a small block of sandstone to sharpen the knife, 550 paracord, a pencil torch and two sets of batteries for it, GPS, and six liters of water in plastic bottles. In this climate, she’d probably go through more, but she didn’t want to slow herself down any more than necessary. She decided to take the cheapest, most portable food she could get her hands on. Bonus if it didn’t taste half bad cold.

    There was an unusual abundance of Chinese restaurants and they all seemed to agree that the most popular dish was ‘fry chicken’. She grabbed a serving to eat now, and for her future meals bought two small takeout packs of rice’n’beans: a combination of white rice, red beans, black pepper and grated coconut. Finally, she bought some cheap chocolate bars from a supermarket.

    While she was there, she decided to grab a few other things. Plastic wrap, waterproof matches, bobby pins, elastic bands, Band-Aids, disinfectant, bug spray and a pack of black garbage bags. Seeking out the privacy of a toilet cubicle, she changed into her new clothes: an undershirt, a long-sleeved, loose-buttoned shirt, loose cargo pants, long socks and boots. She unwrapped the chocolate bars and wrapped them in plastic wrap, removed the garbage bags from their packaging, and then packed everything in her bag exactly how she wanted it. She inserted batteries into her torch, tested it, then re-inserted them the wrong way around. She’d learned the hard way what it was like to have the torch turn itself on inside the bag and drain the batteries.

    With only ninety US dollars to her name—or false name—she picked a few more pockets for good measure, took a bus to Placencia, which was the closest town to where she wanted to go, and then hired a bicycle there. She pulled her socks over her cargo pants and used the elastic bands to keep them there, then replaced her shoelaces with paracord. She took the bicycle down the Southern Highway, GPS tucked away in her cargo pants. The citrus orchards rushed past on her left, the thick jungle on the other.

    She turned onto an unpaved road and, rechecking her GPS, stayed on it for two miles before turning right again, continuing another two miles, then left. She reached a walking track that took her in the approximate direction she needed to go. This was as good a place to start as any.

    She concealed her bike under fronds and whatever else she could find, rehydrated, then took an intestinal sedative. The last thing she needed after ripping into some rice’n’beans later on was a bout of diarrhea and the severe dehydration that came with it. With her bag over one shoulder, she checked her watch—eleven in the morning—and set off on foot.

    She walked two miles due north before spotting the river. She checked her bearing, then consulted her GPS again. She was on the outskirts of her suspect area. She was sweating constantly, her arms slick and her face trickling with beads of sweat. Her eyebrows kept most of the sweat from stinging her eyes. Instead, it dripped off her nose and chin. The track was long gone now and she was moving through undisturbed jungle, wishing she had a parang blade handy.

    She stopped for a quick snack and managed to get down half a meal of rice’n’beans, chasing it with water. She didn’t want to eat too much because it was going to cost her even more water to rehydrate. She was pretty sure she was sweating out half the water she was drinking.

    She checked her watch. It was one in the afternoon. Moving to the riverbank, she dumped her bag. No animal bones and plenty of plants around the river. That was a good sign. She pulled out her empty water bottles, listening carefully to her surroundings. All she could hear was the chilling wail of the howler monkeys.

    Then she heard it.

    Someone fell over, grunted in pain. Behind her, maybe a hundred yards.

    Sophia dropped a water-sterilization tablet into the bottle she was holding, screwed the cap back on and chucked it and the empties back in her bag. She packed her jacket between the bottles to stop them rattling against each other, buttoned the bag up and slung it over her bruised shoulders. Moving as fast and as quietly as the thick jungle would allow, she circled around to an earlier point along the river to see who was following her.

    Lying prone and waiting for them to walk past, she pulled out the bottle she’d filled, took a few mouthfuls, swished it around her mouth, then swallowed. As she did, she heard more movement. This time it was a short distance behind her. She remained still, checked their position. They were still too far away to be visible, but she could hear them. Was it a second team? Unless she’d miscalculated the first team and had parked herself right in front of them.

    Moving as quietly as possible, she slipped her bottle back in her bag, unrolled a garbage bag and pulled out the roll of twine. She slipped her bag into the garbage bag, checked the plastic for holes, then wrapped it tightly with twine. She cut the twine with her knife and tied it off, purposely trapping air inside the bag. Then she lifted it over her shoulder and moved down to the river.

    She wedged her Glock firmly among the twine on top of the bag, then walked out into the river, her bag helping her stay afloat. She reminded herself that piranhas didn’t attack humans. When she was halfway out, it started to pour. Raindrops rippled on the surface around her. By the time she’d waded to the other side, the downpour had subsided. She hauled her bag out, took her Glock and moved quickly under the cover of the canopy.

    Further along the winding river, she crossed it again, hoping the deception would throw her pursuers. Then she got down low under cover with her bag and waited to catch sight of them. She had a pounding headache and was starting to feel weak. She hadn’t been keeping up with her water. While she had the chance, she guzzled half the bottle.

    A blade slashed through leaves behind her, maybe a hundred feet away. Shit.

    She slipped the bottle into her bag and headed away from the noise. Over her right shoulder, she caught sight of the team on the other side of the riverbank. They were dressed in jungle camouflage, faces painted to match. They’d crossed over to follow her tracks, but they weren’t the same people she’d just heard. She had two teams on her now, and the second was dangerously close. She noticed they were carrying small weapons: Uzis or small submachine guns. At least they hadn’t seen her yet. One small bonus.

    She had no way of knowing whether they were Akhana or whether they were bandits or even drug runners. For that reason, she didn’t want to set a trap. Belize was used as transit for cocaine from Guatemala to Mexico, but mostly by wet dropping shipments from the air and caching them in go-fast boats. Or by air to northern Belize, not where she was in the deep south.

    She changed her direction repeatedly, then angled out to the riverbank again, stopping right at the edge and then backtracking. She hoped this would fool them into thinking she’d crossed the river. And it would’ve worked too, had they not been right behind her.

    ‘We have hot tracks!’ someone said in a low voice.

    Low, but loud enough for her to hear. American. That was interesting.

    Glock in one hand, knife in the other, she diverted to the right. To hell with sound. If she was going to outrun them, she needed to move quickly.

    She heard movement behind her. She listened for weapons cocking but couldn’t hear anything. She saw movement ahead. It was quick and fleeting, but definitely human. Was it a third team? They were boxing her in. She broke left, away from the river.

    Something bit her in the back of the neck. The trunks and leaves doubled, shifted. Her vision blurred. The air was as thick as porridge and her lungs felt crushed. She tripped on a root and sprawled onto the damp undergrowth. Her head spun. She couldn’t stand up.

    And even if she could, they wouldn’t let her. They swarmed over her with their compact submachine guns, their shouts hazy and distant.

    She couldn’t remember who they were; if they were trying to help her, or were dragging her back to Denton, or were planning on shooting her in the back of the head.

    She lost consciousness.

***

When Sophia woke, she was greeted by a headache the size of Belize. Her fingers probed through her damp hair and she was relieved to find no sign of head injury.

    She was in a small room with nothing in the way of comfort, or design. Concrete walls, ceiling and floor, no paint, and one closed door. There was a water canteen beside her, but she daren’t drink from it.

    Screw it, if they wanted her dead she would be already.

    Seizing the canteen, she made every effort to sip slowly, and did so until it was empty. Sitting up, she noticed she was lying on an army-surplus sleeping bag spread across a bed frame. They’d even given her a small travel pillow. She’d been stripped of all her own possessions except essential clothing—still damp to the touch. She stank of sweat.

    The door opened. A woman stood there, unarmed. She had light brown hair tied back; unremarkable features save for an overly thin nose. She looked to be in her mid-thirties.

    ‘Your possessions will be returned in a moment,’ she said. ‘Come with me.’

    Sophia couldn’t think of anything to say. She carefully stood upright and tested her balance, then, with more confidence, followed the woman out into a limestone tunnel. The tunnel was lit unevenly, doorways seemingly placed at random.

    The woman paused at one and knocked, then opened it. ‘I have Sophia,’ she said.

    They knew her name. This had to be the Akhana.

    The woman nodded towards the doorway, gesturing for Sophia to enter. Sophia walked inside to find another woman, only this one looked quite familiar.

    ‘Thank you, Ursula,’ the woman said to Sophia’s guide. Then to Sophia: ‘Please, sit.’

    Ursula closed the door, and Sophia surveyed her new surroundings. The room was ten times the size of the one she’d just come from. On her left, three desks were pressed up against the concrete wall; on them, no less than six monitors and two laptops. A desk fan buzzed defiantly. On her right was a large, comfortable-looking bedding arrangement and a tall freestanding fan. The rest of the chamber was mostly empty, except for a bar fridge and a rack of old-fashioned swords.

    ‘Rapiers,’ the woman said as she sat down on an office chair and crossed her legs.

    ‘You’re a collector?’ Sophia said.

    The woman laughed, making the chair creak. ‘Not exactly. We found them in the cave system when we retrofitted this base. The Mayans took the rapiers from dead Spanish invaders and offered them to the Gods of the Underworld.’

    ‘I see,’ Sophia said. She barely had the energy to speak. A hurricane of emotion burned within her. She kept it in check for now.

    ‘I believe you trained in an Indonesian weapons-based martial art during your time in Project GATE?’ the woman said.

    ‘It’s Filipino,’ Sophia said. ‘Eskrima.’

    ‘We have an unarmed combat instructor here. Sergey. Perhaps you can compare notes, or whatever martial arts people do when they get together,’ the woman said. ‘He was assigned to instruct Project GATE operatives, but he defected to the Akhana once he realized he was to help programmed children become the Fifth Column’s death squad.’

    ‘I remember you now,’ Sophia said. ‘Doctor McLoughlin.’

    ‘It’s good to see your memory is intact,’ she said. ‘It’s been a long time since I’ve interacted face to face with any of the operatives. Oh, and you can call me Cecilia. Please, sit.’

    Sophia sat on the side of the bed and gathered her thoughts. Her body still ached in a million places.

    ‘Would you like some water?’ Cecilia said.

    Sophia nodded.

    Cecilia looked to be in her mid-fifties. She had slanting charcoal bangs with kiss curls on each side. She wore a black top with a gunmetal gray jacket. The jacket had striped arms and a wide gray band that ran up the middle to a tall collar.

    She shook her head, smiling. ‘You know, Sophia, I thought we’d lost you for good in Volterra. Once we learned Denton had found you. He had an operative with him too.’

    Sophia drank from the canteen, breathing heavily between mouthfuls. ‘I was wearing carbon boride plates in my vest. His sniper missed my head, struck my back.’

    Cecilia’s head tilted to one side. ‘You’re extremely lucky. The operative who shot you never misses. Which is interesting in itself. Of course, your body wasn’t recovered, which means Denton will be convinced you’re still alive.’

    ‘I’m not the only one who can hide well,’ Sophia said. ‘The only clue I had to find you was the name of the country. It wasn’t easy. And if it wasn’t for your patrols, I would’ve walked straight past.’

    ‘If the base was easy to find, we’d be dead by now,’ Cecilia said. ‘I sent people to find you in Volterra but you’d already gone. We’ve been looking for you everywhere, you know. But as soon as I knew someone had stumbled into our perimeter, I sent recon teams out. Told them to hold their fire. I was hoping it would be you.’

    Sophia left a few mouthfuls of water in the canteen; she’d need it later.

    ‘My head’s killing me. Do you have any Tylenol?’ she said.

    Cecilia shook her head. ‘Only the normal stuff, I’m afraid. Your medical records indicate a codeine allergy, but I do have some pure aspirin.’

    Sophia nodded. Cecilia reached inside her desk drawer and handed over two chewable tablets.

    ‘I’m terribly sorry about Leoncjusz’s death,’ she said.

    The thought of him made Sophia’s breathing ragged. Her eyes collected tears. She blinked and popped the tablets in her mouth. They were orange flavored. At least the chewing would stimulate saliva production, which she was desperately low on right now. She chewed quickly, then swallowed.

    ‘I will kill Denton,’ she said. ‘I don’t know when and I don’t know how, but I’ll kill him.’ 

    Cecilia shifted in her seat. ‘I’m surprised,’ she said. ‘I thought you would be hesitant.’

    ‘He killed Leon—’ She paused ‘He killed Adamicz. Because of me.’

    ‘It’s not your fault.’

    ‘It doesn’t matter if it is,’ Sophia said. ‘Denton must be stopped. And I want to be the one to stop him.’

    ‘You might just have the opportunity,’ Cecilia said.

    Sophia’s position on the bed was cutting off the circulation to her legs, so she sat further back. She could feel Cecilia studying her.

    ‘I’ve studied Adamicz’s notes. I think that while he was deprogramming me he was improving the procedure. Sort of like he was debugging me,’ she said. ‘I think I could capture and deprogram new operatives with a quick turnaround. With enough of them, we could turn the Fifth Column against itself.’

    ‘No,’ Cecilia said. ‘That’s insurgency and it will fail. Our intention is not to murder the Fifth Column but to disempower it. That is what we call subversion. And that’s where our plan comes in.’

    ‘If I was going to be subversive,’ Sophia said, ‘I’d want a team under my command.’

    Cecilia blinked. ‘Do you wish to help us?’

    ‘I didn’t say that. But hypothetically.’

    ‘Then hypothetically, I could provide you with our best Akhana people. They’re former Special Forces—’

    ‘I want my own team.’ Sophia smiled. ‘Hypothetically.’ 

    Cecilia sat perfectly straight, her hands on her thighs. She was silent for a moment, then said, ‘And who exactly do you have in mind?’

    ‘Operatives,’ Sophia said. ‘Deprogrammed, just like me.’

    ‘That will take months.’ Cecilia’s grip on her thighs tightened. ‘Did Adamicz explain to you what we wanted you to do?’

    ‘He did.’

    ‘Listen to me, Sophia. We don’t have time to capture and deprogram operatives. The encryption on the Chimera vector codes has an expiry date; it will destroy the codes before you have a chance to recover them. We can’t afford that.’

    ‘You can’t afford that.’ 

    ‘Why are you here, Sophia?’

    Sophia looked away, focused on the desk fan. ‘I don’t know. I guess I wanted to see if this was real.’

    ‘We could use your help.’

    ‘I know.’

    Cecilia crossed her legs again, studying her as she did so. ‘The Fifth Column took your family from you. Your life. Your belief system. Your free will. Even Adamicz. Do you seek revenge, Sophia?’

    ‘No.’ She met Cecilia’s gaze. ‘I want redemption.’

    ‘Redemption. And what precisely do you wish to redeem yourself of?’

    Sophia swallowed. ‘Everything.’

    ‘Then this is your chance.’

    ‘Under my conditions. I can do most of the deprogramming in under an hour,’ Sophia said. ‘Then I can tie up the loose ends inside of a week.’

    Cecilia relaxed slightly. She brushed the hair from her eyes. ‘If this is true, then I want to see the notes before you proceed. If you have no objection.’

    ‘I have another condition,’ Sophia said. ‘You tell me everything you know about the Chimera vectors.’ She folded her arms. ‘If you have no objection.’

‘The Chimera vectors are a class of vector that both Denton and I consider to be the Holy Grail of Project GATE. There are only two of them. I encrypted the vector codes for each until we’re ready to steal them.’

    ‘I suppose you know my next question,’ Sophia said.

    Cecilia nodded. ‘One of these, the Axolotl Vector, enhances cellular repair, promoting not only accelerated repair rates but also regeneration. It’s chimeric in a sense because we introduced foreign genes from the Axolotl salamander. Salamanders can regenerate organs and entire limbs over a period of time.’

    ‘And the second vector?’

    ‘That requires a bit of explanation. Since you haven’t read the Akhana survival manual, I’ll need to give you an express lesson.’

    ‘On what?’ Sophia said.

    ‘On psychopaths.’

    Sophia shrugged. ‘Serial killers, mass murderers. I’ve met enough in my time.’

    Cecilia shook her head. ‘More than you’d ever know. You see, your understanding of psychopathy is based on western psychiatry’s understanding of it, which is next to nothing. Officially, the psychopath doesn’t even exist.’

    ‘That’s not true,’ Sophia said. ‘It’s a subset of antisocial personality disorder.’

    Cecilia raised an eyebrow. ‘But is it? The real psychopath is not antisocial by any means. In fact, he is the most social. He would be the most charismatic and confident man you will ever meet. And he will go his entire life without ever being detected. Why?’ She smiled. ‘Because you’re too busy looking in the antisocial basket.’

    Sophia unfolded her arms and leaned forward. ‘Why do we know so little about them?’

    ‘I think you know the answer to that.’

    Sophia eyed her carefully. ‘I’m all ears.’

    ‘Fifty years ago, a small team of Eastern European scientists were recruited by the Fifth Column. During this time, they embarked upon a secret personal investigation.’ Cecilia wet her lips. ‘They wanted to investigate evil.’

    ‘So where did they begin?’

    ‘Right where they were. The Nazis strode across Europe in their hundred-league jackboots. These scientists were able to stay alive long enough to gather a wealth of scientific data on this evil they sought to investigate. And as the Nazis were driven out, they were replaced by the Communists, under the heel of Stalin. And so these scientists secretly began to piece together a picture of man’s inhumanity to man. And they found something very interesting. Something that, even today, only a handful of experts in this field would even suspect.’

    Sophia swallowed. ‘Ahead of their time.’

    Cecilia nodded. No smile. ‘They found a genetic abnormality. Which means the psychopath is not only without a conscience but also without the capacity to grow one. Ever.’

    She leaned forward. ‘They found these men were not human. More like machines. An intra-species predator that lived among its prey. Undetected, unknown and unchangeable.’

    ‘So they’re cursed,’ Sophia said.

    ‘No,’ Cecilia said. ‘It’s not a curse for them. Their reality is very different to yours. Your logic does not apply in their world, just as theirs does not apply in yours. What is a curse to you is a blessing to them. It’s what enables them to survive, to not go hungry.’

    Something cold needled Sophia’s spine. ‘When you say hungry, you’re not talking about food, are you?’

    Cecilia shook her head. ‘You’re catching on. They can be your neighbor, a police officer, the local evangelist, politician, clinical psychiatrist, the vampire from a paranormal romance novel, the “create your own reality” new-age guru. We go about our lives clueless to their nature, and they go about their lives overpowering ours.’

    ‘I don’t get it though,’ Sophia said. ‘I mean, what’s the point? What do they get out of it other than . . . winning?’

    ‘Satisfaction. And more power. These scientists found that psychopaths seek no specific political or economic goal, as much as they pretend to; there is no specific land they covet or a level of wealth they pursue, for there is neither enough land nor enough wealth to satisfy them. You could even consider it an addiction. Think of the Roman Empire’s conquest of Europe, the Spanish conquistadores’ conquest of the Americas, the British occupation of Northern Ireland. The Fifth Column has the world’s most successful psychopaths at its helm, and they want it all. They seek infinite control. No bargain or parley can deter them. There’s no treaty that can halt their advance, no law that can limit them.’ Cecilia frowned. ‘And if it does limit them, they simply rewrite it. You have to understand that we’re dealing with individuals who have unlimited power. Unlimited resources. And more psychological knowledge about human beings than human beings themselves have. Specialized knowledge.’

    ‘How does no one realize this?’ Sophia said.

    ‘We’re born and raised to believe that everyone has some sort of good inside them. So we never even suspect the ice that runs through the veins of such people.’

    ‘But to get to that position, they needed to get into a position of power to begin with, right?’ Sophia said. ‘I don’t understand how we let that happen.’

    ‘There was no one event that marked their rise to power over humans. Or if there was, it was a long time ago,’ Cecilia said. ‘Psychopaths think a certain way. They have a particular world view. They gravitate towards a way of life that suits them. Lying, cheating, stealing, manipulating. It’s how they’re wired.’

    ‘What about the Fifth Column? Surely that hasn’t been around forever.’

    ‘No one really knows when it truly started. Psychopaths have worked in governments since governments existed. I have heard of precursor organizations to the Fifth Column, but you could say the Fifth Column was truly born on 22 November 1963. The psychopaths operating in the shadows of the US government found John F Kennedy’s policies to be . . . unpalatable. Denton’s father, Sidney Denton, was in charge of the operation.’

    ‘You’ve worked with Denton’s father?’ Sophia said.

    ‘No, but Leon Adamicz did. He programmed both the operatives and the decoys. A lot of people here at the Akhana believe 9/11 was the turning point. But I think it was long before that. I think the turning point was the moment those psychopaths took out the President, and made sure no President would ever cross them again. Not just in America, but in any country. And there was no turning back. They’d murdered the President of the United States.’

    ‘And they got away with it,’ Sophia said.

    ‘And were able to commit more crimes because of it. Start more wars because of it. There’s no redemption for that. They keep going because it’s the only way they know how. It’s the only thing they know. And it’s the only thing that keeps us from discovering their true nature.’

    ‘Do you wish you could’ve stopped them?’ Sophia said. ‘Before it came to this?’

    Cecilia shook her head. ‘You would first need to know what to look for. That’s the problem. They have a specialized knowledge of humans, but we don’t have a specialized knowledge of them. At least, not one that’s widely available. And it has probably been withheld from us for that very reason. There’s no conspiracy theory here, Sophia. Because there doesn’t need to be.’

    Sophia felt like a rock had been dropped in her stomach. ‘It’s just . . . foxes and rabbits.’

    Cecilia leaned back in her chair. ‘Something like that.’

    ‘But do they cooperate or compete against each other?’

    ‘When there are plenty of rabbits, the foxes eat well. When there aren’t many rabbits, the foxes turn on each other. It depends on the situation. The state of our world today, there are over six billion rabbits. A portion are always collateral, of course. But that’s still a great deal of rabbits.’

    Sophia looked down at her hands. They were still covered in grime from her trek here. ‘So what happened to the scientists?’

    Cecilia’s gaze fell. ‘They didn’t last. Well, one survived long enough to pass the knowledge on to the only person within the Fifth Column he could trust. His assistant: Owen Freeman, a psychiatry undergraduate at the time. He kept the research safe. He made copies. Using a false name, he tried to pass it on so that the human race might be informed.’

    ‘I’m guessing that didn’t pan out.’

    Cecilia nodded. ‘Not as he’d hoped. He tried to publish the research but no one would touch it. Years passed and Owen became one of the Fifth Column’s most distinguished psychiatrists. He still persisted in anonymously publishing the research. In the end, the research was circulated through a handful of libraries and comprehended only by specialists in the field. Owen had come no closer to teaching humanity about their one natural predator. So he went underground.’

    ‘What do you mean . . . underground?’

    ‘After the fall of the Berlin Wall, Owen left the Fifth Column and founded the Akhana,’ Cecilia said. ‘Over the last two decades, the Akhana has been recruiting disillusioned Fifth Column personnel. Mostly scientists. Some Blue Berets. Their Special Forces training has proved valuable in concealing and protecting the Akhana.’

    ‘How many people are in the Akhana?’ Sophia said.

    ‘Worldwide? A fraction over 15,000.’

    Far more than she’d expected. ‘That’s a lot to conceal.’

    Cecilia smiled. ‘Often the best way to conceal is in plain sight. Not all of our bases are hidden in the middle of a jungle.’

    ‘So that’s the express lesson,’ Sophia said. ‘Now what does this have to do with the second Chimera vector?’

    ‘Right. During the early years of the Akhana, Owen oversaw a team of scientists whose fields ranged from clinical pharmacology to molecular genetics. They discovered there was a mutated gene—an allelic variant—in the essential psychopath,’ Cecilia said. ‘It was called the MAOA gene. This MAOA gene or allele is semi-dominant. Just like the gene for color blindness. They found that one allelic variant of this gene causes Brunner syndrome; another causes autism. And yet another is present in psychopathy.’

    ‘A certain variation causes psychopathy? There’s a psychopath gene?’ Sophia said.

    Cecilia nodded. ‘For simplicity’s sake, yes. Men possess one X chromosome and one Y, so they only have room for one copy of this gene. Whereas women have two chromosomes. They can carry two copies of the gene. This is where it gets interesting. If a woman carries the psychopath gene, there will always be a non-psychopath gene to counter it.’

    ‘So no female psychopaths then?’ Sophia said.

    ‘It’s rare. Just as women are rarely color blind. But there’s still a fifty-fifty chance they can pass the gene on to their sons.’

    ‘And then the son might become a psychopath,’ Sophia said. ‘What then?’

    ‘He can also pass it on to his daughter.’

    ‘So how many people are carrying this variant?’ Sophia said. ‘One percent?’

    ‘Not even close.’

    Sophia relaxed slightly.

    ‘Based on the research gathered so far,’ Cecilia said, ‘we estimate six percent with the active gene, and a further six percent are carriers of the gene. The percentage varies from country to country, of course. We’ve found the poorer countries are often low, only one or two percent. The rich countries—rich for a reason, I suppose—have an alarmingly high number.’

    Sophia swallowed. ‘How high?’

    ‘Trust me, you don’t want to know. But globally we’re looking at twelve percent of the human race carrying this gene.’

    ‘Jesus. That’s an epidemic.’

    ‘A pandemic. Over 800 million carriers. But it’s not too late. We can change that.’

    Sophia chewed the inside of her lip. ‘So you say.’

    ‘If we release this Chimera vector to the population, it will have no effect on those without the variant,’ Cecilia said. ‘But in the psychopaths and the carriers of this gene, the Chimera vector will switch on a sterility gene and render them unable to have children. The psychopath gene will end with them.’

    ‘That’s your solution? Sterilizing—’ Sophia counted in her head ‘—400 million women?’

    ‘It’s a small sacrifice considering what it will do for humanity.’

    ‘No one gets killed but . . .’ Sophia paused to find the words. ‘What gives us the right?’

    ‘To stop psychopaths?’

    ‘To stop all those women from having their own children. That’s wrong.’

    ‘It’s a small price to pay to stop psychopaths from running the planet,’ Cecilia said.

    ‘It’s not our price,’ Sophia said. ‘It’s those women who’d be paying.’

    Cecilia nodded. ‘I understand.’

    ‘No. You don’t understand. We don’t have the right to do that to four women, let alone 400 million.’

    ‘And psychopaths don’t have the right to manipulate, torture, rape, murder and enslave seven billion people, do they?’

    ‘But this makes us no better than them,’ Sophia said.

    Cecilia shook her head. ‘No. That’s exactly where they want us. They want to manipulate us with our own emotions. Back us into a corner so we’re helpless and weak. If we can’t make an insignificant sacrifice—and it is insignificant in the grand scheme of things—then we can do nothing but watch the world burn.’

    But it was still a sacrifice, Sophia thought. Was it one worth making? If it meant breaking the psychopaths’ stranglehold over humanity, then maybe it was worth it. Maybe it was more than worth it.

    ‘I don’t agree with your plan,’ she said.

    ‘You don’t have to. But if I were one of those women, I would still want you to do this.’ Cecilia leaned in closer. ‘Without a shadow of a doubt.’

    ‘And how do you intend to spread it?’ Sophia asked.

    ‘Mosquito breeding. We give female mosquitoes a sample of blood that contains the Chimera vector. The vector is passed through the mosquitoes’ salivary glands when they feed on a human. We release the mosquitoes into densely populated locations: worldwide deployment. Beginning with areas where mosquitoes can survive for a protracted amount of time, and then releasing in more temperate regions.’

    They were using mosquitoes—vampires of the insect world—to get rid of psychopaths, vampires of the human world, Sophia thought. ‘It sounds hard to pull off,’ she said.

    ‘Actually, it’s quite a simple delivery method. And the most efficient and effective way to deliver the Chimera vector to the population.’

    ‘Once you have the Chimera vector codes, how long will it take?’

    ‘The code will be transmitted to every Akhana base in the world where we have the equipment to manufacture the vectors. We’ll inject them into volunteers, take blood samples from them and feed the blood to the mosquitoes. We’ve conducted time trials from when we get the code to the time we release the mosquitoes. We’re looking at forty to forty-five minutes.’

    Sophia exhaled sharply, which made her feel slightly dizzy. ‘That’s fast.’

    ‘There’s one problem,’ Cecilia said. ‘I discovered during my Project GATE trials that if you inject both Chimera vectors into the same person—psychopath or otherwise—it creates an unanticipated synergy. One where two pseudogene clusters are expressed adjacent to each other. When this happens, they produce a third transcript as well as their own.’

    ‘So there are three Chimera vectors?’ Sophia said. 

    ‘In a sense.’ Cecilia smiled. ‘I suppose that suits, since the Chimera had three heads. This third transcript, I call it the Methuselah effect. It switches on pseudogene clusters responsible for heightened DNA repair, hormone production, superior protection against free radicals and a considerable range of functions that slow down the aging process.’

    ‘It turbo-boosts the Axolotl Chimera vector?’ Sophia said.

    ‘Sure. Cut off a finger and it grows back a week later. But more than that, when these genes turn on, people that should be old—’ Cecilia eyed Sophia carefully ‘—become young again. And stay that way for a protracted amount of time.’

    Sophia’s mouth felt dry. ‘They can live forever.’

    Cecilia seemed hesitant. She looked down at the polished concrete floor between them. ‘Not forever. But definitely longer. It started with yeast and worms, and then in the 1980s we quadrupled the lifespan of mice. We tested elderly humans in the nineties and restored their appearance to someone of approximately your age. They were exceptionally healthy and resistant to disease. We can only guess at how long they will live for, but our conservative estimates place them at 360 years. It could be more. It could be a lot more.’

    Sophia shivered at the thought. ‘If the Fifth Column get access to that—’

    ‘Then there’s no point using the anti-psychopath vector,’ Cecilia finished for her. ‘Because the psychopaths—’

    ‘Will never die,’ Sophia said. ‘The Methuselah effect works on psychopaths too?’

    Cecilia nodded. ‘It works on everyone. That’s the problem.’

    Sophia shook her head. ‘You should’ve destroyed it. No one should be able to live forever.’

    ‘The Chimera vector codes are stored on a supercomputer in the Desecheo Island facility,’ Cecilia said. ‘The only way to be certain it is destroyed would be to destroy everything.’ She shook her head. ‘We can’t do that. We won’t do that. The anti-psychopath vector is too important.’ 

    ‘That’s an incredible risk.’

    Cecilia held Sophia’s gaze. ‘I’m aware of the risks.’

    ‘So you want the anti-psychopath vector, but the Fifth Column want both?’

    ‘Correct.’

    ‘And they know that combining the Chimera vectors gives them immortality?’ Sophia said.

    ‘Immortality is an incorrect term: it implies they can never die and you can never kill them. The Methuselah effect grants an indefinite lifespan. The Fifth Column is aware of the effect. And Denton is more than just aware. He took an . . . unnatural interest in this; an obsession almost. As any psychopath would. He wanted it refined for Project GATE.’

    ‘Wait a second,’ Sophia said. ‘You want to release the anti-psychopath vector worldwide to sterilize anyone who carries the gene, which is OK in theory, but then all the Fifth Column need to do is get hold of the Axolotl vector and—’

    ‘And inject themselves,’ Cecilia said. ‘Sure, you’re a sterile psychopath, but you’ve boosted your healing, your organ repair and limb regeneration and you have an extended lifespan. You don’t care about sterility. You care about yourself.’

    ‘It’s a double-edged sword,’ Sophia said.

    ‘Not for them,’ Cecilia said. ‘But for us it is. So now you understand the gravity of the situation. That’s why, when the time comes for you to steal the codes and decrypt them—that is, if you choose to help us—your first action will be to encrypt the code with another segment of my DNA. One that no one—not even you—can access. That’s our insurance policy in case you are captured. 

    ‘Once you have done that, you must electronically transmit the codes to me and destroy your copy immediately. Either way, from the moment you have it, the code will self-annihilate in twenty-four hours. So it’s important I have it immediately. I will be on standby near the facility, in Puerto Rico. Once you’ve transmitted it to me, you’re free to put a bullet through Denton’s head. If you like.’

    Cecilia stood abruptly. ‘We have the opportunity to rid the planet of Denton and psychopaths like him permanently. For the first time in hundreds, if not thousands, of years we can have a world without evil.’ She paced the room, chillingly focused. ‘A world without war. Can you imagine what that would feel like?’

    ‘No,’ Sophia said.

    ‘Precisely.’ Cecilia drew to a halt. ‘Because we’ve never had peace.’

    She turned to her desk. ‘Oh, before I forget.’ Her voice was soft again as she reached into a drawer and retrieved a plastic container, which she handed to Sophia. ‘This was yours, I believe.’

    Sophia opened it. Inside she found her cassette player and earphones, David Bowie tapes, her clock radio, hairbrush, toothbrush and folded-up purple pillowcase. Her hands trembled.

    ‘I brought it with me from Desecheo Island,’ Cecilia said.

    ‘I can’t believe the Fifth Column kept all this.’ Sophia picked up one of the tapes and smiled. ‘This was my favorite song: “Yassassin”. Only one letter away from assassin.’

    Cecilia smiled too. ‘Actually, it’s Turkish for wishing someone a long life. Yassassin literally means “may he or she live”.’ 

    Sophia placed the tape back in the container.

    ‘We can talk more about this tomorrow,’ Cecilia said. ‘If you’re still uncomfortable with the plan, then we can evaluate other options. That room you slept in is yours now. Once we have the chance, we’ll make it a bit more homely. I’ll have Ursula show you the way back.’

    ‘I can find my own way.’ Sophia stood, and paused in the doorway. ‘Thank you for trying to find me.’

    Cecilia nodded curtly. ‘We’ll speak again over breakfast.’

***

Sophia returned to her new sleeping quarters with her container of childhood possessions to find her bag, still full, and a stack of four MRE field-ration packs by her bed. The top one was chicken fajita, which she considered the worst-tasting ration pack ever made.

    She was too exhausted to check her bag for all the possessions—and there wasn’t anything of value in there. Instead, she placed her canteen beside the ration packs and pulled the pencil torch from her bag. She removed its batteries and exchanged them with the old ones in her cassette player. She drank half the canteen to rehydrate, put her earphones in her ears and lay down on the bed.

    She hit play.

‘Good morning,’ Cecilia said. She was sitting on her chair again. It looked almost as though she hadn’t moved since the day before. She wet her lips. ‘Operatives. I’ve given it some thought, Sophia, and I think it’s far too dangerous.’

    ‘I can deprogram operatives in the field and bring them in. They can join the resistance.’

    ‘We don’t have that much time,’ Cecilia said.

    ‘I can engage an operative’s slave mode inside of ten minutes,’ Sophia said. ‘I’ve refined the entire deprogramming procedure to inside of a week. If I’m going to pull this off, I need operatives. The best.’

    Cecilia appeared to consider her proposal for a moment. ‘You’ll need a complete list of operatives and their abilities, both vector induced and natural,’ she said. ‘You can build your team based on what abilities you need. Do you have anyone in mind?’

    ‘Damien and Jay.’

    Cecilia shook her head. ‘Not a chance.’

    Sophia did her best to remain calm. ‘Why not?’

    ‘That is precisely what Denton will expect you to do.’

    ‘Fine. I want Grace,’ Sophia said. ‘Her ability will be useful.’

    Cecilia fell silent.

    ‘She’s not dead, is she?’

    Cecilia shook her head. ‘Oh no, she’s not dead. She’s a shocktrooper now.’

    ‘So?’ Sophia said. ‘I can still deprogram her, can’t I?’

    ‘You can. But I wouldn’t recommend it.’

    Sophia folded her arms. ‘Why?’

    ‘Deprogramming her would be unpredictable. They are the beta operatives. Her programming is just as experimental as her pseudogenes.’

    ‘What pseudogenes?’

    ‘The shocktroopers were the first successful recipients of the Axolotl Chimera vector. Before I encrypted it along with the anti-psychopath Chimera vector, anyway. Like the other shocktroopers, Grace has a more powerful version of the hyperequilibrioception and hyperproprioception vectors. Her balance, acceleration, coordination and speed are greatly enhanced. Add that to the Axolotl Chimera vector and her innate ability, and she’s near unstoppable.’

    ‘We need her.’

The intruder had inch-long copper hair that Sophia instantly recognized. Partly swathed in shadow, she entered the bathroom and leveled a SIG Sauer P229 at Sophia.

    Sophia, sitting on the lip of the bathtub in near-darkness, had her own pistol in hand. ‘I was beginning to think you weren’t going to make it.’

    The intruder stiffened slightly. ‘I know you.’

    Sophia smiled. She had been waiting patiently for over two hours in this tiny Moroccan apartment. The intruder’s target, a wafer-thin male college student with a shaved head, lay bound and sedated in the bathtub beside her, wide electrical tape spread over his mouth.

    ‘Children three that nestle near, eager eye and willing ear, pleased a simple tale to hear,’ Sophia said.

    Something behind the intruder’s eyes shifted, clicked into place. ‘Access permitted,’ she said.

    ‘Nasira, I’d like you to empty the rounds from your magazine and place them in the basin,’ Sophia said. ‘And your pistol too.’

    Nasira released her magazine. The rounds clattered loudly as she dropped them in the sink. Sophia knew they were too large to slip down the pipe. Nasira rested her P229 on top of the rounds, then stared at nothing in particular.

    Sophia dipped into her bag with her free hand. She removed a notepad, the pages cluttered with her own handwriting. ‘Nasira. Confirm neopsyche designation Alcyone.’

    ‘Alcyone confirmed.’

    False personality confirmed. Good.

    ‘Execute Alcyone. Confirm parapsyche listing,’ Sophia said.

    ‘Alcyone loaded. Listing restricted,’ Nasira said.

    Sophia exhaled. ‘Confirm parapsyche designation Celaeno.’

    ‘Celaeno confirmed.’

    Now for the code architecture interface.

    ‘Execute Celaeno,’ Sophia said.

    ‘Celaeno loaded,’ Nasira said. ‘Request command.’

    ‘Compile subprogram Acis to interface with parapsyche Celaeno,’ Sophia said.

    ‘Compilation successful.’ Nasira remained perfectly still. ‘Acis loaded. Request command.’

    ‘Activate debugging mode,’ Sophia said. ‘List all parapsyches and their functions.’

    ‘Parapsyche Celaeno; function: code architecture interface,’ Nasira said. ‘Parapsyche Ares; function: assassination. Parapsyche Auto-Thanatos; function: self-destruction. Parapsyche Lycaon; function: slave mode. Parapsyche Orthrus; function: programming defense. Parapsyche Oranos; function: parapsyche partition management—’

    ‘Halt,’ Sophia said. ‘Execute parapsyche designation Oranos.’

    ‘Oranos loaded. Request command.’

    ‘Confirm access restrictions,’ Sophia said.

    ‘Command is non-specific. Please rephrase.’

    Sophia chewed her lip. ‘Confirm erasure command access restrictions.’

    ‘Erasure commands unrestricted,’ Nasira said.

    ‘Long had paled the sunny sky,’ Sophia said.

    ‘Command not recognized.’

    She’d just tripped Orthrus, the programming defense parapsyche. Not good.

    ‘Execute parapsyche Celaeno,’ Sophia said. Back to the code architecture.

    ‘Celaeno loaded. Request command,’ Nasira said.

    ‘Search for Orthrus commands. List results.’

    ‘Search complete,’ Nasira said. ‘Three entries. Entry one: deactivate Orthrus: Summer. Entry two: activate Orthrus: Autumn. Entry three: calibrate Orthrus: Winter.’

    The deactivate function was a trick, Sophia knew. All of the deactivate functions were. It wasn’t going to be that easy.

    ‘Execute parapsyche designation Oranos.’

    ‘Oranos loaded.’ Nasira’s gaze remained on the wall behind Sophia. ‘Request command.’

    The student in the bathtub stirred. Sophia ignored him. This had better work.

    ‘Autumn frosts have slain July,’ she said.

    July was the code for calibrating parapsyche Ares. If this worked, she’d just commanded one part of Nasira’s programming to attack another part.

    Nasira started shaking. Her cocoa skin prickled with goose bumps. She looked like she was about to cry.

    Sophia wet her lips. She checked the bound college student. His eyes were wide and he was watching her intently. She raised a finger to her lips.

    ‘Parapsyche Ares erased . . .’ Nasira’s lips trembled. ‘It hurts.’ She brought her hands to her ears and shut her eyes. Dropping to her knees, she twisted and writhed. ‘Make it stop,’ she said. ‘Make it stop!’

    Sophia leaned forward. Her notepad slipped onto the tiles. ‘Echo status.’

    Nasira stopped moving. She was hunkered over, eerily still, cloaked in shadow.

    The student moaned through the electrical tape.

    Sophia stood over Nasira, screamed, ‘Echo status!’

    Nasira looked up. Her gaze bore right through Sophia. ‘Parapsyche Celaeno active. Awaiting command.’

    Sophia retreated to the edge of the bathtub. The student was wriggling about, with little effect.

    ‘Long had paled that sunny sky,’ Sophia said. ‘Echoes fade and memories die.’

    ‘All parapsyche backups erased,’ Nasira said.

    The parapsyches themselves were still there, Sophia knew, but she’d get to those later, when time was on her side. ‘Execute parapsyche designation Lycaon.’

    ‘Lycaon loaded,’ Nasira said. ‘Slave mode enabled.’

    Sophia turned to the student and ripped off the tape. He screamed in pain, the skin around his lips flushed red. Sophia leaned over him and he sank further down into the bathtub, breathless.

    ‘Whatever you did to attract the attention of the Fifth Column,’ she whispered. ‘Stop.’

***

Nasira sat alone in one of the Akhana’s holding cells, cross-legged on the floor, head down. Sophia watched her carefully. She looked like she was meditating.

    ‘Nasira,’ she said. ‘Terminate parapsyche designation Lycaon.’

    ‘Terminated,’ Nasira said.

    ‘Shut down neopsyche designation Alcyone,’ Sophia said.

    ‘Parameter missing.’ Nasira looked up through the bars, at Sophia’s legs. ‘Command unsuccessful.’

    ‘Shut down neopsyche designation Alcyone; soft reset.’

    For a moment, Nasira remained sitting, then pulled back. She scrambled to her feet. ‘What are you motherfuckers doing to me?’

    ‘Welcome back,’ Sophia said. ‘I’ve erased your programming backups and your assassination program. For our safety. You’re now living through your real personality. And with no backups to restore from, it’ll stay that way long enough for me to deprogram you completely.’

    ‘What? What do you want from me, bitch?’ Nasira’s voice punched through the cell block.

    ‘Nothing,’ Sophia said.

    Nasira opened her mouth, but didn’t seem to have a response for that. ‘Where am I?’

    ‘You’re being held in the cell block of an Akhana base. I’m in the process of deprogramming you.’

    Nasira launched towards Sophia, and was stopped by the metal bars. She glared at Sophia. ‘Akhana, the terrorist organization? Don’t you lay a finger on me, you psycho!’ she yelled.

    Nasira’s aggression was normal. Sophia had been there herself once.

    ‘Oh, don’t worry,’ she said. ‘I won’t need to lay a finger on you.’

    ‘I know all about you.’ Nasira tried to smile. ‘Got half your team killed. Tried to manipulate Damien and Jay into defecting, nearly got them killed. Abducted by a mentally disturbed clinical psychiatrist. A bit of brainwashing; Stockholm syndrome. You probably fucked the Soviet son of a bitch. I’m just glad someone wasted him before it was too late.’

    ‘You were sent on an operation. To eliminate a terrorist in Morocco.’

    Nasira blinked. ‘Suicide bomber. An entire cell of them. They were planning to hit a mosque. You brought me all the way here—’ she looked around ‘—to Buttfuck Land, to ask me this shit?’

    ‘How would you feel, Nasira, if the answer you gave me was not real?’

    Nasira snorted. ‘Don’t talk to me about reality.’

    ‘But what if it isn’t real?’ Sophia said. ‘What if your entire life hinges on the fact that you’ve been lied to? About yourself and about everything around you. That you subscribe to beliefs that are completely false.’

    Nasira started laughing. ‘Are you trying to brainwash me? Or you just have some problem with my beliefs?’

    ‘I do when your enemy is fictitious. A myth thought up by the Fifth Column marketing department. That suicide bomber you were sent to assassinate was a peaceful college student who knew a little too much.’

    Nasira smiled. ‘I’d say you need some help, because you are one motherfucker who has seriously lost touch with reality.’

    ‘What if it isn’t me who’s lost touch with reality, but you?’

    Sophia brandished her pistol, then placed it in front of the bars, within Nasira’s reach. She stepped back and smiled. ‘Or, more to the point, you were never in touch with reality to begin with?’

    Nasira’s lips curled. ‘I don’t think you know the meaning of reality.’

    ‘World War Two: a spontaneous rise of fascism, with the good guys on one side and the bad guys on the other?’ Sophia said. ‘Hardly. Africa: an entire continent naturally stuck in poverty? I don’t think so. The war on terror: Muslims attack the west; the west responds to defend and spread freedom and democracy? Yeah, right. The Miami Seven, the Fort Dix Six, the Newburgh Four, the Underwear Bomber, the Portland Car Bomber—the Fifth Column set them up and knocked them down. Dozens of straw men created to convince everyone the war on terror is real.’

    ‘You don’t think the war is real?’ Nasira approached her slowly. ‘What drugs are you on?’

    ‘It’s very real,’ Sophia said. ‘But the war you see is a performance. You’re winning that war, but you’re losing the real one. The real war is the war for your mind. The real war is waged by the Fifth Column against humanity.’

    ‘You’re insane.’ Nasira paced near the pistol, but didn’t try to pick it up. ‘I think you’ve been reading from the fiction shelf for too long.’

    ‘The difference between us is that I know what fiction is.’ Sophia turned to leave. She heard the slide of a pistol snap back. ‘Or at least I do now.’

    ‘Let me out,’ Nasira said, pistol in hand. ‘Or they’ll come looking for me. You do not want that shit coming down on you.’ 

    ‘The exquisite corpse will drink finest wine,’ Sophia said.

    In one fluid movement, Nasira turned the pistol on herself. She squeezed the trigger.

***

‘Fill the glasses with treacle and ink,’ Sophia said.

    Nasira blinked, pried the barrel from her temple. ‘How the fuck did you do that?’

    ‘I can do that because I left your Auto-Thanatos parapsyche intact.’

    ‘Talk English.’

    Sophia raised her eyebrow, conscious of the scar that divided it. ‘Auto-Thanatos is self-mutilation and self-destruction.’ She leaned forward. ‘I’m safe from you. But you, not so much.’

    Nasira weighed the pistol with one hand. She gave Sophia a wry grin and discarded it. ‘It felt a bit light. So, let me get this straight. You’re saying I’m going around killing innocent people, thinking they’re terrorists. And this whole war on terror thing—what is that meant to be, a joke? I’m sorry, but that’s too stupid to take seriously.’

    ‘As long as we have a false enemy,’ Sophia said, ‘we’ll never discover the real one.’

    ‘Whatever you say.’ Nasira kicked the pistol through the metal bars, back to Sophia’s feet. ‘If you’re here to recruit me as part of your anarchist happy-clappy cult then think again.’ She folded her arms. ‘I’d rather shoot myself than wear a tinfoil hat and call you Morpheus. Or believe even for one goddamn minute that we’d even think of killing innocent people.’

    Sophia shook her head. ‘It’s not that you can’t accept it. You’ve made up your mind in advance that such a possibility is ridiculous and no amount of evidence will convince you otherwise. So you dismiss everything before you see it.’

    Sophia picked up the pistol and pressed the decocking lever. ‘Actually, you know what? It’s not that you can’t accept the possibility that you have it all wrong; you’re unwilling to. 

    Nasira smiled. ‘And why would I be unwilling? Because it’s bat-shit crazy?’

    ‘Because it falls too far outside of what you’ve been programmed to believe.’ From her pocket, Sophia produced a worn iPod. She slid it across the tiles to Nasira. ‘Even if it’s staring you right in the face.’

    ‘What’s this? Your propaganda video?’

    ‘And you’re the star act,’ Sophia said.

    Nasira picked up the iPod and tentatively hit the play button. She squinted at the screen. It showed a video of a security-camera recording: the programming of a young girl. Sophia had made sure none of the torture techniques applied to the girl were censored. She saw Nasira’s facial expression change. People’s jaws do actually drop, she thought. She already knew what Nasira was going to ask. She’d asked that question herself not long ago.

    ‘It’s real,’ Sophia said.

    Nasira stopped the video, but didn’t look up. ‘So you say.’

    ‘Where do you think your fear of needles came from? Vaccinations?’

    Nasira dropped the iPod. ‘You could have falsified that.’

    ‘And you could have tried to shoot yourself all on your own.’ Sophia smiled. ‘Neither of which serves logic by any stretch of the imagination.’

    Nasira swallowed. ‘Let’s pretend for a moment that what you’re saying is . . . somehow . . . true. What the hell does it mean to me?’

    ‘It means you have two choices,’ Sophia said. ‘I can put your RFID back in your arm, switch you back over to zombie mode and you won’t remember a damn thing. You continue to live in the illusion that has been carefully constructed for you.’

    Nasira ran her fingers along three fresh stitches in her right arm. Without the RFID, there was no way for the Fifth Column to know where she was.

    ‘And door number two?’ she said.

    ‘The tangible Nasira. The one that’s in control right now. The one that’s scared, confused, angry and, above all, real.’ 

Blindfolded, Sophia felt the callused hand close over her neck. She rotated her shoulder and turned to one side, breaking the hand’s grip. She maintained contact with the arm, measured the next attack and deflected the attack ever so slightly past her head. As she did so, she stepped on the inside of the attacker’s knee, breaking his form. She could almost sense the next blow. She turned to one side. The attack brushed past her stomach. She touched the attacker’s wrist lightly, thrust her hips forward just a couple of inches.

    If this weren’t an exercise, she would’ve broken the joint in his elbow using only her hip.

    ‘Good.’ Sergey, her instructor, removed his arm and untied her blindfold. ‘You’re improving fast.’

    The base’s resident martial arts instructor was a bulky man with a weathered face and silver hair. The black T-shirt tucked into army camouflage pants and boots was as close as he came to gym clothing.

    He held up the palm of his hand at Sophia’s eye-level. ‘Press your forehead against my hand.’

    She did as he instructed, not sure what to expect. Another trick, perhaps? The old man was fond of those.

    ‘I’m going to apply pressure. I want you to resist.’

    Sophia pressed her forehead hard against Sergey’s hand, pushing the hand away.

    ‘Easy, yes?’ he said.

    ‘Yeah.’ Sophia pulled her head back.

    ‘Do not stop,’ Sergey said.

    She pressed back into his palm, pushing his hand back towards him. She was winning. Then he wiggled his hand. Suddenly, he was pushing her backwards with ease. Sophia stumbled across the gym’s floor.

    She took another step to gather her balance. ‘How did . . .? That was strange.’

    What was strangest of all was this fighting system of his. In one sense, it was strangely familiar, and in another it was like nothing she had ever learned. And she had learned a lot.

    Sergey smiled.

    ‘Why didn’t you teach us this in Project GATE?’ she said.

    ‘Denton recruited me for an earlier project. Problem was, my system had a habit of unraveling the operatives’ programming. You see, I teach people not just to fight but also to think. To free their body. To become a warrior. That cannot happen when you are a programmed soldier.’ 

    He paced the gym, thumbs hooked into the front of his pants. The bare floor wasn’t padded to prevent injuries, and Sergey had insisted it remain that way. A real fight will not have padded floors, he told her.

    ‘I teach an arrangement of principles,’ he said. ‘They are malleable, adaptive. But Denton’s operatives are programmed and imprisoned. Restricted. And Denton wants it that way. He doesn’t want them to become too powerful.’

    Sophia ran a finger across the scar at her eyebrow. ‘I’m sure Denton wasn’t happy about you leaving just when he needed you.’

    He shrugged. ‘He found another instructor. Now, do you see what I did to your forehead?’

    ‘Yeah.’ She sniffed. ‘But it doesn’t make sense.’

    Sergey approached her. She readied herself for an unexpected attack.

    ‘Your brain can resist against one axis, but not against two, or three,’ he said. ‘By shaking my hand, I confuse your brain. This is one principle I am trying to teach you. This system is three-dimensional; in every possible way the warrior will disturb, disrupt, confuse. When the enemy attacks, the warrior can deflect, she can stretch time. If she must absorb a strike—’ He indicated his stomach. ‘Here, punch me. Hard.’

    Sophia wrapped her thumb over her knuckles and dropped a solid punch into his stomach. He exhaled sharply and quickly, hips moving for the briefest of moments. She knew how to throw a punch. And that punch should have dropped him to his knees.

    ‘If you cannot avoid it, if you must absorb it, you can disperse it.’ Sergey clamped his hands on his hips. ‘I rotate my hips. Just a bit. The energy from your punch dissipates outwards in a spiral. Once you are more proficient, you can throw the energy anywhere you want. You can even throw it right back at your opponent.’

    Sophia nodded. ‘I think I get it. But I can’t do it.’

    ‘But you will. Soon enough.’ He offered her his arm. ‘Grab my arm. Hold it tight.’

    She held his arm as hard as she could. He shook it a few times, but she did not yield. She watched as he reached for her elbow with his other hand, brushed his palm down her arm, then shoved her off. Her grip was broken before she realized what had happened.

    ‘Wait. Let me do that again,’ she said.

    She held his arm even tighter this time and watched him reach over. He brushed his hand swiftly down her arm, towards her wrist, then, with a minimal amount of effort, discarded her hand. She looked down at it. She had no idea how that worked.

    She must have looked shocked because Sergey started laughing. ‘Electromagnetic disturbance,’ he said. ‘It disturbs the signals to the brain. No matter how hard you try, you cannot maintain your grip.’

    Sophia nodded. ‘I guess it makes sense.’

    ‘Try to hit me,’ he said.

    She didn’t hesitate, shot her fist past his guard. Before it struck his chest, her front leg slipped. She almost landed on her face.

    Sergey helped her up, grinning. ‘Did you see that?’ He waved his hand over her leg. ‘I rotated your knee out. Using two dimensions, not one.’

    ‘I didn’t even see it.’

    ‘The conscious mind will never be as fast as the subconscious,’ he said. ‘That is why I don’t teach planned reactions.’

    Sophia nodded. ‘That . . . is really hard to get my head around.’

    ‘The common approach in Special Forces training is a handful of techniques, based on gross motor skills, that will usually cover most situations,’ he said. ‘Your training was more comprehensive, incorporating many martial arts. You learned more techniques, but they’re still just techniques. They can be performed under pressure and they shorten your reaction time, but they’re not as quick and effective as the principles approach.’

    ‘What’s the difference?’ Sophia said.

    ‘With the principles approach, the brain doesn’t get bored through endless repetition of the same movements. Every movement is unique and will always differ from the last. Instead of a limited number of techniques to pick from, you have an unlimited array of principle responses at your disposal. Your body is trained to develop a creative solution to any combat situation.’ He stepped in and shook Sophia’s arm. ‘But you need to relax. If you want to work subconsciously, you cannot be tense. If you are tense, your brain loses its ability to be creative and to multitask. Not ideal in a combat situation, is it?’

    ‘Sophia!’ It was Cecilia, calling from the gym entrance. ‘I need a word. Immediately.’

    Sophia turned to Sergey. ‘I shouldn’t be long.’

***

Sophia looked up from Cecilia’s computer screen. ‘And we don’t know who tried to send it?’

    The desk fan blew strands of hair across Cecilia’s face. ‘No, we do not. We don’t know where it was meant to go or who it was meant for or even what it said. But the communication is unauthorized and highly suspect.’

    ‘If we do have a spy, they’ll try again,’ Sophia said. ‘Until they find a way through our darknet. And then we’ll know for sure.’

    Cecilia shook her head. ‘The spy has no reason to think the communication failed. I picked this up at the end of the line, so to speak. They won’t try again.’

    ‘Who leaves this base, aside from us?’ Sophia asked.

    ‘Our supply runners, our scouts. No one else.’

    ‘Are you going to lock it down?’

    Cecilia stood from her desk and started pacing. ‘I’ll have to. Until we have the Chimera vector codes.’

    ‘What about my next grab?’ Sophia said. ‘Nasira, Lucia and Renée are ready to go, but I need more. My team’s only four strong right now.’

    Cecilia clasped her hands in front of her as she walked. ‘Our Desecheo Island defector has given us the coordinates of an operation in France. Grace has been assigned to it.’

    ‘If there’s anyone who can infiltrate a high-security facility, it’s her,’ Sophia said. ‘I need her on my team.’

    ‘We’re running out of time,’ Cecilia said. ‘And you can’t take any of your deprogrammed operatives with you. We don’t know if they can be trusted. One of them might have sent the communication.’

    ‘I’ll need a spotter,’ Sophia said. ‘It’ll have to be you—you’re the only person I can trust right now.’

    ‘Fine.’ Cecilia kept pacing, thinking. ‘Grace’s operation in France . . . if it’s a trap, it will confirm our suspicions.’

    ‘Then we need to find out,’ Sophia said. ‘To be sure.’

Sophia surveyed the commuters as they filed out of the trains at the Part-Dieu station in Lyon, France. Grace’s target was a Chinese diplomat, Zhai Jiechi. He had a slight limp in his right leg, a hard-on for trains since childhood and a predilection for wearing women’s underwear. Cotton, not lacy. He was a sensible man.

    A little boy clung to his father as they negotiated a path through the crowd. The boy disappeared behind Zhai. Sophia scanned every face. She spotted a young Chinese woman with shoulder-length black hair, chalk-white skin and a swimmer’s physique. Grace. She cut through the crowd, moving between a patisserie stall and an elderly woman taking photos with her iPhone.

    Grace’s movements were casual and relaxed as she followed Jiechi, but Sophia could tell her pace was just a fraction faster than everyone else’s. She estimated Grace was a hundred feet ahead. Sophia maintained the distance and kept her attention on the platforms so she looked as though she was trying to find her train. She’d disguised her earpiece as a hearing aid so she could wear it in public. She needed it to communicate with Cecilia, who was in place to cover the main entrance of the train station.

    Sophia made sure to stay behind a group of commuters so Grace wouldn’t be able to see her. Between heads, Sophia could see Jiechi walking a shaky line. She hoped he’d turn left and leave through the main entrance, but it looked like he was heading for the north entrance instead, which led to another taxi stand altogether. If he took that entrance, she’d have no visual surveillance.

    She silently cursed to herself. It wasn’t like her to slip up like this.

    Jiechi turned left, going for the main entrance. Sophia exhaled slowly, only now realizing she was holding her breath. A hundred feet ahead, Grace shifted to match her target’s direction.

    It was difficult relying on an untrained observer to cover her, but at this point Sophia didn’t have a choice. As long as Cecilia remained on the lookout for any movements that were coordinated and symmetrical, she should spot any other operatives before it was too late.

    ‘Grace isn’t working alone,’ Cecilia said into her earpiece. ‘I have an operative outside. No, make that two.’

    The operation brief could have been amended at the last minute, making it a triad of operatives. But Sophia suspected a trap. Nonetheless, she needed more proof before she bailed. She discreetly held down the push-to-talk button on her throat mike, concealed under the collar of her woolen jacket. ‘I’m holding back. Keep me informed.’

    She wandered leisurely through the crowd. Rather than turning left towards the main entrance and following Grace, she continued straight ahead to the north entrance. Allowing her gaze to casually drift to her left, she peered through the glass panels at the main entrance. From her position, she couldn’t identify faces directly but could notice particular movements.

    She spotted one operative, male. He was wearing a gray jacket and stonewash denim jeans. His hands were empty but she knew he was carrying. One under the waistband, another concealed elsewhere, usually against the calf. And a knife sheathed along the opposing calf. If she knew which operative it was, she might even be able to guess where the knife was, depending on if he was right- or left-handed.

    The operative closed in on Jiechi as he approached the taxi stand. Sophia made out the side of his face and recognized him instantly. Short black hair, high cheekbones and milk chocolate skin; a mix of Portuguese and African—Pardo. And there was only one Pardo operative working for the Fifth Column. Jay.

    Alarm bells went off inside her head.

    She kept her eyes on the main entrance, hoping to catch a glimpse of the other operative. She spotted someone moving alone, purposefully. He had dark features but not quite as dark as Jay’s. His skin was a few shades lighter, a pale caramel. His hair was longer, brown, scruffy. He had smooth skin and an aquiline nose just a fraction too big for his face. Southern European, for sure. She recognized the lopsided quiff and large hazel eyes. Damien.

    She watched them move on Jiechi from behind. Their tactics were wrong. Grace should be in front of Jiechi, not behind. More alarm bells went off inside her head.

    Jiechi wasn’t the target.

    ***

    ‘One operative entering the building,’ Cecilia said into Sophia’s earpiece.

    Sophia picked up her pace. They knew she was here. They’d been expecting her. And judging by their body language, it wasn’t for a tea party. Grace had probably spotted her back at the platforms. Things were going to get messy. Very, very quickly.

    ‘It’s Damien, and he’s armed,’ Cecilia said.

    Sophia was in a tightly packed crowd. She had no exit strategy. She couldn’t run. Besides, she wanted things to be different. She wanted Damien and Jay on her side.

    ‘We need to recruit them sooner or later,’ she said into her mike.

    ‘Now’s not the time,’ Cecilia said. ‘You’re not safe.’

    ‘I can do this.’

    ‘Jesus. Get down!’

    Sophia pretended to trip. A man beside her bent down to help. There was a tiny cough: the sound of a suppressed round. Terrified screams erupted from around her.

    ‘Les terroristes!’ someone screamed. 

    The man collapsed, the top of his head blown off. On her knees, Sophia crawled desperately through the crowd. Her hands slipped on pieces of pink meat and bone. She found herself at the feet of the little boy she’d seen earlier. His face was dotted crimson. He’d just seen his father’s head get blown away.

    An explosion of pain in Sophia’s ribs forced her to curl up. She couldn’t breathe. Shoes kicked into her, trampled on her arms and legs. People screamed and yelled above her. She got to her feet and ran with the terrified commuters, then slipped into the more oblivious crowd ahead. This lot hadn’t seen the shooting, but were exchanging nervous opinions about what had happened as they picked up their pace. Sophia kept quiet, said nothing, and wiped blood from her face with her woolen sleeve. The dead man would be surrounded by police officers by now.

    She threw herself behind a tall fern sitting in a square pot. The pot was barely large enough to conceal her. In front of her, there was a row of bar stools bolted to a high benchtop. A nervous hand rested on beige slacks. It belonged to a man in his sixties, who, until now, had been sitting peacefully with a takeout McDonald’s beverage in an oversized paper cup. He had a gray moustache and a receding hairline, both beginning to frost white. He peered over the benchtop at her as she pulled her pistol from her waistband.

    ‘Ne me regardez de de pir que je vous tue,’ Sophia said. Don’t look at me or I will kill you. 

    The man averted his gaze quickly. He brought the paper cup to his lips but was too nervous to drink.

    ‘Jay’s entering through the main entrance,’ Cecilia said into her ear. ‘Grace is passing the main entrance, heading north.’

    Grace was moving to block her off at the second entrance. They weren’t wasting time. She couldn’t stay here long.

    Sophia’s hand, covered in red specks of drying blood, was shaking. She ignored it, pulled the slide back on the Beretta 92F pistol Cecilia had given her. It was a fill-in until Cecilia could source something more concealable.

    Pointing the Beretta at the man, she said in French, ‘A man holding a pistol. Look around the corner—what is he doing?’

    He craned his neck over the table to see. ‘He is walking towards us . . . he’s looking for you.’

    She peered around the pot and spotted a family of six coming towards her. They’d heard the commotion and quickened their pace.

    Sophia stood, took the man’s paper cup with a quick ‘Merci’ and stepped out in front of the family. She lifted the lid to find the cup almost full to the brim with black coffee. She didn’t risk looking over her shoulder, just kept the family as a barrier between her and any operatives behind her. 

    As they steered her towards the north entrance, she searched the faces ahead, expecting to see Grace’s any moment now. She reached the entrance without incident and found a larger crowd to integrate with. Directly ahead, she spotted a woman walking with purpose towards her. Raven hair, alabaster skin. Grace. SIG Sauer P229 pistol in hand.

    Shit.

    Sophia hit the sidewalk outside. Grace marched straight for her. Sophia removed the lid from the coffee. The family she’d used as cover was now part of the larger crowd that encircled her. Good. No one had noticed Grace’s pistol. Yet. She had to time this perfectly.

    Grace reached the edge of the crowd, her gaze never straying from Sophia. She began pushing her way through. Only seven or eight feet away. She leveled her pistol at Sophia’s chest.

    Now.

    Sophia splashed the coffee into Grace’s face, stepped in and tripped her. Grace lost her balance. Sophia seized the barrel of the pistol as Grace fell, pulled it back towards her own forearm. Grace’s wrist couldn’t bend that way—without breaking.

    Grunting in pain, Grace released her grip. Sophia had the pistol. She sprinted, made the street corner and ran for the Part-Dieu shopping mall.

With his P229 shoved in his waistband, Damien sprinted into the shopping mall after Sophia. He slowed down just enough to check the shops on both sides. A narrow corridor split off to the left, leading to restrooms and a change room. He jumped over a spill of deodorant cans from a toppled display and kept running. Sophia would never risk a possible dead end.

    Damien reached the center of the shopping mall. There were three possible escape routes. And tubular glass elevators behind a fountain. The fountain shot water four stories high. He checked the faces inside the elevator as it shunted them to the third floor. No Sophia.

    Lots of couples in the mall, holding hands. He ignored them, scanned the singles, and only then scanned the couples in case Sophia was improvising.

    There was a muffled explosion from his left. A garbage bin burst into flames. Gray smoke plumed from the top. A weak explosion. A deterrent.

    He moved towards it. Probably a deodorant can from the spilled display, and a cigarette lighter. He drew to a halt. Not a deterrent. A distraction.

    He spun around in time to catch sight of Sophia sprinting off in the opposite direction. She had a good head start. He took off after her, relaying her position to Jay and Grace as he ran. By the time he reached the exit, Sophia was already behind the wheel of a taxi. She pulled out from the curb and took off. The taxi driver ran after her, swearing in French.

    A gray van pulled up next to Damien. Jay was driving; Grace had the side door open. Damien jumped in.

    ‘Stay back! Let her think she escaped!’ he said.

    For once, Jay didn’t argue. He slowed, then turned right onto another boulevard. One more block and they were turning left onto another main road. This one had two lanes to move between.

    Grace blew hair from her face as she checked her pistol magazine. ‘She’ll know what we’re doing. She was one of us. Let’s not forget that.’

    ‘And there’s three of us and one of her, let’s not forget that either,’ Jay said.

    Damien shook his head, then realized neither of them could see him from where they were sitting. ‘Yeah, but where she’s taking us, there could be more of them.’

    ‘Right, so one kill each then, yeah?’ Jay said.

    ‘We just need her DNA,’ Damien said. ‘Not a severed head.’

***

Sophia made it across the river to the center of Lyon and ditched the taxi. She sprinted down a laneway. It narrowed, delivering her to a magnificent eighteenth-century building: a merchant bank that, strangely enough, had been converted into a church. Its shadow swallowed her.

    Slowing to a brisk walk, she worked her way around the back of the church and continued south to her rendezvous point. She considered throwing in another diversion, but shedding possessions would give Denton easy access to her DNA. She didn’t want him smelling a rat. At least not yet.

    She couldn’t get the little boy out of her head. She had something in common with that boy: they’d both stared the person responsible for the death of someone they loved square in the eyes. She thought of Leoncjusz’s dead body. And Denton leering at her from the balcony. It snapped everything back into focus. She was going to hunt Denton down and torture him in the way he’d commanded her to torture countless others. Then she would extinguish him. Just like he’d taught her to.

    Sophia walked as fast as she could down a lane jeweled with restaurants, barbers, candy and toy shops. She didn’t want to attract any—

    Pain exploded in her right shoulder. She froze, her breath stolen from her. Jay was standing at the other end of the lane. A hundred feet away. Pistol in both hands. She cursed herself for not seeing him first.

    Before he could squeeze off another shot, she dived to the side, into the café on her left. The pain was excruciating; she felt blood soaking her shirt.

    Dodging a waiter, she made it behind the bar. Jazz music was playing, sending sparks of rich blue and purple light over her shoulders. She seized a bottle of white rum and ran into the kitchen. Racing past the line of chefs, she pushed open the back door and found herself in a traboule. These passageways had once been used to transport silk in Old Lyon; now they provided access to a maze of apartments. 

    She opened the bottle, sprinted through the narrow traboule and decanted the rum over her shoulder wound. Her arm went numb. She held the neck of the bottle with her mouth and pulled the belt from her waist with her working hand. Up ahead, the traboule spilled into a courtyard. There were balconies on the floor above. A van was parked beneath one. That would do. 

    She ran, fastened the belt over her wound and slipped the hasp into the nearest notch. Staunch the flow.

    Bottle in hand, she climbed onto the van’s hood. Pain shot through her. Over the windshield, onto the roof. She scaled the balcony railing, sweat pouring from her, stinging her eyes. Covering her face, she smashed the bottle on the balcony’s glass door. It caved in, spitting fragments back at her. She stepped inside just as Grace reached the courtyard.

    Rounds cracked behind her.

    She dived from the lounge room to the hall. She was slower getting up this time. Opening the front door, she ran along the corridor. Slower than she would’ve liked. On her way she hit the elevator buttons. A decoy. No way she’d take the elevator, or the stairs. Damien and Jay would have them covered. She had to find another way out.

    She rounded the corner and found herself staring down the barrel of another P229.

    ‘Hands in the air,’ Damien said.

Grace’s voice hit Jay’s earpiece. ‘This is Tango Zero Golf. Encryption change confirmed.’

    Damien wasn’t responding. That meant possible compromise. Which meant encryption switch. Jay figured Damien had gone toe to toe with Sophia. The bitch had probably knocked out his earpiece. Jay hoped that was all that had happened. Either way, he’d make her pay.

    ‘X-Ray last seen climbing onto balcony on second floor,’ Grace said. ‘At my location. Over.’

    ‘Tango Zero Juliet to Tango Zero Golf, acknowledged. Over,’ Jay said. He raced up the first flight of stairs. ‘Tango Zero Juliet to Oscar Five Delta. I need a fix on Tango Zero Delta’s location. Over.’

    Denton’s voice filled Jay’s earpiece at twice the volume of Grace’s, bouncing across satellites all the way from Desecheo Island. Most of the words distorted in Jay’s ear. ‘Oscar Five Delta to Tango Zero Juliet. Coordinates patched through. Please confirm. Over.’

    Halfway up the stairs, Jay paused to check his com. Bingo. The target’s location was 177 feet northeast. He confirmed the location with Denton. At least he was in the right fucking building. The tagging used GPS; no elevation coordinates. He could only hope that Damien was still on the second floor.

    Pistol in hand, com in the other, he moved through the second-floor corridor. He snatched a glance at his com every now and then to confirm his heading. fifty-eight feet on his left. Through an apartment front door. This had to be it.

    His arms trembled. He shook them loose. He had to get a hold of himself. He’d been in this situation plenty of times before. But not like this. Not with Damien’s life on the line.

    He tightened his grip over both the com and pistol. Tried not to imagine what things would be like without Damien. Sweat poured down his forehead. He ignored it as he quietly double-looped detonation cord over the door handle. He wanted to call out and give Damien warning, but he’d be warning Sophia as well. He lit the det cord and took cover around the corner. Pocketing his com, he wiped damp palms on jeans. Pulled the slide back on his P226.

    One round in the chamber. Just for her.

    The door handle came free and hit the wall behind him. He leaped out from his cover. Wisps of white smoke obscured the door. It was still upright. He kicked through, heel first, let the momentum carry him through. He kneeled into position, aimed at Sophia’s head.

    Damien was sitting on a chair, earpiece still in place. He was alive. He didn’t look hurt. Sophia was behind him, her pistol—a large, bulky Beretta—pressed against his temple. A belt was wrapped around her right shoulder just above where Jay had shot her.

    He had his first line ready. ‘You know our protocol, Sophia. The elimination of an insurgency leader is worth the sacrifice of one operative.’

    Sophia pointed her Beretta at him. ‘How about two?’

    Damien wasn’t even tied up. He just sat there of his own free will, eyes glazed over. He stared straight through Jay as if he were an apparition.

    ‘Damien!’ Jay yelled.

    Damien continued to stare through him.

    ‘What have you done to him?’ Jay tried to keep his voice low and measured, but even he could hear the hysteria in his voice.

    Sophia spoke in the calm tone Jay was trying for but hadn’t quite achieved. ‘The very fact you were here to bait me into an ambush confirms that I have a traitor in my ranks. I don’t know who but I know it’s someone. For that, I can thank you.’

    Jay kept his aim below the tip of her nose. Catastrophic head shot through the brain stem. He’d drop her as soon as he could ensure Damien was clear.

    ‘You hit my shoulder.’ She seemed more amused than offended.

    Jay rose to his feet slowly. ‘My aim was off.’

    She smiled. ‘Your aim is never off.’

    A headache surfaced, making his vision hazy. ‘It won’t be this time.’

    She returned her barrel to Damien’s temple. ‘Neither will mine.’

    ‘What did you do to him?’ Flecks of saliva sprayed from Jay’s mouth.

    ‘Doctor Adamicz programmed triggers into every operative,’ Sophia said. ‘There are some unofficial triggers he never wrote down. Triggers Denton doesn’t even know exist. But I do.’

    ‘You’re crazy,’ Jay said, with a confidence that surprised even himself. ‘You’re a danger to yourself.’

    She considered him for a moment. ‘When was the last time you had a vacation?’

    ‘I don’t see how that’s relevant.’ He gripped his P226 tighter.

    ‘It’s a simple question. If you don’t want Damien to die, then answer it. When was the last time you had a vacation?’

    ‘I don’t take time off because there are more important things on my mind than leisure . . . erliness.’

    She raised an eyebrow. ‘Leisureliness, you mean?’ She smiled again. ‘That’s a big word for you, isn’t it? I see your vocabulary is wandering outside the Fifth Column standard-issue doublespeak.’ She shook her head. ‘Naughty boy.’

    ‘Jesus.’ He tried not to look at Damien’s blank eyes, kept his focus on her. ‘Have you gone completely insane?’

    ‘Grace is due any moment. Along with a sizable number of Blue Berets, no doubt,’ Sophia said. ‘I’ll need you to keep them from interfering.’

    Jay kept his aim. ‘What do you mean by that?’

    ‘Oh, don’t kill her. I know you’re good at all that, but just incapacitate her while we go for a road trip.’ She gave him a little wink. ‘How doth the little crocodile improve his shining tail. And pour the waters of the Nile on every golden scale.’

***

Jay had no idea what the fuck happened after that. He woke up in the back of a van. His van. He couldn’t remember how he’d gotten there. His vision was blurry. He had trouble focusing on just about anything. He tried to move his head to look around but nothing happened. His first thought was that his spine was fucked. He tried to lash out with his arms and legs. No movement. 

    Where the hell was Damien?

    Jay could still breathe, and he could still move his eyes. Not bad things, after all. Frantically, he looked around. Someone was sitting opposite him, on the other side of the weapons cage. She came into focus. Long hair, tied back. Cream skin. Self-assured composure.

    ‘Glad you could join us,’ Sophia said.

    His mind raced. What had she done to him? He wanted to demand answers but his lips, sticky and cracked, remained firm. He tried to calm himself. Analyze the situation. He concentrated on his breathing. She’d dumped him in the rear partition of the van, in the weapons cage. He looked down, his eyes twitching with pain as he tried to see at the edge of his vision. The ordnance wasn’t there any more. The only thing in here was him.

    No matter what happened, he would find a way to kill her.

    ‘Don’t be alarmed,’ she said. ‘I’ve paralyzed the pair of you with a trigger phrase.’

    He glimpsed a vague shape on the left. It had to be Damien. Please be Damien.

    ‘Once we arrive at our destination, I’ll remove the paralysis,’ Sophia said. ‘For now, all you need to do is listen. You’re going to tell Denton that you used your van to chase me. But you lost me in an underground parking lot in Paris.’

    Paris? Had he been out that long? He noticed that the belt fastened around her shoulder had been replaced by a tightly wound bandage. How long had he been here? Was Damien drugged as well?

    ‘My original plan was to deprogram you. End of story.’ Sophia ran her fingertips across her scarred eyebrow. A Beretta pistol rested on a manila folder next to her. ‘But considering our present situation, I think we could reach a more mutually satisfying arrangement.’ She leaned forward, elbows resting on her thighs. ‘We don’t have much time so you get the express debrief. Here’s how it works. We plan to infiltrate the Desecheo Island facility and take the Chimera vector codes.’

    Jay wanted to say ‘Go fuck yourself’ but his vocal cords didn’t budge. He had no choice but to sit there and listen to her drivel. But still, he was going to pay careful attention to every word. He would have to relay all of this to Denton later.

    ‘Your cooperation in our activities will see each of you three million richer,’ she said. ‘Such cooperation must take place without Denton’s knowledge. Meaning: you could choose to continue working for the Fifth Column; you could choose to work with us; or you could choose to work with no one. You would be free men, you would be  . . .’ She paused, then said, ‘Long has paled that sunny sky, echoes fade and memories die.’

    She rested the Beretta on her lap. ‘You’re free to move, but if you try anything I will paralyze you again.’

    Jay’s fingers twitched. Sensation returned to his limbs with a vicious warmth that made him shudder. He looked over at the shape beside him. Damien moved in tiny increments, testing arms and legs.

    ‘You OK?’ Jay said.

    Damien nodded. ‘Yeah. Considering.’

    Jay glared at Sophia. He kept his voice low and menacing. ‘What makes you think we’d even consider helping you?’

    She gave him a knowing smile. ‘Because your payment is more than just money. It’s the answers you’ve been searching for.’

    ‘We found what we were searching for,’ Damien said. ‘You.’

    Sophia picked up the manila folder beside her, gave it a cursory glance before sliding it under the cage to Jay.

    ‘Is this a new torture technique?’ Jay said. ‘Make me read your bad poetry?’

    Sophia’s words were sharp and incisive. ‘Open it.’

    Under the van’s insufficient lighting, he opened the folder. It contained records of children the Fifth Column were running tests on. He leafed through them just to satisfy her.

    ‘Why are you showing me this? This is—’

    One of the pages caught his attention. It was a record of a young boy; recruitment location listed as Rocinha, Rio de Janeiro. The boy had taken part in some sort of scientific testing.

    ‘Who’s this boy?’ Jay said.

    She waited a moment, perhaps hoping he’d answer the question himself. But he remained silent, eyes locked on hers. She pointed directly at him.

    His first instinct was to laugh, but the picture of the boy did resemble him a little bit. Well, maybe more than a little bit. If it was fake, she’d picked a convincing shot.

    He read over the record again. A proxy of the Fifth Column called the Argus Foundation had been monitoring the boy, Jay Cardoso, for years.

    Jay’s stomach felt as if a brick had been dropped inside it.

    ‘The Argus Foundation,’ Sophia said. ‘They pretended to provide medicine and education. What they actually did was track potential test subjects for Project GATE and recruit them under the guise of a phony scholarship program. Do you remember the scholarship program, Jay?’

    She was trying to sow suspicion into him. He laughed softly. He could play this game. And the moment she slipped up, she would wish she’d never fucked with him.

    ‘I’m not having a discussion about this with a goddamned terrorist,’ he said. ‘What do you want from us?’

    ‘The scholarship,’ Damien said beside him. He spoke in a conversational tone, as though they were all just sitting around having a beer. ‘They told us we could always leave the program. But no one ever did.’ His gaze fell on Jay. ‘Because we never really could.’

    Jay glared at him. ‘What? Of course they did. I can count at least five off the top of my head.’

    ‘They’re dead,’ Sophia said. ‘They never left. They failed the program in one way or another and were allocated as expendable. Used for experimental testing of the Chimera vector codes.’

    Jay glanced down at the record. Something caught his attention.

    Suspected operative malfunction on 06–03–2012. 

    Subsequent reprogramming successful. 

    He flipped over the page and rifled through the other records, pausing when he recognized another face. The recruitment location was listed as Ostuni, Apulia, Italy.

    Suspected operative malfunction on 06–03–2012. 

    Subsequent reprogramming successful. 

    Jay tightened his grip on the paper. ‘Damien,’ he said.

    He hadn’t meant to say it aloud, but Sophia heard him and nodded silently.

    ‘I’ve seen it,’ Damien said.

    Jay stared at the picture. A round-faced, six-year-old Damien stared back at him with inquisitive eyes. Something struck deep inside Jay, hard and heavy as a stone. He threw the folder aside. He’d seen enough of this bullshit.

    ‘How much did you read?’ Sophia said.

    ‘Not much. I found your characters a bit two-dimensional.’

    ‘If you decide to cooperate, you’ll have access to a complete and detailed record of your entire life,’ Sophia said.

    Her eyes weren’t on Jay. She was watching Damien pick up the folder and open it.

    Jay leaned in close, his nose inches from the cage wall. ‘Do you really think we’re going to believe a single word that comes out of your mouth?’

    ‘I’ve already made Damien the same offer,’ Sophia said.

    ‘Already? When?’ Jay looked at Damien. ‘What did you say?’

    Damien fidgeted. ‘I said only if you’re in.’

    ‘You’ll need to do a hell of a lot of convincing,’ Jay said to her.

    ‘I don’t need to convince you,’ she said. ‘You already know the Fifth Column owns you. Body and cell.’

    It was as if something that had always been solid in Jay’s mind now stuttered.

    ‘Fortunately,’ she said, ‘we’ve speeded up the deprogramming process from weeks to a matter of days.’

    Jay shook his head. ‘If you think you’re going to try that shit on me, then—’

    ‘Actually, we already have,’ she said. ‘Damien was first and you’ll be next. But we didn’t want to gut your programming entirely.’

    There was that conversational tone again. Gut your programming, fuck you up, brainwash you. And a decaf soy latté, thanks.

    ‘What did you do?’ Jay yelled.

    ‘If Denton were to enquire into the integrity of your programming, you’d be busted. Then we’d be busted. Instead, I’ve inserted some hidden erasure switches, just for me. So when the time comes, all I need to do is say a few words and your programming erases itself. Permanently.’

    A tiny voice in the back of his head said, What if it’s true? What if this is all real? He'd been supposed to shoot Sophia in Volterra. He never missed a shot. Until then. 

    He rocked forward, fingers grasping the cage bars, and told the voice to fuck off.

    ‘What the hell have you done to me?’ he yelled. She’d messed around inside his head doing all sorts of crazy shit. His heart thundered in his chest. He didn’t like being used. Especially by a terrorist. ‘You can paralyze us whenever you want, can’t you?’

    ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘And so could Denton with the official trigger phrase. We need him to believe that you haven’t been tampered with. We also need to remove your programming the instant we go operational. Otherwise he could use you against us—and, if necessary, against yourselves.’

    ‘Yeah? And what’s stopping you from keeping the paralysis command in me forever?’ Jay said. He realized he was only half-yelling now.

    Sophia kept her hand over her Beretta. ‘If you help us with our operation, I’ll remove the paralysis trigger permanently. You have my word.’

    ‘Your word means shit,’ Jay said through clenched teeth.

    The van stopped.

    ‘Tell that to the mentally retarded Iraqi women you strapped explosives to and sent into a crowded market,’ she said.

    Jay felt a tendril of anger reel inside him. He remembered the operation, but he remembered it differently. They’d tricked suicide bombers into bombing their own base. There was no market. Or was there? He couldn’t breathe. It felt like Sophia had ripped him in two parts and smashed them back together.

    ‘I’ve read the files,’ Sophia said. ‘Was it Denton’s idea to use mentally disabled women as suicide bombers or was that yours?’

    ‘Shut up!’ Jay yelled. ‘You don’t know anything.’

    She eyed him carefully. ‘I understand you were on an op in Algeria recently. To assassinate an exiled dictator.’

    ‘Crackerjack,’ Jay said. ‘We killed him. And his guards.’

    ‘You mean his family,’ Sophia said.

    Jay remembered it clearly. A robed boy dropped into a crouch, rifle aimed. Jay shot him mid-crouch. Blood smeared the doorway as the boy collapsed into a seated position.

    ‘No!’ he yelled. ‘They were guards!’

    But there was one woman. She’d trembled in the corner, dressed in purple robes. Three-round burst to the head. Bone and brain matter splattered the corner behind her.

    Jay gripped the cage wall with both hands. ‘It doesn’t matter. He was a brutal dictator. He deserved what he got.’

    ‘That brutal dictator used his nation’s oil wealth to turn his country into the most progressive and modern of all African nations,’ Sophia said. ‘He had plans for a radical financial overhaul of African economies. To free them of us—the bloodsuckers—who have kept their nations in poverty for decades. That brutal dictator you killed was regarded by his nation as a diamond in a swamp of African misleaders. Misleaders who were installed and financed by the Fifth Column.’

    ‘A diamond?’ Jay said. ‘He ordered the assassination of nationals who turned against his regime!’

    ‘That story was made up,’ Sophia said.

    ‘He massacred over 1000 prisoners!’ Jay yelled. ‘That’s what caused the revolution in the first place!’

    ‘There’s no evidence of such a crime. And there was no popular revolution against him. There were only ever mercenaries, operatives, a well-orchestrated media campaign that covered everything from the New York Times to Twitter. And bombs. Lots of bombs.’ 

    ‘Open the cage!’ he yelled, shaking the wire with both hands. ‘Open the fucking cage!’

    ‘You murdered one of the world’s last leaders who actually cared for his people,’ Sophia said. ‘And you’ve helped throw Africa back to the wolves.’

    Jay slammed the cage with the palms of his hands. ‘Shut up!’ He pulled back, clawed at the van’s rear hatch. ‘Just shut up.’

    He was ready to leave, but the hatch was locked. Even if it was open, he couldn’t move if he wanted to. He was over it. He wanted out. Fuck this.

    ‘Unlock the van,’ Sophia said to the unseen driver.

    Jay heard the lock click. He pulled the hatch open and stumbled out. He misjudged the distance to the asphalt, rolled onto one knee. He got back on his feet, staggering to one side as if a string had pulled him. The stench of bile filled his nostrils. His eyes watered, blurring his vision. He balanced himself against a parked car. He refused to vomit in front of her.

    ‘For what it’s worth,’ Sophia said, ‘it’s good to see you again.’

    ‘Yeah,’ Jay said. ‘Wish I could say the same.’

    He wasn’t in control. He wasn’t himself. He usually knew exactly what to do and how to do it. He wanted to feel normal again.

    ‘I know that right now you feel hurt and deprived of your ideals.’ Sophia stood beside the van. She had her Beretta in one hand, probably just in case.

    Jay focused on breathing. One breath after another. He wiped his lips. What she was saying, it wasn’t possible. No way this was real. He would deny it. He had to.

    ‘The Fifth Column has you not only fighting a false war but also fighting yourself,’ she said. ‘All of these years Denton has programmed your neopsyche to wage war on the real you.’

    Jay inhaled sharply through his nostrils, then eyed her ruefully. ‘You think I’m Denton’s bitch. I do think for myself, you know. I’m fighting for something I believe in.’

    ‘You’re fighting an illusion, Jay. A real war with a real threat is too unpredictable. The Fifth Column decided it was a better idea to create a myth. They called this myth “terrorism”; “the suicide bomber”; “the fanatical insurgent”. It doesn’t matter if this pathological fantasy world isn’t real. The Fifth Column—with our help—make it real.’

    Jay closed his eyes, willing everything to go away. He wanted to crawl into the corner and disappear. He still hated Sophia, but the hate was distant now.

    ‘You made me shoot the staff sergeant that day,’ Damien said.

    It was the first time he’d spoken in a while. Jay hoped it caught Sophia off guard.

    Sophia shook her head. ‘I didn’t make you do anything, Damien. Your own morality broke your programming. There was no set-up. And Jay broke his programming to save you. His covering fire saved both of us. What you’re feeling now is exactly how you felt on that night, isn’t it? You know the difference. Your real emotions and conscience are completely engaged.’

    She turned to Jay. ‘It was the real Damien who wanted to stop the sergeant. And it was the real Jay who turned the bus around and tried to escape. Deep down, you both know that. You couldn’t explain it, but now I can. And now you know.’

    Jay’s hands were shaking. Tears streamed down his cheeks, which were hot with shame. He couldn’t believe it. Not because he was scared. But because he felt different now. He was different. And there was no going back. 

    ‘There will be very little warning,’ Sophia said. ‘Since I have a spy in my ranks I can’t give advance notice to anyone. If I give advance notice, Denton gets advance notice.’

    Jay felt drained. His cheeks were dry now, but they still burned. He could barely pull the energy together to speak. ‘How do you know you have a spy?’

    ‘Someone from inside our base attempted to send an unauthorized outgoing communication from our darknet. We blocked the transmission, but did so in such a way that the spy wouldn’t realize it was blocked,’ Sophia said. ‘We don’t know for sure what the message contained or who was supposed to receive it, but my money’s on someone trying to reveal our location to Denton. They failed. So now Denton has to wait for me to come for the Chimera vector code.’

    ‘What does the vector do?’ Jay asked.

    ‘There are two Chimera vectors wrapped in encryption. The Axolotl Chimera vector was named after a Mexican salamander known for its regeneration capabilities. It regulates the rate of healing and also regenerates organs and limbs. A useful vector to have, but it’s not the one we want.’

    Jay scratched the stubble on his neck, doing his best to act calm. ‘The other one must be pretty damn special.’

    Sophia nodded. ‘Essentially, it’s an anti-psychopath vector. It targets a semi-dominant gene in the X chromosome that exists only in psychopaths, and renders the psychopath sterile.’

    Jay tried to break her nerd-speak down into a simpler explanation. ‘So it turns bad people into nice people?’

    ‘No,’ she snapped. ‘They remain exactly as they are, but they can’t have children. If we can release this vector worldwide, psychopaths won’t be popping out babies any more. Before long, they’ll die off.’

    ‘And then what?’ Jay said.

    ‘And then, for once in a very long time, humanity can steer its own course,’ Sophia said. ‘Consider it a long-term solution.’ She raised her scarred eyebrow. ‘Providing the human race can survive long enough to reap the reward.’

    Jay swallowed a lump in his throat. ‘That’s completely fucked up. You don’t have the right to do that.’

    The van door slid open. A new voice said, ‘You don’t have a choice in that matter.’

    Jay found himself staring at former Project GATE scientist Dr. McLoughlin. Former because she was supposed to be dead. Mid-fifties, eyes like ice. She didn’t dress too shabbily either. Chocolate jacket, buttoned to her neck. Cream shoes. But Jesus, the way she looked at him. Her gaze was an odachi blade that carved through him. Not that there was much to carve through right now. He was already feeling pretty hollow to begin with.

    ‘You died in a plane crash,’ he said, unable to look away.

    ‘That’s what the Fifth Column believe,’ Dr. McLoughlin said. ‘And I’d like to keep it that way if you don’t mind.’

    ‘Right,’ Jay said. ‘So you want us to let you into the Desecheo Island facility?’

    Sophia shook her head. ‘We can manage that just fine.’

    Jay laughed. ‘How the hell do you figure that?’

    ‘We’re hijacking a cargo plane,’ McLoughlin said.

    Jay stared at her. ‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’

    ‘We have an informant inside the Fifth Column who can supply us with the GPS ID of the cargo plane,’ McLoughlin said. ‘We can intercept it en route. We don’t have much time before the encryption destroys itself and the Chimera vector codes along with it. Your objective, once forewarned of our arrival, is to plant this computer virus in the facility’s intranet.’ She handed Jay and Damien a memory stick each. ‘Either one will do. Once you unpack the virus, it will take care of the rest. Then Sophia will find you and give you the identity of our informant. You will locate and bring the informant to a place where Sophia can meet you.’

    ‘How will she know where to find us?’ Jay said.

    ‘The computer virus will hijack the security system, placing it under Sophia’s personal control,’ McLoughlin said. ‘She’ll find you through the RFIDs they put back in your arms during your re-education—or reprogramming, rather. Once she has the Chimera vector codes, she leaves. With or without you. That part is up to you.’

    ‘What if the computer virus doesn’t work?’ Damien said.

    ‘It’s metamorphic,’ McLoughlin said. ‘It rewrites itself constantly, circumventing the facility’s intrusion detection. It contains a payload of viruses, each employing a different method to hijack the system, each able to do so because I have already installed back doors into the system itself.’

    Jay felt dizzy. They were really serious about this. And they actually seemed sure they could pull it off.

    Damien said, ‘You’re aware that Denton has run some of the operatives through a new program? Mark II operatives.’

    ‘Yes. We’ve encountered the shocktroopers on several occasions in the past.’ McLoughlin plucked a set of keys from her jacket pocket.

    ‘Then you’d know there are now eight of them. Posted at Desecheo Island,’ Damien said. ‘Even we don’t stand a chance against them.’

    ‘You’ve been training against these sorts of odds since you were six years old, Damien.’ McLoughlin made no effort to hide the disappointment that stained her words. ‘If I didn’t think you were up to the task, we wouldn’t have brought you here to begin with.’

    ‘Why us?’ Jay asked her.

    ‘You’re uniquely placed under Denton’s command. I have no doubt that after your little incident in Iran, he reprogrammed you with the full knowledge that we would try to turn you. It’s your job to play the game, Jay. And it’s ours to stay two steps ahead of Denton. We believe you would be very useful for this operation.’

    Jay’s mind reeled. He couldn’t believe he was considering helping them.

    ‘How you planning on getting this Chimera thing out of the facility?’ he said. ‘Denton would have it protected, yeah? It’s Paranoid City in there.’

    ‘The Chimera vector codes are encrypted,’ Sophia said. ‘Cecilia’s blood carries the encryption key. She’s not an operative though. Which is why she put the encryption key in my blood.’

    ‘Right,’ Jay said. ‘But how are we going to know when you’re approaching the facility?’

    Sophia shrugged. ‘When you hear the exploding cargo plane.’

    ‘Exploding?’ Jay hoped she was joking.

    ‘Your coms will receive a text message,’ she said.

    ‘What sort of message?’ Damien asked.

    ‘Spam,’ McLoughlin said, using her keys to unlock the car beside them—a sky blue Renault Clio. ‘That is your signal to ingest the virus into the facility’s intranet. Is that understood?’

    Jay nodded. ‘Yeah, easy. We can do that.’

    Sophia offered Jay the underside of her forearm. ‘Scratch me.’

    He peered at the blue veins under her skin. ‘What?’

    ‘Scratch me and draw blood. If you chased me, we have to make it look like you got close.’ She took his hand and pressed his fingernails into her flesh. ‘Feel free to get as much DNA as you want.’ She smiled. Coldly. ‘You’ve still failed your mission.’

Benito Montoya handed Denton a single sheet of transparency. ‘You’re not going to like this.’

    Denton placed it on the left side of the light box in Benito’s office. The sheet showed a single cell, tinted violet. It was so large that a quarter of it filled the clear background. The texture reminded him of hair gel.

    Benito placed another sheet on the right side of the light box. The image was almost identical to the sheet on the left, except for tiny sapphire-colored lozenges sprinkled around the cell like orbiting debris, and Benito’s greasy fingerprint, which made Denton cringe.

    ‘What am I looking at?’ he said, trying to ignore the MSG stench of instant soup that seemed to emanate from Benito’s desk.

    ‘The left image is a red blood cell infected with a provirus,’ Benito said. ‘The viruses are budding from the cell’s membrane. But here,’ he tugged at the first print, ‘in Sophia’s red blood cell—’

    ‘No dice,’ Denton cut in.

    He leaned forward and swiftly wiped a strand of Benito’s hair from the sheet. It didn’t add up. Sophia must’ve been carrying the provirus with the encryption key. The records of the injections revealed as much. Had he screwed it up?

    He handed the sheet back to Benito. ‘Could McLoughlin have engineered the virus to die off once it separated from Sophia?’

    ‘Well, yes. It’s a possibility. She might have programmed a decay of some sort.’

    Denton exhaled slowly. ‘You clever bitch.’ He turned to Benito. ‘Don’t you get it? We need Sophia alive.’ 

    ‘Then I’d suggest, Colonel, that you find her quickly. We may be running out of time.’

    Denton glared at him. ‘I’m well aware of that.’

    ‘No, I mean this.’ Benito turned to the laptop on his desk and tapped a few keys. A series of numbers came up onscreen.

    _360:57:14 

    The fourteen became a thirteen, then a twelve. Counting down in seconds. Denton’s chest tightened. ‘Three hundred and sixty hours. Until what?’

    ‘It looks as though McLoughlin placed an expiry date on the encryption,’ Benito said. ‘It started at 3600 hours. And that was 135 days ago, which means we have—’

    ‘Fifteen days left.’

    A sharp voice punched through Montoya’s office. ‘Colonel Denton.’

    It was the facility administrator, Doctor Komarov. Or Dragon Komarov as Denton secretly called her.

    He smiled, then turned to greet her. ‘Good evening, Doctor.’

    Dragon Komarov’s gaze, imperious and cold, flickered between the pair of them. She said to Denton, ‘I need to speak with you alone.’

    Denton turned to Benito. ‘Certainly.’

    Like a minor character in a silent movie, Benito excused himself from his own office.

    Denton’s smile faltered. He clenched his teeth in an effort to keep it there. ‘How may I help you, Doctor?’

    Her wine-stained lips parted. ‘Tell me, Colonel, do you have problems carrying out orders?’

    He tasted her question for a moment, then said, ‘No, Doctor, I don’t.’

    ‘Then can you explain to me why you carried out an operation that I did not authorize?’

    ‘I assure you, Doctor, the operation was of the highest importance. The General—’

    ‘I don’t care about the General!’ she snapped. ‘What I care about is that you’re one step away from suspension. If you want to locate your prized operative, or anyone else for that matter, then you will first seek authorization through the appropriate channel. And that channel, in case you have forgotten, is me. I will not permit you to take operatives into the field without proper backup. Is that clear, Colonel?’

    ‘Doctor, if I take any more Blue Berets into the field than I already am it will scare Sophia away,’ he said. ‘She is our finest operative, she’s not stupid.’

    ‘Was your finest operative.’ Dragon Komarov eyed him carefully. ‘Forget about ten Blue Berets. I want twenty for every operative you drop in the field. That is not negotiable, Denton. If you don’t want Sophia to know they’re around, then make sure they know how to play hide and seek. Or I’ll demote you so fast you won’t even have clearance to your own orifice. I mean office.’ 

    Denton blinked. ‘Yes, ma’am.’

    She turned and walked out.

‘Alpha Zero Two to Whiskey Six Five Zero,’ Nasira said.

    Her voice was husky even through Sophia’s flight helmet. The operation currently hinged on her acting ability.

    ‘We’ll be escorting you to Desecheo Island under terror attack threat level “severe” in this region. Please stand by as we move into position. Over.’

    ‘Whiskey Six Five Zero to Alpha Zero Two,’ the cargo plane’s pilot said. ‘Standing by. Over.’

    Sophia breathed easy. Well, not too easy. The next phase was going to require a little more than acting.

    She looked out the window of the helicopter to see the Caribbean Sea and the North Atlantic Ocean collide below, the water’s surface rolling under the three-quarter moon, concealing the five-mile depth below.

    Sophia was happy with her team. It was smaller than she would’ve liked, due to time constraints, but the ex-operatives under her command were no less than exceptional. In addition to Nasira, the team included Cassandra and Renée.

    Cassandra had been on an operation in Libya when Sophia and Nasira captured and deprogrammed her. She was African American, had brilliantly dark eyes and naturally pentachromatic vision, wore her hair in micro-mini braids, had a flair for explosives and quantum chaos theory, and an impatience bordering on intolerance. Still, she found passion in the Akhana’s crusade.

    Sophia had collected Renée in Ireland, which, coincidentally, was also Renée’s background. She had strawberry blonde hair cut short above her frequency sensitive ears. A sliver of Spanish warmed her freckled cheeks.

    Only moments ago, Sophia had told her team this was no longer a trial. It was a live op, weapons hot. She hadn’t been able to give them any forewarning because the spy in their midst might very well be a member of her hand-picked team. She hoped that wasn’t the case but she couldn’t rule it out. It wasn’t paranoia, it was common sense. She’d split her team into pairs so no one would be alone. Lucia accompanied Nasira in the cockpit, while Cassandra and Renée controlled the winch.

    Nasira was piloting a heavily modified Hughes OH-6A light helicopter, pulled right out of the early 1970s. They’d done what they could to make it airworthy: modified the main and tail rotors so they spun at a lower rate; altered the tips of the main blades, added an additional rotor blade; installed a large muffler on the rear fuselage, and even a baffle to block noise slipping out of the air intake.

    Through her helmet visor, Sophia had a visual on the cargo plane.

    ‘Five Zero,’ Nasira said, ‘bring your speed back to niner zero and descend to flight level one zero. Over.’

    There was a pause, then an uncertain, ‘Alpha Zero Two, copy that. Over.’

    Sophia concentrated on her breathing as she waited for their response. If the cargo plane’s crew became suspicious, they’d contact the facility immediately. Then it was up to Lucia to block their outgoing transmissions as fast as possible, and Nasira would need to pull out an Oscar-winning performance and pretend to be the cargo pilot as she explained to Desecheo Island that her distress call was a false alarm.

    Sophia didn’t take her eyes off the cargo plane as it descended to 10,000 feet. At this elevation, what she had to do next would be a hell of a lot easier. Easier but definitely not easy.

    ‘Alpha Zero Two, we’re at flight level one zero and steady. Over,’ the pilot said.

    ‘Copy that, Five Zero. Over,’ Nasira said.

    Ten minutes passed and the aircrew still hadn’t attempted to contact Desecheo Island.

    This was it.

    Sophia watched Cassandra give the hand signal to switch frequencies. She did so, in time to catch Nasira speaking on their own encrypted frequency. ‘OK, Sophia, ready when you are.’

    Sophia switched on her oxygen and turned to face the side door. Gripping the handle, she twisted, then slid the door to one side, shuffling along with it so she finished up pressed against the inside of the hull. The cold wind bit into her exposed neck and wrists. She sat and rested there a moment while Cassandra and Renée set up the magnetic grappling gun on the winch. Pneumatically powered, the gun was designed to be used in deep space with spacecraft, but the principle was still the same.

    ‘Ready to go fishing,’ Renée said, her American accent still carrying a hint of Irish. ‘Stand by. Over.’

    ‘Copy that. Over,’ Nasira said from the cockpit.

    Sophia heard a dull whoosh as compressed air propelled the grappling hook into the oil-black sky. From where she was sitting, she couldn’t see how accurate they were. All she could do was wait for confirmation.

    ‘Hook engaged!’ Cassandra yelled, a little too loudly.

    Cheers erupted from the cockpit.

    Sophia wanted to join in, but she was too nervous. While Renée connected her rope to the winch, she checked the pouch strapped to her chest. Inside were the explosives she needed.

    Once the winch was connected, she secured her body harness to it, tested her weight on it, had both Renée and Cassandra double-check it for her, then gingerly made her way to the edge. She could see the magnetic grappling hook stuck to the side of the cargo plane. It was an odd-looking rectangle with rounded edges, its powerful electromagnets glued to the hull with an attractive force of several thousand kilograms.

    ‘Moving into transfer position. Over,’ Sophia said.

    Her heart was racing and her gloved hands felt like they were shaking uncontrollably. She looked down to find they weren’t shaking at all. She gripped the handles on the winch and took three deep breaths from her tank to oxygenate her blood.

    This was going to be one hell of a flying fox.

    She pushed off and slid down the rope. The icy wind thrashed into her. She swung from side to side as she rocketed towards the cargo plane, her hands tight on the winch handles. Harness or no harness, there was no way she’d relax her grip.

    The wind knocked the air from her, slammed her into the plane’s tail. She had no air in her lungs to cry out in pain. The impact made her let go of the handles. She caught sight of the ocean surging fiercely below. The harness held her. She was still sliding down towards the magnet.

    ‘Whiskey Six Five Zero to Alpha Zero Two,’ the cargo plane pilot said. ‘Please check our niner. Sounds like a goddamn meteor just hit our side, over.’

    Sophia found the handles again. The wind flayed her. Her arctic jacket rustled angrily across the plane’s exterior. She shut her eyes for an instant. Her body slammed into the plane again.

    ‘Alpha Zero Two to Whiskey Six Five Zero,’ Nasira said. ‘Checking your niner. Wait one.’

    Sophia’s lungs burned. She breathed and breathed and shut her eyes. The winch hit the back of the magnet, swinging her wildly. She hung there at the mercy of the wind. It howled through her goggles. It sounded like a giant wind tunnel aimed right at her face.

    ‘Alpha Zero Two to Whiskey Six Five Zero,’ Nasira said. ‘We have a flock of birds getting a little too close. Reporting no sign of damage. I repeat, no sign of damage. We’ve got you nice and safe; proceed with your flight path, over.’

    From where Sophia was hanging, it was impossible to place the explosives above the magnet as she’d planned to. Instead, she’d have to put them below. Only problem was, the surface curved under. Great. There was no choice now. She let go of the handles and placed her complete trust in the harness.

    ‘Whiskey Six Five Zero to Alpha Zero Two. Roger that,’ the pilot said. ‘Whiskey Six Five Zero out.’

    Removing the explosive charge from the pouch on her chest, she held it against the plane’s exterior with one hand and engaged the magnets with the other. There was a dull smack as the magnets on the charge married to the hull. Now all she needed to do was get back in the helicopter. Alive, preferably.

    Gripping the handle, she engaged the winch’s motor. Slowly, it began to reel her back into the helicopter. All she could do was hang on and try not to injure herself. Despite the thermals and arctic gear that covered her from head to toe, the cold air still managed to find its way in. Inside her mask, the howling wind was joined by her chattering teeth.

    Cassandra and Renée helped her back into the helicopter. She tried to extricate her harness from the winch but her hands were too numb. Renée did it for her while Cassandra disengaged the magnetic grappling hook and slowly reeled it back inside.

    Sophia found a safe corner to sit down, relieved to be on solid ground. Cassandra slid the door shut. Warmth, at last.

    The sudden shift in temperature made Sophia’s fingertips burn. She removed her oxygen tank and mask, and all of her clothes, including the thermals. If she kept her thermals on while running around inside the facility, she’d end up passing out from heat exhaustion. She put on her para-aramid vest and strapped her helmet back on. Then she inserted a boron carbide plate onto the front and back of her vest. A bit of extra protection never hurt, she thought as she unzipped her left chest pocket and pulled out a worn iPod already cued up for the White Stripes’ ‘Little Cream Soda’. She plugged it into the speaker system they’d installed in the helicopter.

    She was already on the encrypted channel, so she began speaking straight away. ‘Maintain our heading. When the time comes, we’ll give them five minutes to find their parachutes before we blow the charge.’

    Nasira lit a cigarette. ‘How generous.’

    ‘Yeah, you’re right.’ Sophia hit the play button. ‘Make it three.’

Damien knocked on Jay’s door. Jay opened it, toothbrush shoved in his mouth and toothpaste oozing down his chin.

    ‘Hey,’ he said, inadvertently spitting toothpaste onto Damien’s T-shirt.

    He turned away, leaving Damien to invite himself in. Which he did, six-pack of Coronas in one hand, limes in the other. Toothpaste was running down Jay’s neck; he disappeared into his en suite, spat a little too dramatically, washed his mouth.

    When he returned, he said, ‘And to what do I owe this honor?’

    As Damien ripped two bottles from the six-pack, he noticed a scrap of paper on Jay’s desk. There was an email address scribbled on it.

    ‘We’ve been put on standby tonight,’ Damien said. ‘You got the call, right?’

    Jay went hunting for his bottle opener. ‘You think Denton knows she’s coming?’

    Damien frowned. ‘What else could it be? Last time we were on standby was a year ago.’

    Jay opened his beer for him. ‘And nothing happened.’

    ‘But this time—’

    ‘It’s different. I know.’ Jay opened his own beer, then snatched a lime from Damien’s other hand.

    Damien snuck a quick look around the place. Clothes were strewn over the carpet and bed, but it wasn’t as messy as he’d expected. There was a television positioned ridiculously close to the bed. Everything else looked pretty much the same as his own place, just arranged in a different way. A less efficient way.

    He picked up the scrap of paper; it was only half an email address. ‘What’s this?’

    ‘Oh, right,’ Jay said, cutting the lime with his tactical knife. ‘The PT instructor gave me her Twitter.’

    ‘Twitter?’ Damien said.

    ‘Yeah, I think it’s a porn site.’ Jay shoved a wedge of lime into Damien’s bottle. ‘Thejayunit.’

    ‘The what?’

    ‘It’s my Twitter.’ Jay grinned. ‘Good, huh?’

    Damien blinked. ‘That was . . . the best you could come up with?’

    Jay slipped some lime into his own bottle and licked his lips. ‘Yeah, jaymachine was taken years ago by some dude in Korea.’ He dropped himself onto the floor at the end of his bed. ‘Besides, it’s not like I can say anything cool. Operating procedures and all that.’

    Damien sat beside him. He couldn’t think of anything to say. Jay was silent too. That was unusual in itself. He must be as on edge as Damien felt.

    ‘Have you ever killed anyone?’ Damien said. ‘I mean, before all this.’

    ‘I have.’ Jay drank his beer, faster than usual.

    Since he was letting it lie, Damien moved on. ‘Are we doing the right thing?’

    Jay laughed, then fell silent again. ‘It’s all relative, isn’t it?’

    ‘I don’t think so.’

    Jay shouldered him lightly. ‘You having second thoughts?’

    ‘No.’ The beer was making his fingers cold. He put it down. ‘I just don’t know how this is going to end.’

    ‘Yeah, me either,’ Jay said. ‘As long as we look out for each other. That’s what brothers do. And if we make it out alive—’

    Damien raised his eyebrows at Jay’s dramatic pause.

    ‘I make pretty good nachos,’ Jay said. ‘Just saying.’

    Damien smiled, but it faded quickly. They sat in silence for a moment longer. All the possibilities ran through his head, and most of them weren’t good.

    Jay’s com beeped.

    ‘You should get that,’ Damien said.

    Jay stood up. ‘Twenty bucks says Viagra.’

    Damien licked his lips. ‘I’m betting Nigerian banking opportunity.’

    Jay checked the com. ‘Nuts.’

    ‘What was it?’

    Jay tossed the com to Damien. ‘What’s she trying to say? Is that a joke?’

    Damien checked the com. The message read: Would you rather have more than enough to get the job done or fall very short? It's totally up to you. Our methods are guaranteed to increase your size by 1–3". Reply YES to see how. 

    It was Sophia’s signal.

    Damien grinned. ‘There’s no need to be ashamed.’

    Jay snatched the com off him. ‘Don’t need it, thank you very much.’

    ‘You have your memory stick?’ Damien asked.

    Jay nodded. ‘You?’

    Damien tapped his jeans pocket. ‘Where we’re going, there’s no coming back, is there?’

    Jay drank the last of his beer and tossed the bottle into the trash can. ‘Yeah well, where we’re coming from, who’d want to go back?’

***

Denton stepped into the oval-shaped security control room, a sports bag in one hand. The room’s otherwise featureless walls were broken by an array of monitors that offered just a sample of the surveillance images transmitted from the 968 cameras strategically placed throughout the Desecheo Island facility. The cameras themselves were on timers controlled by six control-room operators. To Denton’s right, a temperature-controlled compartment held a petabyte array that faithfully recorded everything the cameras could see.

    The security chief, a solid man in his late forties with flushed cheeks and ill-fitting glasses, said without looking up from the operator-manned computers, ‘Colonel, could you take a look at this?’

    Denton tucked his sports bag under a desk and marched over to the monitor the chief was watching. The screen displayed a radar detection interface that showed the slightly askew, diamond-shaped Desecheo Island and the surrounding ocean up to a distance of thirty miles, all contained in a circle as wide as the screen itself. Green writing filled the screen images’ corners and there was a column of data on the right-hand side. The only thing he could make sense of were the GPS coordinates of the facility at the bottom of the column, and below them the current time: 03:05 LOCAL. 

    Inside the circle, a rectangle of yellow marked the dead center. Outside the rectangle, there was the occasional spurt of green.

    Denton crossed his arms. ‘What am I looking at?’

    The chief stabbed a fleshy finger at an already marked place on the grid. ‘Here’s where we lost contact with the cargo plane.’

    ‘What plane?’ Denton snapped.

    ‘A cargo plane that we lost contact with.’

    Denton glared at the chief. ‘I presume we share the same suspicion?’

    The man’s attention remained glued to the screen. ‘Uh, something shot it down, but we’re not picking anything up.’

    Denton looked back at the screen. The chief’s finger had left a smudged fingerprint. Denton leaned in, but suppressed the urge to wipe it.

    ‘I’d make that about 700 yards from the facility,’ he said.

    ‘It’s 720 to be exact, Colonel.’

    Denton nodded. ‘That appears to be correct.’

    A yellow dot appeared onscreen—on the other side of the island—and then vanished. Denton stared at it, waiting for the mysterious aircraft to reappear. But it didn’t. For a second, he thought he’d imagined it.

    ‘What was that?’

    His voice thundered through the room, making one of the operators jump from his chair.

    Denton pointed his comparably slender finger to where he’d seen the dot. ‘We had something right there. Then it disappeared.’ He turned to the nearest operator. ‘You, at workstation five. Play back the radar from the last few minutes. I want an analytical report in two minutes.’

    ‘Yes, Colonel,’ the operator said.

    If Denton hadn’t been here to notice the yellow dot, it could’ve been a good half-hour before any of these numbskulls picked it up. He eyed the chief coldly. ‘Show me the cameras in the BlueGene lab. We’re expecting visitors.’

    He knew how Sophia thought. The sudden disappearance of the dot was a distraction. She was hoping it would keep everyone busy while she snuck in from the other side of the island. Denton reached for his headset. He would allow her to get as far as the BlueGene lab. In fact, he was counting on it.

***

Sophia’s com guided her to Jay, courtesy of the virus he and Damien had released into the facility’s intranet. Not that she needed it. She spotted him a mile off, striding the mostly vacant gray-walled corridor. Fluorescent tubes lit the corridor over-enthusiastically. He wore nothing over his combat vest, possibly to show off the definition in his arms. She imagined his muscles looked better through his eyes than they did through hers. His vest appeared to be bullet resistant to Type III. At least he was sensible.

    She doubled her pace until she was beside him, her lab coat flapping behind her.

    Jay played it smooth and matched her pace. ‘How’s tricks?’

    ‘Where’s Damien?’

    ‘Catching up. As usual.’

    ‘That’s a pity. You two make a good couple.’

    ‘He’s my brother. Like a brother, anyway.’ Jay gave her a sideways glance. ‘I don’t look . . . you know. Do I?

    Sophia allowed herself a small grin. ‘All I’m saying is your inflated masculinity must be overcompensating for something. Have Doctor Montoya release the nitrous oxide and then meet me at the vending machine west of the BlueGene lab. Alone. He’s our in-place defector.’

    ‘In-place defecator. Got it,’ Jay said.

    ‘Defector.’

    ‘Yeah, I know. I just said that.’ Jay ran a hand through his hair. ‘We did what you asked. I’m guessing it worked, yeah?’

    ‘Of course it did. Otherwise I wouldn’t be here casting doubt on your sexual orientation.’

    She showed him her com’s screen. On it, the control panel for the facility’s security cameras. Face recognition had been disabled, among other select features. She didn’t bother explaining anything else. He knew the drill.

    ‘Are you by yourself?’ he said.

    ‘Of course not. And neither are you. If you have cold feet, now’s the time to say so. From this point on, I require nothing less than your full commitment.’

    ‘I told you, I’m in.’ Jay drew to a halt at the elevators and removed a plastic tube of M&M’s Minis from his hip pocket. ‘M&M?’

    She looked down at the tube. It was already half empty. ‘You have ten minutes,’ she said.

Benito Montoya wore his lab coat over a white business shirt. Pinstriped lavender; clearly a special occasion. But not special enough for him to bother shaving, Sophia noticed. He looked more stressed than she felt. And she was feeling a metric ton of stress right now.

    She approached the vending machine casually. When he saw her, there was a flicker of surprise, covered by his best attempt at boredom. As she closed on him, he greeted her as nonchalantly as he could manage, but his unease was hard to ignore.

    She shook his hand. When he took it away, he noticed the double-sided sticky tape stuck to the bottom of her palm. She tore it off and folded it over itself to avoid smudging.

    ‘Oh, right,’ she said. ‘I’ll be needing your fingerprints.’

    ‘Denton will be expecting you to sneak into the facility.’

    ‘He’ll be doing more than just expecting me,’ she said. ‘He’ll let me in, let me retrieve the Chimera vector code, then capture me. I wouldn’t expect any less. In ten minutes, meet us at the BlueGene lab.’

    ‘Right. And then what?’

    ‘If we’re the only ones standing, come on in.’

    ‘And if the Blue Berets are still awake?’

    She winked at him. ‘If you did your job properly, they won’t be.’

***

The ceiling, walls and floor of the BlueGene lab were a bland white. Grids of fluorescent lights stung Sophia’s eyes. A Blue Beret lay sprawled before her, unmoving. She sniffed the air, then stepped over him. With Nasira covering everything outside her field of vision, she continued further into the lab, to find more than two dozen Blue Berets lying around in calm, relaxed positions. She counted them. Thirty to be exact. Benito had used the correct amount of nitrous oxide. As instructed. It was better than she’d hoped for. They were completely sedated.

    She checked on her team: Nasira, Lucia, and her more recent additions, Cassandra and Renée. Everyone was accounted for. Like her, they were wearing matching lab coats with chemical splash goggles and half-face respirators that, until now, they’d concealed in their lab coat pockets. Each had two cartridges fitted to her respirator for protection from the gas. Cassandra and Renée carried high-energy degaussers concealed in nondescript briefcases. They would come in handy soon enough.

    Security cameras had the lab completely covered. But the computer virus Cecilia had given Jay and Damien in Paris would’ve worked its magic a good fifty minutes ago. Sophia already had confirmation that the virus was slowing down all security footage playback from thirty to twenty frames per second. Just enough so the staff’s movements looked natural, if a bit more relaxed, and Denton, watching the camera feeds from the security control center, would have no clue he was seeing footage that was twenty minutes old.

    What Sophia’s team were about to do they’d rehearsed in eleven minutes. Not bad, considering she was giving them fifteen minutes—no exceptions. By the time Denton saw the Blue Berets collapsing from the nitrous oxide, they’d be long gone. She allowed herself a tiny smile as she entered the lab proper.

    She counted twelve aisles of black steel, the end of each aisle sloping down at a forty-five degree angle. Underneath the black steel, hundreds of fridge-sized cabinets purred like jaguars. LED lights flashed emerald, showing the error-free function of the thirty-two BlueGene node boards that bristled inside every cabinet. The supercomputer itself was one of several the Fifth Column had installed in 2004 to crunch numbers on behalf of Project GATE and many other black projects.

    Cassandra drummed her fingers on the briefcase she carried. ‘What about the Blue Berets?’

    ‘Tape their mouths shut and use their plasticuffs to tie them up. Don’t waste our own.’ Sophia’s voice was slightly muffled through the respirator, but clear enough for them to understand her.

    Nasira hesitated. ‘You don’t want us to just shoot the motherfuckers?’

    Sophia shook her head. ‘Just take all their rounds.’

    The BlueGene lab’s walls were embedded with Faraday cages to shield the room from external electric and electromagnetic fields. That meant no radio or cell phone communication, which worked in Sophia’s favor. The Blue Berets wouldn’t be able to radio anyone and give the game away. And the rapidity of the nitrous oxide’s effects would have prevented anyone getting out of the lab to radio for help. Sophia wasn’t surprised that only one Blue Beret had made it halfway across the lab before collapsing. Of course, once the nitrous oxide had finished pumping through the BlueGene lab’s HVAC system, fresh oxygen would cycle through soon after to replace it. So the Blue Berets needed to be tied up before they could regain their senses.

    Sophia called out to Nasira, ‘Take one of their radios too.’

    Benito entered the lab, wearing a pair of goggles and a respirator of his own. He walked towards her and she fell in beside him, matching his pace.

    ‘How long did you have the nitrous oxide going for?’ she asked.

    ‘I placed the cylinder in the supply duct ten minutes ago.’

    ‘Nice one.’

    ‘Won’t security control notice the soldiers dropping like flies?’

    Sophia smiled. ‘Not until we’re out of here.’

    ‘Right.’

    Benito approached a cabinet and pushed at it with his thumb. A tray slid out with an ordinary laptop inside. He opened it and logged in.

    DesBlueGene login: bmontoya 

    Password: ********** 

    Ephoros Enterprise Server 10 Mon 29 May 03:36:31 UTC-4 

    bmontoya@DesBlueGene:~$ _ 

‘I’ll take it from here,’ Sophia said.

    Benito stepped back. ‘I don’t see how. You need to be logged in as root. The system administrator.’ 

    Sophia ignored him and focused on the cursor blinking beside the dollar sign.

    ‘It’s a closed system,’ he went on. ‘There’s not much you can do.’

    ‘Unless it’s already been done for me.’

    She smiled, then typed a forward slash, full stop and the name of the script she wanted to execute.

    BMontoya@DesBlueGene:~$ /.violet.sh 

    [+] page array prepared 

    [+] compound page faked 

    [+] splicing to pipe . . . 

    [+] struct page pointers stored in pipe 

    [+] buffer overflow 

    [+] destructor controlled by violet 

    [+] ring 0 code execution of exploit 

    [+] getting root shell 

    [+] privileges successfully escalated 

    Violet@DesBlueGene:~$ _ 

Sophia typed in “id” to check Benito’s access privileges.

    Violet@DesBlueGene:~$ id 

    Uid=1082(bmontoya) gid=1082(bmontoya) euid=0(root)groups=1082(bmontoya) 

    Violet@DesBlueGene:~$ _ 

She watched Benito’s eyebrows press together when he saw his Effective User ID listed as “root”.

    ‘Right.’ He tried to laugh but didn’t quite get there. ‘That was interesting.’

    ‘Violet is a local user exploit. Cecilia McLoughlin programmed it so I could elevate your account to a superuser.’ 

    He stared at the access privileges in disbelief. ‘That woman is full of surprises. How could she do that?’

    ‘Using the same node I’m accessing right now,’ Sophia said, removing her fingerless gloves. It was easier to type without them. ‘Only Cecilia’s a lot better than me. And probably most people on the planet, for that matter.’ Her fingers raced across the keyboard as she accessed the BlueGene file server. ‘Long live cargo-cult security.’

    It didn’t take long for her to locate the Chimera vector codes, wrapped up in a nice little encryption; Cecilia had made her memorize where they were. She removed the pen-shaped instrument from beside the keyboard and pressed the pad of her forefinger alongside the end of it. With her other hand, she pressed the button on the instrument’s side. A fine needle pricked her forefinger with such speed she almost missed it. That was the sample of blood taken care of.

    Onscreen, the shell told her to please wait while it processed the sample. She held her breath.

    Benito shrugged. ‘If this fails  . . . well, the code will destroy itself.’

    ‘Yeah. I’m aware of that.’ She didn’t look away from the screen.

    Cecilia had made the self-destruct obvious enough so that Benito, under Denton’s orders, would realize they only had one shot at decrypting it. It had to be that obvious; she didn’t want Denton destroying it by accident. The screen told her the results of the decryption. Successful. She exhaled slowly, ignoring the sweat that itched the corners of her eyes. Code filled the screen. The Chimera vector codes.

    Benito folded his arms, probably to cover his edginess. ‘I can only assume you have a way of getting the code off the server?’

    ‘I’m not moving the code at all.’

    Sophia reached for her com, and produced a small flexible tripod for it, with three bendable legs made of two-dozen rotating joints. She holstered her com on the tiny tripod and adjusted the legs until she was happy with the framing. Then she took her first picture with the com’s camera. The picture displayed on the com screen for two seconds, giving her a chance to check it before it was saved to the camera’s memory stick with on-the-fly encryption. The key for this on-the-fly encryption was a different segment of Cecilia’s DNA altogether, one that even Sophia’s blood could not decrypt. It was a nice failsafe measure. If her team were somehow captured, the Chimera vector codes would remain uncompromised.

    She set her com to take a photograph automatically every three seconds.

    ‘Every time the com takes a picture,’ she told Benito, ‘hit the “page down” key. Don’t let it miss a page.’

    Montoya nodded and touched the “page down” key. A new screen of code appeared. She left him to it as she noticed Jay’s arrival.

    He was talking to Nasira as Sophia approached. His milk chocolate skin, despite the little she could see of it behind his XM20 protective mask, was almost a dead match for Nasira’s.

    ‘How’s tricks?’ he asked Nasira.

    ‘Tricks are for kids, Darth Vader,’ Nasira said.

    ‘Who?’ Jay’s voice was tinny through the mask’s voicemitters.

    ‘A half-face respirator would’ve been fine, Jay,’ Sophia said.

    Jay shrugged. ‘This is what we’re issued with. The facility’s being evacuated.’

    ‘Security?’ Sophia asked.

    ‘Sweeping sector by sector.’ He counted on his fingers. ‘Groups of six and twelve.’

    ‘Blue Berets? Shocktroopers?’

    ‘Six shocktroopers on standby; one troop of Blue Berets with Denton and his right-hand man, Major Novak,’ Jay said. ‘The other thirty-six Blue Berets are coordinating the evacuation at the aircraft hangar under Komarov’s orders. All civilian personnel are being airlifted by Chinook as we speak.’

    Sophia realized her hand was hovering over her lab coat, right where her FN P90 submachine gun was concealed. Even with the attached sound suppressor, the Belgian-made P90 was still shorter than her forearm. Whisper-quiet and easy to conceal. Especially under lab coats.

    She lowered her hand. ‘How long?’

    ‘Two minutes, if they’re quick.’

    ‘Which they will be,’ she said. ‘Tell the Blue Berets this area is clear.’

    ‘Damien already took care of that.’

    ‘Did they believe him?’

    Jay frowned. ‘We’ll find out soon enough, yeah?’

    Sophia put her hands on her hips. ‘And your orders?’

    ‘I told you before.’

    She glared. ‘Repeat it.’

    ‘Don’t want to repeat myself,’ Jay said. ‘Everyone will think I’m formulaic.’

    She took a step towards him, and watched him bristle. He didn’t like her ordering him around. But she did. ‘If your vocabulary is up to the task, I’d like word for word.’

    Jay glanced away, pretending to be bored with the conversation. ‘To observe you without being detected.’ He nodded in the direction of Benito, who was saying ‘Hi’ to every screen of code. ‘And report in when you have the code.’

    ‘Well, that’s new.’

    She left Jay and Nasira to check on the rest of her team. They’d just finished tying up the Blue Berets.

    ‘If security move through, notify me and then dispose of them as quickly as possible,’ she said. ‘If we’re compromised, we have to move before Denton coordinates an ambush.’

    She singled out Cassandra and Renée with her finger. ‘As soon as Benito is done with the photos, I need you to degauss the blade servers. I want the Chimera vector codes erased and unrecoverable the moment we’re foxtrot.’ She checked her watch. ‘We’ve been here for just under six minutes. We need another seven minutes to degauss. We’re cutting this too close as it is.’

    Cassandra was tapping her foot. ‘Do we need to degauss? Somehow I doubt Denton has a magnetic force microscope on hand.’

    Sophia smiled. Degaussing the hard drives—destroying all data—was a necessary precaution. ‘Knowing him,’ she said, ‘he’d have one in every lab, just in case.’

    She watched Cassandra and Renée move to a specific node cabinet, each of them carrying briefcases. They opened the cabinet to reveal a blade enclosure that housed seven racks of twelve: eighty-four blade servers.

    Sophia waited for Benito to say ‘Hi’ to his last screen of code, then dismantled her com and the tripod. He logged off, and Renée immediately began pulling out the servers one by one and handing them to Cassandra. Cassandra degaussed blade after blade, six at a time on two flatbed high-energy degaussers from the briefcases. Their rehearsed movements were fast. Each blade server took twenty seconds. Sophia insisted they degauss for thirty. Just to be sure.

    She turned back to Jay, who stood with his arms folded, waiting.

    ‘There’s a railcar platform three levels down,’ she said. ‘In the interests of expediting the process you can have Damien prepare one for us. Once we’re in the railcar, you’ll check the security camera footage on my com, wait for the delayed footage to show us entering the BlueGene lab, then report precisely that to Denton. Chances are he’ll be watching the same footage at the same time.’

    Jay grinned. ‘You’re not seriously going to try to slip out with the evacuation, are you?’

    Her lips straightened into a thin line. ‘Yes, actually. And you’re welcome to join us.’

Denton followed the security chief into his office and closed the door behind him. The décor was borderline suicidal with its varying shades of pale gray and polished concrete floor. To make it worse, it stank of body odor and week-old beef jerky. Or maybe it was the chief’s flesh Denton could smell.

    The chief sank into his chair. Air hissed from the cushioned seat as it bore his weight. ‘Colonel, it’s protocol that I inform the facility adminis—’

    Denton leveled his USP Compact Tactical pistol. Squeezed off two rounds. Two clicks. And, thanks to the sound suppressor, two muffled thuds.

    The chief’s head jolted, then rolled forward. His chin dropped to his chest. It looked as though he’d taken a moment to ponder, but the splash of crimson on the rear wall betrayed that possibility.

    Denton leaned over him and plucked a handkerchief from his breast pocket. He used it to wipe the blood from the chief’s security identification card, then pocketed it. He moved for the door and listened carefully. He could hear the six control-room operators pecking diligently at their keyboards. Removing a donut-shaped plastic object from his pocket, he opened the door a fraction and tossed the object. It was a non-pyrotechnic flashbang, straight out of Desecheo Island’s R&D unit. Through the crack in the open door, he watched as the prototype grenade skittered across the room and stopped by an operator’s foot. The operator peered down to inspect it.

    Denton closed the door softly, then his eyes. Covered his ears with hands. Light crept under his eyelids as the grenade’s high-density LED array blossomed. It strobed for eleven seconds. He could hear the staggered moans of the six operators.

    He opened the door and casually walked around the circle of desks, firing a single round into each operator’s skull. Inserting a fresh magazine, he gave them a second working over. Not that he ever missed. He just liked to be thorough. And it was fun.

    He scooped up the prototype grenade from between two dead operators and slipped it back into his waist pocket. What he loved most about this grenade was that it was reusable.

    ‘Tango Zero Golf to Oscar Five Delta,’ Grace said into his radio earpiece. ‘We have located a cargo plane at the given coordinates. Booby traps have been found and disabled. No sign of the enemy. Awaiting further instructions. Over.’

    Denton held down the push-to-talk switch dangling under his jaw. ‘Oscar Five Delta to Tango Zero Golf. X-Rays are already inside the facility. Conduct a quick sweep and return to blast door chokepoints, over.’

    He released the switch, confident that Grace, his new shocktrooper commander, would be efficient and thorough.

    ‘What are you doing?’ a voice said.

    Denton looked up to see Major Novak standing in the doorway. He held his MP5 submachine gun below his barrel chest. The ceiling lights emphasized his receding hairline and the pink blemishes on his fleshy cheeks.

    ‘Spring cleaning. We’re in command now.’ Denton pushed one of the operators off a chair. ‘Can you fetch my briefcase from the chief’s office?’

    Denton let Novak stand there with the briefcase for a moment while he dragged two bodies from the table. Then he took the case and placed it on the table between two keyboards.

    ‘As of now, this is our forward operating post,’ he said. ‘Has Komarov been taken care of?’

    The folds of flesh below Novak’s chin undulated as he nodded. ‘Echo Four Golf’s squad are taking care of her now.’

    ‘I want confirmation as soon as it’s done,’ Denton said.

    Novak appeared to consider the order. More flesh quivered. ‘Yes, Colonel.’

    He watched Novak leave Security Control, then unthreaded the suppressor from his USP pistol and placed it on his briefcase. He printed a document from one of the monitors: the operator’s analysis report. It told him what he’d already suspected. The sudden disappearance of the cargo plane wasn’t supposed to distract him from the yellow dot onscreen. The yellow dot was supposed to distract him from the cargo plane.

    Sophia wasn’t on the cargo plane at all. It was a decoy.

    The yellow dot was intentional.

    Sophia had been in the facility for much longer than he’d thought. But where? Certainly not in the BlueGene lab. He could see for himself the Blue Berets were still there. And no sign of Sophia or her insurgency buddies.

    He held down the push-to-talk button and spoke quickly. ‘Oscar Five Delta to Tango Zero Golf. Abandon sweep and move to subway blast door. Prepare for intercept. Over.’

    ‘Tango Zero Golf to Oscar Five Delta,’ Grace said. ‘Moving into position. Over.’

    ‘Oscar Five Delta out.’

    He ran his fingers over the keyboard.

    Facial recognition: 0 matches. 

    ‘You clever bitch.’

    He smiled. She’d disabled the facial recognition, but kept the cameras online. Smart. But not smart enough.

    Denton picked up the phone on the desk and dialed OpCenter exchange. He gave the operator his ID number and said he had an emergency call for the General.

    The operator said, ‘Wait one.’

    A minute later, the General answered.

    ‘This is Denton. We have a situation. An unauthorized aircraft has attempted to land on the island.’

    The General grunted. ‘Oh, this’ll be good. Go ahead, Denton.’

    ‘Komarov felt she could handle the situation by disregarding my advice. In doing so, she failed to realize the aircraft was a decoy, allowing an unknown number of unauthorized personnel to penetrate the facility.’

    There was a pause. ‘How did they breach the facility’s security?’

    ‘It is highly likely they slipped in when Komarov sent personnel to investigate the unauthorized aircraft.’

    ‘Have the intruders made any demands yet?’

    ‘No, but I’m certain they’re planning a siege on the BlueGene lab. I have good reason to believe they want the Chimera vector codes. The encryption expires in three days.’

    The General snorted. ‘Then they’re wasting their time.’

    ‘Actually, General, they’re not.’ Denton paused. ‘Their leader is Sophia.’

    ‘Sophia is dead.’

    ‘I’m looking at the security camera feeds right now,’ Denton lied. ‘She’s very much alive.’

    In fact, what the camera feeds showed was every single Blue Beret in the BlueGene lab dropping slowly to the floor, eyes closed. Denton kept his eyes onscreen as he listened to the General. Silence.

    ‘If that’s the case then under no circumstances is she to be allowed access to the BlueGene supercomputer,’ the General said finally. ‘In the hands of a terrorist, the Chimera vector codes would destroy us all.’

    ‘I’m aware of the consequences, General. I have six Blue Beret troops already in position and four more surrounding Sophia’s team,’ he lied again. He had to. Allowing her access to the supercomputer was precisely what he wanted.

    ‘Denton, I’m ordering you to evacuate all personnel, including yourself.’

    Two steps ahead of you, pal.

    ‘You have twenty minutes before the facility and anyone inside it is destroyed,’ the General went on. ‘I’m authorizing deployment of a bunker-buster missile. I’m afraid there is no other option.’

    ‘Yes, General.’ Denton wiped sweat from his face. ‘With your permission, I’d like to use my shocktroopers. I’m confident they can handle this threat more efficiently—and delicately—than a missile.’

    The General did not respond. For a moment, Denton thought the connection had been lost.

    Then the General said, ‘Fine. I’ll extend your window to forty-five minutes. Don’t request any more time. Eliminate Sophia and her band of insurgents. You will do everything in your power to ensure they don’t get their hands on the Chimera vector codes. Your career and your life depend upon it.’

    ‘Forty-five minutes confirmed. I understand, General.’

    ‘If you do not report back within that timeframe with good news, be advised that a bunker-buster missile will penetrate the facility no later than the sixtieth second of the forty-fifth minute.’

    Denton set a timer on his watch for forty-five minutes.

    ‘Don’t disappoint me again, Colonel.’ The General terminated the call.

    Denton checked the security camera feeds. Sophia’s team were now inside the BlueGene lab, tying up Blue Berets. The soldiers offered no resistance. In fact, they barely moved at all. She’d sedated them. How . . . humanitarian.

    He snorted, left the monitors for now. He’d check back in a moment. He turned to leave, then drew to a sudden halt. His chest tightened.

    Dragon Komarov blocked his exit, pistol aimed. Her forefinger rested lightly on the trigger. ‘Would you care to explain yourself, Colonel?’

    Denton remained absolutely still. She was supposed to have been taken care of.

    ‘I could ask you the same question,’ he said.

    He watched her aquamarine eyes examine him. Her forefinger still hovered over the trigger.

    Her gaze wandered over the dead control-room operators on the floor. ‘Who is responsible for this?’

    Speaking slowly, with a hint of exasperation, he said, ‘That’s exactly what I’m trying to figure out.’ He kept still, making no sudden movements. ‘Clearly, the facility has been compromised.’

    ‘Yes, I can see that. By whom?’ She didn’t lower her pistol.

    How much of the phone conversation had she heard? Did she really not know or was she testing him?

    Denton decided to stick as closely as possible to what he’d said to the General.

    ‘Insurgents. Former operatives of ours. While we waste our time pointing weapons at each other, they—’ he pointed to the other side of the room, as though Sophia’s team were standing right there ‘—are murdering innocent people. Scientists. Civilians. They’ve already compromised our surveillance. They’re inside the BlueGene lab right now.’ Denton shook his head. ‘As the facility administrator, you cannot allow this to happen.’

    There wasn’t even a flicker of expression on Dragon Komarov’s face. ‘How could they have done this without our knowledge?’

    ‘Facial recognition is offline.’ Denton stepped back until he could feel the edge of the desk against his hamstrings. ‘They’ve most certainly had inside help.’

    Komarov stepped from the doorway into the room. She lowered her pistol slightly. There was something about her face, her razor-sharp cheekbones and jawline, that repulsed him. Her eyes had as much warmth as a syringe.

    Denton turned his back on her, moved his suppressor from atop the briefcase and opened his sports bag. He handed her a self-contained breathing apparatus pack—tank, pressure regulator and face mask—and picked one up for himself. The SCBAs were pre-configured and ready to use. He hadn’t planned to use one on her, but there wasn’t much choice.

    ‘You might need this,’ he said.

    ‘What is going on, Colonel?’

    Her voice wavered slightly, almost bringing a smile to his face.

    ‘Just a precaution,’ he said. Too casually. ‘In case the terrorists attempt to use chemical weapons.’

    ‘Such as?’

    ‘Ours.’

    He slung the tank, full of filtered compressed air, over his shoulders by its straps.

    Dragon Komarov began doing the same, only faster, more frantically.

    ‘Get in contact with those lurid super-soldiers of yours,’ she ordered. ‘Have them track down the insurgents and kill them.’

    She secured her face mask and turned the valve on the regulator, letting the air fill the mask.

    ‘They’re called shocktroopers, Doctor. And I’ve already given the order.’

    Denton fastened his SCBA belt buckle around his waist. He didn’t bother putting on his mask.

    ‘Without my permission?’

    She sounded pissed off—as opposed to just pissed—but then her anger seemed to fade. Her pistol dropped to the floor. Her body buckled slightly. Staggering, she moved quickly to the table Denton was standing in front of. He sidestepped. Her fingers clawed at a keyboard instead. She collapsed onto an office chair. And there she stayed, her breathing erratic and rapid.

    ‘Although I may have uttered some . . . profanities when you assigned me from Project GATE to the swine flu project, it wasn’t all bad,’ Denton said. ‘We’ve made some solid progress.’ He slipped his shoulders from the tank’s straps, then held the tank before him. ‘You see, the biggest problem was that the infection and lethality of the virus was too prolonged. We needed something that could kill in minutes.’ He walked towards her, leaned in, his face inches from hers. ‘We needed a rapid delivery system. So I thought, why not carry the virus on a neurotoxin, in aerosol form?’ He tapped her visor with one finger.

    Dragon Komarov tried to move, probably to attack him, but the attempt was sluggish and comical. It looked like a great deal of effort for her even to speak.

    ‘What . . . did you . . .?’

    Denton lowered his tank to the floor, then fetched her pistol. ‘All Project GATE operatives and staff are inoculated, of course. I don’t suppose you requested an inoculation when you transferred here?’ He smiled. ‘Oh, I forgot to mention: I laced your oxygen tank with tetrodotoxin. You know, the same toxin found in blue-ringed octopi and puffer fish. And here’s a little known fact for you: tetrodotoxin has no known antidote. Of course, tetrodotoxin in aerosol form isn’t potent enough to stop you breathing. That’s where our strain of H1N1 swine flu comes into play. Although it sounds difficult, it was really a piece of cake. All we had to do was modify a single gene—the H1 hemagglutinin—for human adaptation.’

    He noticed her fingers move a fraction, then stop. She probably couldn’t feel them any more.

    ‘That’s the first stage: paresthesia. The next stage follows not long after.’ He ripped her mask off. ‘Headaches, abdominal pain, nausea—’

    She vomited.

    ‘And vomiting.’

    Her arms twitched, then fell limp.

    ‘The third stage introduces the beginnings of paralysis, respiratory distress, speech problems, shortness of breath and mental impairment.’

    Denton grasped the regulator and switched off her contaminated air supply.

    She was no longer moving, her face glazed in sweat. Saliva trickled from one side of her mouth. Her gaze was transfixed on him.

    He stepped out of her line of sight. Her gaze did not follow.

    ‘And the fourth stage: complete paralysis. You can’t speak and you can’t swallow but you are completely conscious. You can hear and understand everything I’m saying.’ He paused to observe her carefully.

    Komarov, still slumped in the chair, continued to stare ahead. She didn’t say a word. She couldn’t say a word.

    ‘As we speak—or as I speak, anyway—the virus is triggering a cytokine storm inside your lungs,’ Denton said. ‘That’s what happens when a healthy and vigorous immune system like yours overreacts in response to the virus. Cells from your immune system are invading your lungs’ alveoli, disrupting all manner of delicate processes.’

    Denton clasped his hands at the small of his back and stood before her so she could see him. ‘That, my friend, is pulmonary edema. And the beauty of this virus is it works better on healthy people than it does on the sick.’

    Dragon Komarov’s face turned a peculiar shade of blue. Denton only had to wait a moment longer until she stopped breathing.

    ‘I could just shoot you,’ he said, ‘but this is a lot more fun.’

    He checked the monitors. Sophia’s team were hard at work on the BlueGene supercomputer. Montoya was with them. Hostage or accomplice, either way he was helping them. Jay was helping too, but that wasn’t unexpected. Denton had given him orders to do exactly that. And he would report in soon enough.

    ‘Oscar Five Delta to all units,’ Denton said to his Blue Beret teams. ‘X-Rays are in BlueGene lab. Maintain positions. Over.’

    ‘Echo Four India to Oscar Five Delta. We have visual of BlueGene exterior and we ain’t seen no X-Rays enter or leave since we got here. Over.’

    ‘Echo Four Golf to Oscar Five Delta. We have no visual of X-Rays, over.’

    Denton felt a lump in his throat. He glanced from one monitor to another.

    ‘How can you not see what’s right in front of you?’ he whispered, to himself.

    He held the push-to-talk button. ‘Oscar Five Delta to Echo Four Golf. When did you have last visual? Over.’

    ‘Echo Four Golf to Oscar Five Delta. Never had visual. Moved in position ten minutes ago, as ordered. Over.’

    On the camera feeds, Sophia’s and her team’s movements seemed sluggish. It didn’t look quite right. Sophia had delayed the security footage.

    He punched the monitor. It bounced off the table and landed at Dragon Komarov’s feet. His gaze moved up over her lifeless body, her limbs hanging at her sides, and he couldn’t help but smile. Sophia was his best operative, after all.

    He reached for his com.

When Sophia and her team arrived at the underground platform, Damien was waiting with the railcar, in near darkness. She wasn’t surprised to see him wearing something a little more basic than Jay. Just a black cotton jacket. Fashion wasn’t his strong point. And neither was ballistic defense.

    ‘Why aren’t you wearing your vest?’ she said.

    Damien nodded to the railcar. ‘All my gear’s in there.’

    ‘As soon as we’re moving, put it on,’ she said. ‘No one saw you upload the virus?’

    ‘For the last ninety minutes, no one has touched the server or the virus. It’s in there alright. The security cameras are delayed.’ Damien shifted restlessly from one foot to another. ‘So is this all of you?’

    Sophia shook her head. ‘Jay’s bringing one more.’

    She checked the three-dimensional map on her com. Two dots were moving towards her, tagged as Jay and Benito.

    Without saying a word, she gestured for Damien to board the railcar. The hydrogen-powered engine hummed to life, Nasira at its helm. Benito and Jay appeared a moment later.

    Jay slapped Damien on the back, then flashed Sophia one of his insufferably luminous smiles. ‘Our chariot awaits?’

    Sophia held out a Gerber Mark II fighting knife, her fingers wrapped over its foil grip. ‘RFID?’

    Damien pulled a napkin from his pocket; it was folded four times over. He unraveled it to reveal his pill-shaped RFID. Satisfied, she turned to Jay. He pulled out his M&M’s Minis plastic tube and opened the lid, tipped its contents into his gloved hand. Six tiny M&M’s and an RFID, all stained with his blood. 

    He tipped the RFID back into the plastic tube and tossed the blood-coated M&M’s into his mouth. Sophia grimaced, but couldn’t be bothered telling him how disgusting he was. 

    ‘Dump your RFIDs onto the tracks,’ she said. ‘Now.’

    Jay pocketed the plastic tube. ‘We’re not doing a thing you say until you uphold your end of the bargain.’

    She ground her teeth together, then said, ‘Operative Zero Five Niner, Operative Zero Three Four. Children three that nestle near, eager eye and willing ear, pleased a simple tale to hear.’

    Jay’s irritating gaze faded, replaced by another, strangely indifferent.

    In unison, Jay and Damien said, ‘Access permitted.’

    She liked this Jay better; shame she couldn’t keep him like that.

    ‘She resides high, with her we fly. Yet she remained there, too frosted to care.’

    ‘Command erased,’ Jay and Damien said, almost in unison.

    ‘Shut down neopsyche; soft reset.’

    Their expressions shifted again. Damien looked confused. Jay simply looked annoyed.

    ‘Done,’ Sophia said.

    ‘Done?’ Jay said. ‘You haven’t done a fucking thing!’

    ‘There’s some framework I need to remove later, but it’s mostly redundant. The programming’s toast. If you want proof, try to cut yourself. Your neopsyche will offer no resistance. Unless, of course, you break your programming again.’

    Jay looked at her as though she’d just become a giant M&M. ‘What?’

    ‘Your programming stops any attempt at self-harm unless dictated by the Auto-Thanatos parapsyche,’ she said. ‘Why do you think I asked you to cut each other’s out instead of your own?’

    Jay didn’t say a word. He tossed the plastic tube down the gap between the platform and the railcar. Damien folded his napkin and discarded it as well.

    ‘Get on board,’ Sophia said. ‘We’re cutting this fine.’

    ‘You said that part’s optional,’ Jay said.

    Sophia blinked. ‘I’m sorry?’

    Damien stepped forward. ‘Can you give us a minute?’

    ‘You have ten seconds.’ Sophia turned on her heel and stepped into the railcar.

    Inside, Benito turned to her. ‘That programming switch—Doctor Adamicz taught you how to do that?’

    ‘Yes,’ Sophia said.

    ‘OK, good. He taught you a great deal then.’

    ‘He risked a great deal too,’ she said, avoiding his gaze. ‘Before Denton killed him.’

    ‘Dear God.’ His gaze fell. ‘I’m sorry, no one told me—’

    ‘Before we leave, I need to remove your RFID as well,’ she told him. She gave Lucia her com, then pulled off her fingerless gloves. ‘Watch our perimeter.’

***

‘Why don’t you want to go with them?’ Damien said, keeping his voice low so Sophia wouldn’t overhear them from the railcar.

    Jay folded his arms over his chest. ‘Because they can’t be trusted.’

    Damien blinked. ‘And Denton can?’

    Jay pulled his shoulders back, making his chest look bigger. ‘We’re safer with him.’

    ‘Until retirement age. Round to the back of the head.’

    Jay smiled and shook his head. ‘Take care of that when the time comes.’

    Damien exhaled through his nostrils. There was only one way to change Jay’s mind.

    ‘I’m going with them.’

    Jay grabbed Damien’s shoulder with one hand. ‘What? Are you out of your goddamn mind?’

    Damien paused, leaned in close. ‘For once, no. There may not be another chance.’

    Jay squeezed harder. In a soft growling voice, he said, ‘The only reason I’m coming is to make sure you don’t get yourself killed.’

    He could play Jay so easily, it was almost cheating. He boarded the railcar, Jay behind him.

    Sophia introduced them to her team. It seemed to Damien that Sophia was the only one comfortable working with them.

    Nasira, who looked half Afro-Caribbean, half English, shot them an unfriendly stare before disappearing into the driver’s cabin.

    Renée had gingery blonde hair tied back to reveal a smattering of freckles, and a guarded stare. Cassandra had darker skin than Jay; her hair was braided so tightly it made his brain hurt just looking at it. She didn’t bother acknowledging his presence.

    Lucia, who looked half European, half South East Asian, was the only member of the team who moved to shake his hand—until Jay stepped in the way.

    ‘Denton’s going to lock down the facility once it’s evacuated,’ Jay said, talking to Sophia. ‘If we don’t make it in time, how are you going to get past the blast doors?’

    Sophia licked her lips. ‘The virus Damien planted for me. I’m using it to trip a security trigger that should disable all power to the facility.’

    ‘Yeah, so?’ Jay shrugged. ‘Facility will switch to auxiliary power.’

    ‘Exactly,’ she said. ‘But there’s a glitch in the blast doors. When auxiliary power kicks in, the blast doors retract briefly. Provided we time it just right, that’s our window out of here.’ 

    Sophia kneeled before Benito, slapped on a pair of disposable latex gloves and ran the twin-edged blade of her Gerber knife under the flame of her Zippo lighter. Once it was sterilized, she felt for the RFID on Benito’s forearm with her thumb and forefinger. Benito saved her the time by locating it himself.

    Lucia crouched beside Sophia and wiped the area he’d indicated with an alcohol swab. Then Sophia used the tip of her sterilized blade to make a straight incision over the RFID.

    ‘Sophia,’ Lucia whispered, the alcohol swab in one hand, Sophia’s com in the other. ‘We have incoming.’

    Sophia placed her knife on the seat beside Montoya. ‘How many?’

    Lucia turned the com screen so Sophia could see. Sixteen dots shooting down the subway. Fast. At that speed, they’d be here in twenty seconds.

    Sophia yelled, ‘Nasira! Prepare to move!’

    ‘On it!’ Nasira called from the driver’s cabin.

    Sophia used her fingers to work the tiny RFID from underneath Benito’s skin. He breathed heavily, his teeth clenched. His forehead was pressed into three distinct creases. She found the RFID: a quarter of an inch in length, an eighth of an inch in width. It slipped from her grasp. Still under his skin. Her team couldn’t move yet. If the railcar was in motion, she wouldn’t have a hope at getting it out. And until she did, they’d be tracked every step of the way.

    ‘They’re almost on us,’ Lucia said.

    She shed her lab coat, revealing her para-aramid tactical vest. Nasira did the same, closely followed by Cassandra and Renée. They peered over the holographic sights of their P90s, their attention riveted to the platform entrance. Nasira was in the driver’s cabin, ready for Sophia’s order. Lucia dropped Sophia’s com onto a seat and picked up her own P90.

    Sophia tried for the RFID again, felt the metal between the latex of her gloves. She picked it out and held it. Glass exploded above her head. Lucia dived to the ground beside her. Benito bent over, hands over his head, eyes shut.

    ‘Go!’ Sophia yelled. ‘Go!’

    She pressed herself flat to the floor, the RFID between her forefinger and thumb. This was going to be close.

    The railcar’s electric motor hummed to life beneath her. Her arms were covered in glass fragments. She could see Blue Berets swarming the platform, only their helmets visible from her angle. They disappeared and she knew they were kneeling to take aim.

    Nasira hit the accelerator.

    Sophia heard the subsonic rounds smack through the metal and glass inside the railcar. Seconds later, they were out of range.

    She crawled onto one knee and pulled off her latex gloves. She turned them inside out and, with the RFID inside one glove, tied it off.

    ‘Everyone, talk to me!’ she said.

    Renée and Cassandra were first to report. They were fine. Jay chimed in after, followed by Damien. Benito was sitting as he had been before, one hand clamped over the incision on his arm. Glass fragments were caught in his short, curly hair like some sort of cake decoration.

    Sophia helped Lucia to her feet. ‘Injuries?’

    Lucia shook her head and got to work dressing Benito’s incision.

    Jay slapped Damien’s back, grinning. ‘Piece of cake.’

    Sophia moved towards one of the shattered windows and tossed the RFID out into the subway. After a quick search for her com, she found it on the floor near Benito. She looked up to see Lucia had finished bandaging his arm.

    ‘I’m sorry, Doctor, but it was necessary,’ Sophia said.

    ‘Right, well, I suppose it had to be done.’ He pushed his frameless glasses up the bridge of his nose. ‘And just call me Benito.’

    ‘It’s good to meet you—hold it!’ she yelled. Denton was smarter than this. ‘Stop the railcar!’

    The railcar drew to a quick halt. Jay shot her a demanding glare.

    Damien, his vest in one hand, looked confused. ‘Why are we stopping?’

    ‘Check your com maps,’ Sophia said.

    While they did that, she consulted her own com. Using the hijacked security system, she sent the encrypted photographs of the Chimera vector codes to Cecilia McLoughlin. But just before she hit the send button, she noticed something unusual. The encryption looked strange.

    Jay was beside her. ‘What the hell’s going on?’

    ‘I’m about to send the Chimera vector codes,’ she said.

    ‘So we’re done. What are we waiting for?’ Jay’s gaze switched from her to the others, as if daring anyone to disagree with him. ‘Let’s get the—’

    Sophia held a finger up, silencing him. She double-checked the connection settings on her com, even though in the helicopter she’d already triple-checked it. Infrared and Bluetooth were all disabled. But when she checked this time, Bluetooth was enabled. Her mouth went dry.

    The only wireless frequency she’d left operational was the cellular frequency for voice calls. And that ran through the double-firewalled cryptorouter Cecilia had installed for her. She’d even hacked the international mobile equipment identification number normally used to track phones without batteries or SIM cards. Something was wrong.

    She checked the transfer log. The sender, identified as “DesBlueGene”, had used Bluetooth to force her com to accept a package. Alarm bells went off in her head. She checked the time of the transfer. The same time as when she’d decrypted the Chimera vector codes in the BlueGene lab. That wasn’t good.

    She checked her com’s file activity. The package had been very busy since then, silently unpacking itself and lying dormant for a few minutes. She scanned the transfer log, a chill working its way up her spine. The package was currently intercepting the encrypted photographs and wrapping something over them. Like a game of pass the parcel, only in reverse, each transfer packaging the last in a new layer of encryption.

    First things first.

    Sophia quickly sent the vector to an anonymous server so Cecilia could retrieve it, then called Cecilia right away. While she waited for the call, which was encrypted over internet protocol, to hop anonymously through half a dozen multi-jurisdictional nodes around the world, she tried desperately to think of what to say.

    The call connected, masked from eavesdroppers with white noise. ‘Yes,’ Cecilia said.

    ‘Some of the code has dual encryption,’ Sophia said.

    Silence.

    ‘I think Denton programmed a virus to switch on Bluetooth and use it to send a package to my com,’ Sophia said. ‘Some of the photos have been wrapped in a second layer of encryption. Encryption that’s not ours.’

    ‘Do not leave the facility,’ Cecilia said.

    Sophia swallowed. ‘What should I do?’

    ‘I had a look before you called. It seems Denton only wrapped the anti-psychopath vector with a second layer of encryption. The Axolotl vector is completely untouched. But this second layer over the anti-psychopath vector, it works like the first. Only catch is you need to decrypt both at the same time,’ she said. ‘OK. I just ran the encryption against Denton’s genome from the Fifth Column database. It’s his DNA. But with a twist.’

    ‘He made an encryption key out of a provirus as well?’ Sophia said. ‘Wait, that means I need you and him in order to decrypt the anti-psychopath vector.’

    ‘Exactly. And that’s precisely how he wants it,’ Cecilia said.

    ‘Does he have to be alive?’ Sophia asked.

    ‘It’s the same as your key. There’s a die-off effect.’

    ‘I’ll take that as a yes.’

    ‘The way the encryption is wrapped, you’ll need us in the same place at the same time.’

    ‘Jesus,’ Sophia said. ‘There’s no way we can pull this off. We need to abort.’

    ‘Listen to me, we can still do this. You’ll need to use the facility’s electronic countermeasures to block Denton’s communications. If his Blue Berets and shocktroopers are running blind and deaf, you can keep one step ahead of them. It’s the only way you can stay alive long enough for me to get there.’

    ‘You’re going to come here? Shit. You have to.’

    The rules had changed. The game had changed.

    ‘Don’t abort yet, Sophia. We still have a shot.’

    Sophia swallowed. ‘How long do you need?’

    ‘I’m in Puerto Rico, precisely as planned. So from here, I’ll need twenty minutes. Meet me at the BlueGene lab. The files you sent me are intact. Get rid of yours now.’

    The call disconnected. Sophia lowered the com from her ear.

    Her team was waiting for orders.

    Jay was waiting for answers.

    On her com, Sophia opened the folder that contained the encrypted photographs. Even if she was captured, they were untouchable without Cecilia’s DNA. It was safe to erase them, so she did it. Gutmann method: thirty-five sweeps of random overwrites, making the erased code virtually impossible to recover. Just to be sure.

    She exhaled slowly, then said, ‘We can’t leave yet.’

    ‘Hang on a fucking minute. We betrayed the Fifth Column to help you!’ Jay snapped. ‘If we stay, we’re toast.’

    She met his gaze. ‘We don’t have a choice.’

    ‘I do,’ Jay said. ‘We fulfilled our part of the agreement; we’re out of here. We want our money and childhood records now.’

    ‘And how are you going to leave without us?’

    ‘That’s our problem, not yours.’

    Sophia said, ‘Damien?’

    Damien frowned. ‘I’m afraid I’m with Jay on this one.’

    ‘Then I’m afraid I can’t give you the money now,’ Sophia said.

    ‘Oh really? And why’s that?’ Jay said. ‘So you can kill us and save yourselves the payment?’

    Nasira shrugged. ‘The thought crossed our minds.’

    ‘Cecilia McLoughlin has the money. And the records,’ Sophia said. ‘She’ll be here in twenty minutes. If you want them so desperately, ask her yourself. In the meantime, you stay with us. That’s not negotiable.’

    From the corner of her vision, she saw Damien shudder slightly. He stood perfectly still, as if suspended on a string, and his vest slipped from his grasp. He looked blank. Blood squirted from his chest. He opened his mouth to say something, but all she heard was a withering gasp. Not from his mouth but from his chest. He fell.

    Suppressed rounds tore through the front of the railcar. Sophia hit the floor. Everyone else did the same.

    She heard the whine of the railcar engine grow louder, then realized it wasn’t their engine. Fear shivered through her. She tried to ignore it. Pointing to the driver’s cabin, she yelled, ‘Override the batteries to full capacity! Get us out!’

    If they were going to have a chance at outrunning the Berets they’d need to retreat. Sophia just hoped she could get her team to a railcar platform—any platform—before the Berets reached firing range.

    Renée was the closest to the cabin. She crawled towards it. Moments later, the roar of their engine drowned out the pursuers’. Following Sophia’s directions, Renée juiced the lithium ion batteries and the hydrogen fuel cell, pushing their top speed from fifty miles per hour to a fraction over sixty. Sophia just hoped the Berets didn’t know how to pull the same trick.

    Something metallic skittered along the floor beside her. Flashbangs.

    Sophia closed her eyes and clamped her hands firmly over her ears. Even with her eyes shut, all color and shape dissolved into a sheet of hot white. It sounded like someone had lit firecrackers inside her ears. She couldn’t tell where the bang finished and the dull ringing began. Counting to five, she opened her eyes. The hot white faded. It looked as though everyone had frozen around her. Then they jolted ahead in time.

    The railcar was slowing down. The lithium ion batteries were dry. But the hydrogen was still going.

    ‘They’ve stopped firing,’ Benito said.

    ‘That’s because we’re out of range,’ Sophia said. ‘For now.’

Jay dropped to his knees before Damien. Jay himself had taken a round in his left shoulder. It burned like hell, leaving his left arm dangling uselessly at his side. But the pain was nothing compared to watching Damien lie there with that fucked-up slurping noise coming from his chest. He couldn’t believe what was happening. Damien’s eyes were half-open, focused on him. Jay felt useless.

    Lucia was over Damien, her medical backpack open on the floor. ‘Sucking chest cavity,’ she yelled above the rush of air.

    Her hand was pressed firmly over the exit wound on the left side of Damien’s chest. The round must’ve ripped open the skin on Damien’s back and burned its way through his flesh, smashing open the veins and nerves. It had gone wide on his left side, missing his heart and perforating a lung.

    Jay couldn’t give a fuck about the Blue Berets, the Chimera vector, any of that shit. Right now, he was going to do anything to make sure Damien survived.

    Lucia pointed to Damien’s chest. ‘Hand here, firm pressure.’

    As soon as she removed her hand, Jay took over. Damien exhaled. His eyes were closed now. Scarlet bubbles frothed over Jay’s knuckles. Jay swallowed, hard. His eyes tingled. He could feel tears coming. It only angered him more.

    Lucia pressed two fingers into the groove between the large muscle of Damien’s neck and the windpipe. ‘His pulse is too fast,’ she said.

    As soon as Damien opened his eyes, Jay yelled, ‘It’s OK, you’ll be fine!’

    Lucia removed Jay’s trembling hand and applied a sterile dressing to the wound. He watched her tape three sides, leaving the bottom open for drainage. He could almost visualize Damien’s heart pumping furiously to make the best of what blood was left in his body.

    Lucia reached for a plasma bladder and catheter from her backpack. Screw that. Jay beat her to it. He held the catheter between his teeth and ripped the bladder out of its packaging. Lucia let him do it, and stabbed Damien’s thigh with an auto-injector of morphine. Jay tore the caps off the bladder and jabbed the catheter into the bottle’s self-sealing neck. Lucia took the bottle from him.

    ‘Let me do it,’ he said.

    ‘It’s OK,’ Lucia said. ‘I have it under control.’

    She undid the screw clamp, allowing the liquid to run through the line and bulk out the blood in Damien’s veins.

    Jay felt tears splash his cheeks.

    ‘Thank you,’ Lucia said.

    Jay rocked back on his heels until he was slumped against the side of the railcar. His mouth twitched. He tried to keep a straight face, but his chin trembled. He ran his functional hand through his hair. He should never have let Damien get on the railcar.

***

Renée called out from the driver’s cabin. ‘Where to?’

    On her hands and knees, Sophia yelled back, ‘Keep going!’

    She checked her com. The Blue Berets were yellow dots on her screen. They’d dropped back. Her team was safe. For now.

    Jay shuffled towards her. He clamped his good hand over her com. ‘You need to get Damien to a hospital!’ he yelled over the noise. ‘Now!’

    ‘I’m sorry.’ She looked up at him. ‘We can’t help him yet.’

    ‘Actually, you can help him,’ Benito shouted.

    Jay hesitated, turned to Benito. Sophia did the same. Maybe Denton had retained a medical team in case the Berets needed treatment.

    ‘How?’ Jay said.

    Benito slipped a hand between the buttons of his shirt and scratched his chest. ‘The Axolotl Chimera vector. It’s only encrypted with Cecilia’s DNA, yes?’

    ‘Damien is dying!’ Jay yelled. ‘And you’re having a nerds’ tea party about DNA?’

    Sophia glared at him. ‘Thank you, Jay, that’s enough quite testosterone for now.’ To Benito, she said, ‘That’s right.’

    Then realization hit her. She hadn’t thought of that.

    She called Cecilia back immediately. ‘I have critically wounded. I need the Axolotl Chimera vector—decrypted.’

    ‘That’s too dangerous,’ Cecilia said.

    ‘I’ll wipe it as soon as we use it,’ Sophia said. ‘Please. I need this.’

    Cecilia didn’t respond straight away. For a moment, Sophia thought the connection had cut out.

    Then Cecilia said, ‘As soon as you’ve used it, erase it from your com again.’

    ‘Thank you.’ Sophia ended the call.

    Her com beeped. She checked it. Cecilia had just sent her the decrypted Axolotl code.

    She looked up at Jay. ‘We can save him with the Axolotl Chimera vector.’

    ‘What?’ Nasira said. ‘You’re actually considering this?’

    ‘I can take you to the Vector labs,’ Benito said, scratching his chest again. ‘In the Project GATE labs.’

    ‘You’re going to risk all of our lives to help someone who never wanted to help us in the first place?’ Nasira said.

    ‘I’m not leaving a member of my team behind,’ Sophia said.

    ‘He’s not a member of our team!’ Nasira yelled.

    ‘He is now.’

    ‘Yeah, well, it’s considered impolite to kill your friends while you’re committing suicide,’ Nasira said. ‘For the record.’

    ‘Sophia!’ Renée called out. ‘We’ve passed another platform!’

    She checked her com. There was only one more platform left. And it was crawling with yellow dots.

    ‘Fuck, they move fast,’ Jay said, peering over her shoulder at her com.

    ‘Too fast,’ Sophia said. ‘Much too fast.’

    Something was wrong. With the surveillance under her control, it was impossible for the Berets to be in place that quickly.

    On her knees, not wanting to give the Berets an easy target, Sophia crawled to Benito.

    ‘Nasira, get over here!’ she called.

    Nasira crawled after her, but Jay was already kneeling beside her. ‘Are you crazy?’ he said. ‘They’ll be on us in a matter of minutes!’

    ‘If you want to stay alive, then stand aside.’ She looked down at him. ‘Or kneel aside.’

    Jay’s Adam’s apple bobbed beneath the sweat-laden stubble on his neck. ‘No.’ His shiny eyes blinked. ‘I’m helping you.’

    ‘Fine.’

    She glanced back at Benito. He was scratching his chest again. ‘What are you doing?’ she said.

    ‘It’s itchy.’

    ‘Why?’

    ‘Inoculation I had recently.’

    ‘The hell you did. Nasira! Do his chest.’

    Nasira kneeled before Benito and waved an open palm over his chest. She stopped near his heart. ‘Getting a soft buzz right here.’

    ‘Shit,’ Sophia said. ‘You have a subdermal GPS implant.’

    ‘We’re underground,’ Jay said.

    ‘Doesn’t matter. This is sferic-based GPS. Very low-frequency signals that penetrate earth and sea.’

    Jesus, she thought. There was no way in hell she could remove that. At least not without killing him.

    Benito nodded. ‘Next to the heart. That would be a generation-three implant then. I don’t remember it being implanted though.’

    ‘That sounds about right,’ Sophia said.

    She wasn’t familiar with the third-generation implants. Her first thought was to get Cecilia on a voice call and have her talk them through it, then she remembered the Fifth Column’s most skilled cryptanalyst was sitting right in front of her. Dr. Benito Montoya.

    She licked her cracked lips. They tasted sour with perspiration. ‘Can we disable it?’ she asked.

    Benito pushed his glasses up. ‘Can you isolate and monitor the implant’s power consumption?’

    She turned to Jay.

    ‘On it.’ Jay got to work with his own com. It took him a moment, but it wasn’t long before an electric blue line shivered across his screen. ‘Done.’

    She took Jay’s com and handed it to Benito.

    ‘Right,’ Benito said. ‘Now set your com to transmit on 900 megahertz.’

    Sophia sensed Nasira hovering over her. She handed Nasira her own com. It was the only one currently in control of the hijacked surveillance system. Someone needed to keep an eye on it.

    ‘Here, swap,’ she said. ‘Keep watch on the Blue Berets.’

    Using Nasira’s com, Sophia identified the implant and adjusted the com’s transmission frequency to match it. ‘OK, 900 megahertz,’ she said.

    Benito exhaled, surprisingly calm and surprisingly focused. More than she was, at least.

    ‘Right. I want you to transmit a password of sixteen zeroes,’ he said. ‘This will be the kill password.’

    She punched in the numbers. ‘That’s the password?’ She transmitted it, but the com told her the implant wasn’t responding. ‘No, it’s wrong. It’s wrong.’

    Benito didn’t look concerned. ‘Right. Change the first digit to a one.’

    She did as he said. Same result.

    ‘Keep trying through to nine.’

    She shook her head. ‘I don’t understand—’

    ‘You will. Just do as I say,’ he said quickly.

    She tried the number two. Nothing. She tried the number three. Same result. She continued through the numbers until Benito said, ‘Stop! What number was that?’

    ‘Six,’ she said.

    ‘Right. Keep that number, move to the next digit.’

    She cycled from zero to nine, transmitting to the implant with every number.

    ‘How do you know which number is the right one?’ she said.

    Benito kept his eyes on Jay’s com. ‘When it’s the right number, the implant doesn’t use as much power to process it. Dead giveaway.’ He laughed loudly and abruptly. It made her jump.

    ‘You’re guessing the password based on how thirsty the implant is for power?’ she said. ‘Is that how it works?’

    ‘Correct. I watch the power usage and tell you which numbers are accepted and which numbers are rejected.’

    Benito’s hands moved in elaborate gestures. If a symphony conductor were tripping on acid, Sophia thought, that’s what his hand gestures would look like.

    ‘Number by number, we can figure out the kill password. In cryptography, it’s known as a side-channel attack.’

    He was speaking a little too fast, but she got the general idea of what he was saying.

    ‘Stop!’ he said. ‘Now when I say “next”, lock it in and move to the next digit, understood?’

    She nodded, then moved on to the fourth digit, her fingers working furiously through the numbers.

    ‘Next!’ Benito said.

    That was a nine. Four digits down, thirteen to go.

    ‘Next.’

    That was a two. She continued with the sixth digit, one finger ready to enter the number, another finger ready to hit the transmit button.

    ‘Next.’

    Seven.

    She was getting faster.

    ‘Next.’

    Zero.

    At this rate, they were revealing one digit every ten seconds. Fast, but not fast enough.

    ‘Shit,’ Nasira said.

    Sophia badly wanted to know what Nasira was looking at, but kept her focus.

    ‘Next.’

    Number five.

    ‘What is it?’ she said to Nasira.

    ‘They’re catching up.’

    Sophia cycled through another round of numbers.

    ‘Next.’

    Number eight.

    ‘I have visual!’ Cassandra called from the rear.

    ‘Next.’

    Number five.

    Sophia entered the five, but accidentally put it as the first digit. ‘Shit.’

    She wrote the six back in, then stuck the five at the end. She couldn’t screw this up. Five to go.

    ‘Next.’

    Number eight.

    Sweat stung her eyes. Her fingers were shaking.

    ‘Next.’

    Number three.

    ‘They’re closing!’ Lucia yelled, checking her mag.

    ‘Next.’

    Number six.

    Subsonic rounds smacked viciously into the rear of the railcar, shattering glass. Sophia ducked lower.

    ‘Next.’

    Number one.

    Sophia rubbed sweat from her eyes. One more to go.

    ‘Renée, top speed!’ she shouted.

    ‘We already are!’ Renée yelled back.

    That wasn’t good.

    Jay and Nasira scrambled over broken glass to the rear, taking up fire positions. Lucia was still monitoring Damien’s chest wound. Damien’s eyes remained closed.

    Sophia realized she’d been holding her breath. She inhaled deeply through her nostrils and exhaled through parted lips. She returned her focus to the com. She had to finish this.

    The railcar jolted, dropping to half its speed. The jolt knocked the com from Sophia’s grasp. It skittered to the other side of the railcar.

    Sophia launched off her knees and scrambled for it.

    ‘The platform’s up ahead!’ Renée yelled.

    Rounds sprayed over them. Sophia laid flat, arms forward. She touched the com with her middle finger. All that did was push it further from her grasp. She wriggled after it. The railcar’s acceleration carried the com right to the end of the carriage. Great.

    Cassandra’s boot came down beside it. Sophia looked up, yelled at her. Cassandra must have heard her over the noise because she looked down that instant. Sophia pointed to the com. With the inside of her boot, Cassandra slid it towards Sophia’s hands. Sophia grabbed it, held on tight.

    ‘They’re gaining on us!’ Cassandra yelled.

    Sophia’s blood ran cold. The Berets knew how to juice the lithium ion batteries.

    Not now. Not fucking now.

    She rolled back to Benito, ignoring the bits of glass that stuck to her. Flat on his chest, he was moving towards her. They met in the middle of the chaos. Sweat ran in rivulets from her scalp, making her eyes sting. Lying on her stomach, com in clammy hands, she cycled through the numbers for the last digit.

    ‘Nasira!’ she yelled. ‘End platform! Are the Berets still there?’

    Nasira was on one knee, P90 aimed and firing. She glanced down at Sophia’s com, shoved in her pocket. ‘They’re still in position!’ she yelled back.

    Denton had planned this. And she’d walked right into it. And in less than twenty minutes, Cecilia would walk into Denton’s ambush—the Chimera vector codes open for his taking.

    ‘Sophia!’ Renée yelled. ‘Make the call!’

    Sophia tried another number. Nothing. She tried the next one.

    Benito yelled, ‘Jackpot! Send the kill password!’

    ‘What if this doesn’t work?’

    ‘Then I die.’ He locked gazes with her. ‘Do it.’

    Sophia hit the transmit button. Benito coughed. He hunched over, spluttering and choking. She grabbed his hand, squeezed. She’d fucked up. Was the implant trying to kill him?

    He stopped choking and cleared his throat. He straightened up, other hand over his chest. He exhaled slowly and managed a weak smile. ‘You haven’t killed me yet.’

    Sophia nodded, then released his hand. ‘Stop the railcar!’ she yelled.

    The railcar lurched to a halt. Nasira dropped Sophia’s com. It slid across the floor. There was another railcar opposite them. Stationary. No one inside. Luck might still be on her side.

    ‘We’re sitting ducks!’ Jay yelled from beside her, loud enough it almost blew her eardrum.

    Benito, still lying on his stomach, held up Jay’s com. ‘I’ve cloned the signal onto this. As far as Denton knows, this is me.’

    Taking Jay’s com, Sophia turned to the others. ‘Everyone out! Onto the tracks!’

    ‘In the other railcar?’ Jay said.

    ‘No! The tracks. If you want to stay alive then do as I say!’

    Jay nearly tripped on Sophia’s com. He picked it up and glanced at her.

    ‘Keep it,’ Sophia said. ‘Go!’

    Jay and Lucia hauled a barely conscious Damien out of the railcar door while everyone else climbed out the windows. Sophia climbed out with them. She could see headlights in the distance. Blue Berets.

    She said to Nasira, ‘Find a way back to level one.’

    She grabbed Renée by the shoulder, gave her Jay’s com, then pointed to the empty railcar beside them. ‘Start that engine. Drop the com in the railcar and send it past the Berets at full speed.’

    Renée didn’t reply, just climbed aboard. She tossed Jay’s com on the floor, then disappeared into the driver’s cabin.

    Heart racing, Sophia climbed back inside the original railcar, into the driver’s cabin. Now she was face to face with the approaching Blue Berets. Six hundred feet and closing. With subsonic rounds, their effective range on a moving railcar would be no more than 300 feet.

    Rounds smacked the cabin around her. She crouched down and started the engine, then thrust the acceleration handle as far forward as it could go. The railcar lurched. She rolled out of the cabin, crawled to a window. Jumped.

    Renée landed on the tracks beside her almost at the same time, then dropped to her knees. She’d been shot. Sophia pulled her up, arm over her shoulder. Renée had one hand pressed firmly over her thigh, her teeth clenched more in annoyance than pain as they watched the railcar duo punch into the darkness.

    One of the railcars was now a rigged decoy with a fake signal transmitting Benito’s location. The other was on a direct collision course with the Blue Berets. That should keep them busy, Sophia thought.

Denton sat hunkered over his Toughbook—a rugged laptop designed for extreme environments—in the darkened Security Control room. He watched the single dot onscreen—Montoya’s subdermal GPS implant—tell him Sophia and her insurgents were trying to escape in a second railcar. Major Novak stood at his shoulder, his breath warm on Denton’s shaved head. He hated it when Novak did that. Especially when his idea of breakfast was an omelet that smelled like its only ingredient was onion.

    ‘Oscar Five Delta to Tango Zero Golf,’ Denton said into his throat mike. ‘Hold position at railcar platform. I repeat, hold position at railcar platform. Over.’

    ‘Tango Zero Golf to Oscar Five Delta. Acknowledged. Out.’

    ‘Oscar Five Delta to Echo Four India,’ Denton said. ‘X-Rays are inbound. Stand by for intercept. X-Ray leader is to be taken alive. Undercover operatives will comply. The hostage scientist and the insurgents are expendable. Over.’

    ‘Echo Four India to Oscar Five Delta. Copy that. Out.’

    ‘Oscar Five Delta to Echo Four Golf. Change direction and pursue X-Rays. Over.’

    Denton waited for a response, but there was none.

    He glanced up at Grace, the shocktrooper commander. Her violet, disc-shaped goggles unnerved him slightly. He checked his watch. The countdown for the bunker-buster bomb read 32:13.

    Knocking back his sixth Guaraná Jesus, he reached for his briefcase and opened it beside his Toughbook.

    He said to Novak, ‘There’s a chance they’ve hijacked the radio frequency jammer. Destroy it. I have my own.’

***

With Renée’s arm draped over her shoulder, Sophia dragged her into the Vector labs. More glaring lights, white walls and metal benchtops. One half of the lab was blocked off by a glass wall. On the other side, Benito and Jay were lying the unconscious Damien on an operating table. The rest of the team quickly took up observation posts.

    Jay’s left arm was bandaged. It hung limply at his side. Jay didn’t even seem to notice; he was too focused on Damien. Sophia couldn’t think of anything to say to him.

    Blood spurted from Renée’s thigh. Sophia looked down to see Renée’s crimson hand slide away from the wound. She felt heavier: she’d passed out. Sophia pressed her own hand over the wound and applied pressure. Jay appeared beside her, his expression resigned, but at least willing to help. He wrapped one of Renée’s arms over his shoulder and helped lift her onto an operating table. Sophia’s hand slipped. Blood sprayed towards the ceiling in a miniature fountain.

    ‘Femoral artery,’ Sophia said. ‘Benito, we need you.’

    Benito left the needle he was preparing for Damien and rushed over. He swapped Sophia’s hand for his own, pressing down firmly on the artery.

    ‘Jay,’ she said, ‘I need my com right now.’

    ‘What about electronic countermeasures?’ Jay snapped.

    ‘Taken care of,’ she said. ‘I’ve remotely hijacked the facility’s broadband jamming system. It’s continually and simultaneously jamming the full spectrum of RF comm frequencies from twenty megahertz to 3000.’ She removed a memory stick from a pouch in her vest. It reminded her of blue chewing gum. ‘Encryption and security keys are on here. Load them into your radios.’

    She wasn’t sure if Jay understood that the transmission security keys, once loaded into their radios, would tell the jamming system to let their communications go through. But he didn’t seem confused, so that was a good sign.

    ‘And yours?’ Jay said.

    ‘Preloaded.’

    ‘You have everything fucking covered, huh?’ He wasn’t smiling.

    ‘Almost.’ Sophia looked down at Renée. She was still unconscious. ‘Give her some fluids, she doesn’t have much time.’

    ‘You give her blood plasma,’ Jay said to Sophia. It almost sounded like an order. ‘I’ll help Benito save Damien.’

    ‘We need to check on troop movements,’ Sophia said. ‘Which means I need my com.’

    ‘I think your comrade’s life is more important than a com,’ he snapped.

    ‘Don’t tell me what’s more important.’ She turned to Benito. ‘Load the vectors; inject half into Damien’s bloodstream.’

    ‘And the other half?’ Benito said.

    ‘We need it to save Renée. She’s lost too much blood.’

    With her hand back over Renée’s torn artery, Sophia said to Jay, ‘Take Renée’s webbing off. She has a supply of plasma in the pouch near me.’

    Jay reluctantly left Benito in charge of Damien. Using his only working hand, he retrieved the blood plasma from the webbing belt Renee, like all of them, was wearing. Sophia didn’t supply any further instruction. He knew what to do from there.

    ‘Give me the com,’ she said.

    Jay connected the catheter to the bag, but didn’t say a word.

    ‘Jay,’ she said. ‘Give me the goddamned com!’

    He dug into a vest pouch and gave it to her.

    Lucia, Nasira and Cassandra burst into the lab. Sophia realized she was aiming her P90 at them. She was just as startled to see them as they were to see Renée unconscious.

    ‘What the heck happened?’ Lucia said.

    ‘She’s stable.’ Sophia lowered her P90. ‘Why aren’t you at your posts?’

    Cassandra tapped her earpiece. ‘Something’s wrong with our frequency.’

    Sophia’s jaw clenched involuntarily. ‘Define wrong.’

    ‘Screw the frequency, we’re easy targets here,’ Nasira said. ‘We gotta pull out before we’re surrounded by these motherfuckers.’

    ‘Too late.’ Lucia sniffed the air. Her head was tilted back slightly, lips parted.

    ‘Talk to me,’ Sophia said.

    ‘There’s a lot of them. They’re not far.’

    Sophia checked her com. ‘No kidding.’

    ‘What the fuck?’ Jay said.

    ‘I have hyperosmia,’ Lucia said. ‘Enhanced sense of smell. It’s my natural ability.’

    ‘I have that too,’ Jay said.

    ‘Then you have her to thank for your upgrade,’ Nasira said. ‘You should use it more, train yourself.’

    Two troops were moving in from opposite sides. They’d be here soon. Sophia’s heart raced. Their only chance was to slip through a crack in the ambush. Providing there was a crack. But with Renée and Damien in critical condition, she knew that wasn’t going to happen. If they left Renée and Damien behind, the pair would be killed. Yet if they all stayed here and tried to save Renée and Damien, they’d all be killed.

    Lots of good choices.

    She’d messed up. And everyone was going to pay for her mistake. And all she could think about was how scared Leoncjusz must’ve been when Denton and his Blue Berets raided the library. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

    She tried to remember why the Akhana had chosen her in the first place. Leoncjusz had told her she consistently made remarkably better combat decisions than other operatives. That meant, as far as Cecilia was concerned, if Sophia couldn’t pull this together, no one could. Now she had to live up to that expectation.

    Benito was injecting the vector into Damien’s arm. Jay had just finished bandaging Renée’s thigh. He used Sophia’s memory stick to load the transmission security key to his radio and then Damien’s. She wanted to tell him not to waste his time, but didn’t have the heart to.

    ‘She’s awake!’ Lucia said.

    Sophia turned to see Renée sitting upright. Not exactly bouncing with energy, but she’d be mobile in no time, with assistance.

    ‘Benito!’ Sophia yelled. ‘Inject Renée. Now.’

    Benito did as she ordered, then Lucia and Cassandra helped Renée off the table.

    Sophia checked her com again. The Berets were almost on them. She snatched her memory stick from Jay, then checked the west corridor. If there was any chance of escape, it would have to be here.

    ‘Damien’s stopped breathing,’ Benito said solemnly.

    Sophia saw a silent rage burning in Jay’s eyes.

    ‘Two troops closing fast,’ Sophia said to Lucia. ‘We have to get Renée out of here.’

    Nasira covered Cassandra and Lucia as they helped Renée move. Having done all he could for Damien, Benito followed Nasira out. Jay intercepted him and took the syringe with the remaining vector inside. He’d done all he could for Damien. The only person that remained was Jay. He stood by Damien, struggling to inject his own arm.

    What the hell was he doing?

    ‘Fuck.’ He fumbled some more.

    She didn’t know why he was bothering. The bandage on his injured arm was tight and would limit the distribution of the Axolotl Chimera vector through his bloodstream.

    ‘Jay!’ she yelled. ‘Move it!’

    He strode over and handed her the hypodermic syringe. ‘Inject me. In my good arm.’

    ‘It’s experimental, we don’t—’

    ‘Those Blue Berets are going to pay for what they did. I need this. Do it!’

    She felt his saliva hit her face. It would be quicker to do this than argue. He held his good arm out. Fuck it. She sank the needle into a thick blue vein, injected the Axolotl vector that had failed to save Damien.

    ‘Get out of here,’ Jay said.

    She removed the syringe. The Berets wouldn’t attack Jay. As far as they knew, he was still playing for their team. Unless they’d been ordered otherwise.

    She didn’t bother looking at her com. There was only one way out and checking troop movements a third time wasn’t going to help her get there any faster. Her boots hit the PVC tiles in a frenzied rhythm. Adrenaline poured through her, stinging like acid on freshly severed veins. The rhythm of her boots became louder, faster. Then she realized it wasn’t just her boots any more. The Berets were almost in the lab.

***

Damien’s lungs burned, ached for air. He felt his arms. His legs. His body. Heard the sound of boots. Fluorescent light penetrated his eyelids. His fingers tingled. He opened his eyes.

    ‘Thank fuck,’ Jay said. He started laughing and raised his hands over Damien. ‘Rise and walk, my child.’

    Damien blinked. ‘What happened?’

    ‘The faithful don’t ask questions. They just thank Jesus for the miracle,’ Jay said. ‘But you can thank me later.’

    Damien sat upright and was rewarded with a wave of dizziness. He didn’t say so, but he was relieved to see Jay. For a moment, he wished nothing had changed. That everything in the past hour had been erased from time. He looked down to find himself topless. He peeled the dressing off his wound to find it had scabbed over.

    ‘Where’s Sophia and—’ He looked up to see an entire troop of Berets staring at him from the other side of the glass wall.

    ‘The insurgents attempted to interrogate you.’ Jay’s voice was officious now. ‘I managed to wound one of them. That should slow them down.’

    ‘Instant healing, huh?’ the Blue Beret sergeant said. He had a bad complexion that reminded Damien of a pineapple. ‘Nice trick.’

    Damien looked down at his healing wound. ‘I wish it was instant,’ he said. ‘And it’s not nice.’

    ‘Colonel Denton has re-established communications,’ the sergeant said, still staring at the scab on Damien’s chest.

    ‘Good,’ Jay said, helping Damien to his feet.

    ‘We’ll be able to coordinate a search of the facility,’ the sergeant said.

    ‘That won’t be necessary.’ Jay strode out of the lab. ‘We know where they’ll be, Sergeant.’

    Damien followed Jay out. He felt light-headed, and bumped into the corridor wall twice as he tried to catch up with Jay.

    Once there was enough distance between them and the Blue Berets, he grabbed Jay’s shoulder. ‘What are we doing?’

    Jay looked at him as though he’d asked what color the sky was. ‘We’re going to see Denton, what else?’

    ‘You know what I mean.’ Damien didn’t let go. ‘Are we in with Sophia?’

    Jay brushed him off and kept going. ‘That was the plan, right?’

    Damien closed the gap between them. ‘No, I mean not just pretending like Denton wants us to. Actually in?’

    ‘We’ve discussed this,’ Jay said. ‘We’re in. I’ve got it under control.’

    Damien grabbed his arm. This time Jay didn’t flinch. ‘What if Denton gives us the order to kill her? And the others?’

    Jay pulled his arm away. ‘Then we do what we think is right.’

Sophia leaned against the wall in a dark, disused sub-level. The anxious breaths of her comrades circled her in symphony. She checked the countdown on her watch. Cecilia would be arriving at the facility in nine minutes, with the expectation that Sophia had captured Denton.

    And she hadn’t.

    It wasn’t Denton’s fault. He’d just done what any good-for-nothing psychopath did best. Screw everyone else over. But the least she could do was not make it easy for him. She was responsible for Leoncjusz’s death, and now she would be responsible for the deaths of every single person on the planet that she cared about. Her team. Cecilia. Benito. Even those knuckleheads Damien and Jay, who’d proved that she wasn’t the only operative who could break her programming without intervention.

    ‘Well, this is fucking great,’ Nasira said.

    Lucia looked more optimistic than the others. ‘What’s our next move?’

    Sophia rubbed her temples with her thumb and index finger. Her mind reeled with half-formed plans to grab Denton and meet Cecilia, but they all came crashing down.

    She shook her head. ‘It can’t be done. We don’t have enough time.’

    ‘We should cut our losses and get the hell out while we’re still in one piece,’ Nasira said.

    Sophia pulled out her com and, using an encrypted signal, called Cecilia. White noise hissed into her ear. She pulled the com away. The hiss was still there. It was in her earpiece as well. She pulled it out, as did everyone else—except Benito, who wasn’t wearing one.

    ‘Shit.’

    Frantically, she double-checked her encryption key. It was working.

    ‘We’re in way over our motherfucking heads,’ Nasira said.

    Sophia checked the jamming system interface. She couldn’t connect to it. It seemed she wasn’t the only one who’d thought of electronic countermeasures.

    ‘Denton’s blocked us, hasn’t he?’ Lucia said.

    Sophia lowered her now useless com. ‘It didn’t take him long.’

    Nasira said, ‘So not only are we heavily outnumbered—’

    ‘But we’re blind and deaf as well,’ Sophia said.

    Nasira ran a hand over her cropped hair. ‘That’s one hell of a handicap.’

    ‘That’s not the worst of it,’ Sophia said. ‘Cecilia’s about to walk into a trap.’

    ‘Then Denton gets the Chimera vectors,’ Benito said. ‘You don’t want that. Trust me.’

    ‘Oh, we know,’ Nasira said.

    Sophia pocketed her com, then checked the mag on her P90. ‘We have to warn her off.’

    ‘I’m guessing we can’t do that by email,’ Nasira said.

    ‘We have to go to the rendezvous point,’ Lucia said. ‘To warn her away.’

    Sophia didn’t want to admit it, but that was the only way. ‘Denton will have all entries to the BlueGene lab covered.’

    ‘And how do we get in?’ Nasira said.

    Sophia met Nasira’s doubtful gaze. ‘We just walk right through.’

***

Wearing a new para-aramid vest, Damien walked alongside Jay through the facility’s aircraft hangar. Four menacing-looking Speedhawk helicopters were perched in a row. Denton stepped out from the cockpit of the far left Speedhawk, which he appeared to be using as some sort of temporary base of operations. His Toughbook was open on the cockpit floor, an open suitcase beside it. From the suitcase sprouted four large antennae. A multi-band jammer. Damien hoped Sophia had some sort of electronic counter-countermeasure.

    ‘We tried to contact you before Sophia got to the Vector labs,’ Jay said as they approached Denton. ‘The communications were jammed.’

    ‘Sophia hijacked the facility’s jamming system. We had to destroy it and use our own instead,’ Denton said, removing his suit jacket and slipping on a para-aramid vest. ‘Not as much wattage, but it does the job. As of now, you can communicate, they can’t.’

    He studied Damien and Jay carefully, then said, ‘Feel free to give me your sitrep.’

    ‘We rolled with Sophia and her insurgents, like you wanted,’ Jay said. ‘We were on the railcar and Sophia tried to go all Jedi mind trick on us. There wasn’t much time so we played along, listened to her bullshit. Found out she’s meant to RV with McLoughlin in the BlueGene lab. Five minutes from now. She’s also meant to have captured you.’

    The light from the Toughbook made Denton’s smile appear to be cut deeper than usual. ‘Naturally,’ he said.

    Damien felt sick. Anxious. He didn’t want to be here any more. Sophia and her friends weren’t going to make it out alive. And there was nothing he could do to change that. They were going to die because he betrayed them.

    ‘She knows this isn’t possible,’ Jay said. ‘Not with the heavy Blue Beret and shocktrooper presence. One of her own is badly wounded.’

    Denton zipped his vest up. ‘Combat ready?’

    ‘Negative,’ Jay said. ‘I bet she’ll try to warn McLoughlin off before the RV can be made.’

    Damien clasped his hands behind his back so Denton couldn’t see him fidget. He didn’t even know why he cared about Sophia’s team. He barely knew them and half of them didn’t like him. Sophia was supposed to be the enemy and here he was trying to save her. It was ridiculous. This was ridiculous.

    Denton closed his Toughbook and cast his gaze to the portable multi-band jammer. ‘She may try to warn McLoughlin, but she won’t succeed. Her only option is to make the rendezvous.’

    From the corner of his vision, Damien could see Jay’s hands also fidgeting behind his back. Jay never fidgeted.

    ‘Without you,’ Jay said, ‘she has no choice but to forfeit the Chimera vector.’

    ‘I already know that,’ Denton said. ‘A more pertinent question would be: can she trust you?’

    Jay nodded. ‘She thinks she can.’

    ‘She thinks she can?’ Denton rolled the words in his mouth as if they were a fine wine. ‘I’ve been trying to get her to capture me for the last half-hour. Clearly, I’ve overestimated her.’

    He sniffed, nostrils flaring slightly. ‘We have a bunker-buster bomb on its way to this facility as we speak.’ He checked his watch. ‘Due to arrive in twenty-six minutes.’

    Damien also checked his watch, made note of the time.

    Denton ran a hand over his shaved head. ‘So if Sophia isn’t capable of taking what she wants, then I’ll have to give it to her, won’t I? Before it’s too late.’

Sophia walked directly towards the two pairs of Blue Berets at the end of the corridor. The Berets were covering the east side of the BlueGene lab and this narrow, under-lit corridor was their chokepoint. She had Benito beside her. Like her, he was dressed in black fatigues, helmets, goggles and was carrying the standard-issue MP5SD submachine gun. Since there were no female Berets, Sophia had taken the liberty of wearing a gas mask to conceal her gender. Still, she would look noticeably slender. This was why she’d concealed Nasira and Lucia behind them. Nasira and Lucia had their weapons cocked and safeties off, but Sophia had kept hers and Benito’s uncocked. Nasira and Lucia would fire on her signal.

    As they approached the Berets, Benito said in his best gravelly voice, ‘We’re taking the lab.’

    Sophia cringed. The words had come out not so much gravelly as shaky and uncertain. He wasn’t walking like a soldier, and he was holding his submachine gun too tightly. It was like he was made of cardboard.

    She waited for the soldiers’ response. They didn’t give one. She counted down from three. If she hit zero and they hadn’t responded, then she’d have to give the signal.

    Three.

    The two pairs of Blue Berets remained perfectly still, not bothering to acknowledge the newcomers’ existence. The operatives were meant to be the robots, not the Berets. She didn’t like this one bit.

    Two.

    The Berets were holding their weapons, but kept their aim down. That might be a good sign. But still they didn’t speak. Had they even heard Benito? Their lips weren’t moving, so they weren’t talking to one another.

    One.

    Benito was at her side, their footsteps in stride. They were getting too close to the Berets now and still there was no response.

    Benito cleared his throat. He was going to speak again.

    Zero.

    She wasn’t going to let him.

    She stumbled, her foot catching Benito’s leg. He fell. She leaped to one side, dropped her MP5.

    Down on one knee, she drew her pistol. Round in the chamber, suppressor attached. Her first pair of shots struck the Beret’s chest. She aimed higher and squeezed off her second pair at his head. They struck the Beret on the bridge of his nose. He collapsed.

    At the same time, the second and third Berets dropped.

    She snapped her aim to the fourth. He had a second to take aim. His MP5 leveled on Lucia, but Nasira’s rounds struck him first. His MP5 splintered apart, the three-round burst ricocheting off and penetrating his shoulder. Another burst struck him in the chest and throat. Blood squirted from an artery. He slumped against the wall, shuddered violently. Collapsed.

    Sophia checked her six. From the far corner, 250 feet, Cassandra had taken out the fourth Beret. All of the shots had been suppressed. It had sounded more like a staple-gun fight than a gun fight.

    Sophia waved Cassandra and Renée over. They were clear to approach. Then she checked on Benito. He was lying on the ground, belly down.

    ‘Are you hurt?’ she said.

    Benito got to his feet. ‘They could’ve just said hi.’

    ‘Any wounded?’ Sophia asked.

    ‘I’m OK,’ Lucia said.

    ‘I’m good,’ Nasira said.

    Renée and Cassandra reached them, Renée carrying a satchel bag filled with their P90s and webbing belts.

    Sophia told everyone to swap back to their original weapons and belts, but keep their Blue Beret fatigues on. If they were going to clear the bodies, they wouldn’t have time to change.

***

Sophia moved slowly along the corridor wall, Nasira opposite her. Benito trailed about ten feet behind. Ten feet behind him, Lucia, Cassandra and Renée covered their rear.

    Nasira spoke softly. ‘Blue Berets have blocked us in but they’re holding their positions. How the hell is Cecilia going to get through?’

    Sophia kept her attention on the corridor ahead. They weren’t inside the lab yet. ‘Hopefully she can’t.’

    ‘Then why are we here?’

    ‘If the Berets don’t deter her, then we’ll have to signal her to get out of here.’

    ‘It could be too late by then.’

    Sophia halted, looked at Nasira. ‘Do you have a better solution?’

    Nasira hesitated. ‘I’ll get back to you on that. If we’re still alive.’

    ‘Thanks.’

    Sophia turned her attention to the BlueGene lab’s east entrance. It was eerily silent. The Berets hadn’t had time to get here first, so they wouldn’t have laid any surveillance devices or booby traps. But she checked, just in case.

    The lab’s regulated cool air caused a burning sensation in her fingertips. She could make out three silhouettes among the aisles of black steel ahead. They were near the front-end node she’d used to access the Chimera vector codes. She was back here again. She didn’t want to be back, but there wasn’t much choice.

    She gave her team signals to split: Lucia to the left, Cassandra and Renée to the right—Renée would continue and close in from the opposite side. They cautiously and silently moved through the aisles, crouched, rounds chambered in their P90s.

    Before she and Nasira identified the three figures, she wanted to make sure she wasn’t walking into a trap. Although, she reminded herself, with Berets blocking almost every conceivable entry to the BlueGene lab, they were technically already in a trap. The only advantage was that the Berets were spread so thin it would be possible for her team to quickly and aggressively punch out through a lightly enforced point. But that would come later. Assuming they survived that long. 

    She checked her watch. Three minutes until Cecilia’s estimated arrival.

    Her team moved quickly and silently. Lucia was the first back, followed closely by Cassandra. Lucia confirmed it was Jay, Damien and Denton. Her finely tuned olfactory senses could detect a man ten miles away in the Belizean jungle, so Sophia had no reason to doubt her here.

    Renée returned to tell her she’d managed to catch sight of Jay. ‘Pistol in one hand.’

    Sophia ran her tongue along cracked lips, realizing how dehydrated she was. She pointed two fingers with one hand, indicating Renée and Cassandra, then ordered them to take up positions at each end.

    She pointed to herself and said softly, ‘Nasira, Lucia and I will make first contact. Inverted wedge.’ She turned to Benito. ‘Wait in the corridor. I’ll come back for you.’

    Benito didn’t look too impressed. The corridor had nowhere to hide. ‘By myself?’ he whispered.

    She held a finger to her lips. Didn’t he know that whispering was louder than talking softly?

    She waited for him to move silently—and excruciatingly slowly—from the lab before proceeding. She gave the signal and Renée and Cassandra split off to their aisles. Sophia felt like she was in a grocery store. But these aisles weren’t stocked with food. They hummed within their flat black steel, blue lights flickering.

    She crouched low and moved into the aisle behind Jay. Nasira and Lucia took formation on both flanks. Renée and Cassandra would take a bit longer to reach their positions from the other end of the aisles. But this way they would be able to approach Damien and Jay from the opposite side.

    Jay was in full view now, his back to her. With her P90 held low, she rose to full height and approached him silently. On her left, she could see Damien. He was pacing, hands fidgeting. A third person was kneeling between him and Jay.

    Denton.

    He was stripped to his shoes, pants and muscle shirt. They’d pinned his muscular arms into a stress position and bound his wrists with plasticuffs. Somehow, between escaping the Vector labs and returning to the BlueGene lab, they’d managed to capture him. Presuming Damien and Jay could be trusted, her odds had just improved. Slightly.

    Damien was the first to notice Sophia. He stopped pacing and nodded to her. Behind him, she saw Renée’s knee emerge from the aisle on the other side. It disappeared a second later. It looked like she and Cassandra were in position.

    Jay realized someone was behind him and turned around. Sophia forced her muscles to relax. She walked towards him, studying both his and Damien’s expressions. And, finally, Denton’s, whose lips twisted into a bizarre approximation of a smile.

    ‘Well, well,’ he said, ‘if it isn’t the Cliterati.’

    Before Jay could stop her, she smashed the butt of her P90 into the bridge of Denton’s nose. Cartilage cracked and blood sputtered onto his undershirt. He slumped against a BlueGene cabinet.

    ‘Nothing like a cheap shot, right?’ He snorted blood from his nose. ‘I’m disappointed. I thought even terrorists had principles.’

    ‘Can it,’ Nasira said, towering over him with her P90 leveled at his head. ‘If we need patriotic paramoralisms, we’ll give Jack Bauer a call.’

    Denton grimaced, pulled himself upright. ‘And if I need overblown alliteration, I’ll give you a call.’

    Sophia curled her fingers into a fist. Denton saw it.

    ‘Go on, Sophia. Put me out of my misery,’ he said through scarlet-coated teeth. ‘Daddy just didn’t love me enough.’

    ‘So I heard,’ she said.

    Denton spat blood. ‘Fortunately, I did not require it.’

    ‘What would you know about love, anyway?’

    His face split into another approximated smile. ‘I could ask you the same. What loving daughter would kill her own parents?’

    She struck him again, this time across the temple. ‘You killed them!’

    He collapsed onto his side.

    Three pairs of boots struck the tiled floor, echoing through the BlueGene lab’s aisles.

    ‘Returning the favor wouldn’t be particularly wise, Sophia.’

    Cecilia’s boots were black as obsidian, while the pair of Elohim who flanked her were dressed in peculiar off-white combat suits Sophia hadn’t seen before. Their faces were hidden behind gas masks and red-tinted visors, and they clasped slightly out-of-date Pulsed Energy Projectile rifles, developed in 2006 by the Fifth Column, via the US military, and intended for US Marines. They’d been working on those things for over a decade, but they’d been quickly superseded in 2009 by a more powerful pulsed plasma laser weapon intended for the shocktroopers.

    Behind the pair with Cecilia, a dozen more Elohim fanned out onto either side.

    Sophia leaned against a BlueGene cabinet, head down, trying to breathe.

    Emotions don’t control you, you control them. Get it together.

    She turned back to face Cecilia: a welcome sight despite the precarious situation.

    Cecilia wore her hair in a French twist, usually reserved for special occasions. Today was clearly one. Matching her Elohim, she wore an off-white cotton trench coat, collar up. Below her white and navy striped scarf, Sophia could see a para-aramid bullet-resistant vest.

    ‘Of course, a reunion wouldn’t be the same without our mad scientist du jour,’ Denton said.

    Cecilia took three steps towards him, stopped sharply. ‘That implies a certain degree of intelligence. Which is lacking in the ranks of the Fifth Column.’

    ‘I’ve been saying that for years.’ Denton had pulled himself up to sit against the BlueGene cabinet behind him. ‘Perhaps I can quote you for my resignation letter?’

    ‘I don’t think that’ll be necessary.’

    His smile dissolved. ‘Neither do I.’

    Cecilia brushed her side-swept bangs from her eyes. She turned to Sophia. ‘Where’s Benito?’

    Sophia crossed her arms tight over her chest. ‘Safe.’ She looked over at Lucia. ‘Can you get him?’

    Lucia disappeared, returning moments later with an edgy Benito at her side, still dressed as an awkward Blue Beret.

    Cecilia pinched a fingertip of her cinnamon glove and pulled it free. Every movement was efficient, seemingly effortless. ‘It’s been some time, Benito.’

    Benito folded his arms, then seemed to change his mind and stuffed his hands in his pockets instead. ‘Yes. Hi.’

    ‘This will be over soon,’ Cecilia said.

    She was calm. As always. She held her com, a device attached to it with a thin white cord. It was the same type of finger-prick device Sophia had used to decrypt the Chimera vector codes.

    ‘I’d like everyone outside the lab to stand guard,’ Cecilia said. ‘Except Sophia, Denton and Benito.’

    The Elohim dispersed. Sophia’s own team, including Damien and Jay, followed them out.

    Cecilia pocketed the com. Her cool gaze found Denton.

    Denton’s attention was on the finger-prick device. ‘I see you’ve brought your own,’ he said. He grinned. ‘Shall we use mine or yours?’

    Cecilia walked around him, cat-careful. She pressed her finger into the tip of the device, wiped her finger on the shoulder of Denton’s undershirt, then pricked his finger. She wrapped a Band-Aid over her own finger, then slipped her glove back on.

    Swapping the com for a P99 pistol—Sophia’s favorite—she aimed at Denton’s head. ‘Give me one good reason why I don’t kill you now.’

    Denton looked unconcerned, as though he hadn’t even noticed the pistol. He probed a loose tooth with his tongue. ‘Without me, you’ll never make it out alive.’

    ‘I guess that makes two of us,’ she said. ‘Oh, and Denton, I’m completely aware you have a trigger automatically transmitting a copy of the decrypted code just for you.’

    He smiled. ‘I’d rather anticipated that you’d anticipate that.’

    ‘And yet I don’t know why you’d bother going to such trouble since you can’t possibly decode and sequence it in order to make it work.’

    He winked at her. ‘I just love it when you talk techno.’

    ‘As much as you love torturing children for scientific research?’

    He appeared to consider it. ‘Almost.’

    ‘Not that it matters, of course,’ Cecilia said. ‘You’ll be dead in a few minutes.’

    ‘Not quite,’ Renée said from behind Sophia.

    In one fluid movement, Denton released his hands from the plasticuffs and pulled a pistol from his waistband. A USP Compact Tactical. He aimed it at Cecilia. The plasticuffs dropped to the floor, along with a bent paperclip.

    ‘Hold your fire, Renée,’ Denton said. ‘The Fairy Godmother has yet to inform us of the Akhana’s location. Except the Belize base, of course. Renée finally found the opportunity to share that information with me.’ He smiled. ‘I know there’s more than one.’

    Sophia heard the click as Renée switched her P90 fire-selector wheel to safe.

    She dropped to her knees, grabbed her own P90, rolled and swiveled onto her back. She aimed at Renée. The P90 was already cocked. She flicked her fire-selector wheel to automatic.

    ‘Beyond this place of wrath and tears looms but the horror of the shade,’ Sophia said. ‘And yet the menace of the years finds, and shall find, me unafraid.’

    Denton laughed. ‘Renée’s inner layer of programming is just a tad less predictable than that. But two points for effort, Sophia.’

    His gaze returned to Cecilia, as though Sophia was nothing more than an irritating mosquito. ‘I need you alive because your Elohim have this lab covered, and you need me alive because my cowboys are posted at every facility exit. And we’re in lockdown, so there aren’t many exits.’

    ‘Sophia,’ Cecilia said. ‘Put your weapon to safe.’

    Sophia swallowed. It was over. She switched the fire selector to the white ‘S’ for safe.

    It was then that Damien and Jay appeared on either side of Renée, their SIG Sauer P226 and P229 pistols aimed at Sophia.

    ‘Put your weapon down and stand up,’ Jay said.

    Sophia’s cheeks burned fiercely. Sniveling cowards.

    Slowly and with great reluctance, she placed her P90 on the floor. Although she knew she was screwed, in some shielded part of her mind she retained a sense of distance, of control. Within this calm she could think. Observe. Analyze.

    Denton nodded at Cecilia. ‘And you as well, Godmother. Both of you, hands on your head.’

    Moving slowly, Sophia got to her feet, hands moving to the back of her head. Cecilia was doing the same. Everything was going bad, fast.

    Denton walked to Cecilia, pulled a knife from the inside of her right boot and stepped back. He pulled a hands-free from his suit pocket and slipped it into his ear. He held down the push-to-talk switch, his other hand playing with the knife. ‘Oscar Five Delta to Echo Four Golf. Disable the jammer. Over.’

    He paused, then angled Cecilia’s knife under the fluorescent light, reflecting a beam into Cecilia’s eyes. She squinted, but didn’t give him the satisfaction of any more.

    ‘Acknowledged,’ Denton said. ‘Oscar Five Delta out.’

    He released the switch and pointed the tip of the blade towards Cecilia. ‘Give your Elohim precise instructions to scout the facility exits for shocktroopers and report numbers.’

    Cecilia’s gaze narrowed even further. With one hand, she pressed the switch below her jaw. ‘Echelon Zero to Echelon Six. Recon facility exfils, report back. Over.’ She waited. Probably listening to the Elohim commander’s response. ‘Echelon Zero. Out,’ Cecilia said. She released the switch. ‘They’re moving now.’

    ‘Congratulations,’ Denton said. ‘You get to keep all of your limbs. For the moment.’

    Sophia could only listen as Denton spoke into his microphone. He gave the order to re-enable the jammer and send all Blue Beret troops to the BlueGene lab. He then contacted Tango Zero—the shocktroopers—and requested they come to him, attack Sophia’s team posted outside and force them away. Then the shocktroopers were to enter the BlueGene lab and relieve Denton of his babysitting duties before the Blue Berets’ arrival.

    Sophia felt like a cold stake was driving into her stomach. She could do nothing to warn her team that they were about to be attacked by shocktroopers.

    Denton paced back and forth. He opened his mouth to say something, but paused. All Sophia could hear was her own breathing and the faithful hum of the BlueGene nodes. Then she heard the nearby chatter of muted gunfire. Subsonic rounds flying almost whisper-quiet through the corridors outside, striking metal and flesh. And then silence again.

    Denton grunted. He turned to Sophia. ‘Your mistresses don’t put up much of a fight, do they?’

    Grace led her five shocktroopers, armed and uninjured, into the BlueGene lab. Sophia didn’t want to know how many of her own were dead.

    Denton strode to Cecilia, ripped off her earpiece and radio, gave them to the nearest shocktrooper.

    Without being told, Damien approached Sophia. He took her radio and removed her earpiece. She gave him no resistance, just glared at him. Damien avoided eye contact. Coward.

    As if the six shocktroopers weren’t enough, the Berets arrived. Only sixteen of them, Sophia noted. She took a small amount of satisfaction in knowing her team had laid waste to almost the entire Blue Beret regiment stationed at the facility.

    Denton snatched Cecilia’s com from her breast pocket. ‘I’d use it, but I’m sure you’ve had it re-encrypted,’ he said, and handed it to the Blue Beret sergeant. ‘Not a problem, of course, thanks to the virus I embedded in the second encryption layer.’ He grinned. ‘Pipe your output through that, bitch.’

    Sophia realized immediately what Denton had done. The moment Cecilia pricked his finger and unwrapped both encryption layers, the virus had launched into action. Probably sent the damned Chimera vector codes right into his back pocket.

    Denton moved to the lab entrance. The shocktroopers parted to let him through.

    ‘Renée,’ he said, ‘Sophia is to remain alive until I give the order.’

    ‘Colonel.’ Renée nodded and marched straight for Sophia.

    Denton hesitated at the entrance, his gaze still on Renée. ‘The good doctors here are to be transported alive from the facility for rendition.’ He smiled at Sophia. ‘Betrayal, disappointment, misery. My work here is done.’

Anger burning a hole through her, Sophia watched Grace and her shocktroopers escort Denton from the lab. She and Cecilia were the prisoners of sixteen Berets, double agent Renée and triple agents Damien and Jay. All while Cecilia’s Elohim had been dispatched on a wild goose chase and Sophia’s team were either dead, dying or in retreat. Neither they nor the Elohim were aware of what had just happened here.

    A surge of pain bloomed from Sophia’s stomach. She dropped. Renée was standing over her. Sophia squeezed her eyes shut, focused on breathing the way Sergey had taught her, dispersing the energy from Renée’s blow.

    Two loud synchronized blasts filled the lab. It felt like she was underwater. Everything sounded dull. She opened her eyes. There was a flash of white light. She shut her eyes, then tried again, this time slowly. It was as though someone had paused her vision. She was seeing the same freeze-frame for a few moments. Then the freeze-frame slowly decayed to reveal what was happening beneath.

    On her left, she saw Damien’s hand slam down on the scope of the Blue Beret sergeant’s MP5, pointing the barrel to the floor. Damien cut his other hand into the sergeant’s neck, pulled the MP5 sharply to one side and twisted it out of the sergeant’s weakened grip. The man fell in an awkward cross-legged position.

    Now was the time to move.

    Sophia rolled towards Renée, who was recovering from what must’ve been a couple of flashbangs. Lying on her back, Sophia raised her legs from the floor, ensnared Renée’s firing arm in her boots, one on the inside of the forearm, the other on the back of the upper arm. She clamped her legs together like a pair of scissors; the ringing in her ears drowned out the sound of snapping bone. Renée reeled back and her P90 dropped onto Sophia’s stomach.

    Sophia instantly seized it and rolled onto one knee, the stock pressed between her shoulder and chest. She should’ve dropped Renée first, but keeping Cecilia safe was more important.

    She found Cecilia crawling for cover on her hands and knees. One of the Berets was leveling his barrel at her. Sophia exhaled, snapped her holographic weapons sight up, the circle covering the Beret’s face. The dot in the center of the circle came to rest under the Beret’s helmet. She squeezed the trigger halfway. A single round tore the Beret’s head apart.

    Sophia shifted her aim back to Renée.

    Renée was missing.

    Keeping low, Sophia made for Cecilia. Rounds buzzed around her. She took Cecilia by the arm and pulled her behind a node cabinet. From the edge of the cabinet, she took aim at the cluster of Berets. Circle and dot over the blur of movement. She exhaled. Then stopped. Damien was right in the middle of them.

    She cursed, took her finger from the trigger and peered over her sights to watch the Berets—too close to Damien to open fire—draw stun batons instead. Damien darted swiftly into the right flank, using their numbers to his advantage.

    She scanned for another target. Left flank. Lucia and Nasira were hauling Benito out of harm’s way. They needed covering fire. She was about to take aim, but someone was already putting rounds down there.

    Jay. He dropped into a crouch at the adjacent cabinet and winked at her.

    She ignored him, lined up a Beret and depressed her trigger.

***

Damien gripped the stolen MP5 by its scope. A Beret lunged towards him, a stun baton going for his neck. Sidestepping, Damien held the MP5’s shoulder strap taut. The baton bounced off the strap, almost striking the soldier back in his own face. Damien stepped in beside him and pulled the strap around the man’s neck, quick and tight, cutting off the blood flow to his brain.

    Two other Berets thrust their batons into him, at the same time. Damien disengaged the scope from the top rail of the MP5 and used it to deflect the first baton, sending it into the chest of the second baton holder, who shuddered from the voltage. Using the MP5 scope as a staff, Damien drove it end-first into the first baton holder’s neck, then, with a flick of the wrist, thrust the other end down low, deep into his stomach.

    With his right hand, he released the shoulder strap from around the neck of the first Beret. His helmet came off and he slumped to the floor. Damien snagged the helmet with three fingers and used it to knock away a fourth baton, his movements efficient and soft. You didn’t learn that in Karate or Kung Fu.

    Scope in left hand, helmet in right, Damien dug the scope behind the fourth Beret’s neck, pulled him forward while tripping him. The man fell onto the other bodies.

    Damien dropped the helmet and drew his own pistol on the highest threat adversary. Two rounds into the fourth Beret. Then two into the third, two into the second. Two into the first. He snapped his aim to the Berets on his left flank. They should just about be within striking range. But they weren’t. In fact, the left flank was extinct. Jay and Sophia had seen to that.

***

Before Sophia had a chance to ask, Lucia said, ‘We planned it outside with Damien and Jay. They were never on Denton’s side.’

    Sophia checked Benito for injuries. He was unscathed.

    ‘You had me convinced,’ she said. ‘Nice work. Where’s Cassandra?’

    Lucia looked away. ‘Dead. Shocktroopers took her out before we could pull back.’

    Sophia closed her eyes. ‘Fuck.’

    Cecilia brushed down her trench coat. ‘And where’s Renée?’

    Sophia turned quickly to where she’d last seen her. ‘No one got her?’

    Jay checked the chamber on his stolen MP5. ‘Nope.’

    Cecilia said to Jay, ‘I suppose this makes you and Damien quadruple agents.’

    ‘Something like that,’ Jay said.

    ‘Thank you,’ Sophia said. She meant it.

    Jay squinted. ‘We had to wait until the shocktroopers were gone. With those guys still here, we wouldn’t have stood a chance.’

    ‘Which also meant allowing Denton to escape.’ Sophia put her hands on her hips, did her trained breathing through bruised ribs.

    ‘Oh, I don’t think he escaped at all,’ Cecilia said, head down, com in gloved hands. ‘He’s destroyed all of the sequencing equipment in this facility. All except the equipment in the Vector labs. I know Denton. He’ll have sealed himself inside the Vector labs so no one can get to him while he prepares the Chimera vector codes on the sequencing equipment and gets them ready to inject.’

    ‘Into who?’ Jay asked.

    ‘Himself.’

    Damien cleared his throat. ‘We’re running out of time.’

    ‘I’d give him ten minutes before they’re ready to inject,’ Cecilia said.

    ‘No, I don’t mean the codes,’ Damien said. His expression was dark, granite-like. ‘The Fifth Column launched a bunker-buster missile to take out the facility.’

    ‘In case Denton couldn’t clean up his own shit,’ Jay said.

    ‘That being us,’ Damien said.

    ‘And you shit for brains didn’t think to inform us earlier?’ Nasira said.

    Jay turned to her. ‘Hey! Should I remind you who just saved your ass, sister?’

    ‘Sister?’ Nasira’s hands were on her hips. ‘Are you on crack?’

    ‘Look,’ Damien said, ‘we only found out ten minutes ago.’

    ‘How long do we have?’ Sophia asked.

    Jay read from his watch. ‘Twenty-four minutes, sixteen seconds. We synchronized our countdown with Denton. It’s accurate to the—’ Jay sneezed extraordinarily loudly. ‘Second.’

    ‘What the hell was that?’ Nasira said, stepping away from his blast radius.

    ‘Eight on the Richter scale,’ Damien said.

    ‘Do you still have your com?’ Cecilia asked Sophia, her calm unyielding.

    Sophia pulled it from her webbing belt and tossed it to her. ‘What difference does it make?’

    ‘Quite a lot, actually.’ Cecilia angled the com so Sophia could see the screen.

    It was filled with code.

    The Chimera vector codes.

    She couldn’t believe it. ‘How did you do that?’

    Cecilia smiled. ‘Denton wasn’t the only one who thought of slipping a virus into the mix.’

    Sophia laughed, but the sound was sapped of energy. ‘Look, if you’re captured, we put the entire Akhana resistance at risk. Not to mention lose our only copy of the Chimera vector codes. The first thing we need to do is get you the hell out of here.’

    ‘That won’t be necessary,’ Cecilia said.

    Sophia followed her gaze to the lab entrance. All eighteen of her Elohim walked inside, armed and unscathed. Their red visors glinted under the fluorescent light.

    ‘I didn’t simply order them to report,’ Cecilia said, ‘I ordered them to report back. A subtlety in language Denton managed to overlook.’ 

    Sophia turned to Benito. ‘You can go with her.’

    He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. ‘I’m staying.’

    ‘That’s not negotiable,’ Sophia said.

    ‘Which is why I’m not negotiating.’

    She shook her head. ‘It’s too dangerous for you to stay.’

    ‘It’s too dangerous for me to leave.’

    Cecilia buried her com in her coat pocket. ‘How many explosives do you have?’

    ‘Three grenades,’ Sophia said. ‘Why?’

    Cecilia shook her head. ‘That won’t be enough.’

    Nasira started rifling through the dead Berets’ pouches. ‘Don’t they have plastic explosives?’

    ‘’Fraid not.’ Jay crossed his arms over his shoulder-slung MP5. ‘Facility regulations. No explosives. Just stun and smoke.’

    Sophia turned to Cecilia. ‘You need to go. Now.’

    ‘First, listen to me,’ Cecilia said. ‘This facility has a nuclear reactor and an auxiliary power station. You need to knock out both to get inside the Vector labs. Once inside the labs, there’s an uninterruptable power supply you’ll also need to take offline. If you don’t, Denton will still have enough power to continue.’ 

    She walked towards the BlueGene lab’s entrance, her Elohim arranging themselves in a diamond formation around her, allowing only just enough room for Sophia to fit inside.

    Cecilia paused at the entrance and placed a gloved hand on Sophia’s shoulder. ‘If Denton gives the Chimera vector codes to the Fifth Column, it’s over.’

    ‘We’ll stop him,’ Sophia said. ‘We have to.’

    Cecilia smiled. ‘I’ll see you soon then.’

***

Sophia turned to face what remained of her team: Damien, Jay, Benito, Nasira and Lucia. Her attention sharpened on the two men who’d just saved them. This wasn’t the time for pride.

    ‘We need your help,’ she said.

    ‘Is there something you’re not telling us?’ Damien asked.

    ‘About what?’

    ‘Do we look stupid to you?’ Jay said. ‘An anti-psychopath Chimera vector is about as useful to Denton as a third armpit. And the Axel Salamander whatever-it’s-called is not something you’d go to the trouble of encrypting, yeah?’ He held up his hands in mock surrender. ‘I tell you what, you fill us in on the blanks and then we’ll think about helping your ass.’

    Sophia knew she’d have to tell them the full story if they were going to help her, and quickly. ‘If you’ve already been injected with the Axolotl Chimera vector and then you decide you want to inject yourself with the anti-psychopath Chimera vector as well, there’s a side effect. It switches on different pseudogenes that enhance DNA repair and boost hormones, antioxidant protection, a whole range of functions normally switched off in humans. It’s called the Methuselah effect.’

    Jay rolled his eyes. ‘And in English that means what?’

    ‘It means indefinite lifespan. And if the Fifth Column get that, our anti-psychopath vector means shit.’

    Jay shook his head. ‘I don’t get it.’

    ‘No point stopping psychopaths from reproducing if they live forever,’ Nasira said. ‘Now are you in or out?’

    Jay turned to Damien. ‘This is all kinds of crazy.’

    ‘It is,’ Damien said. He turned to Sophia. ‘And we’re in.’

    ‘That wasn’t what I meant,’ Jay said.

    ‘Anyone who has grenades,’ Sophia said, ‘give them to Lucia. Damien and Lucia, you’ll disable the reactor with the grenades.’

    ‘With grenades?’ Damien said.

    ‘Yes.’ Sophia turned her attention to Nasira. ‘I need you and Jay to disable the auxiliary power station before Damien and Lucia have done their bit.’

    The boys were the only ones with usable coms. She had to split them up.

    ‘Damien, Jay, we need you to communicate for the team. The shocktroopers and Denton can still hear what you say, so only use the coms when you’re finished. Use a code, something only you’d understand. And Jay, you need to disable the auxiliary power first.’

    ‘Why?’ he said.

    Nasira sighed. ‘Are you going to question everything she says? She knows what she’s doing.’

    ‘Yeah, and I know this facility like the back of my hand,’ Jay said.

    ‘That’s nice, Jay, but I’ve spent more time studying the facility’s power grid than you’ve spent taking topless photos of yourself in a mirror,’ Sophia said. ‘If the auxiliary power’s disabled first, it creates a hiccup in the power flow. The blast doors reset. They’ll open and then close again. That’s my chance to get inside, take down the uninterruptable power supply and stop Denton from injecting. Then I can distract him.’ She wet her cracked lips, thinking through her plan as she told it. ‘Once the nuclear reactor goes offline, I can open the blast doors from the inside, overriding Denton’s command.’

    ‘Why are you the one to stop Denton?’ Jay said. ‘Shouldn’t you send a more capable person?’

    She glared at him. ‘Like who? You?’

    ‘He has a point,’ Lucia said. ‘We injected them with the Axolotl vector. They have more chance of stopping Denton than we do.’

    Sophia cleared her throat. ‘Fine. I’ll gain access, keep any shocktroopers out and let you in. And then it’s up to you to stop Denton. If I need to, I’ll stall him. Whatever it takes to stop him from preparing the vector and injecting himself.’

    ‘And then what?’ Damien said.

    ‘Kill him?’ Jay said.

    Sophia eyed Jay carefully. ‘I’d prefer the honor, but if I can’t then don’t wait for my permission. Blow his goddamn brains out. Now, we have twenty-one minutes until this facility is vaporized. And seven minutes to stop Denton. Set your watches for seven minutes.’

    ‘Seven minutes?’ Jay laughed. ‘You know how far the reactor is from here?’

    Sophia glared at him. ‘Do you have a better plan?’

    He shook his head. ‘There isn’t a chance in hell we can pull this off.’

    ‘You’re such an optimist.’

    ‘I’m a ray of fucking sunshine.’

    ‘Then use your sunshine to tell Damien when you’ve disabled the auxiliary power. And try to keep it cryptic. Our comms are open. We don’t want to invite the whole facility to our little tea party.’

    ‘And then what?’ Jay said.

    ‘Then you meet me at Ground Zero. The Vector labs.’

    ‘Assuming we succeed,’ Jay said.

    Sophia checked her P90 magazine. ‘We have to.’

Damien ran through the claustrophobic corridors of the facility’s sub-levels. Lucia was two paces behind him, boots striking grated metal. His lungs were burning for oxygen, but she hadn’t stopped to catch her breath once. He increased his pace until he was sprinting as fast as the narrow corridor’s sparse, weak lighting would allow. Every second or third fluorescent tube buzzed angrily as he ran beneath it.

    His replacement vest from the aircraft hangar was making his armpits and neck itch. It was only when he tried to swallow and his mouth was void of all saliva that he realized how tired and hungry he was. He considered asking Lucia if she had any water in her webbing pouches, but then he reached the entrance to the nuclear reaction chamber and forgot all about it. The last time he was down here had been about a month ago. The door wasn’t as he remembered it. It was too thick for one grenade to breach.

    ‘This isn’t right,’ he said.

    He could hear Lucia slowing her breathing. ‘Denton?’

    Damien rubbed his nose. ‘He’s sealed it remotely.’

    ‘Oh good,’ she said. ‘So if we use our grenades to blow the door, how are we meant to take the reactor offline?’

    Damien thought for a moment. He reached out and took the grenade from the pouch on her waist. Conscious of her watching his every move, he kneeled and placed both grenades on the floor by the reinforced door.

    ‘I’ll have to overheat the reactor,’ he said. ‘My ability. Thermogenesis.’

    ‘What about radiation poisoning?’

    ‘I have the Axolotl Chimera vector, you don’t. If anyone gets irradiated it should be me.’

    ‘You don’t have to do this,’ Lucia said.

    Damien paused. ‘I do.’

    ‘Smells like a swamp down here,’ Lucia said. ‘I don’t like smells.’

    Damien rested his stolen MP5 on top of the grenades. ‘I’ll be sure to wear deodorant next time.’ He carefully removed the pins from the grenades while the MP5 kept the spoons in place.

    Lucia wrinkled her nose. ‘That would be worse actually. I was diagnosed with hyperosmia. It’s why Denton recruited me—my vomeronasal organ.’ She tapped the bridge of her nose. ‘It actually works. Yours doesn’t.’

    Damien sniffed his armpit. ‘You should keep your distance then.’

    ‘You don’t smell that bad. There are good smells too. Pheromones.’

    Damien felt his cheeks flush red as he removed the pin on the last grenade. ‘I thought they didn’t exist.’

    She smiled. ‘Oh, they exist alright.’

    Damien rose to his feet, satisfied the MP5 was keeping the grenade spoons firmly in place. ‘You should go help Sophia,’ he said. ‘I can do the rest.’

    His lips were so dry they peeled from each other like sticky tape whenever he spoke.

    ‘And the radiation?’ Her raised eyebrow disappeared under the edge of her black bangs.

    ‘I guess I’ll be careful.’

    He knew that was hardly going to convince her.

    ‘Not careful enough.’ She removed a blister pack from a pouch and popped two capsules. She took his hand and squeezed, forcing it open, then slipped the capsules into his palm. ‘Potassium iodate.’ She closed his fingers over them. ‘For radiation poisoning.’

    ‘If I’m quick enough,’ he said, ‘I won’t need them.’

    She forced a smile and released his hand. ‘Smell ya later.’

***

The elevator was the quickest way down. Jay hit the button and waited. The feeling of having something meaningful to accomplish was pleasant and familiar. He had focus. And he needed focus or else he just ended up restless. It was damn good to do something worthwhile. Especially when he was doing it with Damien. And chicks.

    ‘Drop your weapon,’ Nasira said.

    On second thoughts, he preferred it just with Damien.

    Exhaling slowly, he said, ‘Bullets don’t exactly scare me as much as they used to.’

    ‘They will if they’re about to blow your brains out,’ she said, pistol aimed.

    ‘Hey, so maybe we got off on the wrong foot.’

    ‘Three rounds to the head,’ she said. ‘Not even a motherfucking salamander can regenerate that.’

    ‘OK, OK.’ Slowly, he lowered his P226 to the floor.

    ‘Take five steps back; take off your webbing and radio with one hand. If you go for your pistol, I’ll drop you.’

    Jay measured the steps carefully, no sudden movements. When he reached the fifth step, he removed his webbing and radio. Once they hit the floor, Nasira dropped a pair of plasticuffs in front of him.

    ‘Put them on.’

    She wasn’t close enough for him to attack. All he could do was pick up the stupid plasticuffs. He wrapped the nylon cable over both wrists, fed one end through the ratchet on the other. Slowly, he turned to face her. He didn’t hesitate to lock gazes with her. He wanted her to know how pissed off he was.

    Nasira stood with legs shoulder-width apart, one slightly forward. Jay felt uneasy knowing he didn’t have his wingman this time. He’d known Nasira for a while now. A few hours. Long enough to know she’d kill him if he gave her good reason.

    He held out his wrists. The plasticuffs hung loosely over them. He’d leave it to her to tighten them. If she was stupid enough to come any closer it was her fault really.

    She remained where she stood. ‘I’m sure you have some brain cells left. Use your motherfucking teeth.’

    Jay forced a smile, then brought his wrists up to his mouth and bit on the pointed tip of the cable. OK, so she wasn’t stupid, but he’d make sure she paid for this. He pulled the tip. The ratchet scraped over the jagged teeth of the cable tie. The plasticuffs were designed so once the tie ran through the ratchet it couldn’t be pulled back. It could only be pulled tighter.

    He lowered his wrists, firmly bound.

    ‘Tighter,’ she said.

    ‘That’s what she said,’ he mumbled to himself.

    ‘What?’

    ‘Nothing.’ He tightened the plasticuffs until his fingers tingled. ‘Why are you doing this?’

    Nasira gestured with her pistol for him to walk. ‘Because I don’t know if you can be trusted. And right now, that’s not a risk I’m willing to take.’

    From ten feet behind, she gave him instructions. Before he knew it, he was in a public bathroom and she was ordering him to sit between two urinals.

    ‘For fuck’s sake, I could be helping you!’ he yelled.

    She looped another set of plasticuffs around a water pipe. ‘You could also be sabotaging us. Fasten your cuffs to the pipe.’

    Jay did as she requested.

    Once she was satisfied, she said, ‘How do I get to the auxiliary power station?’

    ‘Maybe you shoulda thought of that before you screwed me over.’

    She leaned in slightly, but not enough that he could use his legs to trap her arm or neck.

    ‘Don’t talk to me about betrayal,’ she hissed. ‘Your loyalties are indecisive at best. You know what that makes you, big boy?’

    ‘Definitely a Gemini.’

    Nasira ripped off his throat mike and earpiece, then unclipped the radio from his belt. ‘It makes you a piston agent. Shifting loyalties whenever it fucking suits you.’ 

    ‘Considering I’m sitting between two urinals, that’s more like a “pissed on” agent, right?’ He smiled.

    She flinched, but held still. He’d almost had her. She’d nearly moved into range.

    ‘Once I reach sub-level three,’ she said, ‘how do I get to the station?’

    Jay ground his teeth. ‘I guess you’ll have to work that out for yourself.’

    ‘That arrogance of yours is such an endearing asset.’

    ‘Why, thank you. It was either that or get my nipple pierced.’

    ‘Where’s the station, Jay? It’s really quite fucking simple. Tell me or I make you tell me.’

    ‘What are you going to do, huh? Torture me? You don’t have the time.’ Jay tried to laugh, but got a lungful of urinal cake odor. ‘And even if you did, I wouldn’t tell you. Sister.’

    She shrugged. ‘I can be quite persuasive.’ She pointed her pistol, one of those 007 jobs, at his leg. ‘Give me the directions or I disable your legs.’

    Jay breathed in through his nostrils. He stared her down. ‘Let me go now or I disable your head.’

    Nasira cocked her pistol.

    ‘First right. Continue about 200 yards. The door says Auxiliary Power Station.’ 

    Nasira wiped sweat from her forehead. ‘I’d really like to kill you right now, but just in case you’re on our side, I’ll let you live.’

    She walked out. Just left him there.

    ‘You stupid fuck,’ he muttered to himself. ‘You fucking stupid fuck.’

Sophia found the Vector labs unguarded. There was one main entrance and it happened to be a bottleneck, flanked with equipment once used to program and torture her as a child. A chill crept across her shoulder blades. She suppressed the urge to shudder.

    With one hand securing her P90, she pulled a stolen Blue Beret pistol from her holster, pulled the slide back and put the safety catch on. Cocked and locked. She offered it to Benito. It was a Browning High Power; bulky for close quarters, but it would do.

    Benito shook his head.

    ‘Take it.’ She planted it in his hand.

    His fingers closed unwillingly over the grip. She pointed out the safety catch. All he needed to do was take it off and he was ready to fire. He didn’t seem too impressed by that, but didn’t have a choice.

    She checked her watch: 04:08.

    Four minutes until Denton had the Chimera vector code ready.

    Eighteen minutes until the facility was hit by a bunker-buster bomb.

    She noticed Benito touching the ring on his wedding finger again.

    ‘When you were a boy,’ she said, ‘did you ever think you’d end up here?’

    Benito laughed. ‘Not in a million years. I wanted to be a rally car driver when I was young.’

    ‘Why didn’t you?’

    He gave her a wry smile. ‘I almost did.’

    ‘Almost?’

    ‘I actually started. Learned to navigate first. Began working with some of the local drivers. We competed. One driver, Rickson, he taught me how to handle the wheels. He was really talented.’ A smile crept along his face. ‘I got pretty good at it. Thanks to him.’

    ‘And what happened?’

    He snorted. ‘My father told me to get a real job. A real education. So I did.’

    ‘I see.’

    ‘He was right in the end. I needed steady money, so I needed a steady job. And so here I am.’ He glanced at her. ‘What did you want to be when—’ He broke off, looked down. ‘Sorry. That was stupid.’

    She watched him restlessly slide his wedding ring back and forth from his knuckle.

    ‘So you settled down, got married?’ she said.

    He nodded, but didn’t say anything further.

    ‘Don’t worry,’ she said, ‘I’ll get you back to your family.’

    He looked at her, covered his glance with a laugh, brief, ironic. His teeth were a dull white, but his smile was somehow calming to her.

    She walked away from him, heading for the sliding glass doors. Anyone coming in here would have to come through these doors. She’d spotted a Class D fire extinguisher on the way in and decided to rig it so it would go off when someone entered.

    ‘You know, I named my daughter after you,’ he called after her.

    She laughed, mostly to dispel her tension. ‘Does she know she’s named after a programmed killer?’

    ‘She’s not with us any more,’ he said. ‘It’s been three years.’

    His words were quiet, as if he hoped she hadn’t heard him.

    She couldn’t help but think of her parents, then felt selfish.

    She stopped halfway to the fire extinguisher. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know.’

    He pushed his glasses up. ‘They were at my sister-in-law’s wedding.’ He removed his wallet and showed her some photos. ‘My flight was grounded because of a blizzard. I never made it.’

    Next to a photo of him wearing a helmet and standing beside a rally car, there was a photo of a little girl. Sophia was twenty feet away but she’d recognize that little girl’s face anywhere.

    ‘Just like now,’ Benito said. ‘Wrong place, wrong time.’

    Sophia felt sick. She found herself searching for words as though they’d been spilled across the floor. She could smell the sweet scent of the flowers little Sophia had given her. She wanted to vomit.

    The first fracture in her programming had happened that day. The day she’d gone ahead and blown little Sophia up along with everyone else at the wedding reception. She could’ve gone against her programming; the fracture was there. She could’ve snapped out of it. But she didn’t. She took the easy way out. She killed them all.

    If they both made it out alive, she promised herself she would tell Benito the truth. He deserved that much.

***

The reaction chamber was rectangular, the center neatly sliced out like an avocado seed. A narrow, metal-meshed walkway arched over the concave space. Nestled within was the reactor, like a pearl, concealed by an ever-present turbine that hummed sweetly over the hair on Damien’s arms. It felt as though the chamber was alive. The air stank of sweat and it took him a moment before he realized it was his own.

    He stepped onto the walkway. Something inside his mind needled for attention. He ignored it at first but it persisted: an overwhelming desire to leave the chamber immediately.

    He crossed the walkway carefully, his gaze fixed on the dome of fire below. He knew he shouldn’t be here. But there was no other option. He’d committed to it now.

    A small part of him was unsettled by the choices he’d made. Was Sophia on the right side? They’d killed Blue Berets to get inside the facility. Surely that wasn’t right. But neither were half the operations he’d been assigned to. The people he’d killed. He had no sense of knowing who was innocent and who was guilty. And did the guilty deserve his death-dealing? What did he deserve?

    In the center of the walkway, a ladder descended to the reactor. Damien climbed down until he was standing before the reactor itself. He noticed the circuitry that regulated the coolant temperature. He placed his hand over it and focused. Enough with the pseudogenes; it was time to use his innate ability.

    Warmth spread down his arm, through his palm. It was an odd sensation: a tingle that was both warm and cool at the same time. He pulled his hand away when he smelled something burning. He’d fried the circuitry. Just like he’d fried Ernesto in the olive grove.

    He climbed back up to the walkway. Footsteps in the corridor outside, feather-light but sure.

    From the clinging darkness, a figure emerged. A shocktrooper. Damien took no comfort in recalling that shocktroopers always traveled in pairs. As if to confirm his thought, a second shocktrooper peeled away from behind the first. Both silent as cats. And, judging by the shape of their silhouettes, female.

    Fear leaped from his stomach, forcing bile up the back of his throat. He made no effort to reach for the MP5 slung over his shoulder or the P229 holstered on his thigh. He retreated along the walkway, drawing the shocktroopers in.

    The first plotted a path directly towards him, stepping onto the walkway, while the second one circled the reactor to block him from the other side. A sliver of light revealed the first shocktrooper’s face. It was Grace.

Jay’s arms hung above him, fastened to the water pipe. Yep, it didn’t get any better than this. What if a shocktrooper or Blue Beret walked in right now? There was nothing he could do to stop them putting a round between his eyes. They could just wander in to relieve themselves and he’d be screwed. What was he going to do: offer to shake it for them when they’re done?

    With his back against the wall, he bent his knees one after the other and inched his way into a crouch. He turned to face the wall, but only made it halfway. The plasticuffs cut into his skin. He grunted in pain. If he wasn’t tied to the pipe, he could’ve used the 550 paracord he'd laced his boots with as a friction saw to melt right through the plasticuffs’ polycarbonate resin in seconds. Or if he had a knife.

    He tried to raise his hands up and pull them down hard on his body. The force of his wrists striking his ribs would snap the plasticuffs. Problem was, his arms were cuffed too high above his head. Another option would be to remove a bobby pin from his belt and shimmy the cuffs off. Kind of hard to do with your teeth. He should’ve had another means of escape, but being tied to a urinal wasn’t exactly something he’d anticipated.

    Hell, this whole shit-fuck wasn’t something he’d anticipated. Lucia was probably going to slot Damien. Why not? Damien’s worth had expired, just like his own. Jay shook his head. There was Damien worrying about Denton screwing them over. And it turned out to be Nasira. That Sun Tzu guy had it right: deception was the art of war. And he’d been deceived like . . . well, like someone being deceived. Now he was basically useless.

    What he couldn’t understand was why Nasira had left him alive. Did she want him to suffer the embarrassment of being beaten by a girl? At least until he was vaporized by a missile, anyway.

    He couldn’t save Damien. He couldn’t even save his own brother all those years ago. His mind rolled back through everything significant in his life, only to find there wasn’t much. God, he was pathetic. It made him feel empty just thinking about it, so he stopped. Not much point doing anything really. He just sat there feeling sorry for his nondescript canvas of a life. It was all shit.

    He had no idea why, but his eyes were filling with tears. He rubbed his face on his arms before any could escape. He pressed his teeth together. His fingers closed into fists. The thought of the pointlessness of everything made him angry. At what, he hadn’t a clue. But it burned inside.

    ‘Right, so I’m just going to sit here and wait to die?’ He laughed. ‘Fuck that.’

    He pulled himself to his feet and his bound wrists dropped to the right side of his chest. He tested the plasticuffs against the pipe. Nasira had pulled them tight. They had nowhere to go but tighter. He took a few deep breaths. Calm. Think. Something sharp.

    His eyes ran across the pipe to the left and then the right. There was nothing that immediately drew his attention.

    No, wait.

    There was a slight protrusion on the right side of the pipe. He ran his wrists along the pipe, stepped around the next urinal. But the cuffs hit a bracket and refused to go any further. Swearing, he kicked the ceramic urinal. It disconnected from the wall and smashed at his feet. He stared at it, surprised it had been mounted so poorly.

    He looked back at his wrists, at the pipe they were attached to. He tried to clench his fists but his hands weren’t responding. Placing a boot on the wall, he pulled hard. The pain was unbearable. The ties cut deep into his wrists. He pulled harder. The pipe groaned. The bracket snapped. The plasticuffs sliced flesh. Then the pipe split.

    Jay fell back. His shoulder blades crunched against something hard. A restroom door. The pipe had broken; both ends swayed before him like a pair of large antennae. His chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath. His wrists were still bound, close to his chest. He glanced down at his restrained arms and realized he probably looked like a Tyrannosaurus Rex on acid.

    He straightened up and went straight for the paper-towel dispenser, pressed the nylon plasticuffs against the metal teeth and raked them back and forth. The dispenser moved with him; it wasn’t even bolted to the wall properly. He growled, and pressed his head against it to keep it in place while he worked the cuffs. The dispenser came free from the wall, sending him reeling backwards. It bounced off his knee and landed on the floor.

    His wrists were still bound. He kicked the dispenser into the wall.

    Vaguely aware of how stupid he must’ve appeared, he sat down in front of the dispenser and clamped it between his legs. It might’ve looked like some birth maneuver, but from there, he was able to saw the plasticuffs off.

    He kicked the dispenser for good measure and got back to his feet. The red cuts on his wrists were slowly becoming thinner and thinner, until they’d disappeared entirely. Circulation returned, pricking his hands with invisible needles.

    The ceiling lights dulled and flickered, then resumed their garish luminescence. Hiccup. Nasira had disabled the emergency power. He was meant to contact Damien when it was done. He reached for his throat mike, then remembered Nasira had taken it.

    ‘Fuck.’

    He punched the wall. Tiles shattered; flakes of plaster fell on his head. He caught sight of himself in the mirror. It looked like an extreme case of dandruff.

    Boots echoed down a corridor nearby. Shocktroopers. Nasira was in trouble.

    Well, that’s her problem, he thought.

    But then he reconsidered.

    She was an arrogant bitch, but at least she hadn’t killed him.

***

Jay could hear the faint sound of metal being cut open with a blowtorch. An elevator further down from where he was. Guessing sub-level three, he got in the elevator, hit the SL3 button and the close door button at the same time, overriding any other requests.

    The elevator took him down the north shaft, stopped one level below the other elevator in the south shaft. Nasira had to be inside. He crawled out the emergency hatch on the left side of his elevator and up onto its roof, then climbed through the upright zigzag of steel beams to get to the south shaft. Staring him in the face was the emergency hatch on the side of Nasira’s elevator. He could see the actinic glare of a blowtorch as it burned the outer elevator doors on sub-level two.

    He thrust his foot against the hatch door. It cracked inward. He yelled Nasira’s name, then prayed she didn’t shoot him. Her face came into view. He offered her his hand. She ignored it and crawled out to the steel beam beside him.

    ‘What are you doing here?’ she snapped.

    ‘Your knight in shining armor.’

    ‘Moron in tin foil,’ she said.

    Jay heard someone entering her elevator. Clasping his hands together, he gave Nasira a boost. She leaped to the elevator roof.

    ‘Why’d you come help?’ she asked.

    ‘You didn’t kill me,’ he said.

    She didn’t respond. He heard the boots. A shocktrooper on top of the elevator. With Nasira. Instead of helping her avoid the shocktroopers, he’d sent her right into one. You stupid fuck, he thought.

    He looked down to see a shocktrooper crawling through the escape hatch by his feet. He made the choice: deal with this one now, help Nasira after. He hoped it was the right choice.

    He dropped down, driving his boot into the shocktrooper’s back. She turned around. Jay drove his other knee into her throat. At least the knee helped him balance on her chest.

    The shocktrooper drew her pistol and aimed. Jay closed the gap quickly and wrapped his armpit over her pistol. He brought his hand in and under, thumb below her ear. Press. Hard. Maintain. Then something smashed into the side of his face. She’d kicked him. He fell backwards, onto the roof of his own elevator. One ear was ringing.

    The shocktrooper was already in front of him. Jay got to his feet. She reached for his rifle. Jay closed fast, before she had a chance to aim, smashed his heel into her knee. He drove his knee upward, knocking the rifle into his own hands. She barely seemed to flinch from the blow, hands still wrapped over the rifle. Now they were both holding it.

    Before Jay could think, an actinic glare seared the corner of his vision. From the nozzle of what looked like a garden hose, a tongue of white-hot plasma burned at some ridiculous temperature. Then he realized. She was holding a plasma cutting torch, the same one she would’ve used on the elevator doors. The torches had been around since the 1950s, but in the nineties the Fifth Column labs had deployed mobile versions that ran off a portable battery pack.

    He brought the rifle up to deflect the torch. The plasma sliced right through the barrel. Jay held the rifle against the torch-wielding hand, released the rifle magazine and slammed it into the shocktrooper’s windpipe. Rifle to torch; magazine to throat.

    She knocked the magazine aside. Jay sidestepped her and drove the molten end of the rifle right into her face. Say goodbye to depth perception, bitch.

    The glowing red metal hissed into her goggles. She stumbled back, pulled the rifle from her face and flung it down the elevator shaft. The left side of her goggles melted over her face.

    She weaved the torch through the air. She was a bit clumsy at first, but then it sliced over Jay’s arms and grazed his shoulder. OK, maybe not so clumsy. Jay could feel his cheek hot and wet. Something burned inches into his forearm. He looked down to find the torch hadn’t actually burned his skin; it’d cut clean through and cauterized the wound. Fucking hell. He nearly passed out from the pain.

    He dropped around behind the steel cables that held the elevator in the shaft. The shocktrooper didn’t follow; instead she thrust the torch directly through. Jay barely moved his head in time.

    Dropping the remains of the seared rifle, he seized a steel cable with each hand. They were taut, but had just enough slack for him to trap the shocktrooper’s torch-wielding arm. Gripping the cables, Jay hauled himself up and slammed the heel of his boot down onto her head.

    She dodged the blow. The torch sizzled through the cables and came free. Another arc of plasma. It slipped through Jay’s vest, through more layers of skin than he would’ve liked. He stumbled back, the pain locking him down. This was insane. He had to get out of here.

    He dropped under another strike, rolled back to the steel cables. The shocktrooper came at him with a blinding series of cuts. Jay ducked, rolled and weaved out of the white plasma’s path. It burned his vision like the sun.

    He moved behind the cables. The shocktrooper sidestepped. Jay matched her movements, kept the cables between them. He could hear scuffles and grunts from the roof of Nasira’s elevator in the south shaft. The torch came through. Jay weaved out of its path. Plasma scythed after him, cutting two more cables. Another strike.

    He darted clear. The superheated, ionized gas sang for his flesh. He bowed his torso inwards, the plasma passing before him, severing three cables.

    Only one cable remained, yet still the elevator held.

    The shocktrooper moved quickly around the cable, on the same side as Jay. The torch swept down Jay’s chest. He shrank back, avoiding it. She smiled, reversed her grip and came in again. Jay rolled sideways, legs spinning into position around her knee and ankle. Pulled her ankle and pushed her knee. Her knee straightened out and she fell backwards.

    Jay was on his feet. He dived through the air, past the cable, and sank into a roll. Up again, he pivoted his body. The cables were between him and the shocktrooper again. She launched after him, torch still in hand. Jay waited for the cable to break, but the shocktrooper bounced off it instead. She knew what Jay was trying to do.

    Another barrage of attacks. Back and forth they danced across the roof of his elevator, while Nasira and her attacker did the same on the other one. His heartbeat pounded in his ears. He moved carefully, deciding what to avoid and what to deflect. One wrong decision and the shocktrooper would slice him in two. He slipped in beside her, his chest to her back. He wanted to take the opportunity to attack, but thought again and did the opposite. He leaped away, towards the steel beams.

    He could see Nasira from the corner of his vision. She was still alive.

    Jay put one foot out before him and pushed off a steel beam. Twisting around, he leaped over the shocktrooper and onto the dangling cables. The shocktrooper jumped towards him, the plasma cutting through air.

    Jay gripped the cables and hauled his legs up, using the momentum to pull his stomach from the plasma’s unforgiving path. For a moment, he felt like he was lying facedown on an invisible table.

    ‘Nasira!’ he yelled. ‘Jump!’

    ‘You’re trying to get me killed!’ she yelled back.

    ‘Just jump!’

    Jay kicked the torch-wielding hand. The plasma flame thrust in the direction of the last steel cable. Still in mid-leap, the shocktrooper could do nothing to correct the movement. The plasma cut the cable.

    Jay watched the shocktrooper land on the elevator roof. Then the elevator plummeted. The shocktrooper instinctively jumped for the steel beams, but the elevator dropped only a few inches before the safety mechanism kicked in. The pull rods clenched furiously onto the rail guides, locking the elevator in position.

    The movement hurled Jay upward, past Nasira. She leaped forward, arms outstretched. He saw, extended an arm of his own. And missed.

    Her arms wrapped tightly around his legs.

    He held the cable with clenched fists as the counterweights slingshotted them up the shaft. The colors in his vision bled into one another. Then the counterweights stopped. Jay bounced and dropped hard. His grip slid down the cable. Tightening it, he grabbed the end of the cable before it slithered from his grasp.

    He looked down. Nasira was still there, her grip cutting off the circulation to his feet. Beyond her scarlet-dotted face, the shaft receded into a tiny square of darkness. The possibility of falling made his mind swim.

    ‘Stop hanging around!’ Nasira yelled. ‘Swing!’

    ‘Easy for you to say,’ he mumbled.

    ‘What?’

    ‘Nothing.’

    He hated heights. Really, really hated them. He clenched the cables, his body freezing up.

    ‘Swing, you twat!’ she yelled. ‘Shocktrooper’s climbing the ladder!’

    Breathe. Concentrate on breathing. Look ahead, not down. God, whatever the fuck you do, don’t look down.

    ‘What the hell’s wrong with you?’ Nasira yelled. ‘Swing!’

    Ignoring all common sense, Jay leaned out to one side, then back in. He repeated the movements until they began to sway from side to side. It was taking forever. Slack, severed cables brushed across his face.

    From somewhere around the region of his ass, Nasira said, ‘Keep going!’

    The swing motion was starting. He pulled with it, relaxing into the momentum, then pulled further. Nasira let go. He watched her dive across the shaft towards the ladder, arms out. She gripped the ladder’s sides, knees folding in, heels on rungs. Below her, he could see the shocktrooper climbing right for her. No, he wasn’t climbing. He might as well be gliding, he was moving that fast.

    ‘Move!’ Jay yelled.

    In the south shaft, Nasira’s elevator dropped, then ground to a halt. For a second Jay didn’t know what was going on. He watched the shocktrooper in the south shaft become larger, clearer. Then he realized she’d pulled the same stunt he had, cutting all of the cables and propelling herself upwards at incredible speed.

    The sheer drop below him came into painful focus. Jay shut his eyes and held on tighter. He had to get a hold of himself. Focus. He forced himself to open his eyes and look ahead. The shocktrooper shot past him, a smear of limbs. The only thing between them were steel beams with rail guides mounted on both sides. Through the beams, Jay saw the counterweights shift, then catch. The shocktrooper bounced and dangled. She was directly opposite him.

    Without even waiting to catch her breath, she swung her cable through the loose ones. Since she was still bouncing, her swings came easier and faster. Jay’s heart skipped more beats than he cared to count. His cable was still swinging but not enough for him to reach the ladder. Even if he could make the jump, the shocktrooper coming up after Nasira was too damn close. He was caught between two shocktroopers. Fuck.

    The female shocktrooper swung under a steel beam and, still clinging to the cable, crossed over to the north shaft. Her boots slammed hard into his shoulder, sending him into a violent spin. His right hand came free. His blurred vision showed him the male shocktrooper going straight for Nasira.

    Jay’s left hand loosened from a blow he didn’t see coming. The shaft spiraled around him. His vision popped and crackled. He held onto the rope with his left hand. Sweat ran into his eyes. He blinked but they still stung like hell.

    Bring the right arm up. Keep the legs still. Raise the right hand. Above the left. Hold. Don’t fucking let go. Both hands on the very tip of the cable.

    The shocktrooper swung back in. No kick. Silence. The cable jerked. The bitch was on his cable. Right above him. The bottomless shaft was all he could think about. Every time he opened his eyes, his mind was an ice blender on fucking high.

    The shocktrooper slid down. Her boots smashed into his head. His spine jarred. Phosphenes danced around his vision. His hands slipped. He couldn’t see. Then realized why. His eyes were closed. He opened them. He was falling. Not straight down. At a forty-five degree angle. The swing of the cable had thrown him out. Straight for the steel beams.

    Oh well, fuck it. He hugged the first beam. Pain slammed his ribs. He could feel his feet. Every breath was hell. A burning itch in his ribcage. He looked up. Didn’t feel dizzy this time. He craned his head.

    The shocktrooper was waiting for another swing on the cable. It came. She leaped right for him.

    Jay did the only thing he could do. Let go.

    With his arms above his head, he grabbed the next steel beam down. Held on, hauled himself up. His ribs no longer itched. He could breathe without pain. Stale air punched down his throat. He told himself not to look down.

    In the south shaft, he could see steel cables, tangled and thick. From the corner of his vision, he caught a blur of movement. The shocktrooper was almost on him.

    He launched himself into the shaft, his arms out for the severed elevator cables. His hands closed over them. He didn’t care which one he got, as long as he got something. Each hand grasped a different cable and they pulled away from each other, stretching him like a starfish. He drew his arms in, muscles quivering from the strain. He climbed as fast as he could.

    The cable jerked. He looked down. The shocktrooper was below. Beyond her was a drop that made him instantly sick. He kept climbing. With each hoist, he used his feet to trap a cable between the heel of one boot and the top of another, locking his position in. He didn’t know what the shocktrooper was doing: inserting a fresh magazine into her pistol, or jumping onto his cables to kick him off, or whatever the fuck shocktroopers did whenever they were kicking the shit out of poor fucks like him in an elevator shaft. He tried to focus on his painfully slow climb, desperate to gain some distance between himself and his pursuer.

    The cables jerked, swayed. He could feel the shocktrooper climbing quickly, confidently, reaching him in an instant. He lashed his feet out, tried to kick her in the head. He hit something. He lashed out again, repeatedly, viciously. Anything to drop her into the shaft.

    She held on, climbed up his legs. He tried to elbow her off but she moved out of reach. She was up and over his head. Her feet locked around a slack cable. The cable whipped him in the face. She wrapped it twice over one of her boots. She secured her legs, then let go. Swinging upside down, hanging only by her feet, she thrust her elbow into his face. Light danced around him. An unbearable pain blossomed from his jaw. He couldn’t tell if he was still holding onto the cable or not. The pain in his mouth overrode all else.

    Something firm clamped against his neck. He could no longer draw breath. When he opened his eyes, he realized the shocktrooper was sitting above him, her legs wrapped around his neck in a triangle choke. Right leg under his armpit, boot resting somewhere over the small of his back. Her left leg was bent, her boot hooked under her right knee, locking his neck and one of his shoulders together and squishing them between her legs. In any other situation, this would’ve been very kinky.

    In effect, it wasn’t her choking him; it was him choking himself with his own shoulder. She was just helping by squeezing her knee. His vision faded into a wisp of light. His thoughts slowed until he could no longer think at all. He’d let go of the cable long ago; it was just her legs that kept him hanging there like a puppet. He supposed she wanted to be certain he was dead before she dropped him into the shaft.

    He pried at her legs but he didn’t have the strength any more. He couldn’t reach beyond her stomach. The pressure points behind her knees were out of his reach. He couldn’t remember why he was in the shaft or what he was meant to be doing. All he could think about was the darkness below.

    Swinging his legs, he kicked. The kick didn’t reach her. With each swing, he tried again. His mind was back in the ice blender. At least it was somewhere. He kicked again, swinging his best leg. He swung more than he’d planned and the momentum sent him upside down, his foot striking the back of her neck. Her legs relaxed from around him.

    If Nasira asked, he’d totally done that on purpose.

    His vision seeped back. He was falling. Headfirst.

    He reached for the cables. His hands brushed them, unable to grip. The cables were gone.

    His right hand jolted. He’d grasped a cable without realizing it. His body wrenched violently, swung hard. He flipped upright. With one hand, he clung to the very tip.

    He looked up. The shocktrooper was hanging above him, on a different cable. She held her pistol, fresh magazine already loaded. Aimed at his head. She couldn’t miss. She wouldn’t miss.

Sophia leveled her P90 at the bottleneck. Fire extinguisher smoke poured out, obscuring everything. She waited, hoping the intruder was one of her own.

    The blast door behind her was still closed.

    Hang on a minute. What if Denton had reprogrammed the blast doors to avoid the glitch? If he had, the doors wouldn’t retract at all when the emergency power was cut. She’d have to wait until the reactor was offline. And by then it would be too late.

    She checked her watch: 00:57.

    Less than a minute before Denton would be ready to inject. And after that, only fourteen minutes before the missile was due to hit.

    Benito shifted nervously beside her, cradling the Browning pistol in both hands.

    ‘Move away from me,’ Sophia said. ‘Just in case.’

    From the smoke, two silhouettes emerged. She hoped it was Nasira and Jay, or Lucia and Damien. She kept her aim, focused on their faces. The features slowly revealed themselves.

    Shocktroopers.

***

Damien had nowhere to go. He kept his gaze between Grace and the second shocktrooper. Like her comrade, Grace wore violet, disc-shaped goggles, making it virtually impossible to read her expression. ‘Are you going to say anything?’ Damien asked her.

    ‘What’s there to say? You’re a terrorist. You must be stopped.’

    ‘Grace, you think you’re doing the right thing, but listen to me. You’re not. Nothing about this place is right. Nothing.’

    She didn’t move for a long time. Or at least it felt that way. Then, finally, she came straight for him, one stride after another. Without saying a word.

    Damien could see the other shocktrooper doing the same thing at the other end of the walkway.

    Underneath the metal grille, something burst open. Came to life. The reactor coolant. Dangerously superheated.

    Damien sprinted across the walkway towards Grace. Behind him, the coolant vaporized. Over his shoulder, he saw control rods scythe upward like javelins. One rod punched through the walkway right where he’d been standing. Another rod struck the other shocktrooper under her jaw. It smashed through the top of her skull. He kept running, heading straight for Grace.

    Something crashed above him. Half the walkway had lifted up behind him and slammed hard into the ceiling. Grace turned and started running too. He’d counted on this.

    The walkway came crashing down on top of him. He dropped onto his elbows and chest, rolled to one side. A handrail smashed down right beside him. The other handrail landed on his opposite side, trapping him. He looked up to find the walkway inches from his face.

    Grace was standing nearby, separated from him by the metal of the walkway. She didn’t approach. Instead, she turned and ran, leaving him to be irradiated.

    He lay there for a moment, catching his breath. Crawling out on his elbows, he checked that she wasn’t waiting for him. The narrow corridor outside was empty. She was nowhere to be seen.

    The reactor groaned behind him. He sprinted down the corridor. The walls shuddered as the reactor burst open, starting to douse the chamber in lethal doses of radiation.

***

From the corner of her vision, Sophia saw the blast door lift slowly. She shouted to Benito, ‘Get inside!’

    Two hundred feet ahead, the shocktroopers moved through the graphite cloud dispersed by the Class D fire extinguisher. Sophia had no choice but to seal the blast door herself, from the inside. The rest of her team would be stuck outside. Which meant it would be up to Benito and herself to stop Denton.

    Benito crawled under the opening blast door. Sophia retreated until her back hit the blast door. She didn’t want to reveal her location by shooting at the shocktroopers until she was certain she could drop them. And she needed a catastrophic head shot to do that.

    Lying on her stomach would make her the smallest target, but was more difficult to shoot from. So she dropped into a sitting position, drew her legs up and stabilized her elbows on the inside of her knees.

    The graphite flakes in the air masked her body heat and Benito’s. Not only did they obscure ordinary vision but, more importantly, the shocktroopers’ wider perception of near and mid-infrared. But the shocktroopers were approaching the edge of the cloud. They’d be able to see her soon.

    They raised their pistols and separated, moving along the wide corridor walls as they approached the bottleneck. She kept her aim on the left shocktrooper’s head, or what she could see of it through the cloud. They weren’t aiming yet; they were waiting for their vision to clear. She had to take the shot now.

    She exhaled slowly, closed one eye, held her breath, then squeezed off a double tap.

    The left shocktrooper twitched, then dropped to his knees. Sophia opened her other eye and adjusted her aim to the right shocktrooper. She ignored the first as he slumped to the floor.

    The right shocktrooper couldn’t see Sophia yet, but he fired anyway, aiming in her general direction. Rounds smashed into Sophia’s chest. She collapsed against the blast door.

    The shocktrooper continued his approach, fifty feet and closing. Any moment now and his vision would clear completely.

    She couldn’t inhale. She felt as though she’d been beaten with a concrete block. The rounds had struck the boron carbide plate in her vest. The blast door was lifting behind her head. Benito stared down at her, his face blurred in her vision. His hands moved around her, attempting to shift her. She tried to draw breath, force air into her lungs.

    She held onto Benito’s arms as he dragged her inside. The blast door was closing again, right over her waist. Benito must’ve hit the button to close it.

    She craned her neck. The shocktrooper was about thirty feet away, his pace increasing, pistol aimed. They were almost clear for a shot.

    Benito’s green eyes hovered over her for an instant. She moved her lips to say, ‘Shoot him,’ but couldn’t hear herself speak.

    She couldn’t move her left hand. She turned her head to one side and discovered why. A round had missed the para-aramid vest by an inch, smashing through her shoulder and tearing scar tissue.

    The blast door was a few feet from her legs. Her P90 was in pieces around her. Her body was racked with pain.

    The shocktrooper was a few paces from the fringe of the graphite cloud. He aimed his pistol at her.

The shocktrooper’s forefinger curled over the pistol’s trigger. Somewhere in the back of Jay’s mind, a small voice told him it was all over.

    He gripped the cable and held tight. His spine itched. Before he knew what was happening, his muscles contracted as though someone had shocked him with a mild current. He couldn’t have let go of the cable if he’d wanted to. A fiery tingle burst through him. Into the cable. Pain writhed through him.

    Above, the shocktrooper’s grip on the cable tightened. Her body shuddered fiercely. Two rounds burst from her pistol. Her aim was off and they cracked past his shoulder. The pistol followed the rounds, falling down the shaft. The shocktrooper’s grip on the cable finally failed. She dropped too, knocking into him on the way down, sending him into a spin.

    He shut his eyes and held tight until the pain trickled away.

    There was an echo from far below as the shocktrooper hit the elevator roof. ‘We’re out of time!’ Nasira’s voice jolted him, bouncing off the shaft walls. ‘Are you going to just hang around or shall we get the hell out of here?’

    Jay breathed hard. He peered around his cable and spotted her on the ladder.

    ‘Where’s the other shocktrooper?’ he called, annoyed that his voice came out a bit shaky.

    Nasira pointed down. On the roof of the other elevator, he saw the second shocktrooper enshrouded in gloom, body still and limbs bent into unnatural angles.

    ‘How did you do that?’ he said, his voice less shaky this time.

    ‘Two rounds to the head. The simplest solutions are often the best. Although not as electrifying as yours.’

    Jay sneezed. It sounded like a foghorn as it echoed down the shaft.

    ‘Pretty sure everyone in the entire facility heard that,’ Nasira said.

    Jay cleared his throat. ‘I get that a lot.’

***

Jay didn’t quite know how, but somehow he managed to get himself over to the ladder where Nasira was waiting and follow her out the emergency access hatch. He looked down to find himself soaked in blood and sweat.

    Nasira loaded a fresh mag into her P90. ‘That electrogenic shit you got going on there, not too different from mine. Electrical fields, magnetic fields. Suppose you’re handy to have around.’

    ‘Magnetic fields?’ Jay said.

    Nasira tapped her head. ‘Magnetite. We all have it, only mine actually works. Comes in handy.’

    ‘Yeah, great,’ Jay said. ‘I always wanted a human compass.’

    ‘We need to move.’ Nasira started into a run.

    Jay ran with her. ‘I need your pistol.’

    Nasira checked her pistol, then handed it to him.

    ‘Where’s my radio?’ Jay said, stopping.

    ‘Oh.’ Nasira drew to a halt. ‘It came off me when I was on the elevator. Let’s just pray Lucia disabled the reactor then.’

    ‘Lucia and Damien.’ Jay fed a round into the chamber of the P99. ‘Hell, you don’t seem like the praying type.’

    She took the safety off her P90. ‘You mean I don’t seem like the type that wants to metaphorically eat the flesh of a zombie called Jesus so he can make me immortal and cleanse me of my sins that were put there because a talking snake told some naked tart to eat fruit from a magical tree?’ She smiled. ‘Shall I take that as a compliment?’

    ‘I think you’re better off injecting yourself for immortality.’

    Nasira chuckled. ‘Just replace the talking snake with Denton.’

    She was quiet for a moment and her thoughts seemed to restack.

    ‘The records,’ she said, feeding a round into the P90’s chamber. ‘Of your past. They won’t change anything. At least . . . they didn’t for me.’

    ‘Don’t you want to know everything?’ Jay said. ‘About your past.’

    Nasira started walking again. ‘When I was a little girl, I did ballet and beat boys up. The records didn’t fill the void inside. Didn’t fuel it either. There was no closure.’

    Jay licked his lips. ‘Then where’s the closure?’

    She gestured to his pistol. ‘At the end of that barrel.’

‘Shoot,’ Sophia rasped, her voice barely audible.

    Benito was pressed flat against the wall, Browning pistol held in shaking hands.

    It took great effort for Sophia to turn her head to see the shocktrooper. He was free of the graphite cloud, striding the final fifty feet. He slipped a new magazine into his pistol and dropped to both knees. Sophia waited for him to fire two rounds into her. To end it all.

    Then she noticed something peculiar. Well, peculiar was an understatement. Half his face was missing. Benito had managed to kill him with one shot.

    Benito dropped the pistol and wrenched her inside before the blast door could crush her legs. The last she saw of the shocktrooper was him collapsing face-first. His skull was ragged and cerise.

    Sophia rolled onto her stomach, curling in to stave the pain. She held her position for a moment, breathed, forced her eyes open. Benito was sitting beside her, awkwardly still.

    Between breaths, she managed to say, ‘Get up.’

    He didn’t look at her.

    Snatching up the Browning, she shifted onto her knees and then to her feet. Hunched over to minimize the pain, she checked their surroundings. They were standing in the entrance to the Vector labs. The area split into three corridors. She knew the center one would take them directly to Denton. She couldn’t quite remember from the facility blueprints where the emergency power was located.

    ‘Which way to the backup power?’ she asked Benito.

    He hadn’t moved. He stared, unfocused, at the blast door.

    Holstering the Browning, Sophia kneeled down before him. ‘Benito, we have to move.’

    She looked into his green eyes. They blinked twice.

    He pushed his glasses up. ‘I can’t.’

    She used her working arm to grab his and struggled to help him up. ‘You have to.’

    He shoved her arm away, pushed himself upright, his back sliding along the wall until he was on his feet.

    ‘I can’t do what you do!’ he yelled. ‘I can’t just shoot, and tear someone’s face to shreds, and—’

    He hesitated, turned his head sharply. Liquid the color of mustard spewed from his mouth onto the floor.

    Sophia shuffled back a few steps. She tried to move the fingers in her left hand. They shifted only slightly.

    When he’d finished vomiting, she said, ‘If it makes you feel better, you saved my life.’

    His eyes were bloodshot. ‘And took another.’

    ‘Would you rather him dead or me dead?’ she said. ‘Or all of us?’

    He swallowed. ‘I don’t want any of it, OK?’

    ‘Please. Where’s the backup power?’

    Benito pushed his glasses up again. ‘All right. I’ll show you.’ He wiped his lips with the back of his hand and started for the corridor on the left.

    She followed him. With each stride, each breath, something smoldered inside her. It wasn’t pain and it wasn’t rage. It was her desire to paint the walls with Denton’s brain.

***

The uninterruptable power supply chamber hummed with the restrained ferocity of a beehive. With the main and emergency power out, this was the final power source remaining. Without it, Denton could do nothing.

    Sophia stepped around Benito and headed straight for the UPS unit. Unassuming in appearance, it reminded her of a household fridge, only six times the size and painted black.

    Ignoring the blood dripping from her fingers, she checked her watch: 00:00.

    How long it had been sitting on zero she could only guess.

    Screw it. She just had to find a way to do this and hope for the best. She had no explosives, but there must be another way to stop it quickly.

    On the front of the UPS, a grille protected a fan the size of her head. It appeared to be taking air from the front and exhausting it out the rear somewhere. Without the air intake, she knew the unit would overheat and shut down. She peered around the back of the unit, found the exhaust. She cupped her right hand over it. The air felt warm.

    Looking around, she searched for something—anything—that she could employ to sabotage the air intake. How long before the UPS finally overheated? It could be seconds. It could be minutes. Even hours. She didn’t have that much time. She had barely seconds to spare.

    ‘Remind me to switch to a low-stress career after this,’ she said to Benito, who was looking decidedly green.

    There was a cabinet mounted on a wall. Inside was a fire extinguisher and fire hose. Opening the cabinet, she unscrewed the hose from the valve, then unscrewed the hose from the other end—each task frustratingly slow with only one working arm. She didn’t bother asking for Benito’s help. By the time she explained what to do, she would’ve done it herself.

    With the valve-less hose slung over her functional arm, she marched over to the UPS unit, unraveled the hose and dumped it at her feet. Using the tip of one of her Gerber knives, she unscrewed the intake grille, then did the same with the exhaust at the back. She inserted one end of the fire hose into the intake, just enough so it wouldn’t hit the fan, then called Benito over to help. She told him to do the same with the other end of the hose at the back of the unit. He did it without saying a word. Now the UPS was feeding its own exhaust back into itself.

    Sophia stepped back, unfastened her webbing belt and pulled off the pouches. They were mostly empty anyway. She handed the belt to Benito. He knew what to do: he wound it tightly around her shoulder to staunch the blood flow. She gritted her teeth. Her arm was sticky with half-dried blood; it had collected and hardened like tree sap on her fingertips. The pain in her shoulder was electric, more unbearable than she’d remembered.

    She removed the compromised plate from the front of her vest and swapped it with the fresh plate on her back. The vest itself was still compromised, but at least she had a good plate.

    ‘How long will this take?’ Benito asked.

    Before she could take a guess, there was a small muffled thump from inside the unit. The green LED light on the front winked out and a moment later smoke plumed from the intake.

    ‘Does that answer your question?’ she said.

    She heard him move for the doorway.

    ‘Wait,’ she said, turning to stop him, but he was still standing where he was before, only a few feet away. She reached for her knife.

    It was Renée in the doorway, her pistol aimed at Sophia. ‘Don't even think about it,’ she said.

Jay led the way to the Vector labs. Without power, they had to manually open the glass doors. A fire extinguisher was sitting up against the wall, rigged to the doors with a length of det cord. Nothing came out of the extinguisher. Someone had already triggered it.

    He continued through, taking the right-hand side. Nasira took the left.

    The blast door to the Vector labs was closed, Sophia and Benito nowhere to be seen. What they found instead was a shocktrooper with half a head missing. Which was how Jay preferred them, really.

    ‘The blast door should be open,’ Nasira said.

    Jay lowered his P99. ‘One of us failed.’

    ‘The power’s out.’ She looked at him. ‘We failed. There’s nothing we can do for Sophia now. She either stops Denton or she doesn’t.’ 

    Jay checked his watch. It was sitting on zero, taunting him. ‘Or didn’t.’ His grip tightened over the pistol. ‘I don’t see Damien.’ 

    Frustration curdled inside him, thinned by a splash of orange on the walls of the corridor they’d just walked down. Heat, reflected from a nearby heat source. Thank you, infrared.

    ‘Shocktrooper,’ Jay said. ‘On your nine. When I say . . . go!’

    Her footsteps fell into line behind him. He turned into the men’s restroom. There was a second entrance at the other end, via a locked storeroom. He was sure he was the only operative who knew about it.

    ‘Single at a hundred feet and closing,’ Nasira said.

    They were here already. Shit.

    He dashed towards the cubicles, weaved left along the mirrored walls and towards the storeroom door. The smell of ammonia burned his nostrils with each breath. He ripped a hair dryer from the wall and slammed it down on the door handle. The door handle fell off. He kept moving. Nasira was right on his heels, slamming the door behind her. Not that it would do much good, but whatever. He sprinted down the corridor.

    If Nasira had seen the shocktrooper then the shocktrooper had likely seen her. All they could do, really, was lure the shocktroopers as far away from the Vector labs as possible. When Sophia and Benito finally emerged, the last thing they’d need was a shocktrooper waiting to blow their brains out.

    With the power out, the corridor was in near-darkness. But as he ran, he made out a shift in color ahead. He slowed as they passed a bioweapons lab. He focused, and his vision twisted back into infrared. The charcoal-tinted walls cooled to indigo and revealed a vivid yellow, orange and red figure. Human-shaped. Even at 200 feet away, it burned intensely.

    Jay drew to a halt. Nasira was beside him an instant later.

    ‘Another one,’ he said, and turned back to where they’d come from.

    Two more of the fuckers. Side by side. Pistols in hands.

    Jay shot out the glass from a nearby door. He reached in and opened it from the inside. Nasira bolted inside after him. Dodging benches and workstations, he ran through the bioweapons lab, everything raw and familiar. He went straight for a row of metal canisters, each one larger than him. He found the valve and cranked it, letting gas pour into the lab.

    The shocktroopers were closing on them, their movements efficient. They must’ve realized what he was doing because they holstered their pistols. A single spark and the gas-filled lab would incinerate everyone.

    A third shocktrooper approached, unarmed. He recognized her sharp jawline and expressionless face under the violet goggles. Jay could see two handsome reflections of himself in Grace’s goggles. ‘No need to be shy. I don’t bite.’

    ‘Why don’t you surrender?’ Grace said, lifting her goggles onto her forehead. ‘That would make it easier for everyone.’

    ‘I like to play hard to get.’

    Grace launched towards him. He rolled over a bench, evading her with inches to spare. Another shocktrooper was already waiting for him. Grace had pushed him into a trap. A third shocktrooper joined the second.

    Jay nodded. ‘Yeah. I see what you did there.’

    Nasira cut the third shocktrooper off, standing between them. That left him to deal with just Grace and the second shocktrooper. But that was still one more than he could handle. Their blows were overwhelming. He shifted his weight, his limbs working reflexively. For every strike he deflected, another crunched into his ribs, his sternum, his face.

    All right, so two more than he could handle.

    They were glued to him, unrelenting. He seized Grace’s arm, stepped in beside it. But the other shocktrooper’s arm intervened and trapped his. Grace’s knee collided with his cheek. His head rattled. Light exploded across his vision. He hit the ground, rolled. Smashed into the side of a lab bench. A computer tower crashed over him. Grace and her counterpart loped towards him with long strides.

    Crawling to one knee, he pushed the tower hard with one foot. It slid across the floor, catching the second shocktrooper and knocking him off balance. Jay got to his feet and leaped over the bench. He grabbed a keyboard, used it to deflect a kick from the second shocktrooper. Jammed the end of it into the shocktrooper’s neck.

    He saw Grace coming. He clawed a fistful of keyboard keys and chucked them at her face. She raised a hand to protect herself.

    He went in for the shocktrooper’s neck with the end of the keyboard again, then for the stomach. The shocktrooper trapped the keyboard, ripped it off him and slammed it back into his temple, the movement so quick he could barely understand how it had happened.

    Both Grace and the other shocktrooper had him again, this time with blades out, whistling past his face. Well, at least it wasn’t a plasma torch. He dropped to his shoulder blades and rolled back onto his feet, picked up a metal chair. 

    ‘One thing that I don’t understand,’ he said.

    Grace advanced, knife in hand. ‘I’m sure there’s more than one.’

    He gripped the chair in both hands. ‘Of all the operatives, you hooking up with Damien?’

    Grace thrust her knife towards him, as did the other shocktrooper. Jay twisted the chair, skewing both knives away. He hooked Grace’s arm inside the chair legs and pulled the chair towards the ground, bringing her with it.

    Grace twisted and rolled out, freeing herself. She gave him a wry smile. ‘It’s not easy finding a guy who can check all the boxes.’

    ‘Sounds like he ticked them all,’ the other shocktrooper said.

    ‘I’m not talking to you,’ Jay said, and drove his heel into the shocktrooper’s kneecap.

    The shocktrooper buckled.

    Jay retreated. ‘I’m a man of many qualities. I check more boxes than . . . there are boxes.’

    Grace moved closer, blade gleaming. ‘You missed one.’

    ‘So did I,’ Nasira said.

    A tunnel of water punched into Grace, lifting her into the air and throwing her sideways.

    Jay looked over at Nasira. She was wielding a fire hose, face flushed, eyes glittering with rage. He ducked. The tunnel of water whipped over his head and collided with the shocktrooper behind him.

    Then the water disappeared. The third shocktrooper had slashed the hose with his knife, disabling Nasira’s ad hoc weapon. He slashed into it again, severing the hose in two.

    Nasira pivoted, drawing the severed end of the hose into her grasp. She whipped the metal nozzle at the shocktrooper’s head. He ducked and charged.

    Nasira hurled the hose over her own arms, shortening the length and giving her more control. She swung again. The hose wrapped around the shocktrooper’s ankle. But before Nasira could pull him off his feet, he slashed the hose to free himself.

    Nasira sidestepped around him. He slashed at her. She retracted her leg to avoid the slash, then kicked his front foot out. He almost fell over, his legs spread out into the splits. She stomped down on his knee and he crumpled, crying out in pain. She followed up with the metal nozzle into his face. It connected with a resounding clunk. He collapsed.

    ‘Not bad,’ Grace said. ‘Does she shake hands and roll over?’

    Jay backed away, careful not to slip on the water underfoot. ‘That’s a laugh, coming from Frankenstein’s monster.’

    Grace was on him in an instant. The blade cut deep, drawing blood from his hand. She closed viciously, hunting for his neck. Her faster, more accurate movements countered every attempt he made to intercept her knife-wielding arm. His arms were sliced to ribbons. Blood welled from a dozen gashes.

    He looked up to see the other two shocktroopers on their feet, blades ready. They moved around him, blinding weaves of metal shredding towards him. They would start with his limbs and work past his guard. Then it would be his neck. End of the line.

    ‘Jay!’ Nasira yelled. ‘Use it!’

    Grace looked at him dispassionately. Her eyes shone green as glacial ice. ‘That’s the problem with you and your buddy Damien. Both talented, but just too damned gullible.’

    She drove her blade into his stomach. To the hilt. Fire exploded inside him, wrenched all focus from his mind. His strength wandered into the distance, with no promise of return. He dropped to his knees. The blade was in front of him again, the sharp point staring him in the face.

    ‘Do it!’ Nasira was closer now. Between Grace’s legs, he could see her climbing onto the bench. She wasn’t touching water.

    Then, strangely, Grace twitched. Or at least it looked like she did. He thought she was hesitating, but a smile emerged instead.

    ‘I’m sorry for Damien,’ she said. ‘And for you. Things just didn’t work out, I guess.’

    She moved to strike.

    Pain overtook Jay. His body tensed up. He shut out everything else. Eyes closed, teeth clenched, all he could process was the wave of agony. And then, as quickly as it had come, it subsided. There were two splashes. He opened his eyes.

    Before him, Grace was shuddering violently. She slumped onto him, her face inches from his. She stopped breathing.

    Jay shivered, then exhaled slowly. ‘Yeah, well, Damien could do better anyway.’

    Hands over the knife in his stomach, he crawled out from under Grace’s body. The water had conducted his electric current, carrying it through the shocktroopers. He withdrew the knife slowly. Blood gushed until he clamped both hands over the wound, fingers together. Wisps of scarlet curled in the water before him.

    After a moment, he forced himself to stand. His stomach was on fire. He counted to ten before slowly removing his hand. Blood trickled but no longer poured. Right now, he fucking loved salamanders. But he returned his hand to his stomach just to be sure.

    Dizziness almost sent him tumbling onto Grace’s lifeless body. Somehow, he remained on his feet. He looked over at Nasira. She lay over the bench, her knee touching the water. She wasn’t moving.

Renée marched Sophia and Benito into the Vector labs, which were now blanketed in complete darkness. Or, through Sophia’s eyes, near-darkness. She scanned for anything that still had power. Nothing. She took a small crumb of satisfaction from knowing she’d pulled the plug just in time.

    Renée’s arm had healed perfectly, thanks to the Axolotl Chimera vector Sophia had insisted be injected into her bloodstream. Not her best decision, that one.

    She could make out Denton’s charming smile as he emerged from the oily shadows. He was still wearing his suit pants and bloodstained undershirt, but the wounds on his face had healed. Renée wasn’t the only one with a dose of Axolotl, by the looks of it.

    ‘Benito Montoya,’ Denton said, hands clasped behind his back. ‘I’m still trying to decide whether it’s masochism, forgiveness or just outright desperation that made you decide to team up with the woman who blew your family into tiny little pieces.’

    Sophia didn’t turn to see Benito’s face. She didn’t want to. But his hatred burned through her anyway. Guilt mounted a defense inside her.

    Denton smiled. ‘And Sophia, the little girl who kills families.’

    Sophia swallowed.

    Denton offered her a lopsided smile. ‘Small world, right?’

    She glared at him. ‘I’m going to end you, Denton.’

    His smile remained. ‘Your resourcefulness continues to astound me. But I’ve taken certain measures to prevent such interference. While your little insurgent friends were busy skittering around the facility like mice in a maze, I took it upon myself to re-route power to my own nest of flywheel generators. Enough to give me fifteen minutes of juice, which, as you’d suspect,’ his smile vanished, ‘was much, much more than I needed.’

    The UPS unit was a decoy. Jesus, how could she have been so stupid? She’d accused Jay of fucking up Africa. She’d just fucked up the whole world. Now, no one would ever be free of the Fifth Column.

    Denton let his arms hang by his sides. He was holding a hypodermic syringe. ‘And last but not least, the “anti-psychopath” Chimera vector, as you so affectionately call it.’ He chuckled as he tapped the syringe and expelled a brief squirt. ‘Or as I like to call it, the fountain of youth.’

    He turned his arm over to expose milk skin and blue veins. It reminded her of the cheese Leoncjusz used to bring back from the Volterra market. She wished she could be there right now, back in time. Away from all of this.

    ‘If you knew what I know,’ Denton said, ‘you would understand, Sophia, that I am not the enemy.’

    ‘You think I don’t understand people like you?’ she yelled. ‘Your enemy is the human race! And yet, despite all your power, you live in constant fear that one day enough ordinary people will wake up to who you are—what you are.’ She allowed herself a tiny smile. ‘Because as soon as we do that, you know we won’t hesitate to lock you up and throw away the key.’ 

    Denton shook his head. ‘I don’t fear the human race, Sophia. I don’t fear anything. And who’s to say they won’t wake up to what you really are and lock you up with me?’ 

    ‘Are you saying I’m a psychopath?’

    ‘No. Quite the opposite, in fact. Which makes you all the more interesting.’ He plunged the beveled needle into a thick vein. ‘You’re more valuable than you think.’

    ‘Suppose you need someone to rule over, right?’ Sophia said.

    ‘I’m not talking about the masses.’ Denton pushed the rubber piston down, the contents of the syringe surging into his vein. ‘I’m talking about you. You are of high tactical value. To me and to Cecilia.’

    She couldn’t stand there and watch as any chance of saving herself, of saving everything, scattered from her. No. She wasn’t going to let this happen. She had to do something. Even if it was futile.

    She launched herself towards Renée with a speed that surprised even herself. Before she knew what she was doing, she’d seized the barrel of Renée’s pistol. She twisted it, wrenched it towards the ceiling. Renée buckled onto one knee, her wrists unable to bend in that direction. As Renée moved to strike, Sophia snatched the pistol from her and smashed the end of the barrel into her face. Blood flowed over her ice pink lips.

    Sophia holstered her pistol, reached for her second Gerber knife and unbuttoned the stud from the scabbard. Renée had made a mistake not confiscating both knives. Sophia brought the blade singing towards Renée’s neck. ‘Heal that, bitch.’

    Renée collapsed, green eyes wide, hands over her gushing neck.

    Sophia caught the pistol in her knife-wielding hand. She’d lived for this moment.

    She squeezed the trigger. She shot Denton.

***

The moment Benito heard the shot, he ran. No one tried to stop him. Renée was dead.

    His first stop was the blast door. He punched the green button on the wall. Once that was open, the rest of Sophia’s team could help, assuming they were still alive. Of course, it gave the shocktroopers access too, but it was a risk he was going to take.

    He went back into the Vector labs, made his way to the Sequencing lab. There was no one inside. Denton didn’t need anyone to stand guard: the workstation was encrypted with a password. It would’ve taken Benito days to crack it. Instead, he pulled a memory stick from his wallet and inserted it into the USB port.

    He wasn’t doing this for Sophia any more. He was doing it for everyone but her.

    He hit the reboot button and waited as the stick loaded an operating system of its own. He typed in a single command, then the memory stick did the rest.

    Found memdmp partition—drive: 0x80, num 0x2 

    Memdmp partition is marked unused 

    Copying memory . . . 

    Writing block of size 0x9f800: 100% 

    Writing block of size 0x3f5e0000: 100% 

    The Chimera files Denton had used were temporarily in the workstation’s random access memory. And while they were sitting there, they were unencrypted and just begging to be stolen. All Benito needed to do was a cold boot attack, then copy the code from the RAM to his memory stick. Two side-channel attacks in less than an hour. Not bad, he thought. Not bad at all.

    He unplugged the memory stick and inserted it into the Sequencing workstation. Foolishly, Denton hadn’t changed the encryption password on this one. That saved him a bit of time. He just logged in under his own name.

    With the code in his possession, the next step was to prep it. In less than a minute, he’d inserted the anti-psychopath Chimera code into the Adeno-Associated Vectors. Made to order in three syringes. Ready to inject.

    ‘Stay where you are.’

    Benito tried to smooth over his startled reaction.

    He recognized the voice. Damien. He stood on the other side of the Sequencing lab. Benito could barely make out his face in the darkness.

    ‘The reactor,’ Damien said. ‘I’ve been irradiated.’

    Benito swallowed. ‘I have something that might help with that.’

***

Jay checked the pulse on Nasira’s neck. Nothing. He tilted her head back so her mouth opened, then listened for breathing. Nothing.

    He lifted her leg from the ground, rolled her onto her back. ‘Come on, wake up!’ He sealed her mouth with his, gave her two short breaths. ‘Please.’

    He listened again.

    Still nothing.

    Fuck, this can’t be happening.

    Palms, one over the other, in the center of her chest. Arms straight, elbows locked. Rapid, firm compressions. He gave it thirty, listened. Nothing. Two more breaths.

    ‘Nasira!’ he yelled, inches from her face.

    He gave thirty more compressions, each one jolting her body.

    ‘Fuck!’ he yelled. ‘You can’t do this!’

    Two more breaths. He didn’t bother to check her breathing, continued with more compressions. She lay there, still. He couldn’t stop his lips from shaking. He forced himself to straighten up, try again. Tears welled in his eyes. He could barely even see her.

    ‘Wake up!’

    More breaths. More compressions. He stopped after ten, his face hot and wet.

    He squeezed his eyes shut, grabbed her pistol and aimed it at the shocktroopers on the floor. He blew their brains out, screaming, one after the other. By the time he got to Grace, the magazine was dry. He threw it aside. His mouth hung open in a silent scream. He didn’t bother closing it. His hands felt like they were burning.

    He staggered back to Nasira, sank to his knees. He held Nasira’s arm and closed his eyes. Fuck Sophia. Fuck Denton. Fuck everyone.

    Almost everyone.

    He had to find Damien.

Denton remained where he stood. The rounds from Sophia’s pistol smacked into the panel that divided the lab, leaving him unharmed.

    Sophia had assumed the panel was just glass. Now she realized it must be aluminum oxynitride. She’d need something stronger than a pistol round to get to Denton.

    ‘And ever an ill death may they die,’ he said. ‘That’s why I’m on this side of the barrier. Just in case you did that.’

    ‘You’re trapped,’ she said.

    ‘I know you’re lying. You’re not very good.’ He unsheathed a knife from his belt. ‘If you knew how this world operates, if you could even conceive of the forces dancing at the edges of your world, you’d understand what I’m doing.’

    ‘You’re absolutely insane,’ she said, more to calm herself than to affect him.

    No amount of adrenaline could feed her the energy she required to keep going. She still held the pistol and her Gerber knife in one hand. She could see her face reflected in the blade’s blood-slicked surface: half of it speckled with Renée’s blood. Some of the dots were beginning to drip, streaking her cheek and neck. She ignored them, focused on Denton. His gaze hadn’t shifted from her.

    ‘That depends on how you define insanity,’ he said. ‘The top of the food chain doesn’t end at the Fifth Column, Sophia. It goes a little higher.’ He regarded her with what looked like mild curiosity. ‘You would join me in a heartbeat if you really knew how much you needed me. I want to bring the Fifth Column to its knees just as much as you do.’

    He used the tip of his own knife to cut the underside of his forearm, then removed his RFID, watching with seeming admiration as the blood seeping from the incision thickened and stopped flowing.

    ‘We’re not allies by any means,’ he said. ‘But right now, we have . . . complementary interests. I could use you. You could use me.’

    She managed a weak smile, her gaze flickering briefly to Renée, lying in a pool of her own blood. It was just Denton now. Sophia tightened the grip on her pistol. She had to buy some time. Either until help came or she figured out a way to drop him.

    ‘You’ll have to try harder than that, Gabriel.’

    ‘Actually, that’s not my real name.’ There was a dark glint in his eyes. ‘Gabriel Denton died long ago.’

    ‘How?’

    Denton shrugged. ‘I killed him. He was weak. Too human.’ He picked at the dried scab over his RFID incision. Underneath it was soft, pink skin. ‘This Chimera vector . . . this Methuselah effect, as Cecilia calls it . . . it’s really just a top-up. An upgrade to get rid of the wrinkles.’ He pulled the skin around his eyes. ‘Much better than what the Nazis could manage.’

    Sophia realized she’d been holding her breath. She forced herself to breathe again. ‘How . . . how old are you?’

    Denton flashed her a smile, all white teeth and glistening eyes. ‘Ninety-two.’ He stroked his trimmed bread. ‘Not bad for an old bastard.’

    She didn’t know whether to believe a word he said. ‘Then why do you need the Chimera vector?’

    ‘I’ll give Cecilia this: she’s really fucking good at what she does.’ Denton held up the empty syringe. ‘I could have a hundred years out of this baby.’

    ‘So you can continue as the Fifth Column’s lap dog?’ Sophia said.

    Denton shook his head. ‘Oh no, not at all. Their plans are doomed to fail. Just like yours. You and everyone else, your revered Cecilia McLoughlin included, have failed to consider every angle, every possibility.’

    Sophia needed to get out, consolidate her team and find a way out of the facility and off the island before the missile hit. But she didn’t just want to leave Denton to his own devices.

    ‘Without me, you’re shooting in the dark,’ Denton said. ‘You don’t have access to every piece of the puzzle.’

    ‘Neither do you.’

    He smiled sweetly. ‘Oh, but I have more pieces than you could ever hope to acquire. I’ve been privy to things your insurgent scientists could only dream of. Like it or not, Sophia, you need me.’

    ‘No,’ she said. ‘You’re a parasite. Like each and every one of your kind. Even if you kill me, the Akhana won’t rest until your kind are banished for good.’

    A vein on Denton’s forehead trembled.

    ‘Tell me, Sophia, have you ever considered the possibility that maybe I’m not the one who carries the flaws?’ He paced alongside the transparent panel, his hands curled into fists. ‘You see that I’m different, but what you don’t see is that I’m different for a reason. The current state of humanity is defective. Doomed for extinction—not because of me but in spite of me. And after all is said and done, a stronger, smarter, more efficient man shall be born from the ashes to lead civilization.’

    He stopped pacing, his gaze locking onto hers. She knew he believed every word he said.

    ‘I am the Fifth Column’s replacement,’ he said. ‘And the way I see it, I’m not the one with the sick mind. You are. Infected with emotions, mired by conscience, paralyzed by guilt. You’ve been reduced to a shivering strip of meat who dreams of self-worth. It’s pathetic. And somewhere inside you know that, but you refuse to admit it. You can’t admit it, because then you’d have to admit that you, along with the other ninety-four percent of the population, are an evolutionary failure.’ 

    At Sophia’s nine o’clock, a pair of double doors parted. Damien entered the lab.

    Ignoring Denton, he said to Sophia, ‘Find Benito and get out of here!’

    ‘I expected you would’ve run away by now,’ Denton said to him. ‘Isn’t that what you always do?’

    ‘Not this time,’ Damien said. ‘I’ve been irradiated,’ Damien told Sophia. ‘You need to keep your distance.’

    ‘I’m not going anywhere,’ Sophia said. ‘He needs to be stopped.’

    ‘You’re no good to anyone dead,’ Damien said. ‘Your team needs you.’

    Sophia took her other knife from Renée's belt. ‘See you on the other side.’

***

Benito held the remaining vials up to the artificial light. It was hard to believe the iridescent blue liquid that swilled inside was the most dangerous—and the most valuable—possession on Earth.

    ‘Think about what you’re doing.’ A new voice.

    ‘Oh, right,’ Benito said with faux confidence. ‘The Blue Beret commander with no Blue Berets left to command.’

    He turned and found himself staring down the barrel of Major Novak’s submachine gun.

    ‘Put the vials down carefully,’ Novak said.

    ‘And then what?’ Benito said. ‘You’ll shoot me? Well, that sounds like a wonderful idea.’

    ‘Why would I shoot you?’ Novak said. ‘I’m on your side. The Fifth Column are on your side.’ He shook his head, trying for disappointment. ‘You think all we can offer you is a career and a home? We can offer you a life. Survival from worse things to come.’

    He stepped further into the room, his cheeks flushed red. His broad nose cast a shadow that concealed his lips. ‘Sophia has clouded your judgment, can’t you see that? I’m giving you one more chance to do the right thing. Put the vials on the floor. Slowly. You have to understand that if they fall into inexperienced hands, it could undo everything we’ve done for the human race.’

    ‘That’s exactly what Sophia plans to do,’ Benito said.

    Novak’s thick eyebrows lifted a fraction. ‘But is that what you want to do?’

    He didn’t have an answer. Allying with the Akhana, with Sophia, Cecilia and her band of renegade scientists, was the moral choice. But he couldn’t escape the fact that allying with the Fifth Column, regardless of whether or not he condoned their practices, was the wise choice. The Akhana couldn’t guarantee his survival. But the Fifth Column could. At least for as long as they needed him.

    ‘I know you want to do the right thing, Doctor,’ Novak said. ‘Join us and we shall lead humanity through the dark—’

    The side of Novak’s face exploded. He slumped forward, rolling onto his bloated abdomen.

    Jay limped into view from the east entrance of the Sequencing lab. He continued without breaking his stride, one hand over a bloodstained stomach.

    ‘Jay!’

    Sophia’s voice. It came from the west entrance. Benito looked over to see her running towards them. She slowed down and he saw that one of her arms was glazed with blood from the recent shocktrooper encounter.

    She stopped short. ‘Are you hurt?’ she asked Jay. ‘Where’s Nasira?’

    Jay looked at her wounded shoulder. ‘Speak for yourself.’ He stood unnervingly still. ‘Nasira’s dead. Tell me where Damien is. Right now.’

    ‘In there, with Denton.’ Sophia pointed the way she had come. She looked at the vials in Benito’s hand. ‘What are they?’

    ‘The Chimera vector,’ Benito said. ‘The anti-psychopath one.’

    ‘How?’ Sophia said. ‘How did you get it?’

    ‘I hacked into the computers. The codes were still floating about in the RAM.’

    ‘The what?’ Jay looked confused.

    ‘Residual memory.’ Benito turned back to Sophia. ‘What happened to Denton? Did you . . . you know, stop him?’

    Sophia shook her head. ‘Long story.’ She snatched the vials from Benito’s hand and offered them to Jay.

    ‘No way,’ Jay said. ‘I don’t want to end up sterile.’

    ‘That only works on psychopaths, or women carrying the psychopath gene,’ Sophia said. ‘Inject it. Give the other to Damien. Trust me, you’ll need it.’

    ‘Damien’s already been injected,’ Benito said. ‘Otherwise the radiation would have killed him in a matter of hours.’

    ‘Radiation?’ Jay said. ‘Is he OK?’

    ‘He will be now,’ Benito said.

    Sophia pulled the cap off the needle and extended it towards Jay. Jay didn’t hesitate. He offered the inside of his elbow and Sophia injected. When she was done, she stepped back, risked a glance in Benito’s direction, then nodded at Jay. ‘Go.’

***

Sophia walked towards Benito. He stood there, seemingly in a daze. He must have heard her approach but didn’t acknowledge her. She stopped short, realizing she had no words for him.

    ‘Have you seen Nasira?’

    That was Lucia’s voice. Sophia turned to see her enter from the east. She stopped just short of Novak’s rotund body.

    ‘Where have you been?’ Sophia said.

    ‘Buying you some time, keeping shocktroopers distracted,’ Lucia said, out of breath.

    ‘Jay didn’t tell you when he came through?’

    Lucia shook her head. ‘I didn’t see him.’

    ‘Nasira’s dead,’ Sophia said.

    Lucia clenched her fists. ‘We have to go. I’m counting seven minutes until the missile hits.’

    ‘What about Damien and Jay?’ Sophia said.

    ‘They have the Chimera vectors. If anyone can stop Denton, it’s them. There’s nothing we can do for them now.’

    Sophia shook her head. ‘I can’t leave them behind.’

    ‘If we stay, we all die,’ Lucia said. ‘But if we go, you have the chance to save some of us.’

The closer Damien drew to Denton, the more he felt as though some part of him was being siphoned away. At first, he thought it was his eyes playing tricks on him. Denton seemed younger. The fine wrinkles in his face, around his mouth and eyes, had disappeared. He seemed at least a decade younger.

    He’d injected both Chimera vectors.

    Damien came to a halt right before him, only the almost invisible panel of aluminum oxynitride separating them.

    Denton cemented his stance, his lips parting in curiosity. ‘It seems all of your efforts have been in vain.’

    ‘Not all of them.’

    Damien held up an empty syringe, the one Benito had given him, and watched the color drain from Denton’s smooth, regenerated face.

    He tossed the syringe aside, then placed the palm of his hand on the panel that divided them. He felt the warmth spread from his palm, hot against the surface. It hummed softly but Damien couldn’t be sure if he was hearing or feeling it.  

    He focused. The aluminum oxynitride sheet fractured into a million pieces. 

    They stood squared off, twenty feet apart. 

    Damien heard Jay’s footsteps and looked over his shoulder. ‘You made it.’

***

‘Always.’ Jay raised his pistol at Denton.

    Denton rolled his eyes. ‘It’s unfortunate that you’ve chosen to betray me after all I’ve done for the both of you,’ he said. ‘I can only imagine the iconoclastic brainwashing techniques Sophia employed to draw you into her cult. I suppose you blame me for the brainwashing. One among many of her colorful conspiracy theories.’

    ‘We’re both injected,’ Damien said. ‘Benito was kind enough to put his cryptanalyst skills to good use.’

    ‘Nothing like “residual memory” to even the odds, right?’ Jay said. ‘Benito hacked into your computers, grabbed the Chimera thingie from the SLAM.’

    ‘RAM,’ Damien said. ‘He means RAM.’

    Denton smiled. ‘As children, the two of you showed every promise of becoming valuable assets. I’m not quite sure what spurred you to do it, but, to my own surprise, I am willing to overlook your betrayal  . . .’

    He took one step closer. A little too close for Jay’s liking.

    ‘. . . if you consider what will be my only offer.’

    ‘You’re in no position to be making offers,’ Jay said. He tasted the roof of his mouth. The only fear he could detect was Damien's.

    Denton checked his watch. ‘You’re in no position to be declining them. We have six minutes before the bunker-buster bomb hits. If we die here, now, fighting over the same thing, that would be regrettable. And pointless. I’d like to think it possible for us to work together to achieve a common cause. Every resistance throughout history has failed,’ he said, ‘until now.’

    He turned away.

    What the hell was that, Jay thought. He projectile vomits his disappointed parental speech and then just fucks off? Screw that.

    He aimed his pistol at Denton’s head. His hands were trembling. He dropped his aim slightly, to Denton’s back. He couldn’t do it. Not yet. He needed to know.

    ‘What common cause could we possibly have?’ he said.

    Denton looked over his shoulder. ‘Dismantling the Fifth Column.’

    He manually opened a pair of glass doors and exited the lab. His confidence was starting to piss Jay off. He raised his pistol again.

    ‘Don’t think I won’t shoot you!’ he yelled.

    Denton laughed and called back, ‘That wouldn’t be a good idea.’

    Damien seized Jay’s shooting arm. ‘What are you doing?’

    Jay didn’t look away, kept the back of Denton’s brain stem in his sights. ‘I’m about to kill him.’

    ‘No, you’re not,’ Damien said. ‘I want answers.’

    ‘To what?’

    ‘To us!’ Damien yelled. ‘What happened to us, our families. Everything that happened.’ He pointed to the open glass doors. ‘I don’t want to admit this any more than you do, but if anyone can really give us that, it’s him.’

    ‘What about Sophia?’

    ‘She doesn’t know what Denton knows.’

    Damien ran towards the glass doors.

    ‘Shit,’ Jay said, and chased after him.

    They found themselves at the bottom of a narrow flight of stairs that ascended to a closed door.

    ‘Come on!’ Damien yelled at Jay.

    They climbed the stairs and kicked the door open. They were in the aircraft hangar, the same access door they’d used in the past for debriefs.

    He saw Denton making for the row of high-speed Piasecki X-49 Speedhawk helicopters. He couldn’t see any Blue Berets. Or shocktroopers. Or aircraft pilots. There were only three Speedhawks. Had Sophia taken one already?

    Together, he and Damien ran to catch up, slowing as they reached Denton. He was already in the cockpit, strapping on his flight helmet.

    ‘Do you even give a shit that we could kill you right now?’ Jay yelled.

    ‘Don’t just stand there, for Christ’s sake,’ Denton said. ‘We have three minutes. Get in.’

    Damien took Jay’s pistol and stepped closer, aiming at Denton’s head. ‘We want our records. From Project GATE.’

    ‘Help me find the General,’ Denton said. ‘And the records are yours.’

Rotor blades sliced the air ahead. Sophia slowed her sprint as she reached the two Piasecki X-49 Speedhawks. They had thin lifting wings on either side that reminded her of dorsal fins on a fish. The tail sported a vectored-thrust ducted propeller that looked like an oversized fan. Maximum speed: 167 miles per hour. If anyone could hot-rod a helicopter, it would look something like this. And just as well. It was probably the only thing that had a chance of getting them clear in time.

    Damien and Jay were nowhere to be seen. She realized they weren’t going to make it.

    Lucia was already in the pilot’s seat of the closest Speedhawk, her helmet on. Sophia turned to see Benito farther away than she’d thought. The hangar roof above was already open. She climbed up into the cargo hold.

    ‘Faster!’ she shouted at Benito.

    He slowed to a halt. ‘I’m not going with you.’

    ‘You don’t have any choice!’ she yelled. ‘Get in!’

    He started for one of the other, slower helicopters. ‘I have a pilot’s license. I can fly my—’

    ‘Those helicopters are too slow. We don’t have time.’ She aimed Renée’s pistol at his face. ‘Get in now.’

    ‘Or what?’

    ‘Or I will shoot you.’ 

    Benito swallowed, then began to climb in. She holstered her pistol and offered her working hand to help him, but he ignored it. She yelled for Lucia to go, then held on as the Speedhawk rose sharply towards the hangar roof.

    ‘Hang on!’ Lucia shouted over the noise of the rotor blades.

    The Speedhawk ascended faster than Sophia had expected. Benito was half in, hands clawing for something to hold onto. She leaped forward, sliding on her stomach, and seized his wrist just in time. The Speedhawk was out of the hangar. The humid air hit her, then rushed out of her lungs as she was slammed flat onto her chest.

    As the Speedhawk shot skyward, she held onto Benito’s wrist to stop him falling out. His eyes were wide and his hands searched for something to cling to. There was only her arm. He seized it.

    She slid herself further forward and snatched whatever she could grab—the back of his collar—and tried to haul him inside. He managed to crawl up to his stomach. She only had one hand as leverage. With her wounded shoulder, she didn’t have the strength to pull him in.

    Past his head, she could see Desecheo Island below. She guessed they were about thirty floors high off the island. Something glinted in the sunlight. She watched it disappear into the center of the island with the sound of rumbling thunder.

    The bunker-buster bomb.

    She held her breath. They were still too goddamn close.

    Lucia shouted something, but Sophia couldn’t make out what she was saying.

    Again, she tried to pull Benito in. She gripped the back of his blood- and sweat-stained undershirt. It tore from her grasp. She reached further down, her fingers wrapping over his belt. An instant later, he was lying beside her, hands sprawled across the slippery floor.

    Below them, the island disappeared into a cloud of iridescent white. Then the Speedhawk shuddered, knocking her right over Benito and out of the helicopter. The white cloud trembled, and a thin white halo spread out below her as she fell. She could see the ocean ripple in its wake.

    Frantically, she hooked both arms around Benito’s right leg. Her brain rattled inside her skull as she went from headfirst to upright. Without warning, the Speedhawk lurched sideways, nearly tearing her free. It felt like the helicopter was a lure on a giant fishing line that was being cast out to sea at phenomenal speed.

    She hung on. Her shoulder wanted to tear away from her body. About 200 yards below her, through squinted eyes, she saw the shockwave shredding the island apart. An unbearable heat smothered her, forcing her to close her eyes.

    In her mind’s eye, she saw Leoncjusz smile as he held up a ruby-colored Christmas ornament. My mother calls these bombka. 

    She opened her eyes. It felt like her grip around Benito’s leg was slipping. He was hanging off the side of the Speedhawk’s cargo-hold doorway again, and this time his grip looked worse than hers.

    The shockwave faded. Their sideways slingshot had ended. Miraculously, the helicopter was still upright. Lucia stabilized it.

    Sophia was dangling below Benito, one arm wrapped around his ankle and a fifty-level drop to the Caribbean below. Every muscle in her body was on fire. Light danced across her vision. She no longer had any feeling in her hands, feet or even her face. Everything felt numb. She felt numb.

    Benito managed to pull himself further in. Sophia reached out to grip the edge of the doorway. With her weight off him, he was able to drag himself inside. She hauled herself in after him and shut the door. Collapsing on one of the seats, she closed her eyes and clenched her teeth, hoping the tears wouldn’t come. The pain in her shoulder returned with a vengeance, stealing the breath from her. She could barely think, let alone speak.

    She opened her eyes to find Benito dressing her shoulder with her field dressings. His hands trembled as he took his belt off. With some more dressing as padding, he tightened the belt around her shoulder to staunch the blood flow between her heart and the wound. Once he was done he checked for something in his pocket. A single vial of iridescent blue liquid. He still had the anti-psychopath Chimera vector. Even if Cecilia failed, they would still succeed. But it didn’t change the fact that Cassandra, Nasira, Damien and Jay were all dead.

    It should’ve been her. Not them.

Benito looked out the window of the Speedhawk at the ledge extending from the sheer jagged cliff where the helicopter was to land. Lucia kept them hovering for a moment, then carefully settled the helicopter down on what looked like an aluminum platform.

    There was a cave opening before them, large enough to squeeze a light aircraft through. Benito watched as the cave doors parted on hinges, turning inwards. The doors themselves were covered in mountain rock, decorated with moss and fernery to conceal the true material beneath it: reinforced steel. The Speedhawk jolted as the aluminum platform began to withdraw through the cave doors.

    Once inside, Sophia leaped off the platform, nearly losing her balance with only one good arm. Lucia followed suit. Benito contemplated staying in the helicopter by himself, but decided it was safer with them. He made sure he kept no more than three paces away from them, aware that they still had their pistol and rifle ready. They didn’t bother to close the fake-rock doors behind them, which he found rather odd.

    As he stepped off the platform, he saw that it had wheels that ran on a pair of rails, powered by an on-board motor. The rails themselves were retractable.

    ‘We can’t stay long,’ Sophia said quietly. ‘The Fifth Column might know about this base by now.’

    ‘I can smell blood,’ Lucia said.

    ‘Whose?’ Sophia asked.

    ‘Not sure. Our people are here. Cecilia. Everyone.’ She shook her head. ‘No soldiers though.’

    ‘Damn,’ Sophia said. ‘We’re too late.’

    Benito remained behind them as they surveyed the chamber. The walls and ceiling were fabricated, and seemed to be molded upon the existing shape of the cave. He knew Cecilia had chosen the location for this place, and financed the discreet conversion of the natural limestone cave system into a cleverly retrofitted forward-operating base. The fact that the base was carefully concealed in an archeologically protected region of Belize meant it was unlikely to be stumbled upon even by the most persistent treasure hunter.

    ‘Where is ev—’ Benito stopped mid-sentence as Sophia brought a finger to her lips.

    He watched her move lightly into the next chamber. Crates and boxes of various sizes were stacked around them. At the other end was a pair of tubular passages. Sophia led them down the left one. As they walked, he noticed the passage descending. Lucia walked behind him, her attention focused on their rear. Something wasn’t right. But he didn’t want to say anything, preferring to wait and hope for the best.

    A thicket of cables sagged along the limestone walls, marked every thirty feet by light bulbs that bled onto the limestone with fingers of black iron. Benito tried and failed to suppress a chill that shook his body. He was careful not to slip on anything as the passage twisted to the right and then to the left again, before expanding out into a large galley kitchen.

    Two Elohim stood there, flanked by rudimentary furniture cut from Belizean mahogany. They aimed their rifles, then lowered them again as they recognized Sophia and Lucia. One of the Elohim spoke into his throat mike.

    Benito halted mid-stride when he realized what was covering the galley kitchen floor. Torn flesh. Bullet wounds shredding faces, chests and torsos. He couldn’t move, yet he was unable to look away.

    ‘Oh my god,’ Lucia said from behind him.

    Sophia’s voice sounded strained. ‘What happened?’

    The Elohim on the right, a young male with grim, pencil-thin lips, answered. ‘The Fifth Column found the base. Blue Berets cut off everyone’s escape. They didn’t stand a chance.’

    Benito approached one of the bodies. A man. He had long, gray hair and flecks of blood dotting his creased face. Pale blue eyes stared up at him.

    ‘Did you clear the mountain?’ Sophia asked the Elohim.

    He eyed Sophia’s blood-slicked arm through his red goggles. ‘They’re long gone. Didn’t touch a thing. Even the air filtration system’s still running.’

    Sophia made for the nearest transceiver. ‘Comms still up?’

    ‘Yes,’ he said.

    She was already checking the frequency and encryption. Benito, wanting to get away from the pile of bodies, followed her. She reached for the handset, then paused.

    ‘What are you doing?’ he asked.

    She swallowed. ‘Transmitting from our base repeater to every Akhana base in the world. Cecilia should have given them the vector codes. Which means they have their mosquitoes ready to deploy. This is it.’

    Benito nodded. ‘Then what are you waiting for?’

    She picked up the handset. ‘This is Jade Hera. I repeat, this is Jade Hera. All Hera call signs are to disperse Panacea.’

    She spoke clearly, but Benito could hear her voice wavering.

    She repeated her message twice more, then said, ‘All Hera call signs confirm immediately, over.’

    Gradually, the call signs reported in. The mosquito payloads were being deployed. Sophia dropped the handset and leaned her weight onto the transceiver’s desk.

    She turned to the almost motionless Elohim. ‘Where’s Cecilia?’

    ‘In the operating room,’ the male Elohim said. ‘Wait here, I’ll—’

    Sophia strode past the pair of them. They didn’t try to stop her.

***

Sophia could feel the tears drying over the blood and grime on her cheeks. She stepped into the operating room. Cecilia lunged forward, catching her before she collapsed.

    Without saying a word, Cecilia helped her onto an operating table and inspected her shoulder wound. Sophia could smell her oriental perfume. It was warm and spicy, sweetened with vanilla and patchouli. Comforting. But not comforting enough to dissolve her guilt.

    ‘They came looking for the vector codes, didn’t they?’ she said.

    Cecilia nodded. ‘They were here before me, so they didn’t find them.’ She rolled up one leg of Sophia’s combat pants. ‘Everyone here paid the price.’

    It felt like something bit her thigh. She looked down to see Cecilia holding an auto-injector, the needle already inside her flesh.

    ‘You’ll need proper medical attention for your arm,’ Cecilia said.

    ‘It’s all my fault,’ Sophia said.

    ‘I heard you give the order to the Akhana bases,’ Cecilia said. ‘I’ve already transmitted the code so they were ready for you. I would’ve done it myself, but we had to make sure the Chimera vector didn’t get into the Fifth Column’s hands.’ She paused. ‘Sophia, there’s something I have to tell you.’

    ‘About the Chimera vector?’

    ‘Yes. I must confess that it’s not as much of a silver bullet as we’d first thought. It doesn’t work on every type of psychopath. The schizoidal psychopath, for one, can be male or female. Those genes are transmitted autosomally, not through the X chromosome. The skirtoidal psychopath is the same. And there are hybrids of these, even more anomalies. The Chimera vector can’t sterilize them all.’ 

    ‘But the essential psychopath,’ Sophia said, ‘they’re the most dangerous. And it will sterilize them.’ 

    ‘That’s correct,’ Cecilia said. ‘It will still work on them as we intended.’

    Sophia almost choked as she tried to stifle her sobs. ‘Good,’ she said.

    She hated anyone seeing her like this, especially Cecilia.

    For the first time, she noticed a pair of Elohim standing at the operating room’s west entrance, their expressions hidden behind red-tinted visors. They probably thought she was weak, unstable. She felt her cheeks burn.

    Cecilia removed the auto-injector from Sophia’s thigh, then rolled the cuff of her pants back down. She straightened, picked black gloves from her trench-coat pocket and pulled them on, left hand first.

    ‘You didn’t fail,’ she said. ‘The anti-psychopath Chimera vector is now being deployed for global distribution. Sophia, you did everything exactly as I’d hoped.’

    Cecilia’s pearl earrings reminded her of dragées, the tiny metallic balls Denton used on his cupcakes. He used to hand them out during her training as rewards, then insist on a detailed analysis report on how each cupcake tasted.

    ‘Everything,’ Sophia said, ‘except save those who trusted us with their lives.’ She found herself staring at the dried blood cracking over her hand and closed her eyes. ‘We could’ve avoided this.’

    Cecilia leaned forward to take her other hand, the functional one. Her touch was electric. ‘I’m afraid we couldn’t. This was a necessary loss.’

    She withdrew her hand. Sophia opened her eyes. She noticed Cecilia’s off-white trench coat was unbuttoned to her midsection, revealing a para-aramid vest stained with shiny specks. Blood had soaked into the black fabric, visible under just the right angle of light. The hair on the back of Sophia’s neck prickled.

    Cecilia moved to the other side of the operating room and placed the auto-injector on a laminated benchtop. ‘You’re a good soldier, Sophia.’

    Sophia felt dreadfully sick. Something was wrong.

    ‘The sacrifices we made today, as painful as they might be, are essential for our survival tomorrow,’ Cecilia said. ‘It has taken me the better part of a year to get Denton exactly where we need him. Tell me, Sophia, do you know what a false flag penetrator is?’

    Sophia swallowed. ‘A spy. Unwittingly controlled by a third party.’

    Cecilia smiled. ‘A spy like Renée, who believed herself to be working for Denton but who was actually working for me. The Mexican standoff we had back in the BlueGene lab was staged, Sophia. I was never in any danger. But I had to convince Denton that I was. And I had to convince you.’

    Sophia’s mind reeled. ‘Your mercenaries  . . .’ She glared at the Elohim. ‘Did you program them too?’

    ‘They already were, actually,’ Cecilia said. ‘The Elohim were operatives once, just like you. I altered their programming so they became wonderfully faithful zealots, and jacked them with more vectors than the late Damien and Jay, useful idiots as they were.’

    ‘But I don’t recog—’

    She dismissed Sophia with a wave of her hand. ‘Of course you don’t. They’ve come a long way from facial reconstructive surgery and a bit of target practice in Volterra.’

    That explained why she’d never recognized the Elohim as former operatives. Alarm bells went off in her head again. Denton hadn't killed Leoncjusz. Denton had arrived after the Elohim had already murdered him. Rage burned in the pit of Sophia’s stomach. She’d been played for a fool. She felt her pulse gushing in her ears.

    ‘You killed the only person I ever trusted,’ she yelled. ‘For what?’

    ‘Every death, every loss in your life, had to seem to come from Denton,’ Cecilia said. ‘You had to be compelled to do what I wanted you to do. It’s not that hard to understand.’

    Cecilia’s words pierced a dark reservoir inside Sophia. One where anger, so old, so buried, had transmuted into a black, volatile oil. Her teeth ran across her lips. ‘You’re one of them.’

    ‘I am my own agent,’ Cecilia said. ‘With your help, of course.’

    Sophia swallowed, her lips trembling beyond her control. ‘Sleight of hand, sleight of mind.’

    ‘And more help to come,’ Cecilia said. ‘Until then.’

    She walked with light, brisk steps towards the west entrance. It led to the base’s lower west exit, so small it was accessible only by foot. She must have transport waiting nearby.

    Sophia focused on a patch of floor, blocking out the dizziness that had overwhelmed her. ‘You’re leaving me here for the Fifth Column.’

    ‘I’ll see you again soon,’ Cecilia said. ‘That precious little empty provirus inside your body, the one that carries the decryption key for the Chimera vector codes—I feel obligated to mention that it also carries a latent virus. One that isn’t empty. One that kicks in when the mu opioid receptor comes into contact with an agonist.’

    ‘What’s inside the virus?’ Sophia asked.

    ‘Our most successful strain of swine flu. Able to infect anyone with a healthy immune system unfortunate enough to encounter you, which, in this case, will be the Fifth Column’s high brass.’ She shrugged. ‘All you need to activate it is an opioid agonist. Like codeine.’

    Sophia blinked. It made sense. ‘I don’t have a codeine allergy at all.’

    Cecilia turned to face Sophia, placed her hands on her hips. ‘Of course not. I couldn’t have you infecting people prematurely. Codeine isn’t a very strong agonist. At least not as strong as morphine.’

    Sophia’s heart misfired. A moment ago, she’d lain there and let Cecilia inject her with morphine.

    ‘If I’m infected then so are you,’ she said.

    ‘Since the swine flu project was in the same facility as Project GATE, all Project GATE personnel were inoculated,’ Cecilia said. ‘But don’t worry, your new Blue Beret friends aren’t going to die and crash into a mountain before you get there. You won’t be able to infect anyone until after the incubation period, and by that time I expect you to be deep in the heart of the Fifth Column’s OpCenter.’

    Sophia’s body trembled involuntarily. ‘I’m not James fucking Bond. Shoot me like a normal person,’ she hissed. ‘Do it!’

    Cecilia shook her head and smiled. ‘I don’t want to kill you, Sophia. I’m telling you everything because I want to be honest with you.’

    ‘Bullshit.’

    ‘OK, maybe not. But I do have a cure for you. Although I’m not going to give it to you until you complete your next operation. I’m sure you’ll under—’

    The east entrance door swung open. The Elohim reached for their rifles. From the corner of her vision, Sophia saw an infrared laser pulse strike one of them on the chest. One of those 2004-era Pulsed Energy Projectile rifles. The pulse bloomed into a crackling ball of plasma, heating the air so fast it exploded. Sophia shut her eyes as a blinding shockwave ripped through the operating room. She heard something hit the wall. The Elohim’s paralyzed body.

    Sophia pushed herself off the operating table. The second Elohim took aim, but the intruder was faster. With a resounding boom and flash, another pulse picked the Elohim off the ground and sent him into an operating table. Both the Elohim would be down for at least half an hour.

    Sophia was seized from behind. An arm tightened around her neck. She couldn’t summon the energy to fight back. Bubbles of light popped and sparked around her darkening vision.

    Cecilia drove the barrel of her pistol into Sophia’s temple. ‘Put down your weapon, Nasira.’

Cecilia was dragging Sophia by her neck to the west entrance. Nasira aimed the stolen PEP rifle past Sophia’s head but held her fire.

    ‘Shoot!’ Sophia yelled with what little energy she could draw upon. The words felt like broken glass in her throat.

    Nasira tightened her grip on the rifle. Her eyes narrowed.

    Sophia felt the hold around her neck relax, and suddenly Cecilia was sprinting through the west entrance, down the hall. Sophia didn’t see much after that. Her legs gave way and she collapsed to her knees.

    ‘Get her.’ Her voice felt brittle.

    Nasira didn’t go after Cecilia. Instead, she slammed Cecilia’s escape door shut and pushed a fallen cabinet against it. There was a blast from the hall. It rattled the door. More Elohim, covering Cecilia’s escape.

    Darkness leaked into Sophia’s vision. She almost lost consciousness as Nasira helped her onto her feet.

    ‘It won’t take long for them to blast their way through,’ Nasira said.

    She was supposed to be dead. Jay had no reason to lie about that.

    Another shockwave. The air exploded. The cabinet shuddered a few inches from the door.

    Nasira shoved it back in place and then, with Sophia’s arm slung over her shoulder, helped her back to the galley kitchen. Benito and Lucia were waiting anxiously for them. They stood next to two new bodies. Elohim. Dead.

    Sophia tried to walk by herself. She could do it, but lack of balance sent her sideways into the kitchen tables. Lucia picked up a PEP rifle, then took over from Nasira and helped Sophia walk.

    Summoning all of her concentration, Sophia followed Benito and Nasira up the winding tunnel to the loading bay.

    ‘I thought you were dead,’ she said.

    Nasira looked over her shoulder. ‘Jay’s electric current stopped my heart.’ She shrugged. ‘And started it again. The shocktroopers, on the other hand, weren’t so lucky.’

    There were two helicopters in the bay: the Akhana’s standard non-stealth helicopter and the Speedhawk. Benito started immediately for the Speedhawk.

    ‘No!’ Nasira snapped. ‘Those motherfuckers are booby-trapped. Get on the platform.’

    She placed her PEP rifle on the platform, then darted for the rail controls.

    Lucia helped Sophia onto the platform. ‘We got confirmation back from the other bases,’ she said. ‘They’ve deployed the mosquitoes.’

    Sprinklers shot water into the loading bay and the tunnels behind them.

    ‘You tripped the silent fire alarm,’ Sophia said, her voice weak.

    ‘I know,’ Nasira said.

    Looking down at the wet platform, Sophia noticed a length of rope that ran taut from one side of the platform to the other, but couldn’t work out what it was for. The fake-rock doors were still open. Outside, the rails were extended to the edge of the cliff. In fact, they were extended further than usual. Then she noticed something next to the ends of the rails.

    Nasira operated the controls, bringing the rail back inside, but only a fraction. Under each end was a single grenade, its spoon pressed firmly against the rail, pin removed. As the rails retracted, the grenades rolled onto their sides, releasing their spoons. They detonated, shattering the ends of the rail into tiny pieces.

    Immediately, Nasira reversed the rail movement so the jagged edges extended out again, right to the edge of the cliff. Now there was nothing on the ends of the rails to stop the platform flying off completely.

    Sophia realized what Nasira had in mind.

    Benito was on the platform alongside Sophia. Lucia stepped on after him. She placed her PEP rifle at her feet and lay on top of it to keep it dry from the sprinklers.

    Nasira called out to them: ‘Hold onto the rope!’

    Sophia lay down between Benito and Lucia and gripped the rope with her one good hand, tightly enough that her fingernails dug into her palm. She looked over her shoulder at the tunnel. Four Elohim were running towards them. She felt the on-board motor hum to life underneath her.

    ‘Are you insane?’ she yelled as Nasira leaped onto the platform.

    Nasira slid onto her back and grabbed the rope with both hands. ‘All signs point to yes.’

    Sophia’s neck jolted. The back of her head smacked the platform as it shuttled them out of the base. This was a bad idea. She held the rope with her good hand. The rails, then the ground itself, disappeared underneath her. They were sliding down a mountain on nothing more than a metal plate.

    Two seconds of eternity. The platform floated through the air, then dropped and bounced against a rocky mountainside. She could see the glistening canopy of the Belizean jungle waiting to consume her.

    The rocky cliffside scraped violently against the platform’s underbelly. Then, abruptly, the rock ended. They slid over the precipice. She held her breath as their platform plunged sideways. All they could do was hang on as the platform grated against treetops.

    Before it hit the ground, it jarred to a halt, tearing the rope from her grasp. She fell through ferns and hit the ground. When she opened her eyes, Benito was lying beside her. Lucia had dropped into a neat roll. High above, Nasira was still hanging from the rope.

    The platform dropped an inch, and then another. Nasira let go, landing next to Sophia and rolling onto her feet.

    Above them, branches snapped. The platform dropped again, slicing through the foliage, one corner bearing down on Sophia. Benito seized her wrist and pulled hard. The platform hit the ground, its corner plunging into the damp undergrowth. Ignoring the pain that racked her body, Sophia forced herself onto her feet. From the corner of her vision, she noticed the platform sway. Jesus, it was going to tip right onto them.

    It was her turn to take Benito by the arm. She wrenched him across the undergrowth, staggering, then rolling as the platform fell flat right behind them. Lucia and Nasira were there in an instant to pull them to their feet.

    ‘Where’s your transport?’ Sophia asked.

    ‘The pyramids,’ Nasira said.

    ‘Great.’

    But the Mayan ruins weren’t too far. They could make it on foot if they were lucky.

***

All Sophia could focus on as they swam the Belize River was trying to stay conscious.

    Lucia’s and Nasira’s pistols ended up submerged in water, and their PEP rifles endured a great deal of splashing. It would be too dangerous to attempt firing either of them. They were defenseless, Sophia realized, as she emerged with her own pistol missing. She’d lost it in the river.

    They followed Nasira up a slight incline, penetrated a line of thick jungle and found the ruins. Sophia spotted the Speedhawk resting on a temple roof. The roof was on top of a step pyramid located on the far side of the plaza.

    There was movement behind them. Splashing. She heard the tearing of palm leaves as the Elohim reached the edge of the river and pushed through the jungle strip. That wasn’t the work of a knife. She remembered the rack of rapiers in Cecilia’s quarters. If Sophia knew how to use them, then the Elohim would too. They’d had the same martial arts training in Project GATE. With their PEP rifles ruined by the sprinklers, the Elohim would’ve armed themselves with seventeenth-century Spanish rapiers instead.

    Benito had one arm over Sophia’s shoulder, helping her towards the plaza. He didn’t say a word. All she could hear was his heavy breathing. They were still 600 feet from the pyramid; Nasira and Lucia were 100 feet ahead. A pair of Elohim cut between their two groups. Sophia halted, slowing Benito. He saw it too. Nasira and Lucia were far enough ahead to make it to the Speedhawk, but they weren’t.

    Sophia tried to formulate a plan, but her brain refused to cooperate. Every thought was sluggish and painful.

    Benito pulled her to the left. There was a 200-foot step pyramid right next to them. There was no helicopter on this one, but, as he helped her up the limestone steps, she realized what he was thinking. The only way out of here was up.

    It didn’t help that the steps were three times larger than those in an ordinary flight of stairs. The Mayan rulers preferred their loyal patriots to struggle in their servitude, she supposed. It was nice to know some things on this planet never changed.

    She looked back to see how far they’d climbed and was surprised to find an Elohim already at the base of the pyramid, rapier in hand. They had scaled two-thirds of the pyramid, but the Elohim was closing in. Benito must have figured they’d never make it, because he yanked her around to another pyramid face. She looked down, disappointed to see another Elohim, rapier in hand, moving up this face as well.

    ‘Well, that didn’t work,’ Benito said, between breaths.

    Sophia forced herself up the stairs, one hand clinging to each step. She could hear rotor blades throbbing. Nasira had the bird in the air. She looked over her shoulder. The second Elohim was already halfway up. The first would be just as close, if not closer. She didn’t need to run to another pyramid face to know there would be an Elohim ascending there too. If she were coordinating the pursuit, that’s what she’d do.

    They’d almost reached the top when her body was seized by more flavors of pain than she cared to catalogue. It was hard even to process her thoughts. Her vision reduced itself to a smear with patches of blurred color. Just trying to focus on the next step gave her a headache.

    Benito was beside her, slowing to match her pace. She didn’t want to look behind but knew she had to. The Elohim was three-quarters up. In less than ten seconds, he’d be in range with his rapier.

    The Speedhawk thundered overhead. Shunting all remaining energy to her legs and arms, Sophia scrambled the last dozen steps. She could hear the Elohim’s nimble footsteps. She could hear several footsteps. Rapier blades whistled through the damp air.

    The Speedhawk reached them. She was two steps from the top. Benito was only a step behind her. And behind him, the Elohim. Rapier poised to thrust.

    She pulled at the Elohim’s wrist and wrenched him sideways. The rapier sliced through a gap of air between Benito’s stomach and arm. He saw the blade for the first time and sprang forward. They’d made it to the top.

    Ten feet away, another Elohim crawled to the top. On their left, yet another. One behind them, two in front, and fuck-all room to move.

    Benito dropped his hands to his sides in exhaustion, facing the Elohim. ‘No,’ he said.

    The Speedhawk came in dangerously low, pedaling sideways towards them. Lucia was in the back, secured in a harness, one arm outstretched.

    Sophia pulled Benito with her, away from the pursuing rapier seeking his flesh. She crouched low, then jumped up to the Speedhawk. Her hand clamped over Lucia’s wrist. Lucia’s hand clamped over hers. She waited for Benito to wrap his arms around her legs. But it didn’t happen.

    Lucia hoisted her up so she could grab the Speedhawk’s lifting wing. She looked down at Benito. He was still on the pyramid. What the hell was he doing?

    ‘Shit! Get Benito!’ she yelled.

    She held on with her good arm as the Speedhawk tilted dangerously. The top of the pyramid came into view. The Speedhawk rolled sharply to one side, rotor blades whipping down, creating a deadly barrier that separated two Elohim from Benito. Great idea. But it left him defenseless against the third.

    Lucia aimed her PEP rifle at the two Elohim. She hadn’t seen the third.

    ‘You’re aiming at the wrong one!’ Sophia yelled.

    Lucia couldn’t hear over the noise of the blades. Her rifle blast knocked one Elohim clean off the pyramid. The sound of the shockwave echoed over the Belizean jungle, sending flocks of birds into the sky.

    Sophia clenched her teeth. She held onto one wing as the other dipped past Benito. He wrapped his arms around it. A rapier slithered through the air towards him, skewered his leg.

    The Speedhawk leveled out. Benito was still holding on. But he wasn’t the only one.

    An Elohim climbed on top of the wing and, ignoring Benito, crawled across it. With a knife in one hand, he jumped into the Speedhawk. Lucia, strapped into her harness, moved to shoot him. With one clean motion, he sliced through her jugular. Lucia collapsed in her harness, blood pouring from her neck.

    The Elohim stood before Sophia. She was next.

    A thin blade punctured the front of his neck. A rapier. He dropped face-first before her. The end of the rapier protruded from the back of his neck. At the very end, the bell handle wobbled.

    Sophia realized Benito had pulled the rapier from his own leg and used it to stab the Elohim. She hadn't known he had it in him. Well, he didn’t now; the rapier was in the Elohim’s neck.

    She lost her grip on the wing. Benito dropped to his stomach just in time to wrap his hand tightly around her wrist. He was sliding towards her. And she was pulling him out onto the wing.

    His gaze shifted over her head and she followed it over her own shoulder. A fleet of helicopters encircled them, each manned with Blue Berets. They were surrounded.

    ‘Don’t let me go!’ she yelled.

‘Rise and shine, boys.’

    Denton’s voice crackled in Damien’s ears. He opened his eyes. He had learned early on in his training to snatch sleep wherever possible.

    The thrumming of the rotor blades was muffled but still loud. He remembered only one pit stop. The Speedhawk was packing auxiliary fuel tanks that would’ve kept it in the air for a good 1600 nautical miles.

    On his left, the reflection of the sun caught his eye. He turned to see a forest of apartment blocks and skyscrapers that glistened into infinity. Judging by the look of the city, Denton had throttled them at 250 miles per hour across the North Pacific in a single stretch. Damien checked his watch. It was nearly midday. He’d slept through at least four hours of what was so far a six-hour flight.

    He didn’t envy Denton having had to pilot the Speedhawk for so long. At least it hadn’t been through the night. Flying a helicopter with night-vision over a featureless ocean was a nice way to mess with your depth perception. Denton had been trained extensively—as had a large percentage of operatives, himself not included—but was by no means a seasoned pilot. So Damien was pleased to see they hadn’t plunged into the ocean on the way here. Wherever here was. 

    ‘Where are we?’ he said.

    He could barely hear himself speak, but the noise-cancelling headset seemed to do its job as Denton replied instantly.

    ‘First Avenue, Manhattan. And by the looks of the police and military presence, we’ll have to land on a rooftop.’

    ‘What rooftop?’ Jay had stirred beside him.

    ‘UN headquarters,’ Denton said.

    Jay looked out the little square window on his side. ‘The OpCenter is here?’ 

    ‘Negative,’ Denton said. ‘The OpCenter is on the other side of the country. But our administrative branch is directly under the UN complex. Unofficially.’

    Damien moved closer to the window. ‘And officially?’

    ‘Officially, there’s nothing under the UN complex.’

    Damien looked past the Speedhawk’s wing. First Avenue was filled to bursting point with protesters, some pouring from the underground tunnel in the center of the street. From above they looked like a sea of multicolored candy.

    He moved forward into the cockpit. Denton pointed out the window.

    ‘We’ll land there, on the library roof.’

    Damien could see a long, squat building on the edge of the UN complex. Beyond the library were clusters of UN vehicles and soldiers, their signature pale blue helmets making them look like a special type of candy, and a Speedhawk sitting idle at the front of the plaza. Outside the complex, police had set up a barricade across the nearby four-lane intersection, stifling the flow of protesters. Further uptown, he could see another police barricade keeping back yet another mass of protesters, and smaller groups of police at minor intersections in-between. Not a single protester was allowed anywhere near the north and southwest security checkpoints at the United Nations headquarters. But just in case, there was yet another cluster of police officers posted outside the checkpoints.

    ‘What are they protesting against?’ Jay asked, entering the cockpit behind Damien.

    ‘Just to hazard a guess,’ Denton said, ‘I’d say our pre-emptive strikes on the Iranian uranium enrichment facilities.’

    ‘Oh good,’ Damien said.

    The Speedhawk slowed as Denton prepared to hover above the library roof. Damien could see the protesters pushing at the barricades, only to be met with snap responses of pepper spray and rubber bullets.

    ‘They don’t look happy,’ he said.

    Jay was looking over Damien’s shoulder with his enhanced vision. ‘One of the signs says You killed my brother.’ 

    ‘My guess is the police killed a protester,’ Damien said. ‘They look really pissed.’

    ‘They’ve breached the barricade on First Avenue and East Forty-Second,’ Denton said, glancing out his side window.

    ‘Let’s buckle up,’ Damien said, shuffling Jay out of the cockpit.

    A loud explosion, enough to drown out the rotor blades and rear fan, shuddered the Speedhawk. It sounded like something had detonated right behind them. Damien fell into his seat.

    ‘What the hell was that?’ Jay yelled, hurting Damien’s ears.

    He buckled himself into the four-point harness, facing Jay. The Speedhawk lurched to one side. He couldn’t see much of the cockpit window from here, but he watched anyway, clutching his harness as the helicopter began to spin over the library, over the surge of protesters. Denton was swearing as he tried to slow the spin. Damien felt dizzy as the four lanes of First Avenue loomed closer, empty except for the police officers running to get clear.

    ‘Oh fuck,’ Jay said. ‘Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.’

    Damien shut his mouth firmly so his teeth wouldn’t smash together on impact. The Speedhawk’s belly smacked the asphalt. His brain shuddered inside his skull.

    The Speedhawk bounced, spinning wildly. There was a moment of inertia where he felt as though he were floating. Through the window next to Jay, he saw a molten steel ball of distorted blades fly past. What was left of the Speedhawk’s tail fan, torn free.

    That can’t be good, he thought.

    He locked gazes with Jay. Jay looked genuinely scared. Damien’s short fingernails dug into his palms.

    The Speedhawk hit the ground again. Tipped over. Damien felt his body press into the harness. He was hanging from it. Jay shuddered in his troop seat as the Speedhawk skidded onto its side. The rotor blades chopped into the asphalt, wearing themselves down to a nub. The helicopter slammed into something, hard.

    Spots of light danced in the corners of Damien’s vision. He shifted in his harness to see through the window on his side. The sky was concealed behind dust and debris. Bits of rotor blades fell to the ground like metal confetti.

    Jay lay there, eyes closed. No visible injuries. Damien was worried about broken bones. How long would it take a bone to heal with both Chimera vectors activated? What if Jay had broken his neck and damaged the spinal cord? Would the Chimera vectors mend that? Was that even possible?

    ‘Jay!’ he said, trying not to speak too loudly through the headset.

    He unstrapped his helmet, but accidentally dropped it. It landed on Jay’s stomach.

    He grunted and opened his eyes. ‘What the fuck?’

    Damien exhaled. At least he was alive. ‘Are you hurt?’

    ‘Yeah.’ Jay winced. ‘In the stomach.’

    ‘Look out.’

    Damien unbuckled himself and hung from one of the straps. He swung and landed beside Jay.

    Jay groaned. ‘I hate heights. And now I hate helicopters.’

    There was a popping sound in the distance. Could’ve been rubber bullets or real ones, he wasn’t sure. Pulling Jay to his feet, he tested his own balance. Nothing serious, but he felt like he’d been slapped through a dozen military interrogations.

    In the cockpit, he found Denton still secured in his seat, unconscious. The cockpit windows were intact.

    ‘What are you doing?’ Jay whispered from behind him.

    ‘I didn’t come all the way here to leave him strapped in a helicopter,’ Damien said.

    ‘Neither did I, but it works for me.’

    ‘We can’t just leave him here. And besides, we need him.’

    Damien looked through the cockpit window. Three hundred yards ahead, police were firing tear-gas canisters at protesters. One of the protesters’ signs read, 2nd time I’ve fought for my country, 1st time I’ve known my enemy. 

    Jay pushed past Damien, climbed over the co-pilot’s seat. He slapped Denton. ‘Wake up!’

    Denton didn’t stir.

    ‘Wake up!’ Jay said. ‘Fuck you!’

    Damien continued watching the battle on First Avenue. A few protesters were firing back with pistols, and they weren’t police issue. He could tell from the way these protesters moved that they were trained.

    Denton coughed, then pushed Jay away. He unbuckled his harness and clambered down beside them. He was still wearing just his undershirt, black combat pants and boots, a USP Compact pistol and magazines holstered in his utility belt.

    ‘US Marines versus NYPD,’ he said. ‘Now there’s something you don’t see every day. Are you packing?’ He withdrew his USP, the suppressor still attached.

    Damien checked his waistband, but his pistol wasn’t there. He looked around Jay’s troop seat but couldn’t find it.

    ‘We don’t have time,’ Denton said. He was back in the cockpit, trying to open the pilot’s door, now above them.

    Jay didn’t have his pistol either. They were around here somewhere, but Denton was right. Protesters were rushing down First Avenue, straight for them. As soon as they were in range, all bets were off.

    UN troops appeared around the cockpit to check for survivors.

    Denton flashed a badge through the window. ‘UN officials!’ he shouted.

    The UN troops immediately moved to the cockpit door above them. They opened it and helped Denton out.

    Jay was next out.

    Damien climbed over the co-pilot’s seat. Using the pilot’s harness, he hoisted himself up and onto the helicopter’s side. Behind him, protesters surged towards the Speedhawk and the UN troops. They were closing from both sides, plain-clothed marines leading the charge. The police officers scattered, withdrawing to their squad cars. But it was too late, the protesters were upon the officers. Disarming them, throwing them to the ground. Shouting, pointing to injuries on their own bodies and faces, screaming. They looked angry as all hell.

    ‘Move inside!’ one of the UN soldiers said, pointing inside the UN headquarters.

    Damien looked over to see more UN troops stationed at the rear of the plaza, alongside a pair of white armored security vehicles and a pair of white Land Cruisers, a blue UN painted on their sides. 

    Denton and Jay were already moving along the Speedhawk’s body. It had ploughed right through a checkpoint, causing the wrought-iron gates to buckle inward and into the front of the Speedhawk, knocking it on its side. Denton jumped over the buckled gate, into international territory. Jay jumped after him. Damien followed suit. The UN troops followed them in, squeezing between the crashed Speedhawk and the crumpled gates.

    ‘Lieutenant General Denton, United States Marine Corps,’ Denton said as the UN troops approached. ‘Military Staff Committee. You need to call in reinforcements right now. These checkpoints won’t hold much longer.’

    ‘General, we already have.’ The UN sergeant checked his watch. ‘Their ETA is five minutes.’

    ‘Don’t count on it,’ Denton said.

    He pocketed his wallet and strode past the ASVs and Land Cruisers.

    Damien didn’t make eye contact with the blue-helmeted soldiers. He kept pace a few steps behind Denton, with Jay on his immediate right.

    ‘Out of curiosity,’ Jay said, ‘are you actually on the Military Staff Committee?’

    ‘Hell, no. But I do have UN ID,’ he said. ‘This way.’

    ‘So what the fuck hit our helicopter?’ Jay said. ‘Are the protesters packing missiles now?’

    ‘I think an RPG detonated near the tail fan,’ Denton said. ‘Either a protester, or one of our agent provocateurs inciting violence from the police. Although at this point I don’t think the protests need our incitement.’

    ‘No kidding,’ Jay said.

    Denton led them into the lobby of the glass-walled Secretariat building. From the outside, it looked about forty stories high. Inside, half of it was fenced off for renovations. Denton took them past the elevators, swiped his ID on a reinforced steel door and let them through. Inside this chamber, the pastel-colored marble floor was as yet untouched by renovations. There was a smaller family of elevators. Denton took them to level five, only this level five was underground.

    Jay slapped his hands together. ‘So what’s the plan?’

    Denton stared at the elevator buttons. ‘I get you your answers. After that, it’s up to you. You can help me dismantle the Fifth Column. Or you can walk away.’

    The elevator lurched to a stop. The doors opened. More marble floor. A glass wall at the end, and a manned desk. Soldiers in pale blue helmets stood on either side.

    ‘Are they meant to be there?’ Damien said under his breath.

    ‘Follow my lead,’ Denton said. He walked out of the elevator.

    Damien exchanged a glance with Jay. They moved from the elevator’s far corners, giving themselves the widest views possible before stepping out. Together, they followed Denton, walking with confidence. From the edges of his vision, Damien confirmed a pair of UN soldiers on either side of him and Jay. He hoped they were posted there as nothing more than a precaution.

    When Denton reached the desk, the UN soldiers shifted fractionally closer. Denton paid them no attention and showed another ID.

    ‘I’m scheduled to see the General,’ he said.

    The man behind the desk checked his computer. ‘I’m sorry, Colonel, I don’t have anything here. Would you like me to contact his office?’

    ‘I can do that myself.’ Denton pulled his com out, but dropped it. ‘Shit.’

    Damien and Jay reached the desk in time to see the com slide towards the UN soldier on the right. The soldier ignored it, but when Denton moved towards him, he stepped forward.

    ‘Allow me, Colonel.’ He picked up the com and handed it to Denton.

    Denton gripped the soldier’s wrist and bent his hand back towards his elbow. The soldier buckled, sticking his elbow out. Denton took it and tucked the soldier’s arm behind his back. He stepped behind the soldier and stuck his pistol into his neck, using him as a shield. The soldier immediately dropped his weapon, arms in the air.

    Damien jumped over the desk. His boots connected with the receptionist’s head, sending the man sprawling. Jay disarmed the UN soldier on the left, stealing his M4 carbine.

    ‘Drop your weapons!’ Denton yelled at the four soldiers standing at the elevators.

    Jay joined Damien behind the desk, M4 carbine in both hands. Damien searched the receptionist for a pistol. He was out cold, and unarmed. ‘Great.’

    One of the soldiers fired at Denton. The shot struck his hostage in the shoulder. Denton dived behind the desk and Damien heard something clatter along the marble floor.

    ‘Well, that didn’t go to plan,’ Denton said. ‘Oh, by the way, flashbang.’

    Damien didn’t need to be told twice. He shut his eyes and covered his ears as firmly as he could. Even with his eyes shut, he saw the shift in light, and he heard the loud bang. When he opened his eyes, Denton was already on his feet.

    Damien stood to see the four UN soldiers collapsed near the elevators. Denton strode towards them, USP Compact in both hands. As he approached, he squeezed off three or four shots into each soldier. Replacing the magazine from his utility belt, he then scooped up an M4 carbine, turned on his heel and walked back to the desk. He flicked the shoulder strap over his head and kept his suppressed pistol in both hands.

    ‘You just killed those men,’ Damien said. ‘They’re American.’

    ‘You seem to think I had a choice.’

    Denton aimed his suppressed pistol at the soldier he’d taken hostage just moments ago and shot him in the face. Damien looked away.

    ‘Take him out.’ Denton was pointing to the UN soldier on Jay’s side.

    Jay aimed his M4 carbine at the soldier, then lowered it. ‘No.’

    Denton glared at him.

    ‘You know how loud these M4s are,’ Damien said. ‘Do you want to alert everyone to our presence? Use your suppressed pistol.’

    Denton was already taking aim at the unconscious man behind the desk. Then he shook his head. ‘No. I need to conserve the suppressed rounds. We have to bluff our way from here anyway.’

***

‘Protesters have breached the plaza,’ Denton said to the Blue Beret bodyguard as he flashed his ID. ‘These aren’t fucking hippies. They’re military trained and they’re organized. They know the General is here and they want his blood.’

    There was no reason for the Blue Berets not to believe him, Jay thought. Sure enough, the bodyguard standing in front of the security door spoke into his throat mike.

    ‘We need to extract the General ahead of schedule.’ He turned to two of his three men. ‘Secure the emergency exit.’

    Jay retreated a few steps, as naturally as possible. He monitored the corridor they’d come from, pretending to watch for protesters.

    The bodyguard stepped towards Denton, eyes narrowed. ‘No one should even know he’s here. How did that happen?’

    Denton raised his rifle and shot the bodyguard through the throat.

    Two to go.

    Jay aimed and dropped the bodyguard at his ten o’clock. The other one slumped to the floor, shot by Damien. Jay turned to the corridor and shot two more in the face as they reacted to the gunfire. Their heads burst over the corridor walls.

    Regrouping with his trio, Jay saw Denton push the dead bodyguard off himself. Blood had soaked his undershirt. Denton didn’t say a word, just pushed forward. Damien broke into a run, catching up with him and taking the right flank. Jay moved in and decided to watch their six.

    At the security door, Denton planted his middle finger on the fingerprint pad and let the retinal scanner check his eye. The red light switched to green and they were granted access.

    ‘Get in, quickly,’ he said.

    Damien was first in, Jay followed him. The security door sealed behind them. They advanced, rifles at eye level.

    ‘Did you actually plan any of this?’ Damien asked.

    ‘Only the necessary parts,’ Denton said. ‘The men I’m taking you to aren’t even meant to be here. The security here is basically zero. Trust me, compared to the OpCenter, this is a walk in the park. And a rare opportunity for us.’

    ‘I wouldn’t exactly call that crash landing a walk in the park,’ Damien said. ‘So far, we’re lucky to be alive.’

    Denton chuckled softly, but kept his rifle steady. ‘Do I need to remind you that we’re half-invincible?’

    ‘All it takes is a round to the head,’ Damien said. ‘You’re impulsive.’

    Sometimes Damien should just keep his mouth shut, Jay thought.

    ‘We have company,’ Damien said. He’d stopped moving.

    Denton pressed himself against the wall and crouched down. ‘Talk to me.’

    ‘I can hear reinforcements,’ Damien said. ‘Wait. I can hear bodies. People falling.’

    Jay blinked to get rid of sweat trickling into his eye. ‘Are you sure?’

    He knew Damien was sure. His pseudogene-enhanced hearing could pick up far more than Jay’s ears could.

    ‘Protesters?’ Denton whispered.

    Gunfire erupted in front of them.

    ‘Contact!’ Denton said.

    It was Denton doing the firing. Jay stood to shoot over Denton’s crouched figure, but it was too late. Whoever it was had disappeared before Denton could drop them.

    ‘Right,’ Denton said. ‘So the escorts know we’re coming.’

    Jay checked over his shoulder again. No one had come near the security door. He hoped whoever it was didn’t have access.

    ‘OK, this corridor moves in an oval shape,’ Denton said. ‘Damien, you’re with me. Jay, advance and hold back until we’re in sight.’

    ‘Fine,’ Jay said. ‘Hurry.’

    He watched them move forward, then dart to the left, branching off into the other side of the headquarters—or administrative level or whatever the hell this place was. He wiped sweat from his forehead, slowed his breathing and moved forward. Slowly this time. He shifted to the right wall and kept his knees slightly bent. With every step he tried to minimize the bounce in his aim, half-expecting someone to appear around the corner and open fire.

    The whole level seemed to have been evacuated, or at least the secure section of it. There was just lots of glass and plastered wall. The floor was white marble, or fake white marble. He couldn’t tell which.

    Why was Denton really doing this?

    Denton and Damien were in position much quicker than he expected. Denton was in the lead, two feet from the corner Jay supposed the escort had appeared from. He moved up to the end of the corner, checked the chamber on his M4. He nodded to Denton.

    Denton counted off.

    Together they turned into the new corridor.

    No one.

    The corridor was quite short, with just a double door at the end.

    Denton shifted closer to Jay. ‘Conference room on the other side.’

    Jay nodded. He knew Damien would have heard even from a few feet back.

    Denton turned to Damien and tapped his ear. Damien nodded and moved silently forward.

    Denton and Jay took up back-to-back positions while they waited. Jay was facing Damien. He saw him move in close to the door and put his ear to it. He remained there for a moment, then retreated. Instead of speaking he held up his fingers. One thumb, two fingers. He could hear three people.

    Denton tapped his rifle and raised his eyebrows.

    Damien pointed to the ceiling with one thumb and one finger. He extended his arm up high, indicating rifles, not pistols.

    Denton nodded, reached for his fancy flashbang gadget.

    Damien opened the door just enough. Jay watched their back while Denton tossed the grenade in. No one was immediately within his field of view, so Jay retreated. He let his rifle hang by its shoulder strap, shut his eyes and covered his ears.

    The sound wasn’t too bad, but the flash—even through his eyelids—blinded him. He dropped to his knees, the light searing his vision. He opened his eyes slowly, but all he could see was white.

    He could hear Denton and Damien moving into the conference room. There were two short bursts of gunfire. Had they cleared the conference room or had they surrendered?

    Jay heard someone approach and pull him to his feet. The white flash slowly faded, revealing Damien’s concerned face.

    ‘Are you OK?’ Damien said.

    ‘Yeah,’ Jay said. ‘Must’ve gotten too close.’

    He followed Damien carefully into the conference room. It had a high ceiling with six domed lights. It was like the Knights of the Round Table in here: everything was expensive oak and fancy black and white marble-tiled floors. It reminded him of a chess table. Two Blue Beret bodyguards lay in dark pools of their own blood, one on their immediate right, the other near the third man, who sat comfortably at the table with a glass of wine and a laptop. A pistol lay on the marble between the man and Jay’s trio.

    Damien closed the double doors behind them and secured them with two pairs of plasticuffs, which should stop anything short of a battering ram.

    Denton aimed his rifle at the man at the table. ‘Where are they?’

    The man lowered the glass of red from his mouth. ‘I know why you’ve come, Denton, but I’m sorry to say your sojourn may be in vain.’

    He moved the bottle so he could study his new guests. Jay peered closer at the bottle: Château Margaux. He moved forward so he was standing beside Denton. 

    ‘Who is he?’ he asked.

    ‘The only six-star general in existence,’ Denton said. ‘Commander-in-Chief of the Fifth Column. And he was supposed to be in company.’

    The General laughed. ‘Do you really think I would be entertaining guests at this . . . volatile location? Especially men such as the Benefactors.’ He sipped his wine. ‘All in one place. That would be far too dangerous given the current circumstances.’

    Jay walked down the steps to the round table and raised his rifle at the General. ‘Here’s the deal. You tell us the truth and we’ll be on our way.’

    The General’s eyes, set in a lined, exhausted face, lingered on him. ‘I don’t deal in truth, young man. And I certainly don’t make deals with toy soldiers.’

    ‘But you deal in reality,’ Damien said, coming to stand beside Jay. ‘Reality is what you say it is, right?’

    The General’s lips grew taut. ‘If you like.’

    Jay shook his head. ‘There’s not a chance in hell you’ll be able to keep Project GATE secret. Not forever.’

    ‘And why is that?’ The General grinned, a fissure in his otherwise granite expression. ‘We developed the first atomic bomb in complete secrecy. Hundreds of thousands of employees, dozens of facilities, the equivalent of tens of billions of dollars. For Christ’s sake, son, if we can keep that a secret we can keep anything a secret.’ 

    ‘You miserable son of a bitch,’ Jay said. He felt anger boiling inside him, but didn’t want to give the General the satisfaction of seeing it. ‘What gives you the right?’

    The General exhaled. ‘We don’t need the right. We don’t need anything.’ He looked over at Denton, still standing near the double doors. ‘Not the brightest operative, is he?’

    Jay felt his fist close over. ‘I’m not an operative. That ship has sailed.’

    ‘No,’ the General said. ‘At this rate, you’ll likely be a dead one.’

    ‘Speak for yourself,’ Jay said.

    ‘I speak from experience,’ the General said. ‘People like us run the world not just by chance but because we’re the only ones capable of doing it. We know your flaws. We know you better than you know yourselves. Our sense of honor compels us to take command, to guide the weak through times as dark as these. And our sense of humor compels us to enjoy it.’ He started to laugh.

    Jay leaned over the round table. He could smell the man’s cloying cologne. ‘The times are dark because you made them dark,’ he said.

    He turned to Denton, who seemed to be enjoying the show too much to say anything. ‘Aside from putting this sick bastard out of his misery, why did you really bring us here?’ Jay asked. ‘What’s the point?’

    ‘You wanted to know about your past.’ Denton walked down the steps towards the table. ‘Perhaps you’d like to show the young man the debrief of his first operation?’

    The General didn’t say a word. He exhaled slowly, with disappointment, then pulled up the debrief on his laptop.

    Denton leveled his rifle at the General. ‘I want to see every keystroke.’

    The General sighed and turned the laptop screen so Denton could look over his shoulder at a twenty-feet distance. Once he was done, he shoved the laptop across the table. Denton picked it up and returned to Jay and Damien, placing the laptop before them. The screen displayed a list of files—records from Project GATE.

    Jay recognized them as a complete list of his operations. This’ll be interesting, he thought. He scrolled down to the first operation and opened it.

    OPERATIVE 0134: JAY CARDOSO 

    OPERATION PACIFICADOR 

    DATE: 1995–12–29 

    TARGET/S: ASSASSINATION JESUINO CARDOSO; MARCELA CARDOSO 

    OPERATION NOTES: FRAME ASSASSINATION TO APPEAR AS BOPE RAID 

    EQUIPMENT: x1 IMBEL 9X19 PARABELLUM DESIGNATED M973 

    OUTCOME: SUCCESSFUL. OPERATIVE 0134 PROMOTED FROM RECRUIT TO OPERATIVE STATUS 

    Jay could feel his fingers shaking. His chest trembled as he breathed. He wanted to take that bottle of wine and punch the end of it through the General’s windpipe. He didn’t know how long he could suppress the urge to drive the cartilage from the General’s nose right into that twisted brain of his.

    Instead of shooting the General in the face, he retreated, sat down on the cold marble floor, head between his legs, fingernails digging into his scalp.

    ‘Is this some sort of sick joke?’ he said.

    ‘Every operative’s first operation is to kill their parents,’ the General said. ‘It’s the only reliable way to test your programming.’

    Jay forced himself to stand. He locked gazes with the General.

    The General turned to Denton. ‘And why are you here? Surely not just to put these grunts out of their misery.’

    ‘You’re a liability, General,’ Denton said. ‘And you’re getting sloppy. Two years ago, I would never have caught you here with so few soldiers to ensure your security. Of course, you’re probably going to tell me you wanted me to make it this far so you could entrap me.’

    ‘So you say.’ The General leaned back in his chair, hands clasped.

    ‘And that probably would’ve worked too. But I’m not the only one gunning for you, General.’ Denton smiled. ‘Cecilia McLoughlin has plans for you also.’

    The General appeared mildly surprised. ‘So she’s alive. Interesting.’

    ‘Cecilia and I don’t agree on much,’ Denton said. ‘But what we do agree on is that your decisions are irrational and your tactics are far from subtle. You’ve had me create as many terrorist groups as there are terrorist acts; you’ve ordered me to kill bin Laden four times. I’m pretty sure no one believed the last one. You’re desperate, dysfunctional and you need to be removed.’

    ‘The Benefactors will not look kindly upon your transgression,’ the General said.

    ‘What about me?’ Jay squeezed the trigger on his M4 carbine and blew the General’s brains across the marble floor.

    ‘Job well done, Jay,’ Denton said. ‘How do you feel?’

    ‘Like I’ve been hit by a truck.’

    ‘That’s the truth for you.’

    Denton pulled out a knife, walked over to the General’s body and cut off a finger.

    ‘What the fuck are you doing?’ Jay said.

    ‘What does it look like?’ Denton said.

    Damien looked up from his own records on the laptop. ‘So that’s it then? You brought us here to show us how we killed our own parents.’

    ‘You wanted the truth,’ Denton said. ‘I owed you that much.’

    ‘You owe us nothing,’ Jay said.

    Denton pocketed the severed finger and walked up the steps towards the double doors.

    ‘Where the fuck are you going?’ Jay realized he was shouting.

    Denton paused at the doors. ‘If you boys want to stay alive, I suggest you hurry along.’

Benito had been stowed inside a Speedhawk with Nasira, to be shipped to God knows where for God knew what. The last he saw of Sophia was a hood and earmuffs being thrown on her as she was hauled into the back of a separate helicopter. Smoke choked his nostrils. He couldn’t see because of the blindfold, but it sounded like he was in the middle of a war zone.

    He felt warm blood slide down his neck. It smelled coppery. Someone collapsed on top of him, knocking his blindfold off one eye. One of the Blue Berets. He reached for the man’s weapon, a compact little submachine gun. He didn’t know how to use it but he held it tight for now.

    He pulled away from the dead soldier. The Speedhawk was on its side. Its tail had destroyed a section of chain-link fence that was mounted in concrete barriers. Benito saw movement on the left edge of his vision. He lined up the submachine gun to fire, then recognized Nasira staggering towards him.

    She unsheathed a knife from the fallen Blue Beret and severed her plasticuffs, then moved to cut his, noticing that he was holding the submachine gun. At precisely the same moment, he noticed something as well. Off to his right. Someone else with a submachine gun. Adrenaline gushed through him. He pointed his weapon and punched the trigger. It bucked in his hand, kicking rounds high into the Speedhawk’s spine.

    Nasira pushed his weapon down. He peered through cloudy vision. A body convulsed on the sidewalk outside, stomach glistening. Black fatigues, helmet. Blurs of people rushed past the body, screaming and yelling.

    He turned to Nasira, offering her the submachine gun. Clearly, she’d do better with it than he would. She took it carefully, motioned for him to stay low as she moved outside.

    Benito dropped down just as a round cracked over his shoulder. It sounded like someone was attacking him with a whip. At least he wasn’t deaf.

    They were in the middle of a war zone. Soldiers in pale blue helmets shuffled together in bursts of movement while men and women threw rocks and bottles at the soldiers. What the hell was going on?

    Nasira got his attention, pointed for him to follow her along the Speedhawk and between a crashed helicopter and crumpled gates. He did exactly as he was told, his legs jittery and his heart thumping in his ears. Out on the street, protesters were fighting police officers. He looked up at the shiny buildings that reached into the sky and realized the Speedhawk had brought them to New York of all places. That explained the extended flight time.

    ‘Where’s Sophia?’ he yelled at Nasira.

    ‘Back! Back!’ she shouted, pulling him in beside the toppled Speedhawk.

    The soldiers in blue helmets had retreated further, pushed back by protesters. He could see some of the civilians were armed with pistols. They were firing them at the soldiers. One of the protesters was lying on the ground holding his stomach. A pool of blood gathered around him. Benito wanted to throw up. But Nasira pushed him through a gap in the protesters and between some white Land Cruisers and a tank-like vehicle.

    Benito heard helicopter blades and looked up. Four of them.

    ‘What do we do now?’ he said.

    Nasira opened the driver’s door to a Land Cruiser and hauled herself inside. ‘Get in.’

***

Damien stepped into Security Control. A silent army of computer screens flashed angrily at him over crumpled bodies. He looked down to see sixteen operators lying curled into themselves on the gray PVC floor. He checked a pulse. Nothing.

    Denton pushed past him, a mix of sweat and blood covering his bare arms. He was still carrying the General’s finger, which he’d used to gain access to the Security Control room. ‘They weren’t shot,’ he said.

    He stopped at a workstation, his attention flickering between the fifteen-foot wide screen and Damien. ‘You look like a stunned mullet,’ he said. ‘Are you feeling off?’

    Damien noticed Denton slip his UFO-shaped grenade into his hip pocket. He made a point to keep an eye on that grenade.

    ‘Oh, I’m fine,’ he said. ‘Except for the fact I volunteered to kill my parents, thanks to your programming. Everything’s good.’

    Denton looked as if he was about to roll his eyes but couldn’t be bothered. ‘You can keep blaming everyone else for what happened,’ he said. ‘Or you can take responsibility and actually do something.’

    Damien squared off against him. ‘Why should I take responsibility? It’s not my responsibility to take.’ He kept his voice low. ‘Don’t try to manipulate me. We’re done here.’

    Denton didn’t even blink. ‘I’m just trying to help you.’

    ‘Here’s hoping we don’t cross paths again,’ Damien said.

    ‘What the hell is that?’ Jay said.

    He was pointing to a large screen tiled with live camera feeds. There was one part of the level that had caught his attention. Damien noticed it too. Among all the dead bodies, someone was still alive.

    ‘There! Again!’ Jay thrust a finger towards it, but as soon as he did, another feed replaced it.

    With a few keystrokes, Denton brought the feed back for him, making it full-screen. ‘This one?’

    Jay nodded, but didn’t say a word.

    Damien stepped closer to check it out. It looked like some sort of solitary confinement chamber. Inside, there was a restroom and a bench with a finger-thin mattress. Sitting against the wall was a young woman in gray pajamas with a black hood over her head. Her chest rose and fell slowly. She was alive. Barely. There was a fresh dressing wrapped tightly over her left shoulder.

    Denton shrugged. ‘I guess Sophia wasn’t so lucky.’

    Jay sneezed, almost blasting Damien’s eardrums.

    Denton glared at him. ‘That is not normal.’

    ‘That cell,’ Damien said. ‘Where is it?’

    ‘High-level containment.’ Denton leaned against a body slumped over an office chair. ‘It’s a short-term prison, mostly for interrogations.’

    ‘You mean torture,’ Damien said.

    ‘No, we outsource that.’ Denton pulled an old tooth from his mouth. ‘Hey, look at that. New tooth.’

    ‘How do I get to that cell?’ Damien asked.

    Sophia was now crawling to her knees.

    Denton seized Damien’s shoulder. His grip almost made Damien shiver. ‘You can’t. Use your head, Damien. It’s a trap.’

    ‘Bullshit,’ Jay said. ‘You just don’t want us to rescue her.’

    ‘No,’ Denton said. ‘You don’t get to where I am without developing an incredible sense of self-preservation. And a fuck-load of paranoia.’

    ‘I don’t care. I’m going to get her,’ Damien said. ‘You can do what you like.’

    Denton stood in front of him. ‘I don’t like the sound of this. It has to be some kind of trap.’

    ‘What if Denton’s right?’ Jay said. ‘Not trying to play Devil’s advocate or anything.’

    ‘Think about it,’ Denton said.

    ‘I have,’ Damien said.

    Denton spoke through clenched teeth. ‘She doesn’t care about you, Damien.’

    ‘You’re not exactly the world’s biggest expert on caring!’ Damien walked past him, for the door. ‘I’ll find my own way there. Jay?’

    ‘Sophia was using you, Jay. To get what she wanted,’ Denton said. ‘What did she ever do to help you?’

    Damien paused in the doorway, waiting for Jay’s response.

    ‘She saved Damien’s life,’ he said.

    ‘Fine.’ Denton wagged the severed finger as though it were his own. ‘I suppose I’ll have to take you there.’

Jay hadn’t said a word since leaving Security Control. Damien was a few paces ahead, following Denton, with his damp undershirt and sweat-beaded arms, across the polished concrete floor of the strangely donut-shaped corridor. He was starting to realize how unfulfilling it was to know the truth about his past. It didn’t fill any magic gap. It seemed like nothing could fill that gap now. Nasira was right. This changed nothing. He would be empty forever.

    He stumbled; shot a hand out against a cell door, leaned against it. He’d killed Nasira. She’d let him live, helped him stay alive, and he’d just killed her. It wasn’t poetic or heartbreaking or devastating or any of that shit. He’d fucked up and she’d wound up dead.

    Peering through the tiny square window in the cell door, Jay saw a prisoner curled up on his bed. He wasn’t breathing. They were all dead here too.

    Jay pulled away. He looked ahead to find Denton had drawn to a halt. He ran to catch up.

    They were standing before a cell door made of extremely thick metal. It reminded him of the blast doors at the Desecheo Island facility. Denton pressed the pad of the General’s severed finger against the fingerprint scanner on the control panel mounted on the door.

    ‘What a pleasant surprise,’ a woman said.

    Jay turned to find Cecilia McLoughlin standing fifty feet behind him, at the west end of the donut-shaped corridor. On either side of her, a dozen armed Elohim adorned with pale blue UN helmets. They advanced towards Jay’s trio; aimed their PEP rifles at Denton.

    ‘We’re not loyal to the Fifth Column any longer,’ Damien said.

    McLoughlin shrugged. ‘That’s inconsequential.’

    ‘How did you get in here?’ Jay asked.

    ‘Security personnel are dead. And I bypassed the electronic security using the same computer virus I gave you for Desecheo Island.’

    ‘You came to rescue Sophia?’ Damien said.

    McLoughlin smiled. ‘Actually, I’m the reason she’s here to begin with.’

    ‘I don’t understand,’ Damien said. ‘How did that happen?’

    ‘Ring a ring o’roses, a pocketful of posies,’ McLoughlin said. ‘A-tishoo, a-tishoo—’

    ‘We all fall down,’ Denton said.

    Jay looked at Denton. ‘What does that mean?’

    The ceiling lights cast shards of darkness over Denton’s face. ‘It’s a nursery rhyme. I believe it’s a reference to the Black Death.’

    ‘Most probably,’ McLoughlin said. ‘One of the most devastating pandemics in human history. Wiped out around 75 million. Which, at the time, was about half the population of Europe.’

    ‘That’s the one carried by fleas on rats, right?’ Jay said. ‘The bubonic plague?’

    ‘Officially,’ McLoughlin said. ‘But evidence suggests the Black Death was not the bubonic plague. It was a virus. And it disappeared right around the time smallpox hit.’

    ‘Sounds like the Black Death mutated into smallpox,’ Denton said. 

    ‘You would be correct,’ McLoughlin said. ‘Have you heard of the panspermia theory?’

    ‘Hold up,’ Damien said. ‘Are you saying Sophia has smallpox?’

    Cecilia shook her head. ‘Sophia is carrying a genetically modified strain of the swine flu created at our very own Desecheo Island facility. I left her in Belize to be picked up by the Blue Berets.’

    Denton frowned. ‘Protocol dictates that, with the Desecheo Island facility destroyed and my loyalty in question, Sophia should be taken directly to the General.’ He shook his head. It looked more like admiration than disappointment, Jay thought. ‘Which is exactly what you wanted.’

    McLoughlin smiled, but only slightly. ‘Actually, I wanted her taken to the OpCenter, not UN headquarters. Nevertheless, she has infected all the personnel here. Some of them will visit the OpCenter.’

    ‘And then everyone starts dropping like flies,’ Denton said.

    ‘What about Sophia?’ Damien asked. ‘Will she die as well?’

    ‘She’s a Typhoid Mary,’ McLoughlin said. ‘An immune carrier.’

    ‘What about us? Are we infected?’ Jay asked.

    McLoughlin laughed. ‘No, no, give yourself some credit. All Project GATE staff and operatives are inoculated.’

    Denton’s hand disappeared into his hip pocket. ‘Why are you here?’

    McLoughlin clasped her hands behind her back. ‘The panspermia theory proposes that viruses travel from planet to planet. They hitch rides on asteroids and comets. They survive atmospheric re-entry and combine with bacteria and DNA. They mutate.’

    ‘You’re saying the Black Death was an alien virus,’ Denton said.

    ‘In a manner of speaking. But good things can come of this too. A jump-start in evolution. The psychopath, as you call it.’ 

    ‘You’re saying psychopaths came from a virus?’ Damien said.

    ‘That’s fitting,’ Jay said.

    ‘No, I’m saying the mutation came from a virus,’ McLoughlin said. ‘The Black Death killed off the weak. And it made the strong stronger. It made them psychopaths. Survival of the fittest. And it’s because of this the Fifth Column will be undergoing some restructuring.’ 

    ‘That makes us at the forefront of human evolution,’ Denton said. ‘I like that. Has a nice ring to it.’

    McLoughlin eyed him carefully. ‘You’re presuming that you’re included in this.’

    ‘I know I am,’ Denton said. ‘You see it in me. I see it in you. You’d be a fool to exile me. We’re stronger together.’

    McLoughlin’s expression didn’t shift. ‘What I see is that you don’t carry the genetic flaws present in most people. That makes you different from them. But not different from the paranoid, power-hungry, sub-standard psychopaths. Like the General.’

    ‘We’ve taken care of the General,’ Denton said. ‘He was insane, Cecilia. He ran this planet without any regard for the consequences. He was digging us into a hole that would lead to the extinction of . . . of everything. Even us.’

    ‘I won’t disagree with you on that,’ McLoughlin said. ‘And that’s why I’ve decided to change our arrangement. The Fifth Column do not need a ruthless, impulsive leader at their helm. They need someone who can guide them with vision. Someone much smarter. So I’m afraid that your services in their current capacity are no longer required. You will be replacing Sophia in confinement.’

    Denton inhaled sharply. ‘My skills are far more valuable to you outside of confinement. I’d suggest you consider a smarter alternative.’

    ‘I’ve considered everything. That’s why I’m the one screwing you over and not the other way around. I’ve known you long enough to know that if I give you an inch, you will take it all. And I’ll wind up just like the General. Dead. A victim of your purposeless pursuit of power.’

    ‘As opposed to me being a victim of your purposeless pursuit of power?’ Denton said. 

    McLoughlin smiled. ‘Exactly. I knew you’d understand.’

    ‘What about the Chimera vector?’ Damien said. ‘That pretty much screws up your whole plan. You won’t be able to reproduce.’

    ‘That’s inconsequential,’ McLoughlin said. ‘Only the finest of the foxes will survive. And the fewer the foxes, the more rabbits to feed them.’

    ‘Feed?’ Jay said. ‘What, you’re vampires now?’

    ‘I’d like to think the vampire myth was based upon us, but no, Jay, I don’t mean it literally. In many cultures, blood is symbolic for life. Your emotions are our sustenance, not your actual blood. It’s one of the reasons we need you. Also, it’s highly enjoyable.’

    ‘Every parasite needs a host,’ Jay said.

    ‘Every queen needs an empire,’ McLoughlin said.

    ‘So you’re the future of evolution . . . and you just happen to be sadistic?’ Damien said.

    ‘Something like that. Plus, the Chimera vector isn’t the all-catching net you were led to believe.’ She turned to her Elohim. ‘Remove Sophia from her cell.’

    Jay watched as two pairs of Elohim entered the high-containment cell. Sophia was propped up on her knees, the black hood still over her head. The first pair remained at the entrance, their PEP rifles aimed, while the second pair slung their rifles over their backs and pulled Sophia onto her feet. They led her out of the cell and dropped her at McLoughlin’s feet. Kneeling and hunched over, Sophia was unnervingly still.

    Jay swallowed. ‘What are you going to do with her?’

    McLoughlin shrugged. ‘Well, the Fifth Column’s taken care of. All that’s left is the Akhana. Which shouldn’t be too hard since I know the location of every base.’

    Jay felt ill. She was going to take Sophia to every base and kill every last member of the resistance. He shook his head. ‘You bitch.’

    McLoughlin smiled. ‘And a good one, too.’

    She pulled the hood from Sophia’s head. Sophia looked exhausted, defeated.

    Four Elohim approached Jay, Damien and Denton, two on either side, keeping a safe distance. They gestured with their rifles for the trio to step into Sophia’s cell. Jay could hardly object. What good would it do anyone if he were lying paralyzed on the floor?

    The cell door began to close. McLoughlin turned to leave.

    Denton’s hand moved slightly. It was barely noticeable, but Jay caught it at the corner of his vision. He was holding his UFO-shaped grenade behind his back. Whatever he was planning, Jay hoped it would work.

    Through the swiftly closing gap of the cell door, Jay watched the Elohim move away after McLoughlin. A pair of them moved to pick Sophia up. The gap in the blast door was no longer wide enough for anyone to slip through. Already, they had been forgotten.

    Denton’s hand shot forward, his finger pressed down on the grenade, arming it. It left his grasp and skittered across the cell floor, just making it through the five-inch gap in the closing blast doors. It slid directly towards Sophia as the two Elohim bent down to grab her arms.

    Nothing else existed right now. Nothing but the grenade and Sophia.

    The grenade skimmed past her. Jay watched through the now three-inch gap, surprised as Sophia sprang into action. She pivoted on her knees and stretched one leg out. Her right boot clamped down over the grenade as though it was a hockey puck. She moved her leg in a wide arc, taking the grenade with it and shooting it in the direction of McLoughlin.

    The Elohim either side of her raised their rifles at her. The grenade slid across the floor. The blast doors closed.

Sophia wrapped her arm around her head to muffle the piercing sound that filled the donut-shaped corridor. Behind her eyelids, she saw the grenade’s xenon lamps pulsing viciously. They made the corridor walls hot like the surface of the sun.

    She traversed the floor on her hands and knees and found herself halfway across the body of an Elohim. He writhed beneath her, blind and disoriented.

    All the Elohim had collapsed to the floor. Cecilia had fallen too. Her off-white trench coat was difficult to see among the white combat suits the Elohim wore, but Sophia found her. She collapsed beside her.

    The flashing dissipated. Sophia had five seconds before the Elohim’s vision would return. She guessed a further ten seconds before they gathered enough coordination to fire their PEP rifles, paralyzing her.

    While Cecilia was still protecting her eyes, Sophia took the opportunity to rifle through the trench-coat pockets with her good hand. She found a bulky wallet and opened it. Inside were four needles, four vials and alcohol swabs inside a pouch. Sophia could see four vials inside. Each one had a different color. One was amber, one was vivid blue, one was crimson and another violet. She recalled the Axolotl Chimera vector being violet in color and the Anti-Psychopath being blue. Cecilia was smart enough to carry a backup. One of those vials had to be the Chimera vector. Sophia held onto the wallet.

    The Elohim stirred around her. Cecilia reached down with one hand and took her P99 pistol from under her trench coat.

    An Elohim grabbed Sophia’s leg, pulled her flat onto her stomach. The wallet slipped from her grasp. Cecilia sat upright, gripping her P99. She pulled back on the slide.

    Sophia crawled to her knees and elbowed the Elohim who was grabbing her. His grip slipped. Cecilia reached for the wallet. Sophia whisked the pistol from the Elohim’s hip holster and aimed it at Cecilia.

    They were aiming at each other.

    Sophia squeezed the trigger.

    So did Cecilia.

    Cecilia’s round struck Sophia in the chest. Burned through her skin, her lungs, blew out her back.

    Shuddering, Cecilia collapsed where she lay.

    Sophia turned over, onto her knees, breathing hard. Her right lung had taken the round. She almost passed out. Breathing felt like swallowing lava. She was too scared to feel her back, see how much flesh was missing. She didn’t want to guess how many minutes she had left before death.

    Cecilia’s gloved hands were wrapped around the wallet. Sophia shoved the pistol between her knees and pulled at the wallet, but Cecilia wasn’t going to give it up so easily. Sophia’s peripheral vision told her the Elohim around her were starting to recover. She was running out of time.

    Forcing herself to stand, she half-ran, half-staggered to the cell door that imprisoned Damien, Jay and Denton. She found the General’s severed finger on the polished concrete floor, picked it up and pressed it into the fingerprint scanner. She heard the Elohim behind her reaching for their PEP rifles.

    The red light above the fingerprint scanner faded and the green light blinked on. The cell door opened.

    Sophia collapsed. The pistol slipped from her grasp. She saw Damien and Jay rushing towards her. They checked her wound.

    ‘We need first aid!’ Jay yelled at Denton.

    ‘That’s not going to happen,’ Denton said.

    Sophia tried to hang on, to stay conscious. She followed Denton’s gaze to the Elohim standing on either side of Cecilia, PEP rifles aimed in her general direction. And there was Cecilia, also standing, seemingly unharmed.

    ‘These bullet-resistant vests,’ she said, ‘it’s not like the movies. One little bullet and it feels like I’ve been hit with a sledgehammer.’ She ripped the Velcro to remove her vest and inspect the damage. ‘And that one little bullet compromises the whole vest. If I want to stay protected I need a new one.’ She discarded the vest and reached for her wallet. ‘Or I could inject myself with the Chimera vector.’

    ‘I’m guessing you’re not planning on having children then?’ Denton said.

    ‘Actually, that only works for women carrying the dormant psychopath gene.’

    ‘That’s a bit sexist,’ Denton said. ‘For the men it doesn’t matter, but for the women it has to be dormant. Are you sure you got your science right? You know, in case you plan on putting a bun in the oven later.’

    Cecilia smiled. ‘I have to be sure. Inability to metabolize ammonia. Massive immune response. Organ failure. Brain death. That’s the last thing I want.’

    ‘What are you talking about?’ Sophia said, her voice weak, short of oxygen.

    Cecilia’s smile grew wider. ‘Oh, I suppose you thought it was just a little sterilization for those poor, poor women,’ she said. ‘I lied. It’s a little more than that.’

    She tossed the wallet to Sophia.

    Jay snatched it and opened it.

    ‘Inject her with both Chimera vectors,’ Cecilia said. ‘We don’t want her dying on us just yet.’

    ‘Which one?’ Jay yelled.

    Cecilia smiled. ‘Take your pick.’

    Damien took the wallet from Jay, then used sign language to talk to him so Cecilia couldn’t eavesdrop. ‘Two are Chimera,’ he signed, spelling the word letter by letter. ‘What are the other two?’

    ‘One has to be the flu cure,’ Jay signed. ‘She can’t have Sophia sick forever.’

    Damien handed the violet syringe to Jay.

    Jay pulled off the plastic cap and squirted some of the fluid into the air.

    It might be a Chimera vector, it might be the flu antidote, or it might be lethal, Sophia thought.

    Jay pulled back the sleeve of her Fifth Column-issue pajamas, found a vein and injected slowly. Then the crimson syringe.

    Damien passed Jay the blue one. ‘What’s the fourth one?’ he signed.

    ‘If it’s in the wallet, it can’t be too bad,’ Jay signed back.

    Jay injected the blue one. Damien passed him the amber syringe, and he injected that too.

    ‘OK, good,’ Cecilia said. ‘Enough with the pointless sign language. Get back in your cell, boys. You too, Denton.’

    Sophia’s vision cleared. The fire in her damaged lung was receding.

    ‘And ever an ill death may they die,’ Denton said.

    The Elohim aimed their PEP rifles at Cecilia.

    Sophia turned her head to see Denton smiling.

    ‘You should’ve killed me when you had the chance,’ he told Cecilia.

    Cecilia looked surprised at first, then angry. Her jaw worked and her lips pursed firmly together. She drew her pistol.

    Before Sophia knew what she was doing, she had her pistol in her good hand. She squeezed a double tap through Cecilia’s heart.

    Like a discarded marionette, Cecilia slumped backwards.

    Sophia was on her feet, a new-found reserve of adrenaline burning through her. She moved away from Damien and Jay and aimed her pistol at Denton.

    ‘How did you do that?’ she said.

    ‘A little anti-Cecilia mojo. I had Adamicz install it separately, just in case.’

    ‘Does that mean we have it?’ she said. 

    Denton shook his head. ‘It decays soon after you’re deprogrammed. It only works if an operative is reprogrammed before it can decay. Which, it seems, is what Cecilia is doing with her bodyguards.’

    ‘Was doing,’ Jay said.

    Denton walked over to Cecilia’s body and picked up her pistol. ‘If you want to leave, I suggest you do it now.’

    ‘You’re letting me go?’ Sophia said.

    Denton checked his pistol magazine. ‘How else will these boys get their payment for helping you?’

    Sophia lowered her pistol. ‘What if I come back to kill you?’

    Denton grinned. ‘Then I’ll have to stop you, won’t I?’

    Sophia didn’t return the grin. ‘What are you going to do now?’

    Denton looked down at Cecilia’s lifeless body. ‘Clean up this mess.’

Sophia stepped out of the elevator and into the secret lobby. It was only hours ago that Blue Berets had brought her through here with a hood over her face. Damien and Jay emerged behind her, silent except for their boots on the marble floor. Sophia had her pistol and Jay had Cecilia’s. The Elohim didn’t seem happy parting with their PEP rifles, so Damien went without. Sophia held her pistol in both hands and used her elbow to slowly open the door and step into the public lobby. Damien and Jay followed.

    Outside the building’s main entrance, the plaza was unnervingly quiet. Six UN soldiers were stationed beside a Land Cruiser and what looked like an M1117 ASV, a favored choice for US Marines in Iraq. Unlike Humvees and armored Land Cruisers, the ASV was impervious to small-arms fire and weathered improvised explosives pretty well too. It had four fat, ribbed wheels and was shaped like a cut emerald. This one was painted white, with UN emblazoned on its side in pale blue. It seemed overkill for the UN headquarters. 

    Beyond the UN soldiers and vehicles, the front of the plaza was a sight to behold. On the right, a Speedhawk had toppled into a temporary chain-link fence mounted in concrete. Behind the makeshift barrier, a gate stood open. A Speedhawk helicopter—presumably the one Denton had ferried Damien and Jay in—appeared to have crash-landed into the building’s front gates. On the left of the plaza, a ramp curved below ground.

    ‘Basement parking lot,’ she said.

    The parking lot looked to be directly underneath the plaza. They had to get to it.

    ‘Six UN soldiers,’ Jay said. ‘We could take them.’

    ‘Or bluff our way through,’ Damien said.

    ‘Look at their weapons,’ Sophia said.

    It was hard to identify them because the soldiers were facing the other way. But she could tell from the ends of the barrels that they weren’t ordinary assault rifles.

    ‘Elohim,’ Damien said. ‘How many does Cecilia have?’

    ‘Enough. If we can get into the parking lot, we can take a vehicle up the ramp hard, through the hole in the concrete barrier and out the open gate.’

    Just as she spoke, a Land Cruiser pulled out through the open gate and onto First Avenue. The gate closed behind it.

    ‘So much for that idea,’ Jay said.

    ‘Before our helicopter was shot down, I saw another gate further along. At the northwest end,’ Damien said. ‘Like I said, we could bluff our way through.’

    ‘Or shoot our way through, if we have to,’ Jay said.

    ‘There must be another ramp,’ Damien said. ‘This one’s too close to the Elohim.’

    ‘It’s a two-way ramp,’ Sophia said. ‘So there’s only the one. For this building, anyway.’

    ‘If we drive out of there, they’ll wanna stop us,’ Jay said. ‘We need some serious speed on that corner. And then we’ll have to stop for another gate. I don’t like it. It’d be easier taking them head-on.’

    ‘We need a distraction,’ Sophia said, moving for the fire escape stairs behind the elevators.

    ‘Out of what?’ Jay said, one step behind her. ‘We don’t have anything.’

    Sophia reached the basement and opened the door. Inside, the parking lot was mostly empty.

    ‘We have two cars,’ she said, eying a silver Toyota Prius and green Hyundai Getz. ‘Think you can make something that blows out the lobby windows?’

    Jay walked up to the nearest car: the Prius. He looked inside and nodded. ‘Get me that can of Coke and that pair of shoes.’

    ‘I’ll do it,’ Damien said.

    Sophia stood guard with her pistol while Damien popped the hood, disconnected the battery and searched for the ignition cable. Once he had disabled the car alarm and unlocked the car, he handed Jay the can of Coke. Jay opened it and took a swig. He grimaced and spat. Sophia figured the Coke was warm.

    Jay emptied out more of the drink, then put the can on the car roof while he rummaged in the back seat.

    ‘What are you looking for?’ Sophia said.

    ‘This.’ Jay emerged with a shiny red platform boot.

    He took it and the half-empty can of Coke over to the Hyundai Getz, and spent a minute hammering away under the car with what sounded like the platform shoe and a knife. He returned with the can, a gasoline-soaked shoelace, and a big grin on his face. He’d managed to crack the plastic gas tank under the Getz so he could steal some gasoline.

    ‘What’s in the can?’ Sophia said.

    ‘Our distraction. Get ready, I’ll prime it now. And by prime, I mean light this shoelace.’

    Sophia nodded, and watched him disappear upstairs. She jumped in the driver’s seat of the Prius and, with Damien keeping a lookout, moved the car into position. She gave herself a good 150 feet from the bottom of the ramp. She only had to wait a few minutes before Jay came sprinting through the parking lot.

    Damien opened a door for him and jumped in the front seat himself. Sophia kept the engine running as Jay launched himself into the back. He shut the door. And then silence.

    ‘How long?’ Sophia said.

    Jay held a finger to his lips. He listened intently.

    ‘Damien, use your enhanced hearing,’ Sophia said.

    ‘Trust me,’ Jay said, ‘you—’

    The explosion echoed through the parking lot, and probably along half of First Avenue. She could hear glass shattering. It sounded like Jay had blown up half the UN headquarters’ lobby.

    ‘That was all from one can of Coke?’ Damien said.

    In the rear-vision mirror, she saw Jay lick a finger and touch his chest with a hissing sound.

    She hit the gas, throwing Jay back into his seat. She accelerated up the ramp and around the bend, then eased off. She wanted to keep the Prius at a casual pace for now.

    As they emerged above ground, she saw the UN-dressed Elohim congregating around the lobby entrance, PEP rifles pointed towards the roaring fire. Jay’s sticky mixture had splattered across the marble floor and walls, turning the lobby into the mouth of a volcano. With her good arm, Sophia steered the Prius towards the gap in the concrete barriers.

    ‘Any attention?’ she asked.

    ‘Nah,’ Jay said from the back seat. ‘All good in the hood.’

    Sophia moved through the concrete barriers, past the now-closed gate. She didn’t want to try their luck at this gate with so many Elohim nearby.

    Further ahead, past the General Assembly building, was another gate on their left. It was likely to be closed too, and manned by a pair of Elohim. They couldn’t just screech out of the place at high speed.

    ‘Those Elohim in the booth back there didn’t seem too interested,’ Damien said.

    ‘Don’t speak too soon.’ Sophia pulled up at the northwest gate, pistol on her lap.

    Damien fidgeted beside her, unarmed. ‘What’s the plan?’

    ‘Take them by surprise.’ Sophia pulled on the handbrake.

    ‘That’s not . . . reeeeeally a plan, Soph,’ Jay said.

    ‘And don’t get killed,’ she said.

    One of the Elohim approached her side. She had no ID to show.

    Damien was rummaging through the glove box. He handed over a laminated parking permit. ‘It’s all I could find.’

    It would have to do.

    Sophia wound down her window and shoved the pistol under her thigh. Before the Elohim had a chance to say anything, she offered him the parking permit. She only had a second before the Elohim realized it wasn’t her UN identification.

    As the Elohim took the permit, Sophia opened the car door, slamming it into the Elohim, drew her pistol and shot him. The first shot split the parking permit and struck him in the chest. He was likely wearing a bullet-resistant vest but it still knocked the wind out of him. The second round went straight through the man’s chinstrap. From inside the Prius, it sounded like a harmless cap gun.

    Sophia didn’t need to give any commands. Everyone knew exactly what to do.

    Jay shoved his pistol in his waistband and jumped out of the car. As soon as the Elohim dropped, he scooped up the PEP rifle and fired straight into the gate booth, shattering the glass and paralyzing the second Elohim. The sound was far from covert; it reverberated across First Avenue.

    ‘Sometimes I think you’re just trying to make as much noise as possible,’ Sophia said.

    Jay offered his pistol to Damien, but instead Damien slid across the Prius’s hood and ran for the second Elohim’s PEP rifle. He disappeared inside the booth. A second later, the gate was opening.

    Sophia released the handbrake.

    The gate opened one-eighth of its full span, then stopped.

    ‘Shit,’ Jay said, facing east. ‘We have a fuck-off number of Elohim coming our way.’

    He took cover behind the Prius.

    Sophia checked her rear-vision mirror and confirmed Jay’s announcement: twelve UN-helmeted Elohim. All carrying PEP rifles.

    Damien was still inside the booth. Through the broken glass, he said, ‘The gate’s stuck!’

    ‘How the fuck?’ Jay said.

    ‘They’ve cut the power,’ Sophia said. She got out of the car and crouched beside Jay.

    ‘Through the gate, Soph,’ he said. ‘We’ll cover you.’

    Before Sophia could reply, an infrared pulse smashed into the Prius, shattering the windows with a glittering blue-green ball of plasma. The windshield was the only thing left intact.

    She checked herself. No cuts, no paralysis. The first thing most people did when they experienced shock was to stop breathing, but she was trained to do the opposite—to take in even more oxygen. Since escaping the building, her shot lung had been gradually healing. It still burned to breathe, but it was keeping up with her so far. And her injured arm had more range of movement now. Good, she thought. If she was going to get out of this mess, she’d need two working arms and lungs.

    She checked Jay beside her. He wasn’t hurt or paralyzed either. He returned a shot in the Elohim’s direction, forcing them to split into two teams of six. But they weren’t slowing down.

    She ran for the gate. It was open just enough for her to squeeze through. On the other side of First Avenue, she spotted a small NYPD barricade blocking off a one-way street. It might’ve been small, but it was overcrowded with police officers. She counted at least ten.

    Moving left, she put a hedge and abandoned bus between her and the Elohim, who were no longer in her line of sight. That aside, there was a good half a mile stretch between the major barricades. And she was right in the middle. It was eerily empty, except for litter, discarded banners and bits of glass.

    Four NYPD officers approached her from the small barricade. Three were carrying riot shotguns and one had a taser. While the bus separated her from the Elohim, there was nothing between her and the officers. They approached her in a wide arc, cutting her off from the major barricade uptown. She had no choice but to run. Downtown.

    They were pushing her towards the major barricade 200 yards away. But on her right was a monstrous glass skyscraper—the United Nations University Office. The front entry had revolving doors. Depending on the floor plan, she’d have up to three possible exits, north, south and west, with four elevator cores, and two fire escape stairwells in case the underground parking lot was her only escape.

    As she ran towards the building, she heard the roar of a diesel engine behind her. She looked over her shoulder to see a white Land Cruiser behind the police officers. The officers split up, letting the Cruiser through. As the Cruiser moved past them, a small cylindrical object dropped out of its window and bounced along the concrete. Flashbang.

    The Cruiser accelerated hard.

    Sophia turned away from it, covered her face and ears with her good arm. A loud bang reverberated across First Avenue. When she opened her eyes, the Cruiser was driving right for her. In its wake, riot police staggered and sprawled.

    She recognized the driver: Benito. And the passenger, Nasira.

    What the hell were they doing here?

    She didn’t care. She sprinted for the Cruiser. Shockwaves of superheated air blossomed on the concrete behind her. At her four o’clock, Elohim emerged in front of the crashed Speedhawk, their PEP rifles aimed in her direction.

    She sprinted faster. Her healing lung burned to keep up. Riot police closed in behind her, side by side with Elohim. She heard tear-gas canisters clatter just a few paces behind her. She had to get to the Cruiser.

    Another shockwave exploded on her right, blowing out the back windows of the abandoned bus. Beyond it, she saw Damien inside the booth and Jay behind it, trying to keep the Elohim pinned down. Given there were only two of them, she knew the Elohim would outmaneuver them in no time.

    The stunned riot police behind the Cruiser were getting back to their feet. It occurred to her that Benito and Nasira wouldn’t be able to slow the Cruiser down for her to climb inside. There were too many riot police officers and Elohim in the mix, and they were closing fast. That left only one option.

    As if reading her mind, Benito pointed to the roof of the Cruiser.

    You crazy son of a bitch, she thought.

    He accelerated.

    Sophia sprinted head-on towards the Cruiser. She had to time this well. A moment before the Cruiser hit her, she jumped. Over the hood.

    As she leaped, she saw a flash from the corner of her vision. Something hit the Cruiser’s front, followed by a viscous shockwave. Benito ducked below the dashboard. The windshield shattered. The shockwave struck her. It felt like she’d hit concrete, but she was still flying. Her feet never touched the hood. In desperation, she reached out for the sunroof. Her fingers brushed the edges but refused to grip. It was then she realized that the shockwave had paralyzed her mid-jump.

    Nasira’s hands shot out from the sunroof and clamped down on Sophia’s arm. In one quick movement, she pulled her arm inside and held tight. Sophia found herself pinned chest-down atop the Cruiser, unable to do anything except hope for the best.

    Ahead, the riot police and the Elohim were taking aim at the Cruiser.

    Benito hit the gas and the Cruiser punched through. The Elohim dived off to the side. No shockwaves this time.

    Sophia felt the Cruiser decelerate. Benito was slowing on purpose, the momentum sliding Sophia’s paralyzed body in through the sunroof. Nasira guided her into the back seat as best she could. Sophia wanted to tell them about Damien and Jay, but her lips wouldn’t work.

    Nasira lobbed another flashbang out the window. While both Nasira and Benito covered their eyes and ears, the only thing Sophia could do was blink. She shut her eyes tight. The flashbang detonated right behind the Cruiser. Her eyes and ears ached. When she opened her eyes, Nasira had turned in her seat to buckle her in. One side of Nasira’s face was decorated with tiny cuts from the obliterated windshield.

    Through the window beside her, Sophia watched the riot police close in. They were almost in range. Benito hit the brakes and slipped to neutral, then punched straight into reverse and hit the gas. The nearer Elohim scattered to get clear as he reversed uptown. He was heading straight for the Elohim who were only now getting to their feet. Sophia saw them reach for their PEP rifles. This was going to be close. She hoped Benito would be quick enough.

    One of the Elohim was faster than the others. He had his rifle in both hands and was already aiming towards the Cruiser. He fired.

    With elbows bent and thumbs outside the steering wheel, Benito whipped the Cruiser around. It lurched to one side. The Elohim scattered to avoid it. Sophia saw the infrared pulse hit the concrete beside her. It exploded into a ball of brilliant turquoise plasma, the loud boom almost deafening her.

    Nasira took another flashbang from the glove compartment. What did she have in there—a party pack? With Benito still reversing at high speed, Nasira dropped the flashbang onto the hood. It rolled off, bounced over concrete.

    The Elohim regrouped. There was nothing to protect the Cruiser from the PEP rifles. A direct hit now and it would all be over. The Elohim brought their rifles to eye-level, only to lower them again when they saw the flashbang bouncing towards them. They dispersed, running from the flashbang and from the Cruiser. It was mostly open ground. There was no cover.

    Sophia closed her eyes before the flash, then opened them a moment later. Benito whipped the steering wheel clockwise. The front of the Cruiser swung around. Clutch in, he shifted to neutral, then declutched. While straightening the wheel, he grabbed first gear and punched the Cruiser straight through the NYPD barricade. Riot shields bounced over the hood as the police officers scattered.

    Sophia blinked. Only moments ago he’d scooped her through the sunroof and then pulled a perfect J-turn through the intersection of First and East Forty-Seventh without even slowing down.

    ‘Your rally car skills just paid off,’ she said.

    Nasira looked over her shoulder, realizing Sophia could speak. ‘Welcome back,’ she said.

    Sophia tested her arms. She could move too.

    ‘We have to go back,’ she said. ‘Damien and Jay are pinned down.’

‘Fuck this shit!’ Jay yelled.

    An intact slab of safety glass fell between him and Damien: the last of the bus’s windows blowing out. This side of the bus offered protection from the riot police and Elohim further down First Avenue, but it would only be a few moments before Elohim slipped through the partially open gate, following Damien and Jay outside. The inside of the bus was appealing right now, but Jay knew it would trap them.

    He moved to the front of the bus and took a shot around the corner. He got lucky, knocking the last of the NYPD officers on their backs, paralyzing them. While Damien covered the gate, he sprinted for the barricade. Two NYPD squad cars were parked in a V-formation, which offered some protection from PEP rifle blasts.

    Damien positioned himself at the front of the bus. Once he confirmed that Jay was safe, he readied himself to move.

    Jay searched for targets. The Elohim and riot police downtown were close now, and dangerous. He aimed the PEP rifle over the hood of the squad car and squeezed off one shot after the other. The PEP rifles had a slow rate of fire. Like Javelin rocket-launcher slow. But Damien managed to make it towards him.

    A ball of plasma struck the hood, knocking Damien into the side of the other squad car. Jay ducked out of view and placed his PEP rifle on the asphalt. He pulled Damien up against the side of the car.

    ‘Hey!’ he yelled. ‘Can you move?’

    Damien blinked. His right hand twitched.

    Then Jay saw the Cruiser. It came cannoning down First Avenue. Benito was driving and Nasira was in the front. He thought it was coming for them, but it drove right past. He spotted Sophia in the back seat. Hadn’t they seen him and Damien?

    They looked like they were on a direct collision course with the Elohim and riot police. Two infrared pulses hit the front of the Cruiser, crackling in the cool air. What the fuck were they doing?

    Jay grabbed his PEP rifle and fired off another shot. He managed to paralyze one riot police officer while everyone was distracted, but that was the best he could do. There were still half a dozen riot police and a dozen Elohim moving towards him. The Cruiser had only managed to slow them down. He couldn’t see it any longer because he’d ducked behind cover again, but he could hear it screeching as it took a hard turn.

    Jay crawled over to Damien and slapped him across the face. ‘Snap out of it!’ he yelled. ‘I need you!’

    Damien tried to move his right leg. He could bend it.

    Fuck this, Jay thought.

    He grabbed Damien’s PEP rifle and placed it beside him, within easy reach. Peering over the hood, he fired his own rifle at the swarm of incoming Elohim, who had taken cover behind the bus opposite, then rested the rifle on the hood and snatched up Damien’s. Switching between the two, he could fire faster.

    After five shots, someone answered him with an ear-shattering cannonade of plasma. Both squad cars were flensed completely of glass. Jay’s eardrums whined. He looked up the small one-way street ahead. If he was going to carry Damien anywhere, it would be through there. But nearby he could hear sirens. Squad cars were coming towards them. They were boxed in.

    He peered back over the hood, PEP rifle ready. Riot police were moving to his right. Half a dozen Elohim were taking up positions on the opposite side of the road, mostly around the bus, while the other half approached from his left.

    The bus exploded.

    Jay ducked for cover as bits of metal showered First Avenue. If his eardrums had been whining before, they were dead to the world now.

    When he peered through the flames, he saw a white UN ASV accelerating in his direction. At fifteen tons, it was somewhere between a Humvee and a tank, and it looked like someone was operating the enclosed two-barreled turret. The bigger barrel pumped a second forty-millimeter grenade. It hit a patch of road, sending a cluster of Elohim scattering and setting alight a neatly manicured hedge.

    The sirens behind Jay grew louder. He abandoned both PEP rifles on the hood and pulled Damien up. They ran for cover, behind the burning bus and inside the gate. Meanwhile, the ASV’s turret peppered the Elohim with its .50 caliber M2 machine gun. Occasionally splashes of plasma hit the ASV’s front, but all they seemed to do was rip off its windshield wipers.

    Jay hauled Damien to his feet and slung his arm over his own shoulder as the ASV pulled up broadside in front of the squad cars. A side hatch opened and Sophia yelled at them. Jay didn’t need encouragement, he was already dragging Damien towards her.

    Behind him, a fresh wave of squad cars pulled up. NYPD officers aimed pistols at them. Jay half-threw Damien into the hatch. As Sophia caught him, rounds struck the hardened shell of the ASV. One sang through Jay’s flesh, across his shoulder blade. He collapsed. Into the hatch.

    Above him, he heard the turret swivel and Nasira mutter, ‘Dodge this, motherfuckers.’

Scarlet orbs and tinsel shimmered at the edges of Sophia’s vision. Before her, people were dancing, eating, drinking. She looked down to see four splendidly dressed wooden pigs perched at a table, plates of roast chestnuts and glasses of port in front of them. She looked up at the people all around her, the sound of flutes and violins, the smell of cheeses and aromatic vin brulé. She thought she was hallucinating, but Leoncjusz was there. Walking towards her, encircled by a cluster of fireflies that only she could see. He was wearing a new coat and scarf. He smiled. That kind, almost goofy smile she swore she’d never forget.

    She ran to him, then slowed. This wasn’t a dream, yet he couldn’t have possibly survived.

    ‘How did you . . . I thought—’

    She felt tears spill onto her cheeks. She wrapped her arms around his coat and buried her face into his lapels. When she came away, she still couldn’t believe he was standing there.

    ‘It is good to see you again, Sophia,’ he said.

    The scent of cinnamon brought tears to her eyes again. Her lips trembled into a smile. But the smile faded.

    ‘I suppose you’ve heard I released the Chimera vector.’ She breathed sharply, then pressed her lips together to keep from falling apart. ‘Everyone trusted me. And they shouldn’t have.’ Tears blurred Leoncjusz’s motionless figure, turned the fireflies into smears of light. ‘I’m so sorry.’

    She felt his hands on her shoulders. She blinked to sharpen her vision, surprised to find that he didn’t seem angry. Or disappointed. Or sad. He actually seemed happy. How could he be happy after what she’d done?

    She sniffed. ‘I actually believed . . . we could do this, you know.’

    ‘Listen to me, my friend,’ he said. ‘You have little time left. And none of it for this crap. The knife is at your throat and your back against the wall.’ He stood back, releasing his grip. ‘And in such position you can do things. Tremendous things.’

    The fireflies sizzled, then faded to darkness.

    She opened her eyes and found herself sitting upright. On the maintenance walkway of a bridge, at night. She’d fallen asleep. It took a couple of seconds for her to remember where she was. A stream of cars gushed beneath them, on their way to Manhattan Island.

    Beside her in the darkness, Benito blew his nose into a tissue. ‘International flight has been locked down because of our “terrorist activities”. That should look good on my resumé.’

    She could see under the half moon that he wasn’t smiling.

    ‘Thank you,’ she said.

    He looked at her. ‘For what?’

    ‘For not hating me.’

    ‘That’s quite a presumption.’

    ‘A correct one?’ she said.

    Benito looked away. ‘No.’

    She had the sudden urge to hug him, but instead she nodded. Further along the walkway, she could see Nasira returning from her little recon. Beyond her, three silhouettes in the distance trekked the maintenance walkway without torches, accustomed to the night. The middle silhouette seemed significantly taller than the others. A tiny glowing ember moved with it: the tip of a cigarette.

    ‘Welcome to Williamsburg Bridge,’ the Akhana leader said as he approached.

    He peered over Sophia’s shoulder, which was easy to do since he was about six foot eight, and nodded at Nasira and Benito. ‘My name is Owen Freeman,’ he said.

    He looked about fifty-five. He had a long, gentle face with creases that ran deep into stubble, and a shock of gray hair that curled ever so slightly; the kind of style men half his age would spend an hour trying to achieve, and he got simply by climbing out of bed.

    Freeman shook Sophia’s hand, his grip as strong as his Australian accent. ‘It’s an honor to meet you.’

    ‘I wish that were so,’ Sophia said. She eyed Freeman’s two companions. They wore concealed pistols and black sneakers. ‘I was hoping you’d have pharmacologists who could make an antidote for the Chimera vector.’

    ‘They’re having a closer look now.’ Freeman drew on his cigarette. ‘But my understanding is they should be able to develop a blocker that inhibits the effects of the anti-psychopath Chimera vector. I’ll keep you informed with an estimated completion time.’

    ‘Thank you,’ Sophia said.

    ‘We can utilize the Akhana bases around the world to manufacture the antidote,’ Freeman said. He drew on his cigarette again and paused to look down at the rush of cars below. ‘The best method of distribution would be directly to hospitals in every affected region. As we exhaust our own supply, we can hand over manufacturing to companies who can produce it on a larger scale for the entire planet.’

    ‘Good,’ Sophia said.

    She checked their perimeter and noticed two more silhouettes.

    Freeman’s wispy gray eyebrows pressed together. He looked like he was trying to evaluate her guilt, which annoyed her.

    ‘We stopped the majority of the Chimera vector releases,’ he said. ‘And we should be able to limit further fatalities with the inhibiter as soon as we can release it. Thanks to you.’

    ‘I started this mess; the least I can do is help patch it up,’ she said.

    Freeman nodded to the new silhouettes. Sophia didn’t have to look; she already knew who they were.

    ‘What’s up?’ Jay said.

    ‘Damien, Jay, this is Owen Freeman. Leader of the Akhana.’

    Freeman laughed. ‘Not really a leader. Just the founder.’

    He turned to Sophia. ‘Destroying the Fifth Column is all I’ve cared about for so long. I spent thirty-five years waiting to destroy them with the Chimera vector. Waiting for this moment.’ He looked down at his half-smoked cigarette as though it might hold the answers. ‘But you see, it’s not my moment. It’s yours. And besides, I’m too old for this shit.’

    Sophia didn’t know what to say. ‘It’s been a long day.’

    Freeman nodded. He handed her two envelopes thick with tightly rolled US notes. ‘This is the payment you promised Damien and Jay. Bank details are enclosed, but there’s also 10,000 in cash each. Small notes for your convenience.’

    And with that, he nodded to Sophia and disappeared back into the shadows.

    Sophia held the envelopes out to Damien and Jay. ‘Good to see you made it.’

    Jay took both envelopes and handed one to Damien. ‘Thanks for coming back for us, getting us out of that place.’

    He checked his envelope and seemed satisfied by its contents.

    ‘There’s a place for you here, you know,’ Sophia said.

    ‘Thanks,’ Damien said. ‘But I think we need to find our own place.’

    They exchanged a moonlit smile, however brief, before Damien and Jay turned and left the way they’d come.

    Sophia slapped her arm. Something had bitten her. Looking down, she found a squashed mosquito. She brushed it away.

    In its wake, a ribbon of blood.

The story continues in the sequel, The Seraphim Sequence.

Currently on sale for US$3.99!

http://momentumbooks.com.au/books/seraphim-sequence/

The world is reeling in the aftermath of genocide.

Former black operative Sophia is among the remnants of the Akhana, a once-strong organized resistance against the all-powerful world government known as the Fifth Column. Branded as the world’s most wanted terrorist, Sophia barely escaped her last encounter with the organization with her life.

Now a new threat is emerging from inside the Fifth Column. Project Seraphim: a technology utilizing extremely low frequencies that can make anyone feel and do anything at any time. Mass populations will fall under the influence of an almost unlimited power.

To stop them Sophia must join forces with former friends turned enemies and former enemies turned unlikely allies first among them Denton, a master manipulator whom she would prefer to run her knife through than work with.

Sophia has four days. Four days before what little freedom the human race has left is gone forever.

The brutal game of betrayal and counter-betrayal that began with the international bestseller, The Chimera Vector, continues in this highly anticipated sequel.

THE FIFTH COLUMN SERIES:

The Chimera Vector (The Fifth Column, #1)
The Seraphim Sequence (The Fifth Column, #2)
The Phoenix Variant (The Fifth Column, #3)