Helix_Episode 1 Page 11

  ‘Yeah, but that’s how you said it. And you know what ticks me off?’ she asked .

  ‘Well, a lot of things .’

  She laughed, surprising him. ‘We’ve been traveling together for two days and not once have you asked me why he left .’

  ‘You said he was coming to see me .’

  She cut the engine, kept just the air conditioning running. Her hands dropped to her lap .

  ‘He wasn’t coming to see me, was he?’ Damien asked .

  ‘No. He left ’cause I told him to leave. I’ve been pressuring him this whole time .’

  ‘To do what ?’

  ‘Go see his extended family. In Rio,’ she said. ‘Tell them what happened. Who he was, who he is .’

  ‘Closure. We could all do with some of that.’ He turned to look at her. ‘He didn’t want to go ?’

  ‘He did. To start with. Then I pushed. Too hard .’

  ‘It’s not an easy thing to say to your family,’ Damien said. ‘That kind of … confession .’

  ‘Yeah, what do you do? Turn up on their doorstep? “Hey, I was programmed by a secret multinational agency and when I graduated I was ordered to kill my own parents to pass my training. Oh, but then I was rescued and now I’ve declared war against this big agency. So anyway, we’re all terrorists on the run now, bye .”’

  ‘It’s a lot to take in,’ Damien said .

  He found himself staring at his hands. They’d mostly healed since his escape from border control .

  ‘And a lot to ask,’ Nasira said. ‘I told him to stop running away. And what did he do? He ran away .’

  ‘It’s not your fault .’

  She snorted. ‘I just made a real convincing case otherwise .’

  ‘Did you kidnap him? No. Did he kidnap himself?’ Damien asked .

  ‘No. I get it,’ she said. ‘It was their fault. Whoever the hell they are .’

  ‘It was just odds. Odds that he was picked up. Odds that I wasn’t. I still don’t understand that. But it’s odds that we get him back .’

  ‘Suddenly all optimistic now ?’

  He smiled. ‘I’ve been hanging around you too long .’

  Nasira took the wheel again. ‘So it’s Barranquilla, or bust .’

  Damien looked at his phone again, hoping the satellite view of their destination would inspire him. ‘It’s a facility. Just like the officer told me .’

  ‘Yeah, that’s real helpful .’

  ‘We need to figure out our plan,’ he said. ‘How we approach this place, what we do once we’re — ’

  ‘Here’s our plan.’ Nasira started the engine. ‘We go inside the facility. I start shooting people in the head. We see how that works out .’

  Chapter Eighteen

  Today

  Moscow, Russia

  O lesya stepped into the dark, stale armory and found Ark and Val already inside, cigarettes glowing between their lips as they muttered to each other while the armorer wrote down the items they withdrew .

  Having grown up alongside the brother and sister, they’d become like a brother and sister to her as well. The three of them had come a long way since their childhood training in Project GATE. Now they were adults with training and experience, assigned to hunt the very operatives they were supposed to become .

  Ark and Val shook their fists three times. Val opened hers into a finger gun and Ark wiggled his thumb, as though he was ready to detonate imaginary explosives. Over the years, their little game had evolved from Paper-Scissors-Rock into Assassin-Drone-Sniper-Spy-Suicide Bomber .

  He made an explosion sound and reached for the item they were fighting over—an enhanced night vision monocular. He turned and froze when he saw Olesya .

  ‘Sorry,’ Ark said .

  Olesya shed her charcoal coat and folded it over the table. ‘What’s the brief ?’

  ‘Three operatives in Moscow,’ Val said. ‘They’re on the move .’

  Olesya picked up her thin bullet-resistant gel vest. It comprised layers of Kevlar and a type of liquid that hardened on impact .

  ‘That’s one each,’ Ark said, wielding a black flashlight-shaped device .

  Val tucked a curl of dark hair behind her ear. ‘Still more than we’re used to .’

  Olesya removed her shirt and slipped the vest over her head, then fastened the straps across her stomach. At barely two kilograms, it didn’t weigh her down like Kevlar, yet it could absorb knife attacks, most rounds—including armor-piercing—without crushing her ribs or lungs .

  ‘When was the last time we had three in our backyard at once?’ Val picked one of the new pistols, a polymer Strizh chambered with seventeen 9mm rounds. It was angular like a Glock, except for the grooves on the slide that looked like shark’s gills .

  ‘They’re getting more confident,’ Ark said .

  Olesya considered her options for a moment .

  ‘Whoa, hold up a sec,’ Val said. ‘Olesya might actually try something different .’

  Olesya picked out her favorite, the Gyurza—Russian for blunt-nosed viper —an ultra-compact pistol from the early ’90s. It was small and shiny in her hand, with a tapered barrel that never snagged on her clothing. Despite its size, the Gyurza carried eighteen armor-piercing rounds .

  Ark exhaled cigarette smoke. ‘And hell might freeze over .’

  ‘That happened already.’ Olesya took three magazines and loaded one. She fed a round into the chamber and pulled the slide just enough to see the glint of brass inside, then holstered it under her arm .

  Both Val and Ark reached for a less conventional weapon. Their hands pinned it to the table and neither one of them considered budging .

  Olesya raised an eyebrow. ‘You’re fighting over a Glue Gun ?’

  The weapon was wide and pistol-shaped, but it fired tacky glue-like material thirty feet .

  ‘OK, number one,’ Val said, ‘we call it the Ejaculator . And two, Ark used it last time .’

  Olesya turned her attention to the knives section. ‘I suppose he likes to ejaculate .’

  ‘Firstly—none of your business.’ Ark turned to his sister. ‘Or yours, frankly. And you used it the last two times .’

  Olesya held up two fingers for them to see. ‘There’s only one way to decide. Round two .’

  Val offered her fist for another game. ‘You heard the lady .’

  While they played their game, Olesya secreted a fling knife on her thigh and a survival knife inside her boot. On her belt, she holstered her combat knife, a Kizlyar Raven with a glass-breaker on its hilt. She almost forgot the compact titanium prybar, which she slipped inside her boot .

  The brother and sister opened their fists. Val offered a knife hand. Assassin . Ark’s hand was also flat, but facing downward. Drone .

  ‘How does an assassin beat a drone, anyway?’ Ark asked .

  Val shrugged. ‘You cruise, you lose .’

  Olesya put her shirt back on and clipped the radio unit to her belt. Then she shoved the near-invisible earpiece a little too far down her ear canal. All that was left were two sticky cams and her allowance of Russian currency. The amount had increased since the Fifth Column launched sanctions against Russia. She slipped the bills into her navy blue wallet along with her false identification for the FSB—Federal Security Bureau .

  ‘Do you mind explaining why you’re smoking in the only room you’re not allowed to smoke?’ Illarion said, from behind Olesya .

  He was cleanly shaven today, which usually meant he’d received a visit from his superior. His steel-gray hair looked slightly more silver .

  Looking down his pointed nose at Ark’s cigarette, he said, ‘By all means, feel free to continue your game while the clock is ticking .’

  Behind Illarion was his recently assigned assistant, an intelligence officer by the name of Gleb. He had short, sandy hair and he blinked a lot. Olesya hadn’t met him before, but he seemed excessively polite .

  Ark crushed the cigarette under his boot. ‘We’re ready to move .’

>   ‘I’ll expect you to clean that up later,’ Illarion said, ‘if you live through this operation .’

  Val quickly took the Ejaculator before Ark could pinch it. She clipped it to her belt. Ark begrudgingly took the explosives detector instead .

  Gleb extended his hand to Olesya. ‘It’s an honor to meet you, ma’am,’ he said. ‘I’ve read all about the Snow Maiden .’

  Val cleared her throat. ‘I wouldn’t call her that .’

  ‘Olesya is fine,’ she said .

  Gleb looked away. ‘I’m very sorry .’

  Olesya picked up one more item. She chose it every time and thankfully no one fought her for it. A black aluminum flashlight-sized device, the NetGun fired a lightweight tensile steel net, wrapping its target at a range of twenty meters and optionally delivering repeated electric shocks, subduing the target until they could be captured and removed. For every deployment, Olesya kept the electric shock enabled .

  She pulled her charcoal coat back on and closed the studs to her neck .

  Illarion led them to the garage for their transport. ‘Gleb identified three operatives in Moscow yesterday. They went to ground overnight but they’re on the move again .’

  ‘What do they have planned?’ Olesya asked .

  ‘We don’t know yet,’ Gleb walked fast to keep up with her. ‘Facial recognition tech is by no means foolproof, but these operatives came in at a seventy-percent match .’

  ‘That’s not enough to go on,’ Val said from behind .

  Gleb was quick to respond. ‘Certainly, but in this case we matched the cluster of three operatives all together.’ He handed Olesya a print of their low-resolution faces recorded from CCTV cameras .

  Olesya looked at them. ‘A little more than a coincidence .’

  ‘It’s unprecedented,’ Illarion said .

  Two females, one male. Olesya only cared about two things. Was the male operative her brother, Zakhar? No. Maybe they were other operatives she knew from Firebird Squad. What if the male was Damien or Jay? She wondered if they were still alive. If they were, it was possible she might encounter them again. And she would have to stop them, just like every other operative .

  Hopefully not today , she thought .

  She inspected the print closely. The woman stood side-on. She had straight black hair and wide eyes. There was a slight possibility this woman was Xiu .

  Any operative out there could be Xiu .

  Olesya tucked the thought away and handed the print to Val as they entered the garage, an underground level lined with an assortment of shiny armored cars and more commonplace sedans and bikes. It was loud and bright. The clamor of elite Zaslon soldiers—ultra-black Russian special operations—made her stomach knot. They were assigned to support her operation and that only happened when the situation was bad .

  Illarion escorted them toward a three-door Lada Fora 4x4. It was silver and had seen better days .

  ‘Don’t engage until the operatives have separated,’ Illarion said. ‘Take them one by one .’

  ‘Sure, but they might have other plans,’ Olesya said .

  On her left, two groups of Zaslon soldiers tucked themselves into white vans. They were staying mobile, a short distance from Olesya’s team in case things went very wrong, but their essential purpose was to collect captured operatives .

  ‘Once you take the operatives down,’ Illarion said, ‘keep moving and let our Zaslon teams transport them. Don’t waste time. You need to capture as many of these operatives as possible .’

  ‘Something tells me they aren’t just going to shoot a politician and call it a day .’

  Ark opened the back door to the Fora and climbed in. ‘Not if we get there first .’

  Val looked at Gleb for a moment, seemed about to say something, then climbed in after her brother .

  ‘What about the rest of your team?’ Gleb asked .

  Olesya climbed in beside them. ‘We are the team .’

  Gleb stared at her. ‘Don’t you have full teams ?’

  ‘We did,’ Olesya said. ‘They were killed .’

  Chapter Nineteen

  S now coated Moscow like icing.

  Olesya brushed flakes from her face as she followed the trio of Fifth Column operatives. They moved as one, slipping between snow-powdered Christmas trees that shimmered with violet lights. She kept a careful distance as the operatives moved around a carved ice display, toward the center of Pushkin Square. She could only see part of their faces and she seared those into memory .

  Olesya closed the gap quickly. This was one of the busiest squares in the world, and during Christmas it glittered with fairy lights and sculptures, attracting crowds of people. It was pretty much the worst place to track someone. The operatives had chosen it for counter-surveillance. Once they’d shaken off any trackers—like Olesya—they would proceed to their objective .

  All three operatives reached the crowd and abruptly separated .

  Olesya spoke softly. ‘They’re splitting. I’m taking the center.’ Her target had straight dark hair and wore a black padded jacket with a shiny hood. Like the other operatives, she carried a slim black rucksack .

  Ark was the first to respond. ‘I have the left .’

  ‘I’ll take right,’ Val said .

  Olesya kept her attention on the shiny hood of her target. The operative turned her head slightly, as though looking over her shoulder, enough for Olesya to see the line of her jaw. Her nose .

  Following her target, Olesya stepped through a wall of white fairy lights suspended from above. They parted like a luminous cobweb and she walked through, into the night .

  The operative moved sharply away from the crowd and started for one end of the square. Olesya walked along the crowd’s edge, keeping a low profile. In the corner of her vision, the operative stepped under a row of snow-coated power lines and disappeared down a flight of stairs to a subway station. Olesya started after her, feeling for the Troika card in her pocket .

  She held her pressel switch. ‘Under Pushkin Square, walking to Tverskaya Station .’

  ‘Heading north-east,’ Val said. ‘Not going into subway .’

  ‘Same here,’ Ark said. ‘North-east on Strastnoy, above ground .’

  All three operatives were still moving in the same general direction. Olesya felt an itch between her shoulder blades. She didn’t like where this was going .

  She descended the stairs. The operative was still visible and there were plenty of civilians walking in both directions. She kept her distance and used nearby people to obscure herself .

  A civilian might see your face three times before recognizing you were following them. A soldier? Maybe twice. An operative, once. She couldn’t burn herself, but this vestibule made that hard. Last time she was in a place like this, eight people died. She should have saved them, but she didn’t .

  The Fifth Column, inspired by the suicide attacks of the ancient Chera dynasty and the Kamikaze pilots of the Second World War, started using this unconventional tactic a decade ago. And they used it because it worked .

  The victim’s programming was simpler than the programming of the operative who handled them. These victims were cheap and easy to produce, yet difficult to recruit because there was no reliable method for assessing who was susceptible to programming—short of inviting the entire resistance group to see a stage hypnotist. But the victim was easy to blame and the operative would slip away unseen .

  And she’d let that happen .

  Olesya moved through the vestibule, hearing phantom screams and car alarms from years ago. She remembered Illarion’s debrief; he told her she couldn’t stop everything. She felt the weight of disappointment in his words and could do nothing with it .

  Today was different. The way these three operatives moved, this was coordinated. And it would take place in the largest, busiest underground transit system in the world: the Moscow subway .

  Ark and Val reported in again, their voices crackling. Soon Olesya would be in the subwa
y, losing contact completely .

  Every so often, the operative in front would turn her head to the side and check for threats. Olesya watched her face intently, but couldn’t see who she really was. If only Olesya could move closer, she could be sure .

  The operative pulled her rucksack higher and, with her Troika card, moved through the metal turnstile. She disappeared down the escalator to the subway platform. Olesya reached for her own card and swiped it over the turnstile’s yellow circle. The turnstile blinked green and the clear plastic barriers parted, allowing her into Tverskaya Station .

  Olesya stepped through, pocketing her Troika card and moving for the escalator. In mid-stride she noticed abrupt movement over the turnstile’s shiny metal surface. Someone behind her. She ducked as two suppressed gunshots popped overhead with the sound of exploding popcorn. She dropped between the turnstiles and ripped down her coat, pulling the studs open. She drew her Gyurza pistol .

  The operative was close behind. Olesya circled a turnstile for concealment. She didn’t know whether this operative was Ark’s and Val’s, but it was her problem now. The crowd moved onward—not hearing the suppressed shots—and only a few lingered to watch a man stumble. He’d incurred a gunshot wound to his arm .

  The operative launched over the turnstile. His elbow connected with Olesya’s head and his knee knocked her Gyurza clear. It skittered down the escalator. The operative put distance between him and Olesya, then aimed his own pistol—a compact Glock with suppressor .

  Olesya recovered more quickly than the operative calculated. She closed the gap before his finger was in the trigger guard and kicked his knee out. He sidestepped her kick .

  Around them, the crowd widened. They didn’t flee in terror like those she’d seen in Hollywood disaster movies. Olesya had been trained to react instantaneously, but the majority of the crowd stood around and watched, unable to process the danger and unable to look away. One person panicked and fled, then another, and another .

  The operative tried to regain his balance, his right arm extending to shoot. Olesya stepped to one side and slammed her shoulder into his arm, breaking the joint. She grabbed his Glock by its long suppressor and pried it from his grasp, then threw herself backward. She slid on her back across the polished granite, away from the operative, aimed the pistol with both hands and fired. Nothing happened. She came to a stop on the granite. There was a blinking red diode on her pistol grip. Fingerprint restriction. She couldn’t shoot .