The Seraphim Sequence: The Fifth Column 2 (6 page)

‘Why?’ Sophia said.

‘Why are you asking
me
that?’

Sophia didn’t reply. She waited, watching him intently.

‘You want my guess? He sees a lot of himself in you, when he was younger,’ DC said, meeting her gaze. ‘You don’t give up.’

She looked down at her white sneakers. ‘I already have.’

DC stepped in fractionally closer. She could smell the fragrance of his shaving cream. ‘We’re not here to talk about my history, are we? We’re here to talk about someone else’s.’

Sophia moved her head back just enough so she could see his facial expressions.

‘You knew of Adamicz. You knew he was working in Project Seraphim,’ she said. ‘What do you know about the project?’

‘What do
you
know?’

There was no point dancing around the issue. He wasn’t going to cough anything up until she admitted what she knew.

‘Prototype soldiers,’ she said. ‘Like Project GATE. But civilians too.’

He nodded. ‘Yeah. Project Seraphim was the Fifth Column’s second attempt to program soldiers. Project GATE was the third.’

‘Third?’

She’d had no idea there was more than one project. Project GATE was all she knew. Denton had enlisted hundreds of children as Project GATE test subjects, aged mostly between six and ten, picked because of their rare, strange abilities. Damien could radiate heat, Jay could generate electricity. Some test subjects kept their innate abilities secret, Sophia included. But her secret was she had no innate ability. She’d been terrified of the other Project GATE children finding out and teasing her for being ‘powerless’.

She shook her head. ‘Three projects. I always thought there was just one.’

Denton had trained all of the Project GATE test subjects to become operatives. Sophia’s military training had begun during adolescence, in parallel with Adamicz’s programming. She had learnt reconnaissance, escape and evasion, tactical communication, scouting and tracking, intensive unarmed and edged weapon combat, medical training, survival training in a multitude of environments, sniping and countersniping, a wide variety of small-arms training and combat diving. Following this, each test subject had moved into further training modules such as surreptitious entry, close-quarters combat and structure clearing, surveillance, countersurveillance, agent acquisition, applied explosives techniques, tactical vehicle commandeering, interception and evasive driving.

Once the modules were complete, Project GATE had taken a different turn altogether. The project’s lead computer geneticist, Dr Cecilia McLoughlin, had injected the test subjects turned operatives with adeno-associated viruses—harmless shells—that carried instructions for switching on pseudogenes inside the operatives’ bodies. Sophia was administered tetrachromacy—the ability to perceive hundreds of millions of colors; Damien was administered hyperaudition—perception of infrasound and ultrasound; and Jay got pentachromacy—detection beyond the visible spectrum, including ultraviolet light at one end and infrared at the other.

The second iteration of operatives—shocktroopers—had received a much improved version of pentachromacy, which Cecilia had discovered in a test subject they’d plucked from Belarus. The test subject’s local community had hailed her as a miracle because she was able to look inside human bodies, see their organs and tissue, and identify illness and disease. Cecilia had called it hexachromacy.

Denton’s intention was that Project GATE would forge deniable operatives with augmented abilities beyond the range of normal human capacity. It had never occurred to Sophia that perhaps this wasn’t Denton’s first attempt, that there might have been projects before GATE. She remembered something Adamicz had said when he was deprogramming her in Italy. He’d spoken of a precursor to Project GATE that began in 1991. He must have been talking about Project Seraphim.

‘And the first project?’ she asked.

‘Unsuccessful. The research was stolen,’ DC said. ‘And with Seraphim, the programming was different.’

‘Wait, what research? The Chimera vectors?’

‘Chimera vectors were decades later. The very first project was during the 1940s, ’50s, ’60s. Some sort of virus. Long before my time, I don’t know much about it.’

‘But the second project, Project Seraphim.’ Sophia took a step closer. ‘How was the programming different?’

‘The subjects were triggered remotely using extremely low frequencies. They do strange things to your behavior.’

‘Behavioral aberrations,’ Sophia said. ‘Neural network disturbances, altered blood chemistry.’

DC’s eyes opened fractionally wider. ‘Well versed, I see.’

‘Adamicz’s diary. He mentioned a thing or two.’

DC shook his head. ‘He forgot to mention the changes in the endocrine and immune system.’

‘No,’ Sophia said. ‘He covered that.’

DC watched her for a moment in silence, then sniffed. ‘Why are you asking me questions you already know the answers to?’

‘I’m not so much interested in what you know but how you know it.’

‘Commanding the Blue Beret battalion doesn’t automatically give you every security clearance on offer,’ DC said. ‘But one can learn all sorts of things in the right places.’ He popped a pill from a plastic container in his pocket.

She grabbed his hand. ‘What are those?’

He didn’t pull away. ‘Antidepressants.’

‘I didn’t know the Akhana prescribed amphetamines,’ she said.

‘I didn’t know it was any of your business,’ he said.

Sophia felt his hand tighten under hers. She released her grip. In the months that DC had been assigned to guard her, he’d always stood by her. He’d never doubted her abilities, or her reasoning. He questioned it, relentlessly, but he always trusted her.

‘I know what it is,’ he said softly.

‘What?’

‘You choose who you allow inside. I suppose you always have. But Freeman, he just threw me in there.’

Sophia ground her teeth. ‘What’s your point?’ she said.

‘That’s what annoys you, isn’t it? You didn’t choose for me to be here. Getting in your way, questioning what you do, questioning why you do it.’

She crossed her arms. ‘Sometimes I wonder that myself.’

He smiled. ‘Keeping you alive.’

She snorted in amusement. ‘I think you actually have to save me before you can put that on your resumé.’

‘Like when Dolph wanted to sell you to the Fifth Column and we busted you out?’ he said. He reached into his pocket. ‘Just a second, I’m updating my resumé as we speak.’

‘I never thanked you for that,’ Sophia said. She pulled him by his overall strap and kissed him on the cheek. His stubble brushed her lips. ‘Thank you.’

DC opened his mouth and words stumbled out. ‘Uh, that’s … that’s fine.’

She stepped past him and out of the lockout trunk. She made her way back to her bunk, deep in thought. DC knew more about Project Seraphim. And if she was going to get to it, she needed to pull the right threads.

‘In twenty-eight years of service, I’ve never seen muscular repair like this before,’ the hospital corpsman said.

Jay felt a slight pinch as the corpsman removed a stitch. ‘So I’m good to go?’

‘You shouldn’t be,’ she said. ‘But you are.’

‘Thanks, doc.’ Jay slipped his overalls back over his shoulders.

The corpsman was shaking her head, lips parted. ‘I don’t understand how … What drugs are you on?’

Jay listed them on his fingers. ‘Scotch, gin, beer—Italian preferably—tequila. Oh, and Polish vodka, homemade.’

‘Is there anything else I can help you with?’ she said. ‘Prescriptions?’

A few options came to mind but he pushed them aside. He wasn’t in his apartment with nothing better to do than drink and sleep. He felt renewed, fresh. He needed to do something else. Something better.

‘I think I’m good,’ he said. ‘Thanks.’

He took the ladder to the recreation deck and gravitated toward the bench press, watching from the corner of his eye as Nasira, Benito and half a dozen crew sparred on the other side of the deck. They were running through some sort of drill. It was probably a good thing, Jay thought. If Benito was going to be hanging around this lot, he needed to learn how to shrug off a combatant or two.

Jay slipped weights onto both ends of the barbell, clamped them in place, then settled in on the bench. He slipped on his fingerless gloves and flexed them with satisfaction. He stared at the ceiling; it seemed unfinished, with banks of fluorescent lights, metal boxes and pipes threading overhead. He closed his eyes, found an even grip on the barbell and inhaled.

The crew circled Nasira and attacked her en masse. Jay paused to watch. She moved calmly, taking them down one by one, sometimes two by two. Her movements were fluid, deceptively fast. The crew got back to their feet, wincing but eager for another go. Nasira hadn’t even broken a sweat.

Jay nodded. Not bad.

‘Hey,’ one of the crew said. He was upon Jay in seconds, shaking his hand. ‘Name’s Rhyss.’ His accent was Australian. He narrowed his eyes. They were the color of ice. ‘Jay, right?’

‘Yeah.’ Jay cleared his throat, tried to make his voice deeper. ‘Arming the torpedoes, huh?’

Rhyss blinked. ‘What? Nah, just training with Nasira, mate.’ He scratched at an impenetrable beard beneath his thin, tapered nose. ‘Crew call me Chickenhead.’

‘Chicken … head?’ Jay said.

Another crew member approached, laughing.

‘When he gets excited on the sonar, his head does this,’ the guy said, jerking his head back and forth. It reminded Jay of a pigeon. ‘Like a chicken.’

Chickenhead gave a forced laugh. ‘And if you haven’t had the misfortune of being introduced, this is Big Dog.’

Next to Chickenhead’s slender six-foot frame, Big Dog was compact and, well, kind of hairy. If his imposing arms were any indication, he was a regular user of the
Perseus
’s gym equipment. He wore a gray beanie over shaggy black hair and was one of the few crew members Jay had seen with a clean-shaven face, except for a strange patch on his chin that reminded Jay of a martini glass. But instead of an olive in the martini glass, there was a piercing.

Big Dog must have seen him staring. ‘First thing I did when we jumped ship off the Fifth Column.’

Chickenhead pulled back the sleeve of his T-shirt to reveal a small tattoo of a ship’s anchor on his shoulder. ‘Fuck the system, right?’

Jay peered closer. ‘That’s … small.’

‘I was hesitant,’ Chickenhead said.

Big Dog winked. ‘Commitment issues.’

Chickenhead flashed a mischievous grin. ‘Hey, you should join us.’

‘Nah, I was just going to do a few sets—’

Big Dog was shaking his head. ‘That wasn’t a question, dude.’ He slapped Jay on the back. ‘It would be an honor to train with a black operative.’

‘That wasn’t racist,’ Chickenhead quickly added.

‘Black as in covert,’ Big Dog said. He glanced at Nasira. ‘Well, another one.’

Jay was quite happy just lifting weights, but now that half a dozen crew members and Benito and Nasira were looking at him he couldn’t really back out.

‘Nice of you to join us.’ Nasira didn’t smile.

Jay shrugged. ‘I didn’t want to cramp your style.’

‘We’re just finishing up,’ she said.

‘Come on!’ Big Dog said. ‘We’ve been dying to see two of you … um, people go toe to toe.’

‘That would be so awesome,’ Chickenhead said.

‘You people?’ Nasira repeated.

‘You know, operatives,’ Chickenhead said.

‘
Retired
operatives.’ Nasira eyed Jay carefully.

‘An operative never retires, right?’ Jay said.

She squared off, game face on. ‘Since they insist, let’s see what you got, big boy.’

Jay allowed himself a tiny grin. ‘Famous last words.’

He moved in, slowly at first. He didn’t want to make a fool of himself. He circled her, watching how she moved, where her attention was. Her gaze stayed firmly on his. She didn’t give anything away. Her steps were minimal, even-footed. He’d expected as much. She’d been trained throughout Project GATE, just as he had, including an exhaustive close combat program. Wing Tsun Kung Fu, Bruce Lee’s Jeet Kun Do (the Inosanto way), Filipino martial arts Kali and Modern Arnis, Russian Sambo and even a touch of Japanese Jodo, which employed a short staff as a weapon. In the life of an operative, this came in handy more than one would think. Many things could be improvised as a short staff. But the way Nasira moved suggested she’d learnt something new—or old. Whatever. He still had the edge and he knew it.

He stepped in and tested her with a sudden jab to her stomach. The last place she would expect. Her fist was a blur, moving into an open hand over his head. Quickly, he withdrew the jab, then realized too late that it was a decoy. She pivoted on the spot, trapping his arm against her other hand and her stomach. His arm was locked straight. She applied pressure on his elbow with one hand and used the other to cover his eyes. Before he knew what had happened, he fell into a sitting position. By the time he could see again, her knee was clamped over his arm and the other hovered over his neck.

‘Hmm,’ she said.

She stood, allowing him to get back to his feet.

He did so, calmly and slowly. He’d made a stupid mistake and he wasn’t about to repeat it. He tried his best to make it look like this happened all the time. Closing his fists over, he prepared for a second go. He had to take her down on this one or he’d look like a fucking idiot.

‘You’re probably a bit rusty,’ Nasira said. ‘Chickenhead, if you don’t mind?’

Chickenhead loped toward them. ‘Nothing I like more than being an operative’s boxing bag.’

‘Jay,’ Nasira said. ‘Go easy.’

‘Yeah.’ He gave a thumbs up. ‘Of course.’

Chickenhead nodded at Jay, then moved in. He feigned an attack and then wheeled to Jay’s right. He was copying Nasira. Jay tracked him, kept his guard up. Chickenhead lifted his knee ever so slightly. Probably an unconscious movement. Muay Thai maybe. Chickenhead could use that knee later. Jay needed to keep an eye on it.

Chickenhead tossed a few decoys his way. He batted one aside, sidestepped the other. He moved in, but Chickenhead’s knee came up. Jay halted before walking into range, changed tactics and snapped a low kick into Chickenhead’s ribs. Chickenhead’s knee moved. Jay watched it, but it didn’t come toward him. Chickenhead’s shin scooped Jay’s leg up in mid-kick and redirected it somewhere else. Jay watched his leg splay to one side, tipping him forward. To keep his balance, he came down into a crouch. Chickenhead planted his bare foot on Jay’s knee. The knee buckled, flattened his leg out. Jay struggled not to do the splits. Chickenhead’s elbow swung for his head. He craned forward just in time. But Chickenhead had pinned his ankle down, he couldn’t get up. He wanted to twist and roll out, but Chickenhead’s hand covered his face and his eyes, pulling him back. Similar to what Nasira had just done to him. And he’d fallen for it
twice
. He was flat on his back again and Chickenhead was on top of him.

Chickenhead offered him a hand, but Jay pretended not to notice and got to his feet. Chickenhead was better trained than he’d expected, which suggested Special Forces.

‘Were you Commandos, Tactical Assault?’ Jay said. ‘SAS?’

Chickenhead shook his head. ‘Nah, haven’t touched a rifle since basic. Navy, sonar officer.’

‘Huh.’ Jay dusted himself off.

He heard Big Dog murmur, ‘I thought he was a super soldier.’

The crew members slowly dispersed. Jay read disappointment in that and wished he’d scheduled his workout another time.

He approached Nasira. ‘We had the same training. How did you move so fast?’

‘Because I’m free,’ she said.

Jay watched her walk out. Screw that, he thought. He picked up his pace and caught her in the corridor.

‘What you do in there,’ he said, ‘what is that?’

‘It’s called training, Jay. You should try it sometime. Watch your head.’

‘It’s different from what I—’ Jay banged his head on a pipe. ‘Teach me.’

She stopped and faced him. She tried to put her hands on her hips, but there wasn’t enough room so she settled for folding them across her breasts. He tried not to think about that. Her breasts, that is.

‘Teach you what?’ she said.

‘You know. How to … how to fight like that.’

‘You already know how to fight. You just need to learn how to move.’

‘Fine,’ Jay said. ‘Can you teach me how to move?’

Nasira arched an eyebrow.

‘Please,’ he added.

She pushed past him and re-entered the training area. ‘Get your ass in here,’ she called out behind her.

Jay followed her. ‘OK, let’s do this. Shoes off?’

She looked amused. ‘Do you fight with your shoes off?’

He looked at her with suspicion. ‘Is this a trick question?’

She rolled her eyes. ‘The last time you fought someone, you wore shoes?’

‘Yeah. Boots, shoes, stilettos.’ He shrugged. ‘Depends on my mood.’

She wasn’t amused. ‘Then you train with your stilettos on. If there was concrete here we’d be training all over that shit. Until then, you got it easy on these soft floors.’

‘Great,’ Jay said. ‘So, what are we starting with?’

‘First I’m gonna teach you how to breathe.’

She couldn’t be serious. But she was.

‘If I didn’t know how to breathe, I’d be dead,’ Jay said.

Nasira pointed to his chest.

‘Yeah, I’ve been working out,’ he said.

‘No, you’re breathing with your chest,’ she said.

‘That’s where my lungs are. Um, aren’t they?’

‘Shallow breathing,’ she said. ‘That’s how everyone breathes, right? You’re wasting your energy. Overusing those muscles.’

Jay raised his eyebrows. ‘We’re still talking about breathing, right?’

She placed her hand on his stomach. He flinched, not expecting her to touch him.

‘Relax,’ she said. ‘Breathe from
here
. In through your nose, draw into your stomach.’

It made no sense, but he did as she said. His stomach expanded a few inches.

‘Good,’ she said. ‘You’re filling your lungs properly now. If I’m gonna teach you, you got to breathe this way, you hear me? If I see you breathing with your chest, I’ll punch you. In the face.’

Jay grinned.

‘You think I’m playing?’ she said.

He dropped the grin. ‘OK, serious face on. Stomach breathing, got it.’

‘Whenever people are placed under extreme stress, the first thing they do is stop breathing,’ she said. ‘You’re well trained, yeah? But under stress you’ll switch your ass right back to chest breathing. It’s what you’re used to.’

‘Will you still punch me in the face?’

‘Depends how I’m feeling. When you’re under stress, that’s the best time to breathe with your stomach. Keeps your lungs full so you can keep up with your brain and body. You with me?’

Jay nodded. ‘All the way, baby.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘After a while it comes naturally. You won’t even have to think about it. Just like walking. And that shit I’m teaching you next.’

‘You’re telling me I’m not walking properly?’ Jay said in disbelief.

‘No one does,’ she said. ‘Don’t be so hard on yourself. You walk with your knees. Waste of energy.’

Jay crossed his arms. ‘So what’s not a waste of energy then?’

‘Move with your hips,’ she said, slapping her own hips. ‘Uses your muscles more efficiently. And you move better in combat, you got that?’

‘Stomach breathing and now … hip walking?’ Jay said. ‘This isn’t combat training at all, is it? You’re totally grooming me for Victoria’s Secret.’ He shrugged. ‘Actually that wouldn’t be such a bad thing.’

Nasira smiled. The first smile he’d seen all day. ‘There’s hope for you yet,’ she said.

‘Fine. So how do I do this hip walking thing?’

‘The best way to teach you is to make you walk your ass backward.’

Jay waited for her to follow up with a ‘just kidding’. ‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’

‘Uh-huh,’ Nasira said.

Jay was starting to regret asking for this training.

‘Listen to me, Jay. You’ll get it. The moment will come when you’ll be all like, this shit makes sense. And when it makes sense, everything falls into place real quick.’

‘What’s the ETA on that?’

‘When you can see the full extent of your limitations,’ she said.

‘OK, so what is this? Ninjutsu or some weird Kung Fu?’

Nasira shook her head. ‘What I’m teaching you is much older than Kung Fu. What if Ninjutsu, Eskrima, Karate, Gong Fu, Jujutsu were all splinters of something that was co-opted centuries ago?’

‘And this is the
something
?’

‘A big splinter perhaps,’ she said. ‘But first, let’s get you walking backward.’

‘Hypothetical: would being really, really good at the moonwalk help in any way whatsoever?’ Jay said.