The Chimera Vector Read online

  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 the fuck 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.

  Chapter Two

  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 differ
ent. 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 Nos
e.

  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.’