He gradually began to isolate features on the tunnel wall.
The process was slow but fascinating. The tunnel protected him from the heat beyond. So far so good. He lingered there for an hour or ten, growing comfortable with his divided focus.
What if he could form a second tunnel to punch through the first tunnel?
The thought took him by surprise. The light faded, and for a moment he thought the tunnel had collapsed. But it remained straight and true, and the distant pinpoint of light came back into sharp focus.
He considered this new thought. Maybe a second tunnel of focus could break through the walls heâd constructed.
KELLY LARINE sat at a round metal table in the main laboratory, watching the monitor as the lines of numbers ran by. Carlâs vitals had held rock steady since heâd gone deep, nearly three days ago now. In terms of controlling his emotions, he was better than Englishman, who, although the more accomplished killer, seemed to have less control over his mind, which could in time make him the lesser of the two.
Then again, Englishman had appeared on the scene a full month after Carl and was already well ahead of him. He had come to them practically ready-made, which only eroded her own trust of the man. On occasion she couldnât escape the vague notion that he was far more than who he said he was. More than even Kalman or Agotha knew. A puppet master who was simply playing games here while he waited for his true purpose to reveal itself.
L a szlo Kalman fears the man, she thought.
There were never more than three assassins in the X Group at any one time. Sometimes up to a dozen were in training, but in operation, only three. At the moment only two: Dale Crompton, known as Englishman; and Jenine, the dark-skinned, soft-spoken feline from the Ukraine. Neither of them had the same control over their emotions as Carl, but both more than compensated with skill and determination.
All three had full control of their vitals and had developed nearly inhuman thresholds for pain, although how Englishman and the Ukrainian managed so well without mastery over emotion was still a bit of a mystery to Kelly.
On the other hand, maybe their achievements werenât really that much of a mystery. The training methods perfected by Agotha were all founded on a guiding principle that had yet to fail: the appropriation of identity. The assassins thought they were surrendering their memories, but Agotha wasnât concerned with erasing memory as much as erasing identity.
Identity was the linchpin.
Commandeering a personâs identity allowed Agotha to manipulate the memories associated with who a person was and what he had done without compromising his knowledge of how things worked. How to operate a car, for example, or brush teeth, or kill a man in the most effective way depending on the circumstance.
Agotha Balogh wore the same yellow dress she so often wore, always half-covered by a white lab apron. At the moment she was calibrating the powerful spinning magnets that she used in conjunction with powerful drugs to rewrite the identities. The machine was a common MRI machine, the kind found at any decent hospital, but its magnets had been adjusted to Agothaâs specifications. The drugs sheâd been testing for the last decade, however, were evidently nothing so common.
Everything about the X Group was extraordinary, from the operatives theyâd managed to sequester away in the hills of Hungary, to their incredible success rate, to the highly controversial techniques they used to train, to the personalities at the helm. Kalman. Agotha. And now she could add her name to that list. Kelly.
âNo change?â Agotha asked.
It was a rhetorical question, to add some noise to the room. âNone,â Kelly said. They returned to silence.
Kalman. Kelly knew little more than what Agotha had told her about his background. Heâd killed his first man when he was eight. The dead bodies in
The process was slow but fascinating. The tunnel protected him from the heat beyond. So far so good. He lingered there for an hour or ten, growing comfortable with his divided focus.
What if he could form a second tunnel to punch through the first tunnel?
The thought took him by surprise. The light faded, and for a moment he thought the tunnel had collapsed. But it remained straight and true, and the distant pinpoint of light came back into sharp focus.
He considered this new thought. Maybe a second tunnel of focus could break through the walls heâd constructed.
KELLY LARINE sat at a round metal table in the main laboratory, watching the monitor as the lines of numbers ran by. Carlâs vitals had held rock steady since heâd gone deep, nearly three days ago now. In terms of controlling his emotions, he was better than Englishman, who, although the more accomplished killer, seemed to have less control over his mind, which could in time make him the lesser of the two.
Then again, Englishman had appeared on the scene a full month after Carl and was already well ahead of him. He had come to them practically ready-made, which only eroded her own trust of the man. On occasion she couldnât escape the vague notion that he was far more than who he said he was. More than even Kalman or Agotha knew. A puppet master who was simply playing games here while he waited for his true purpose to reveal itself.
L a szlo Kalman fears the man, she thought.
There were never more than three assassins in the X Group at any one time. Sometimes up to a dozen were in training, but in operation, only three. At the moment only two: Dale Crompton, known as Englishman; and Jenine, the dark-skinned, soft-spoken feline from the Ukraine. Neither of them had the same control over their emotions as Carl, but both more than compensated with skill and determination.
All three had full control of their vitals and had developed nearly inhuman thresholds for pain, although how Englishman and the Ukrainian managed so well without mastery over emotion was still a bit of a mystery to Kelly.
On the other hand, maybe their achievements werenât really that much of a mystery. The training methods perfected by Agotha were all founded on a guiding principle that had yet to fail: the appropriation of identity. The assassins thought they were surrendering their memories, but Agotha wasnât concerned with erasing memory as much as erasing identity.
Identity was the linchpin.
Commandeering a personâs identity allowed Agotha to manipulate the memories associated with who a person was and what he had done without compromising his knowledge of how things worked. How to operate a car, for example, or brush teeth, or kill a man in the most effective way depending on the circumstance.
Agotha Balogh wore the same yellow dress she so often wore, always half-covered by a white lab apron. At the moment she was calibrating the powerful spinning magnets that she used in conjunction with powerful drugs to rewrite the identities. The machine was a common MRI machine, the kind found at any decent hospital, but its magnets had been adjusted to Agothaâs specifications. The drugs sheâd been testing for the last decade, however, were evidently nothing so common.
Everything about the X Group was extraordinary, from the operatives theyâd managed to sequester away in the hills of Hungary, to their incredible success rate, to the highly controversial techniques they used to train, to the personalities at the helm. Kalman. Agotha. And now she could add her name to that list. Kelly.
âNo change?â Agotha asked.
It was a rhetorical question, to add some noise to the room. âNone,â Kelly said. They returned to silence.
Kalman. Kelly knew little more than what Agotha had told her about his background. Heâd killed his first man when he was eight. The dead bodies in
Similar Books
Startup Weekend: How to Take a Company From Concept to Creation in 54 Hours
Marc Nager, Clint Nelsen, Franck Nouyrigat
