Lost and Found Page 2
Reynolds tried to smile. He’d never run a marathon but couldn’t believe that would be any more difficult. His employer was pouring another drink. Reynolds plucked up the courage to take a sip of his own. It was bitter and burned his throat. Knowing very well that this was his boss’ favourite tipple, he fought to show no adverse reaction.
“After you’ve finished that, I want you to round up the staff,” said Francis. “As of this morning they’re on a week’s annual leave, full pay, and I want them out of the house. Those without homes may book a hotel for which I will pay. Once that’s done, you’ll contact any absentees and deliver the same message. You are to make these calls from your chosen hotel. Are you with me so far?”
Reynolds took another sip and nodded. “Yes, sir.” He wondered when last Francis had spent any time without at least one hired hand in his home. How would he cope? For that matter, how long since Reynolds had spent a night under a different roof to his employer? Though he had no great love for the man, being elsewhere was such an alien concept, he was unsure what he would do.
“No one must come here,” Francis pressed. “I don’t want you leaving voicemails. You aren’t on holiday until you’ve confirmation from every member of my staff that they will stay away for a week. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
Reynolds had never failed to carry out one of his employer’s instructions. Francis did not feel the need to ask twice.
Finishing another drink, Francis said, “Thank you.”
Reynolds almost choked on the whiskey. Not once in nearly three decades had Francis uttered even the most basic pleasantry to his staff. Not hello, not good night, not spiffing tie Reynolds. Certainly not please or thank you. Reynolds could only nod like a fool.
“Right then,” said Francis. “Hurry up and finish that drink. I have a couple of calls to make, and they may be the most important conversations I ever have.”
He poured himself another drink, leaned back in the sofa, and disappeared into his thoughts. Forgetting about Reynolds entirely.
Amazingly, extraction went smoothly.
Donnelly fired. The stun darts left the guns simultaneously. A second later one disintegrated, the other boomeranged and buried itself in Donnelly’s stomach. Adam stood and moved to the other side of the table, grabbing Donnelly’s shoulders before he could collapse, positioning him with his head against the wall. He appeared to have fallen asleep. Which, of course, he had.
The waitress had their croissants and coffees on the glass counter that split punters from staff. Beneath its see-through surface were assorted treats.
As she went to collect the two drinks, the cabinet shattered, glass cascading across the floor, coffee spilling like a wave.
While Eve caused this destruction, Adam dropped the guns into Donnelly’s bag and slid the bag over his shoulder. While the waitress screamed and the customers turned to look at the mess, Adam collected Donnelly and carried him outside.
Half an hour later they were in a basement, the agent tied to a chair. Nearly two decades before, in a similar basement, Adam’s mother had tied another agent to a chair and tried to persuade her son to murder the man in cold blood. She wanted to toughen him up.
It hadn’t worked.
In Donnelly’s bag, they found clothes, cash, a phone and three guns. Two for sedating, one for killing.
This latter, Eve held. Unlike Adam, she had no compunction with killing in self-defence. Like their mother, she believed murdering anyone who posed a threat was self-defence, even if that person was defenceless at the time.
Even having spent his entire life on the run, Adam struggled to enter this moral grey zone.
Eve sat opposite the bound Donnelly. Adam could not see her face but knew her expression would be dead of emotion. This was how she needed to be.
He leaned against a wall, arms crossed. Because he trusted his sister implicitly, he had followed her lead and her plan. He could not see what she was hoping to achieve.
“What now?” he asked.
She did not look back. To see his face would have broken her veneer of the cold, calm, killer.
“Nothing now,” she said. “When he wakes, I’ll ask him some questions. He’ll give us information.”
“Why?”
“I can be very persuasive.”
Adam said nothing: didn’t need to. She knew he hadn’t meant why would Donnelly give them information. In all their years of running, they had captured a few agents, even questioning one or two. They’d never learned anything of value. Already, They knew why the villains sought to catch them. They knew their only hope was to stay out of the reach of this wealthy and powerful organization. What more was there?
“It’s like we said last night,” Eve said after a while. “It’s different now.”
Though Eve couldn’t see him, Adam nodded. “So?” he said.
For the first time, she looked back. The gun hung limply by her side. In her face, Adam saw not the little girl he had known but the one she might have been if they had grown up as normal kids. No powers, no pursuers. Adam tried not to imagine such a scenario. Too painful.
“So I don’t know,” Eve said. “So we can’t keep running until we know the new parameters. So can’t you trust me and see where we get questioning this worthless worm?”
Adam didn’t need to consider. He nodded.
They fell into silence. Twenty minutes later, Donnelly came round.
Groggy at first, he quickly regained sense. As his world returned to focus, he surveyed his surroundings before doing something unexpected.
He beamed.
“What was that?” he said. “You blocked my bullets but I thought you couldn’t use your trick indefinitely cause you passed out or something. What gives?”
“I ‘did my trick’,” said Eve, “only when you pulled the triggers.”
“You did your trick when…” Donnelly looked from Eve to Adam and back again, then burst into laughter. “Phenomenal. You are phenomenal. What you looked into my eyes and just knew? Wow. I’m on the wrong side.”
“Shut up,” said Eve.
Donnelly took a few moments to calm himself, nodding like an idiot. Once he had his laughter under control, he met Eve’s eye again.
“Let me guess. You’re bad cop, and this is the part where you threaten to torture me if I don’t tell you everything you want to know?”
“Something like that,” said Eve.
“Well, this is going to be an easy day’s work for you guys. I’ve no interest in getting tortured, so,” he looked at Adam. “How about good cop gets me a drink, and I start talking?”
Francis replaced the phone feeling numb. Broken. It could not have gone worse.
Rushing to the minibar, he grabbed the expensive whisky.
Half an hour later, it was gone. Once again, he was on the phone.
“Hello?”
“It’s Francis.”
“Francis, hey, how you—”
“I need to know where the twins are, now.”
Silence greeted this instruction, followed by a heavy sigh.
“You owe me this,” said Francis.
“Maybe,” said his contact. “But what happens if someone needs to use the asset in the next 48 hours? What do I say?”
“It won’t be a problem,” said Francis. “By day’s end, I’ll have dealt with the twins. The asset won’t be needed.”
“No offence, Francis,” said the contact after some consideration. Francis’s hand clenched the phone at the words. “Even with their location, I don’t see how you’re going to catch them. Your best agent’s dead. Your second-best isn’t working for you anymore, or so I hear.”
Francis almost threw the phone after the earlier cast tumbler.
“Donnelly will screw up,” he said. “Don’t worry about that.”
“But what will you do? You can’t g
et an army.”
“Don’t worry about that either. Will you help or not?”
“After this, we don’t talk. Not ever again.”
“Fine,” said Francis.
“You’ll have it in five minutes.”
They hung up, and Francis returned to his minibar. After considering another bottle of whiskey, he instead took the cheaper vodka.
Returning to the sofas, he cracked open the cap and poured himself a shot. Before drinking, he made his second call.
Set on this path as he had believed he was, he almost hoped there would be no answer. From this move, there was no coming back.
Someone answered. “Yes.”
“It’s Francis,” he said. As he spoke, his phone binged: an email arrived. The twin’s location.
“What do you need?”
Francis took a deep breath. Because he did not trust himself with anything more, he returned with one word.
“Grendel.”
There was a long pause. This could still go either way. A rejection might still be for the best.
At last, the contact made up his mind, and for good or for ill, the die was cast.
“Consider it done.”
After receiving his water, Donnelly appeared to be as good as his word.
“You bastards found us twice in a week,” said Eve. “How?”
“The obvious question,” said Donnelly. “You’re not going to like the answer. I have to say that upfront, because your lives are over.”
“They’ll never catch us,” said Eve.
“I don’t mean literally over,” said Donnelly. “I know you think things can’t get worse. The lives you’ve had, you’ve never been happy. Even when you’re not on the run, you’re looking over your shoulders, always expecting the next attack. You can’t relax. Can’t make connections with anyone but each other. Can’t fall in love. What could be worse, right?”
“You’re not asking the questions,” Eve asked. She tried not to shift uncomfortably in her chair. Refused to look at Adam.
She couldn’t remember ever feeling happy, per se. Certainly, she had never fallen in love nor made friends beyond her brother. According to the gospel of their mother, relationships were dangerous. Caring for people made abandoning a town at a moment’s notice difficult. Beyond one-night stands, Eve had never formed any kind of relationship with a man. She’d never been on a date.
Adam had been unable to follow this edict. There’d been several girls but Eve knew, at Donnelly’s words, her brother had thought of Saskia. The only girl he’d ever truly loved; the worst mistake he’d ever made.
Afraid Donnelly was trying to mire them in introspectiveness, she brushed away the memories.
“Fine, no questions,” said Donnelly. “My point is, even if you think you’ve never been happy, you’ve no doubt found some contentment during prolonged quiet periods. Those when you weren’t actively fleeing us bastards, as you called us.”
Eve could almost feel Adam’s tension. It was four days since such a spell had ended. The twins had been enjoying a night out. Adam had returned home while Eve went with a random. He had been tall and handsome, and he knew what he was doing.
Now he was dead. The bastards had almost captured Eve.
She couldn’t remember his name.
Adam had been seeing someone. He never learned.
“That’s done,” said Donnelly. “That’s what I mean about your lives being over.”
“Explain,” said Eve.
“I’m getting there,” said Donnelly. He raised his glass. “Need another drink, though. All this talking is thirsty work.”
Eve heard Adam move from the wall. They never discussed any good cop, bad cop dynamic, but this was how it always went. Adam always wanted to play host, even with the vile scum who pursued them.
If Eve came across a hundred of the bastards; sleeping, family photos at their bedsides, she would slaughter the lot without hesitation.
It was an us or them situation. Always had been.
As Adam reached Eve’s shoulder, the glass shattered. The pieces hovered, circling Donnelly’s hand. Eve clicked her fingers. The shards scattered to the four corners of the room. One remained.
Sometimes, Eve feared she was too like her mother.
The shard floated towards Donnelly’s eyes, pausing an inch from the left. Though Donnelly tried to hold his face calm, straight, his fear was palpable.
“Hey, come on,” he said. “I’m telling you everything you want to know.”
“Eve,” Adam said, his tone warning.
“Listen to your brother. This isn’t fair.”
Eve considered bursting an eye. It would send a message. Once he started screaming, they would struggle to get from him the information they needed. He would probably faint from the pain and then where would they be? His death would bring her satisfaction but would be useless in the long run.
Plus, Adam would be disappointed. She couldn’t bear his disappointment.
“This is no joke,” she said. The shard sliced Donnelly’s cheek and flew across the room.
In one corner was the sink from where they might have drawn the water for Donnelly’s second drink. It shimmered, from within the basin a black, hairy creature crawled, the size of a dog, more frightening than any spider.
Adam rested a hand on her shoulder. He was looking to the sink but saw nothing. Eve closed her eyes. When she reopened them, the beast was gone.
Blood ran down Donnelly’s cheek. Because his hands were bound, he could do nothing to stem the flow. Staring at the twins, he did not ask for a bandage. His eyes were a mix of fear and interest.
“I’m fine,” Eve said to Adam, shaking free his hand. She tried not to look at the sink and failed. It still shimmered. There were no further signs of monstrous activity.
“It’s amazing, what you can do,” said Donnelly.
“Just tell us what we want to know before I kill you.”
“Happy to,” he said. “A few weeks back, the agency acquired a way to pinpoint anyone’s location within a hundred-metre radius at a moment’s notice. They ran some tests. Once they’d proven its effectiveness, they used it to find you twice in a week.”
The blood dripped onto his jeans. He looked to the mark, then back at the twins. If he was in pain, he hid it well.
“That’s what I mean about your lives. There will be no more quiet periods. They can hit you every few days for the rest of your lives. You say you can continue to evade but under such conditions, what would be the point? If your life involved fleeing every two days, how long before you surrendered from pure exhaustion or, more likely, given what I know of you two, went for the old suicide pact.”
Adam had stepped from the wall again. Donnelly was shaking his head.
“It doesn’t matter if they never catch you,” he said. “Your lives are still over.”
In her study, Sandra poured a freshly squeezed orange juice and took the comfortable black leather sofa in the corner.
Her study was not so grand as was Francis’, but it was impressive enough. There were bookshelves and a desk, a sofa and a delightful reading chair. There was no minibar. Sandra rarely drank and regretted sampling the acid Francis had served. She removed her shoes and curled her feet beneath her. Soon, she would read. First, a little quiet contemplation.
There was a knock at her door. Annoying. That was the problem when your living quarters were within the facility in which you worked. People could find you any time of the day or night. And in a place like this, someone was always working.
“Come in.”
The door opened and in stepped Ursula.
Sandra had always been an attractive woman. Ursula was like something out of a fairy tale. A being of such extraordinary beauty it almost hurt to look directly at her. She would have been attractive since birth. Sandra couldn’t remember if she had been quite so beautiful before stepping into the red room.
“Hello, Ursula, can I get you a drink?”
 
; “No, thank you, Sandra, this isn’t a social call. My son is missing.”
Sandra nodded. How old was Ursula? Her beauty rendered her ageless, but Ursula guessed she wasn’t yet 30.
“Take a seat, won’t you?” she said.
“No,” said Ursula, then caught herself. “No, thank you. I’m too restless.”
“Yes, yes,” said Sandra. Her feet hurt, but she forced herself to stand. It would not do to remain seated if her guest would not join her. “Presumably, Graham is on assignment?”
“Thank you for calling him by his name,” said Ursula. “But no, I’ve checked. Someone let him out, but there’s no log of a mission. This is off the books.”
Afraid she knew the answer, Sandra said, “I’m not sure why you’re bringing this to me. Surely his minder—”
“There were pictures of the twins in the cell,” said Ursula. “They weren’t there yesterday. I think that tells us what this off the books assignment might be.
“I fear you’re right,” said Sandra. She could not repress the chill from running down her spine. “Francis.”
“Francis? You can’t think he’s responsible?”
“I as good as know,” said Sandra.
A desperate man, backed into a corner, will do almost anything. Sandra had expected retaliation but not this. This was unforgivable.
“Why, though?” Ursula asked. “He wants to capture the twins. Graham isn’t capable of such restraint.”
“No, he’s not,” Sandra said. There was a reason most had taken to calling the boy Grendel. The hideous, deadly beast with the beautiful mother from Beowulf. Graham was simple. His ability to follow instructions limited. They could keep him in line by sending him only on missions which allowed him to fulfil his basic pleasure.
“Then why?” asked Ursula.
“Francis is angry, betrayed. He no longer cares about catching the twins,” said Sandra. “When he had your son released, he knew what he was doing.”
She crossed to the phone. She had to ask fast.
“He means for Graham to murder them.”
As Adam collapsed into despair, Eve pressed on.