The Lethal Agent (The Extraction Files Book 2) (14 page)

CPI-RQ-04

SEPTEMBER 7, 2232

Rather than the usual morning knock, the meep-meep-meep sounded to wake her. Dasia checked her tablet and found an ecomm from Mable.
COME TO THE LAB.

Okay? When did she get back?

Dasia rubbed the sleep from her eyes and slipped into some more appropriate clothes—a pair of fitted navy pants and a loose white top. Using her finders, she raked her hair into a messy pile and made her way to the seventh floor.

When the elevator opened to reveal the sealed-shut door to the lab and the empty corridor, Dasia wondered if maybe it had been a joke. Or maybe she’d misunderstood.

Nonetheless, she was here. She knocked at the door, startled when Dr. Quincy opened it.

“Hi, uh, good morning. Mable sent me—”

Sour as ever, Dr. Quincy grumbled and walked back into the lab, leaving the door open.

Dasia slipped inside and closed it behind her.

The lab was as grim as she remembered. She’d only been there once, when Nick gave the group a walk-through when she first arrived. Dasia had never had a reason to go back. A room with strange, preserved bugs that had been collected from people’s brains, many of them now dead. It wasn’t her favorite spot.

For whatever reason, Mable liked it.

Dasia wandered around the tables, some with holographic displays of bugs or data charts. At one, she caught sight of Theo manipulating the image of a bug, his changes evident in the graph to the side. “Mable here?”

Theo looked up. “Oh, uh, yeah she’s at the back table. Kind of adopted that one for herself. Go down this little aisle, then take the last one on the left.”

Maybe she should have brought breadcrumbs or something.

Stifling her concerns, she followed Theo’s directions and found Mable sitting at a light table, back turned. Her eyes were on the massive chart that hovered above the table. Her fingers made deft movements, adding notes and drawing lines.

“There you are,” Dasia said as she approached.

“Hey, thanks for coming up.” Mable stood and squeezed her tight. She kissed Dasia’s cheek then asked, “You’ve been working on identifying possible bug hosts?”

Dasia laughed a little. “I’m not sure we’re doing that much. Just looking at the profiles. Osip doesn’t know much about Scholars, and it’s been so long since I did any kind of science or anything. I’m not really sure what we’re looking for.”

Mable stood up and walked around the corner. She returned a moment later with a short stool in her hand and set it beside her own. “Sit down. I want to show you something.”

Dasia sat, completely out of her element.

“Okay, so remember the first extraction we did? The pharmaceutical researcher in Toronto?” As she spoke, Mable swiped the enormous chart in a few directions until she found the one she wanted, Dr. Divya Prataban in a light-blue circle.

“Yeah, but I’m kind of surprised you do.”

“Well, yeah. They filled in the details later,” Mable said of her considerable injury and resulting memory loss. How she could cope like that Dasia would never understand. “Anyway, so she had a bug, a Slight that I got, right? She deleted all her research, something to do with Anth. The only person who had any data was her mentee in Berlin. A few weeks after Prataban, we went to Berlin to extract an Echo from Dr. Ludwig.”

“You think there’s a connection?” Dasia refused to let the memory of Anth derail her again.

“Well, we weren’t sure. Theo thought it was weird, too, so we started mapping the Scholars that had bugs to see if there were any other relationships. You know, people who worked in the same lab, mentors and mentees and things. We’re not done, but here’s the chart so far.”

Dasia looked up at the holograph display with new appreciation. Each circle held the name of a bug host. Each line, a professional relationship. She reached into the air and manipulated the chart, looking for the outliers, the ones that didn’t have lines, the ones that didn’t fit. There were only a handful.

“So, obviously the bugs are transmitted between colleagues,” she said thinking aloud. “But some of these are on the other side of the world from each other, or in colonies, or the LRF. Some aren’t even Scholars. This one, she’s a shuttle pilot.”

“It can’t be an organic transmission,” Mable replied. “It’s intentional.”

“Like a person is choosing which people get infected?” It was a sinister concept.

“Theo and I found evidence that the bugs are manufactured. They have identical weights and high metal compositions. It’s certainly possible that a person could have created them and used them for some sort of advantage, though I don’t know what it would be.” Mable tapped the circle for Dr. Ludwig. “She and Dr. Prataban were researching a cure for anth, some sort of chemical that would neutralize the addictive properties. Basically, they would eliminate the anth epidemic entirely. They would have saved hundreds of thousands of lives every month.”

“So whoever it is, they profit from anth being on the market.” Dasia didn’t want to think of her own personal contribution to the anth market. She’d paid her share and then some. In some ways, she had lined the pockets of whoever was responsible for the bug infections.

Dasia was only slightly guilty. She had loved every minute of her addiction, right up until it killed the most important person in her life.

“But some of these people have no connection to anth. This one was a geneticist. This one, a planetary researcher. This one, a propulsion engineer. None of them have any real connection to anth or the treatment.” Mable tapped on a few circles to enlarge them in the cloud of the others.

“Maybe they’re addicts?” Even as she said it, she knew it didn’t make sense. One or two Scholars on drugs, maybe. But dozens? No way.

Dasia was more confused than ever. Just when she thought she was starting to figure it out…

“Sorry I’m not more help,” she offered with no small measure of disappointment.

“What are you talking about?” Mable scoffed. “You just figured out one of the biggest pieces of this puzzle. And you have access to every possible host profile. You can apply this to your search for bugs. Maybe that’ll make a difference.”

Dasia tried to feel as confident as Mable. Cole was confident. Dasia could be, too.

“Hey, you’re doing great,” Mable continued. “Seriously.”

Dasia could feel Mable’s eyes on her, soaking in the features of her face like she’d never seen them before. Then, Mable leaned forward and kissed Dasia’s lips. Gentle fingertips skimmed her cheek, a tiny touch that made her heart race. They kissed a thousand times, night after night, sometimes for hours. But this one was different.

“I finished the Gleam spec—Uh, do you guys need a minute?” Theo asked, standing frozen in the aisle, his eyebrows sky high with surprise.

“We’re good,” Mable smiled and blinked her eyes open again.

Dasia agreed. “We’re good. See you tonight?”

“Yeah, let me walk you out.”

“No, that’s okay. You’re busy,” Dasia protested, but Mable was already up. She linked her elbow with Dasia’s.

“I insist.”

Dasia smiled and let Mable walk her to the door. There was no arguing with her.

“I’m glad you came up,” Mable said as they walked. She tipped her head to rest on Dasia’s shoulder.

“I’m glad you asked me to. I don’t ever see you anymore.”

“You’ll see me tonight.” Mable straightened up and shot her a mischievous look. “And all the nights you want.”

Dasia stepped into the corridor and pressed the elevator button. “All the nights I want? I think you underestimate how much I want this.” She squeezed Mable’s hand and smiled at her own joke.

Mable stood on her toes to reach up and kiss her. “Good. I want this, too.”

OLYMPUS GENETICS FACILITY, OLYMPUS, NORTH AMERICA

SEPTEMBER 7, 2232

A routine morning brought Silas to the Olympus Genetics Facility. He’d woken early to his alarm, replenished his body at cleaning, and swallowed his nerves for the two-hour flight to the northwest sector.

Now, there was only the meeting left.

High in the mountains, Olympus was one of the few remaining cities free from the suffocation of the haze. It had elevation and enough wind to keep the orange at bay.

To Silas, the air smelled. Like pine, like smoke, like soil. It was his first taste of non-recycled air in years. He wasn’t sure he liked it.

He tried not to concentrate on the particulates flooding into his lungs as he stepped from the pre-arranged pod. Flat white stone steps ascended before him, so high he was thankful for his stop at cleaning. He never would have made it otherwise.

As it was, the lingering drums sounded in his head, remnants of yet another night lost to brandy.

Up and up he climbed, forty or fifty stone steps in the smelly fresh air until he reached the entrance of the facility. He pressed his hand to the scanner and, rather than receive directions to Masry, the doors opened to reveal a tall, tight-lipped woman.

“Good morning, Dr. Arrenstein. Dr. Masry will be expecting you in six minutes. Right this way, please.” The woman hugged her tablet so tight to her chest, Silas thought she might snap it in half. Her sleek, blonde hair fell across her shoulders in a way she no doubt planned. Her pressed indigo suit was a perfect fit for her perfect body.

God how he hated Scholars.

The robotic woman escorted Silas down the corridor of the facility, passing doors and hallways that branched in every direction. He was reminded of a new recruit at CPI, how intimidating such a space could be if you’d never been there before.

They arrived at single white door that opened into a conference room where Indra Masry and another woman sat talking.

“There’s no precedence for this sort of thing. Colonies rarely go exactly as planned, but an interference of this magnitude has never happened,” the woman said.

“Let’s wait it out and see what happens,” Masry said with a sigh. “We won’t have precedence if we don’t let it play out this time. Keep a close watch, and let me know if there are any notable changes, particularly in the social dynamic. Keep Filmore in the loop as well.”

“Yes, Vicereine.” The woman nodded and stood, slipping past Silas on her way out.

Masry looked up and offered him a strained smile. “Thank you, Cressida,” she said to the tight-lipped woman, her instruction to close the door and let them talk privately.

“Hey Maz.” Silas walked around the table and kissed her cheek.

“Hi Sy,” she replied as always when they were alone.

“If you wanted to see me, you only had to comm. We have a code word for this exact reason.” It was a bad joke, but she smiled nonetheless.

Indra waited for him to sit before she leaned back in her chair and crossed one leg over the other. “What’s going on down there? Pastromas has been sending me alerts for weeks.”

“About what?” Silas wouldn’t dig his own grave. He would only address the charges already brought against him.

“You picked up a recruit based on your personal preference. She doesn’t have a file, she doesn’t have test scores. She’s been in the underground for years and doesn’t work well on a team.”

“It’s under control.”

“Is it?” She made several swiping motions and pulled up an image of Kaufman, his face dark with bruises and heavily swollen. The day he’d returned from the Root with Maggie.

Silas didn’t say anything. He didn’t have anything to say.

“Well?” she prodded.

He sighed and resigned himself to his fate, walking the proverbial plank. “He was offsite escorting his agent. He was attacked, but neither would offer details.”

“How is that under your control?” Her lips were pursed, her fingers interlaced. She was angry.

“I sent them together. If not for him, the attack might have fallen on the agent. Mable Wilkinson is the best we’ve had in a long time.”

“Wilkinson?” Maz didn’t miss the meaning.

Silas nodded. “They left as two recruits that were forced to work together. They came back as a team. They trust each other, and that was worth it. They need to be able to rely on each other, and for these two, that’s what it took. I won’t pretend to be disappointed in their progress.”

“There are other team-building opportunities available. You know this is Theodore Kaufman? That he had four mentors available on his first day at the Academy? Howard is still asking questions about him.”

Silas knew Kaufman was a high-level Scholar, but he hadn’t known he was quite that good. Nick had made a good pick, as much as he hated to admit it.

“I believe it. He’s a good kid. He fits in well.”

Maz nodded, momentarily satisfied.

Silas saw it as a glimmer of hope.

“What about the drinking?”

“What about it? We agreed to disagree on this one.”

“He says it’s getting out of control. You’re drinking with your recruits. I don’t think it’s appropriate to be so casual with your subordinates. Your role is authoritative while Nick’s is—”

“No offense, Maz, but Nick couldn’t be friendly to these kids if his life depended on it. He can’t imagine life on the underground, life on the streets. He doesn’t have anything in common with them, and he doesn’t want to. I told you it would be a problem from the beginning.” Silas smoothed the tops of his pant legs in a failed attempt to quiet his anger.

Maz threw her hands in the air. “That doesn’t mean you should—”

“Yes, it does. It means someone has to watch out for these kids. If Nick isn’t going to do it, then I will. It’s non-negotiable. They have to be able to build meaningful relationships.” It was like talking to a metal wall.

“Relationships like this?” Maz made a single motion on her tablet to produce an image Silas had never seen. He lay on his back on his bed in the near dark, with a small figure curled beside him.

Maggie.

Last night.

“Jesus Christ, Maz!” he shouted, unable to hold it back any longer. “You have no idea what that girl has been through.” He didn’t mention how the idea of that picture infuriated him, much less that it had ended up on her tablet within hours.

“So it’s true then.” Her eyes narrowed.

“No, nothing is going on with her. She’s difficult and obstinate and a pain in the ass, frankly. But she gets the job done, so if I have to cater to her emotional roller coaster, then so be it. But don’t you dare imply that I’ve crossed some sort of line. That’s despicable,” he spat.

“You didn’t touch her?” The vicereine’s features were set, her jaw tight.

Silas threw his head back and laughed. “Is that what this is about? That you think I did something with her? That I’m not loyal to you?” Silas let laughter consume him again. “Don’t be ridiculous. She’s nineteen.”

Indra’s features fell further, but she moved to bring up another picture, then another, then another. Silas walking down the CPI corridor with a nearly naked Maggie, still covered in tattoos. Silas standing in the hospital elevator with Maggie’s arms clutched around his neck. Security footage from his office, him handing her a glass of brandy.

He couldn’t escape it. It looked bad.

“Nick sent you these?”

She nodded and reclasped her hands.

“Did he tell you about them? Did he tell you Kaufman abandoned her during an extraction? That I had to collect her from a public hospital in Toronto and personally remove a Slight? Because if you ask me, the girl could use a hug and a goddamn drink!”

Why did he bother? She would never understand. Devoid of any emotional connection in her Youth years or adult career, Masry couldn’t even fathom what it meant to get close to someone.

Except him.

Pacing about the room, Silas worked to calm his breath. He’d lost his temper enough for one day.

When he neared her chair, he bent forward and clutched the back of her head with his hand. Then, he pulled her into a long, fervent kiss that left them both gasping for air.

“Nothing has happened, or will ever happen, between me and that girl. I’m insulted you would think such a thing,” he said in breath at her ear. “I’ll be at a hotel downtown tonight.”

And with that, Silas walked out. He had nothing else to say. Masry would terminate him, or she wouldn’t. She would come see him tonight, or she wouldn’t. It was out of his control now.