Authors: Sarah Alderson
Dropping the towel, I pull on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, check there’s a full chamber in my gun and then push it down the back of my jeans, careful to pull my T-shirt over it. Everyone in this apartment building thinks I work as a personal trainer for wealthy, bored housewives. If my neighbours saw the firepower I carry to go jogging, they’d wonder at my personal-training technique.
I stand and stare at myself hard in the mirror, running a hand over my head and the buzz cut I had two days ago. What will Lila see? Will she even recognise me and Jack? We’re not the same people she left behind. Three years have passed since we saw each other – two spent in Marine Special Ops training and one spent working for the Unit, hunting down her mother’s killers. When I look in the mirror these days, I’m not even sure I recognise myself. It’s not the muscle Jack and I have both built up in training, or the scars. Not even the tattoos on our arms mark us out as changed. It’s something more than that. Beyond the physical.
We’re always on guard, always on the lookout, always wary, careful, suspicious. We’ve had to master secrets and deceit, while learning at the same time to decipher other people’s lies and secrets. We’ve become adept at closing out the ones we love and even those we might love – at blanking our emotions so there’s no chink of vulnerability left visible. We hide our true selves so well that sometimes I worry I’ll never find the real me again.
I keep staring unflinchingly at my reflection. This is not a life that Lila needs to know about. When Jack and I are done, when we’ve caught the man who killed her mother, then we’ll tell her. Some of it at least. Not all. Truth doesn’t have smooth, soft round edges. It has razor-sharp ones. Holding that truth will only hurt her.
Jack’s sprawled on the sofa when I walk into the living room. He’s hit play on my iPod deck and I pause in the doorway, trying to hide my smile.
‘What is this?’ Jack asks, nodding at the speakers. ‘I’ve not heard it before.’
‘Just something new,’ I say, dropping down onto the easy chair opposite him. It’s a playlist Lila put together and sent me a few weeks ago, but I don’t think it’s such a good idea to bring her name up now he seems to have calmed down.
‘It’s good,’ Jack mumbles, nodding appreciatively along to the music.
‘Did you report in to the base?’ I ask, changing the subject.
‘Yeah, I let Sara know what was happening. Told her we’d be in a little late. You should probably call Rachel, though,’ he says, referring to our boss.
‘I already have,’ I answer. ‘We should get going, though. Rachel said they’d picked up some new activity. Possibly a sighting of Demos in LA.’
At this, Jack’s head flies up. He swings his legs off the sofa and sits up. ‘And you’re only telling me this now?’ he asks. ‘You see – this is why she can’t come back. He’s nearby. It’s too dangerous.’ He swears under his breath as he jumps to his feet.
I stand up and grab the keys to my bike. ‘She’s coming back, Jack, and it’s all going to be OK,’ I say. ‘We’ll talk about it later. Right now we need to get to work.’
We pull up outside the West Coast headquarters of Stirling Enterprises – located on Camp Pendleton Marine Base, just north of San Diego. The building sits like a sparkling UFO amongst the smaller, squatter, altogether plainer military installations – barracks, offices and even a hospital – that scatter the base.
We did our training with the First Recon Marines out of Pendleton, so in a lot of ways the base feels like home. Having said that, when I pull up on my bike next to a drill sergeant with purple veins bulging like live snakes under his skin and hear him screaming abuse at a band of new recruits who are sweating valiantly in the midday heat, I can’t say I miss those days.
Most of the Unit’s employees are trained Marines – at least the soldiers are; the scientists are not. But we’re not working under the remit of the US army. Our chain of command is shrouded in layers of mystery, but it’s thought that only one or two key people in the very highest, darkest corners of government know what we’re really doing.
We’re our own secret enclave. And the building on the base which Jack and I are walking into reeks of that secrecy – its reflective glass and steel front means no one outside the Unit has ever caught a glimpse of what’s inside. I glance up as we walk inside. There are no guns mounted on the roof, but there are other invisible ways the building has of repelling enemies and I always feel a slight easing up of tension once I’m through the entry system and inside the lobby.
Sixty metres below us right now, as we walk across the marble-floored lobby of this impenetrable building, lies a row of cells, empty except for one. Every time I cross this lobby that’s what I think about. What lies beneath.
Empty cells and the fact we’ve only captured one.
For the last five years Stirling Enterprises has been working for the US government on a project considered too sensitive for the public to ever find out about. Our mission is to contain a group of people called psygens – people with an incurable genetic malfunction that makes them not only different to everyone else – endowed with special abilities like telekinesis and telepathy – but also that renders them incapable of empathy or rational human thought. The Unit psychs claim they’re off-the-scale sociopaths.
As if Jack and I needed to be told that – as if we didn’t already have proof.
There’s no cure. There is only management. Containment, as it’s termed. The only problem is that they’re fast, they see us coming, they outmanoeuvre us every single time, always staying one step ahead. They have powers we don’t, ways of communicating and spying and stopping us in our tracks, which makes containing them a challenge.
We’re closing the net on them, though – on the group we’re targeting – and once they’re contained, maybe then it will be safe for Lila to come back here for good. And maybe then Jack and I might have a shot at living a normal life too. I glance at Jack, who’s tapping his foot impatiently, waiting for the elevator doors to close.
Maybe not,
I think. For Jack, revenge is in his blood, has become so much a part of who he is, I doubt that he’ll ever stop hunting them, even after we catch Demos and his crew – not when there are more out there.
Rachel’s in full-on debrief mode when we slip into the tactical team meeting. She nods at us, but doesn’t miss a beat, continuing to narrate over a rush of images projected onto the wall behind her – maps of downtown LA, some sketchy black-and-white shots drawn from CCTV cameras which she pauses on. They purport to be images of Demos and his right-hand man Harvey – but they’re so blizzarded out, it’s hard to tell for certain. Rachel wraps up with a reminder for us all to stay focused.
As if we’re ever not,
I think grimly to myself, watching her out of the corner of my eye.
Rachel works hard to prove that she’s not just in her position because of who she is – despite the fact that her name is Rachel Stirling and her father owns the company. But sometimes she works it too hard. She’s good at her job. Everyone knows that. She doesn’t need to keep on proving it.
As Jack and I stand, she holds up a hand and beckons us to stay. I sigh. Jack heads over.
‘Sorry we were late,’ he says.
‘Family trouble?’ Rachel asks lightly, though her eyes, big and blue and what I imagine to be deceptively innocent, are sharp as needles.
‘My sister just told me she’s coming to stay,’ Jack says. ‘Her flight gets in tomorrow around lunchtime.’
‘That’s unexpected,’ Rachel says. She’s still smiling, but behind the smile there’s a note of irritation. Her eyes narrow slightly.
‘I’ll deal with it,’ Jack says, aware that Rachel’s scrutinising him. ‘It won’t be a problem.’
Rachel studies him for a moment longer, the sheaf of papers she’s holding pressed against her chest. ‘Let’s hope not,’ she says with a tight smile. ‘We need focus right now, Lieutenant.’
‘Absolutely,’ Jack says, holding her gaze steadily.
She turns to me. ‘We could have used your input, Alex,’ she says and I notice that she’s opted for first-name terms with me rather than Lieutenant.
I glance up and see Jack winking at me over Rachel’s shoulder. I keep my face blank as Jack walks out of the door, smirking. Rachel lets him go. She takes a minuscule step towards me, so she’s almost pressing against me, and I’m caught between the table and her. When I glance down, I catch a glimpse of lace bra. I look up quickly.
‘Busy tonight?’ she asks. I can tell by the way she tilts her head to one side, casually flicking her hair over one shoulder and catching her lip, sticky with gloss, between her teeth, that she’s not asking whether I’m busy on call. She knows that I’m not. She signs off all the shifts.
I could take the bait and ask her out. It’s not the first time she’s put it out there, but every time I’ve pretended to be oblivious. If Jack knew I’d ignored the hint, he’d never let up. He’d want to know why – but the only reason I could give him is that I’m just not feeling it. Rachel’s the kind of girl who’s too used to getting her own way, to owning things and having people do her bidding. And besides, I don’t want to mix business with pleasure. Last time I did that it ruined my grade-point average.
‘I’m going out with Jack tonight,’ I say finally. Rachel holds my gaze for a long moment and I blank my expression as I’ve been trained to do when under interrogation and then edge round her and over to the door. ‘I have to catch up with him. He’s worried about his sister coming back.’
‘Lila?’
I turn, wondering how Rachel knows Lila’s name, then remember that it’s probably all on record and Rachel will have done her homework. She always does her homework.
‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘Lila.’
Rachel dismisses me with a curt nod of her head and a forced smile and strides out of the door ahead of me, her heels clicking loudly like machine-gun retorts.
Jack nods his head at a girl who’s come to stand beside us at the bar. ‘Check out the cute girl,’ he says.
‘I thought you weren’t looking anymore,’ I laugh. ‘I thought you’d turned over a new leaf.’
For the first time in his life Jack’s got a girlfriend – as opposed to a girl who he spends the night with, forgets the name of and never calls again. It’s been quite a revelation – an entertaining and mildly disturbing revelation. Jack in love makes me believe anything is possible – that monkeys can grow wings and fly, that world peace can be achieved and that one day our work with the Unit will be done. The upside of Jack’s metamorphosis into a love butterfly is that I’ve been able to witness it and laugh my ass off.
‘I have turned over a new leaf,’ Jack says. ‘I’m looking for you. It’s about time you hooked up with someone. It’s been way too long.’
‘You know the rules,’ I answer.
If anyone knows the rules, it’s Jack. He always learns them, mainly so he can go right ahead and find a way to break them.
‘Who’s saying you have to date anyone?’ Jack grins.
I grimace. ‘Not my style, Jack.’
He says something then about Rachel and I decide I need to redirect his attention elsewhere. ‘What did the email say?’ I ask, pointing at his iPhone, which he’s clutching in his hand. Jack hands it to me.
Surprise! the email from Lila reads. I’m coming to LA. My flight gets in at around midday. Lila x
‘Something’s up,’ I say, handing the phone back.
‘Not necessarily,’ Jack says. ‘You think this is the first time Lila’s been hot-headed? Seriously, dude, you do remember my sister, right? Short, blonde, impulsive as shock therapy? Stubborn as a mule who won’t take no for an answer?’
Does Jack ever listen to himself? Does he appreciate the irony of this statement? I shake my head at him in wonder.
‘Hey, I’m not short or blond,’ Jack protests as he catches the look on my face.
‘It could be about a boy,’ I venture.
Jack stares at me blankly. ‘A what?’ he asks.
I choke back the laugh. ‘A boy. You know? A Y-chromosome holder? You don’t seem to notice them as much as you do the X-carriers.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Jack asks, ‘A boy? She’s just a kid.’
I hesitate, wondering how Jack is only just doing the maths on this one now. ‘She’s seventeen. She’s not a kid anymore.’
Jack looks like he’s about to go all Incredible Hulk and burst out of his clothes before rampaging through the bar. He jumps off the stool. ‘If any boy ever lays a finger on my sister, I’m going to kill him,’ he says.
Again I stare at him in silence, thinking of all the girls Jack has laid fingers and much more of his anatomy on besides. Poor Lila. If she ever wants to have a shot at a normal life, as in one that doesn’t require a vow of celibacy, she needs to stay in London.
Jack sits back down. ‘You think that might be it?’ he asks, looking pained.
‘I’m just speculating,’ I say, not wanting to fan his rage. I think back to the time Lila had a crush on me when she was about seven. She put a Valentine’s card in my school bag. Seeing how the bag was sitting in the hallway of their house at the time, the suspects were narrowed down to just two: her or Jack. Hand-drawn pink hearts and ponies weren’t really Jack’s thing, so natural deduction left Lila. I never said anything to her about it, not wanting to embarrass her, but if I was honest, it was also because even then I knew how Jack would react.
‘When did you last speak to her?’ I ask.
‘A couple of weeks ago,’ Jack answers. ‘She seemed OK.’
‘She seemed a little down to me.’
‘When did you talk to her?’ Jack asks, sitting up straighter.
I curse myself mentally for mentioning it. ‘She emailed a couple of days ago,’ I say carefully. Then add quickly, ‘Go gently, OK? She’s been through a lot.’
Jack glowers at me. ‘She shouldn’t be coming. She needs to go back to London. I’m sending her straight back.’
‘You can’t, Jack. Let her stay a few days – a week. Find out what’s up. You owe her that. We owe her that.’
I think about the last time she was here – that image of us playing basketball rears up once more in my mind’s eye. Lila looked lost, afraid. And we ignored her. We were so set on joining the Unit we didn’t stop to think about her or how she might feel. I think further back, to the time before that – to the funeral. She’d just lost her mother and the only thing she needed right then was Jack. But Jack had flipped out and taken off. I stayed with her instead, partly because there had been no one else to take care of her – her dad was inconsolable, weighed down by his own grief – but mainly because I wanted to. But since then I haven’t taken care of her well enough. And neither has Jack. We’ve been so focused on revenge and on the bigger picture that everything else has fallen by the wayside.