Page 14 of Agent Zero
On the screen, the video feed showed the debrief room and a blond man, at ease in a hard metal chair.Lean and fit, half-smiling as he stared offscreen, his blue eyes direct and sunny.His hair was mussed, his jacket unzipped, and everything about him screamedsloppy.
Except for that gleam in the back of his gaze and the careful placement of his hands—loose on the table, but ready.This, then, was Eight.
She had never seen his face before.
From offscreen, Bronson’s voice.This interrogation masquerading as a debrief was two weeks old, judging by the date at the bottom.“You went offgrid for four days.”
The man shrugged.“Suppose I can’t say I had business.”
“Smartass,” Bronson breathed next to her.She considered telling him to be quiet.Analysis was rendered more difficult by his bloviating commentary.
She didn’t, though.Three concentrated, a faint line appearing between her eyebrows.Something about that face seemed...familiar.
It was probably a neurological ghost.They’d warned her about that when she woke up from the induction, that she would think she remembered certain things.Such false memories were only phantoms, having no bearing on the present.Her file was classified, they told her, at her own request.She had signed the papers and agreed.It was for science, and for her country—two things Three was told she had believed in enough to sign herself over to the program lock, stock, and amnesia.
The interrogation continued on-screen.Three watched, ignoring Bronson’s commentary.Why did the blond man look so familiar?
“You’re in deep over this, Eight.If you didn’t have a reason?—”
“Look, you train us to do this.Even on home ground.What kind of reason can I give you?Seriously?Take a gander at my file.You know I’m considered impulsive.Maybe I just started walking and a direction looked good.”
Three’s head began to pound.The headaches were growing more frequent, 20 percent more this week.She was supposed to report any chronic pain, any digestive disturbance, any amenorrhea.The last wasn’t strictly their business, but she obeyed.
“I’m going to have to put you on standby if you keep this up.”
“I was just practicing, sir.Come on.”That winning, wide smile.Eight clearly thought himself very charming.
That last bit was conjecture, and insupportable.The pain intensified, the inside of her skull shivering, and Three’s heartrate rose slightly.Not that the man beside her would notice.
Her analysis was...troubling.Eight was showing emotional noise.He had dropped offgrid for some purpose, and didn’t particularly care what punishment would be meted out.He could very easily disappear again, his smirk said; it was indeed what the male agents were trained for.
Three’s talents were otherwise.Although a certain facility with the standard regimen was necessary for her to analyze, correlate, and predict what the male agents would do.
“Wanted to put him on standby.”Bronson coughed, a deep, phlegmy sound.His chances of surviving more than ten years, with his current weight and habits, were comfortingly low.“But there was a situation in Eastern Europe, so?—”
“Ukraine,” she corrected, quietly.“Eighty-nine percent chance of success, given mission parameters.”
“And with this?”
“The same.”She calculated again, frowning.The machine in her head returned an identical answer.“That particular operation is low risk for impairment, given his profile.”
“Well, at leastthat’sgood news.”
The pain in her head eased a little.On-screen, Eight tensed slightly and leaned forward, as if he was thinking what Trinity thought every time Bronson invaded the space normally judged personal in their society.
“Sir?Did you change your cologne?”
Bronson, sounding irritated.“What?”
“Never mind.”A flicker of unguarded expression, and Three’s breath caught in her throat.What was that?Eight looked almost...interested?Intrigued?The flash was there and gone so quickly a regular person wouldn’t notice, butshehad.
She was still trying to decipher the expression when her head gave another agonizing throb.A small dinging noise interrupted her—Bronson’s cell phone, an alarm.
“Damn.”He coughed again, hit the pause button, checked the phone.“It’s checkup time for Six.Put the tapes away and finish the paperwork.”
“Yes, sir,” she murmured.The sharp twisting in her brain eased as Bronson moved away.
“Good girl, Three.”He slammed the door on his way out, and she wondered what the crawling all over her skin was.An allergic reaction, perhaps?Eventually it eased as well.She stood for a few moments, staring at the screen where Eight had been paused mid-blink.With his eyes closed he looked almost serene, and her hand rose, surprising her.
