Assassin: Book Four in the Enhanced Series Read online

  “Right,” exhales Lucy. “Yes, 1PM rings a bell. I didn’t realise time had flown so fast today. Thank you very much, Rebecca. We’d better be off. No time for that air I’m afraid, Brie…”

  Grabbing my arm, she begins sweeping back towards the lifts, taking me along with her. I hold back, slowing my step.

  “I could really do with some air,” I say. “We…we have time.”

  “No time at all. We should be there a few minutes early if anything. Come on, it’s just best to get it over with quickly. I know some people don’t like blood, but this is a necessity here I’m afraid…”

  I consider more excuses. None come. My eyes stick to the daylight, filtering in through the doors, the yellow hues of freedom so close, yet so far.

  As we near the lifts, I consider one final question that might, at least, give me time.

  “So…how long do the results take to come in?” I ask nervously.

  “Hmmmm, I’m not sure exactly. As said, this directive is very new. In the past, genetic defects and disorders were always searched for whenever an Unenhanced married up to make sure such things weren’t passed around. This test is different, though, and searches specifically for latent Enhanced genes.”

  “So…you have no idea how long?” I ask again.

  “At least a day, but more likely two,” she says simply.

  We reach the lifts, and the doors open.

  A day, maybe two…

  Will that give me time to complete my mission? I highly doubt that, but it’ll certainly give me time to think…and escape if I need to.

  The thought gives me some solace, and I find myself drawn into the lift by Lucy’s attempts to hurry me. She really is very similar to Sophie.

  Standing in the lift, nothing happens. Lucy gestures to my hand.

  “You’ll need to scan your hand. It’s your security clearance that’s been granted temporary permission to level 32, not mine.”

  I idly reach forward and let the scanner warm my fingers and palm. I wait for Lucy to give the order, but again she looks to me and nods.

  I guess I have to give the order too…

  “Level 32,” I say, extremely half-heartedly.

  The metal contraption clicks into gear and I feel it begin to rise. Lucy smiles at me and tries to offer some more calming words, thinking it’s just needles and blood that make me squeamish.

  She has no idea.

  I find myself ignoring her completely, my mind still working overtime to look for a solution. I even go as far as to call for Zander’s help, but find myself unable to concentrate for long enough to actually communicate with him.

  Within seconds only, the lift is slowing and the doors are opening and Lucy is leading me into a place that smells of antiseptic and disinfectant. It’s a powerful odour, and reminds me somewhat of the general scent that every nook and cranny of Inner Haven seems to carry, a smell that I simply associated with being super clean.

  Here, though, it’s more powerful, and the association is with being super healthy instead.

  Walking along a short corridor, my eyes are also attacked by the bright yellow lights that seem to burn so furiously from inside the many glass rooms. Anything involving medicine or science, I suppose, requires the very best conditions, and good lighting is certainly part of that.

  Lucy doesn’t appear to be quite so affected by it, and my sensitivity probably owes to my Hawk-eyes. After all, they’re still so new to me, albeit now fully under my control.

  Not here, it would seem. Squinting, we reach a new reception desk in a circular and open foyer, although far smaller than the one in the main atrium. The brief interaction between Lucy and the man behind the desk leads us onwards down one of many corridors, spreading from the foyer like spokes on a wheel.

  We reach a door marked ‘Examination Room 8’, and my new ally’s knuckles tap against the metal.

  I hear a man calling from inside, and make sure to try to open up my eyes a little wider. Thankfully, they’re beginning to grow used to the intense glare.

  Lucy opens the door at the man’s behest, and he appears in front of us, dressed in a light grey lab coat to signify his rank, but carrying a full head of white hair.

  “Good afternoon, Lucinda,” he says smoothly. “How are you today?”

  “I’m good, Doctor Friel. And yourself?”

  “Good,” comes his flat reply.

  I suppose they must be friends of sorts. Acquaintances more likely, given how Lucy’s husband works around here.

  The dull interaction concludes, and Doctor Friel turns his eyes to me.

  “Mrs Shaw, please step inside. This won’t take long.”

  I glance at Lucy, who gives me a final smile of support, and enter through the door. It’s similarly bright as the rest of the level, every inch of the ceiling appearing to glow. Ahead, I see a small medical bed, with various items of machinery and equipment spread out beyond.

  “Do take a seat, and roll up your right sleeve.”

  I move to sit down, scanning the room for something, anything, my mind working on overdrive. It’s only when I reach the bed, and turn my eyes to what lies before it, that something clicks inside me.

  And a plan begins to form.

  Because ahead across the room, sitting on a small table, I see a series of vials filled with blood, each of them seemingly marked with a tiny label. As Doctor Friel begins busying himself with a needle, I search forward with my Hawk-eyes and see that each label pertains to a name.

  I quickly zoom back, my shirt now rolled up above my elbow. Doctor Friel moves around, blocking my view of the vials.

  “OK, Mrs Shaw…”

  “Call me Brie, please,” I say, trying to delay.

  He nods.

  “OK, Brie…I’m going to insert this needle into the median cubital vein and draw out some blood. That blood will then be tested for any anomalies. Try to relax. You will feel a prick of pain but nothing more.”

  His voice is as dull as any I’ve ever heard, and his movements equally slow and methodical. As he leans down to expose the vein and begins to insert the needle, I feel no pain at all.

  Because my mind is already elsewhere, and a terrible choice seems to be laid out before me.

  I need to swap the vials. And if I do, I might just be subjecting someone completely innocent to a horrible fate.

  As he works, I stare forward, my view ahead now clear, and a battle begins raging inside me. I allow my Hawk-vision to draw my eyes forwards once more, and look at the names laid out across the little containers.

  M. Lerner.

  K. Jacobsen.

  W. Malcolm.

  There are a couple of others, but their names aren’t fully visible to me, the vials half turned and the words cut off. I look upon the three available names and try to think of them as nothing, not people, not regular human beings just getting on with their lives.

  No, just names, just words. That’s all they are…

  I turn my eyes down again and see that the syringe is nearly full. Doctor Friel sucks out the last of the blood and then raises his eyes to me.

  “All done,” he tells me.

  I’m handed a lick of lotion to add to the little wound, and told to rub it on my skin. It immediately stops any bleeding, closing the small puncture. Meanwhile, Doctor Friel removes the end of the syringe, revealing a fresh vial to be added to the others.

  He scoops up a small label from the table, sticks it to the vial, and then writes across it: B. Shaw.

  Then, he sets it alongside the others, and turns back to me.

  “You can go now, Mrs Shaw.”

  I don’t move. The battle rages on, and I look at the vials once more.

  Lerner.

  Jacobsen.

  Malcolm.

  The three names run through my head, dancing around and around.

  “Is something wrong, Mrs Shaw,” comes the doctor’s dull voice.

  I have no choice. I really wish I did, but I don’t…

&n
bsp; “Actually, yes…I have an ache in my eye here,” I say, tapping the corner of my right eye. “Could you take a quick look?”

  The doctor stares at me for a moment. Such a request is very out of the ordinary. I can see that. I can sense that.

  Eventually, he concedes by way of stepping forward.

  “What seems to be the matter?” he asks, leaning in closely to get a better look at the area where my finger taps.

  I don’t answer. I have him where I want him. Now, my powers are truly going to be tested.

  With his inspecting eyes wide open and right in front of me, I slip inside his head as quickly as I can. His consciousness is grand and sumptuous, a wonderful banquet hall against the dull canteens of the regular, Unenhanced mind.

  Inside, I look upon it all and call out my order, letting it echo right to the depths. And as I do, I pick out a name at random and on instinct, making a snap decision that might just change someone’s life. Or end it.

  Remove the label from my vial, I say, and change it with the label marked W. Malcolm.

  I repeat the order a couple of times. It floats about and refuses to take hold. I know the drill by now when dealing with such a powerful mind. I focus harder, and repeat the order with more clarity, bending the man’s mind to my will.

  Remove the label from my vial, and change it with the label marked W. Malcolm.

  Once again, I repeat it. And as with all the rest, it eventually spreads and takes hold, fading away into the depths and forcing him to act.

  I withdraw, and see that slightly vacant look upon him. I flash my eyes to my watch to see that a mere second has passed, time seeming to slow within his consciousness, just as it does when I activate my Dasher abilities.

  It’s crucial that that happens. Crucial that I can set an order quickly, and without hesitation.

  I look upon his face as he slowly pulls back. It’s as blank as it was before, no expression adorning his features. I wait in hope and expectation, and find myself rewarded.

  Slowly, he turns and moves towards the vials. I watch as he lifts up the one marked with the name of W. Malcolm, peeling off the fine label. He does the same with mine, and then swaps over the names.

  And as he does so, I feel a sharp and desperate stab of guilt at the sight.

  He places the vials back down in their holders, and then swivels back to me. There’s a faint expression of confusion now, as if he’s done something he can’t remember. Then, gradually, his eyes lose their cloak and his droning voice escapes him.

  “You can go now, Mrs Shaw,” he says, repeating what he said before, as if nothing had happened after.

  It worked…

  I stand without speaking and move to the door. He ignores me, and merely returns to his duties.

  I slip outside and find Lucy waiting for me. Every time I spend time in the presence of a Savant like that, the next face I see seems so full of expression and as bright as the sun.

  Lucy’s is no exception.

  “So, not so bad, was it!” she says.

  I shake my head, say nothing, and begin trundling off towards the lift.

  I need a shower. No, I need more than that.

  Right now, I just want to go home.

  My real home…

  5

  “How was your first day?”

  The question is innocent, but sets a glare to my face that makes even Adryan recoil. He steps into the living room, where I’ve been sitting and staring out at the city for some time now.

  And during that time, a significant ire has festered and brewed.

  “Bad…I take it?” he asks sheepishly. Or, as sheepishly as a damn Savant can manage.

  “Yes. Very.” I growl the response out like I’m a caged cat, stalking him with my eyes.

  He stares back, probably wishing he could read my mind. He can’t. But I can read his. And he’s awfully confused.

  “So,” I say, frowning, “there’s this, um, little test I had to go through today. A new directive that I wasn’t aware of…”

  I stare at him and let the words sink in. He continues to look at me, opening a pathway to his thoughts. His confusion remains.

  “A new directive? What directive?”

  A deep frown blesses my face.

  Is he serious? Does he really not know?

  “The directive, dear husband, that says all new entrants to Inner Haven are to be tested for latent Enhanced genes. That directive.”

  He steps forward and sinks into the white sofa ahead of me, his own eyes turning down with a frown.

  “I…I had no idea,” he says in some vague, forgetful way. “When did this directive come in?”

  “You…are you joking right now?” I ask, dumbfounded. “No, sorry…you don’t joke, do you.” I shake my head and huff. “How can you NOT know?”

  “Well, I don’t know everything, Brie,” he says, slightly defensively. “I assume the directive’s brand new then?”

  “Um, yeah, but...still. It could have derailed everything, Adryan! It might still, I don’t know!”

  I snatch up the glass of wine on the coffee table and take a gulp. At times like this, I thank the heavens for such a merciful gift as alcohol. I just have to hope there’s a free store for such things down on level 6.

  I’m probably going to be getting through a lot…

  “Right, so what happened? They tested you for Enhanced genes?”

  The concern in his eyes is very obvious, and evidence enough that he didn’t know about the test. I don’t even have to bother reading his thoughts to confirm that.

  “Yes,” I say, calming my voice. “I went up to level 32 and some doctor took my blood. Apparently, it’ll be analysed over the next day or two.”

  “Jeez, Brie…one or two days! We can’t get anything done in that time. They’ll discover who you are and…and it’ll all be over…”

  I’ve never seen him appear so desperate. His usual cool is disintegrating like wet paper.

  And suddenly, by some strange twist of fate, I’m the calm, level-headed one.

  Who woulda though it?

  “Look, it might be OK. I managed to swap the label on my blood sample with someone else’s.”

  That stab of guilt attacks me again. I might have just consigned W. Malcolm to their death.

  “You…swapped the samples? How?”

  “I got the doctor to do it,” I say flatly. “I put the order in his head.”

  Adryan’s eyes brighten a little, and a whisper escapes him.

  “You…you did that? And it worked?”

  I nod.

  “Well that’s great news, isn’t it?” he says. “It’s a great sign…if you can manipulate a man like that, then perhaps you can do it to others more easily than you think?”

  The excitement is misplaced. Yeah, I managed to manipulate the doctor, but I don’t exactly feel good about it.

  “Why aren’t you more happy about this?” he asks. “It was a good test, Brie, and you passed.”

  I don’t answer immediately. My eyes drift again to the wide windows and look out on the city.

  “Think about it, Adryan,” I say eventually, staring as far as my eyes will take me from this place. “I swapped a name. They’re going to discover Enhanced genes, and a whole load of them, inside this W. Malcolm’s sample. What do you think will happen to them?”

  My eyes switch back to Adryan’s, and the truth dawns across his silver irises.

  “Ah…I see.”

  “Yeah, exactly,” I say. “So, maybe we dodged a bullet here…but I sent it right into someone else’s path. Someone innocent, who doesn’t deserve what’s coming.”

  A swamp of silence enters the apartment. I can sense that, while putting on the right face and making all the right noises about the likely fate of poor W. Malcolm, Adryan is still entirely relieved that I managed to work my way around the problem.

  I’m sure Zander would be too, and Lady Orlando, and anyone else involved in all this. At the end of the day, if someo
ne has to take the hit so that I can get on with my mission, so be it.

  That’s the logical way of thinking about all this. But for me, it still makes me sick to my bones to think of what I’ve just done.

  With some measure of tentativeness, Adryan attempts to divert my attention from the obvious remorse inside me, asking me about the rest of my day.

  It works to some extent, the distraction sufficient to put my mind back on point. I begin describing my fruitful meeting with Mary and Lucy, before telling him about the little run-in with Agent Woolf. His eyes tighten at the name, and I know just what he’s thinking.

  She’s still after me…and she won’t stop until she catches me out.

  That may be true, but for now all I can do is try to avoid her, and focus on the task at hand. If I can get through all this before she knows what I’m really up to, and what I really am, then hopefully I’ll be long gone before she digs her way to the truth.

  The news that dinner with Mary and her husband will be quickly arranged is well taken by my husband, though. He immediately moves across to an interface on the wall and sets his hand to its surface.

  His prints are quickly read, and the screen comes alive. He begins tapping away, checking for any messages sent to our apartment.

  “Ah,” he says, “that was very efficient.”

  “Why? What’s going on?” I ask, standing and moving over to him.

  “Well, Mrs Spencer has already spoken with her husband, and would like to arrange dinner for tomorrow evening. They live on the floor below us – level 50 – and so will need to apply for temporary access for us to go down there. It shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “Well, that’s good news,” I say. “It doesn’t give us much time to prepare, though…”

  He turns to me with steely eyes.

  “By the sounds of it, Brie, you don’t need much preparation. All we need to do is determine an appropriate order for you to impart on Mr Spencer. The wording will be crucial in making it as easy to manage as possible.”

  “Yeah, keeping it simple is the way to go,” I say. “That’s what Zander taught me. “But this one’s going to be much harder than anything else I’ve done. It’ll involve multiple stages, like downloading the info we need, getting a file, handing it over to us at another time…” A thought comes to me as I look at the interface. “Can’t we just get him to send it electronically. You know, these schematics?”