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Authors: G. T. Almasi
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would be such a good second-story man. He credits it to the dancelessons he had to take with his five sisters when he was a kid. My dad used to joke that Cyrus could be in the
Guinness Book of World Records
as the world’s biggest ninja. Cyrus would lean back from our dining room table and laugh that my dad was already in it for having the world’s hollowest leg.
Now Cyrus glares at Fredericks while he stalks around the table to sit next to my mom. She turns from me and wraps her arms around his neck. He holds her while she cries into his shoulder and looks at me with his eyes burning.
He comms to me, “We’re getting him back, Alix.”
I close my eyes and nod. All I can comm is, “Yes, sir.”
Director Chanez returns to the front of the room. “Okay, people, I know this is a big revelation, but let’s try to focus on our next step.” He turns to Harbaugh and asks, “Bill, we really have no idea where Philip could be?”
“No, sir. Like I said, we’ve got a lousy batting average with that program.” He runs his hand through his hair. “Our deepest contact was when we assisted Germany during the Warsaw Confrontation. We picked up a lot of intel about Carbon, but it’s been pretty dry since then.”
Harbaugh tells us that while we were helping Germany fend off a Russian invasion, our people were given surprisingly broad access to their classified materials. U.S. Army Intelligence found out about Carbon and hoovered up as much of it as they could. When the crisis ended, so did our classified access.
We didn’t hear anything else about Carbon until three years later, when they unveiled the first-ever successful human clone. The U.S. countered a year later with cloned triplets, which absolutely floored the Krauts. Then our stunning cloning program—based on all that intel we swiped—suffered a disastrous scandal and imploded. Congress mired itself in the moral issues that surround cloning like a black swamp. Greater Germany,unconcerned by silly things like human rights, vaulted back into the lead.
“That’s our assumption, anyway,” Harbaugh concludes. “A research project that big leaves a shadow. We see the shadow sometimes, but that’s it. Once we abandoned our own cloning research, tracking Carbon stopped being a priority.”
“Well, that’s about to change.” Chanez looks at Fredericks. “Jakob, what was Philip’s last mission again?”
Fredericks presses his handkerchief to his mouth, then holds it in his lap. “He was investigating Russian covert activity in the German sectors of the Middle East.”
“That’s a pretty broad assignment.”
“Philip was a Level 20 Liberator,” Fredericks says. “Most of his Job Numbers had flexible parameters.”
“Where was his mission centered?”
“It wasn’t. He changed location almost every day.”
Chanez crosses his arms in front of his chest. “Where was Philip when he was captured?”
“I have no idea.”
“Jesus, Jakob.” Chanez raises his eyebrows and holds his hands out to his sides. “Give us
something
. Where did he start?”
Fredericks hesitates. Then he looks at the ceiling like he’s trying to remember. “Paris,” he finally mutters. “His mission started in Paris.”
C HAPTER 9
T WO DAYS LATER , M ONDAY , M AY 5, 7:30 P.M. EST E X O PS H EADQUARTERS , H OTEL B ETHESDA , W ASHINGTON , D.C., USA
“Here you go, dear,” my mother says as she sets a spoon and a bowl of soup in front of me. She arranges the bed pillows behind me so I can sit up straighter, then turns down the volume on the TV before walking back to the kitchen.
“Thanks, Mom.” I pick up the spoon and start inhaling the soup.
Mom’s voice ricochets from the kitchen: “Ladies don’t slurp, Alixandra!”
I sigh and try to eat without making so much noise. One of Cleo’s self-appointed titles is etiquette coach, which normally bugs the living shit out of me. For now she can nag all she wants. Friday’s craziness completely rewrote my
Guinness Book of World Records
as the world’s biggest ninja. Cyrus would lean back from our dining room table and laugh that my dad was already in it for having the world’s hollowest leg.
Now Cyrus glares at Fredericks while he stalks around the table to sit next to my mom. She turns from me and wraps her arms around his neck. He holds her while she cries into his shoulder and looks at me with his eyes burning.
He comms to me, “We’re getting him back, Alix.”
I close my eyes and nod. All I can comm is, “Yes, sir.”
Director Chanez returns to the front of the room. “Okay, people, I know this is a big revelation, but let’s try to focus on our next step.” He turns to Harbaugh and asks, “Bill, we really have no idea where Philip could be?”
“No, sir. Like I said, we’ve got a lousy batting average with that program.” He runs his hand through his hair. “Our deepest contact was when we assisted Germany during the Warsaw Confrontation. We picked up a lot of intel about Carbon, but it’s been pretty dry since then.”
Harbaugh tells us that while we were helping Germany fend off a Russian invasion, our people were given surprisingly broad access to their classified materials. U.S. Army Intelligence found out about Carbon and hoovered up as much of it as they could. When the crisis ended, so did our classified access.
We didn’t hear anything else about Carbon until three years later, when they unveiled the first-ever successful human clone. The U.S. countered a year later with cloned triplets, which absolutely floored the Krauts. Then our stunning cloning program—based on all that intel we swiped—suffered a disastrous scandal and imploded. Congress mired itself in the moral issues that surround cloning like a black swamp. Greater Germany,unconcerned by silly things like human rights, vaulted back into the lead.
“That’s our assumption, anyway,” Harbaugh concludes. “A research project that big leaves a shadow. We see the shadow sometimes, but that’s it. Once we abandoned our own cloning research, tracking Carbon stopped being a priority.”
“Well, that’s about to change.” Chanez looks at Fredericks. “Jakob, what was Philip’s last mission again?”
Fredericks presses his handkerchief to his mouth, then holds it in his lap. “He was investigating Russian covert activity in the German sectors of the Middle East.”
“That’s a pretty broad assignment.”
“Philip was a Level 20 Liberator,” Fredericks says. “Most of his Job Numbers had flexible parameters.”
“Where was his mission centered?”
“It wasn’t. He changed location almost every day.”
Chanez crosses his arms in front of his chest. “Where was Philip when he was captured?”
“I have no idea.”
“Jesus, Jakob.” Chanez raises his eyebrows and holds his hands out to his sides. “Give us
something
. Where did he start?”
Fredericks hesitates. Then he looks at the ceiling like he’s trying to remember. “Paris,” he finally mutters. “His mission started in Paris.”
C HAPTER 9
T WO DAYS LATER , M ONDAY , M AY 5, 7:30 P.M. EST E X O PS H EADQUARTERS , H OTEL B ETHESDA , W ASHINGTON , D.C., USA
“Here you go, dear,” my mother says as she sets a spoon and a bowl of soup in front of me. She arranges the bed pillows behind me so I can sit up straighter, then turns down the volume on the TV before walking back to the kitchen.
“Thanks, Mom.” I pick up the spoon and start inhaling the soup.
Mom’s voice ricochets from the kitchen: “Ladies don’t slurp, Alixandra!”
I sigh and try to eat without making so much noise. One of Cleo’s self-appointed titles is etiquette coach, which normally bugs the living shit out of me. For now she can nag all she wants. Friday’s craziness completely rewrote my
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