Tham Cheng-E - Surrogate Protocol

“What you think this is? A movie?” John looks at him with a restrained expression of disbelief. “What would I do if she pounces?”

“You kick me your gun and I’ll point mine at her.”

“This isn’t a game, Landon.”

“Never was.”

Hopelessly flummoxed over the entire affair he starts shifting his weapon clumsily between John and Hannah, afraid that one would seize an opening and shoot the other. “Let’s talk our way through this, okay?” he cajoles. “You’re both some special forces shit, so go talk… Go… negotiate, you know… Do your stuff… your thing, whatever…”

“Seems we’re in a fix.” Hannah goes on tapping her pistol against the side of her thigh. “Thought I’d seen everything after all these years.”

“My back-up is on its way,” says John.

“So is mine.” Hannah turns to Landon and accords him attention for the first time. “Between us, you have to choose.”

Landon holds up the pistol and starts fidgeting with an awful spell of indecision.

“You go to her and you’re dead,” says John.

“He’s going to milk you dry,” Hannah offers.

“Oh for God’s sake…” Landon swallows to soothe his parched throat. His eyes flit nervously between them, and each time Hannah’s weapon shifts in her hand he directs his pistol back at her for fear that she would shoot John.

And then the shadows around them begin to stretch and shift. A Nissan GTR cruises into view, headlights blazing white and blue, its wet, glossy body reflecting the spots of illumination around them. The splendid coupe purrs to a stop. Its engine gives a final rumble and goes quiet. The door swings open and out steps Marco. He plucks the stub from his lips and ejects a stream of smoke.

“Evening.” He flashes a grin and checks his watch. “It’s two in the morning and we’re keeping the party going.” He takes his time identifying each of them before resting his good eye on Landon. “I trust you’ve found your missing IC?”

“What missing IC?” says Landon. “And who are you?”

“Marco, Police Intelligence.” Marco takes another draw and stamps out the stub. “It’s the third time I’m introducing myself, you absent-minded airhead. I was about to pair you up with the kind lady who processed your live birth application at the hospital.” A knowing half-smile breaks across his pouty lips and reveals the gap between crooked incisors. “She gave a description of a man who looks just like you.”

Landon blanches and doesn’t realise that his arm has sagged and his pistol is now pointing at the patch of ground beside Hannah.

The half-smile now widens into a grin. “Busted.”

Landon could’ve shot Marco there and then. But he lacks the resolve and brutality to carry out the act. He turns to Hannah for an explanation, and sees fear in her.

“One-Niner-One?” she says.

Marco spreads his arms in a gracious bow. “That I am, AlpineOne.” He then recovers, shaking his head and clucking his tongue. “Is this how professional operatives handle situations? Even the Chronie has a gun. Could hurt yourselves bad with those.” He draws his own pistol. “Come, children, better to lose them all.”

“Not going to happen, Marco,” says John.

“Ah.” Marco’s attention suddenly sharpens. “How’s Sheik Didi’s case coming along? You should’ve told me if you wanted something from my hard drive.” He nods at Hannah. “So you’ve read all about her?”

“Enough to know your part in this,” says John.

“It’s a score between us, my friend.” Marco alternates the pistol between Landon and himself. “Walk away while you can. Doesn’t matter we’re on different sides; I’ll even write something up for you.”

“What score?” Landon raises his voice. “What’s there apart from the forgery?”

“Leave us the Chronie and walk away.” Marco’s tone thickens with authority.

“So you’ll have one less witness to your crime?”

“Don’t bite off too much, John. Think of your family.”

“No, Marco.” John locks his jaw. “This Chronie is my responsibility .”

Marco flicks at a safety catch with his thumb. “You put me in a spot, my friend.”

This is it. This is the cue John has been waiting for. Thaddeus had warned of Marco’s notoriety and now that he has comprehended the state of their affairs he is convinced that Marco will suffer no compromise for the fulfilment of his objective.

He still has options. But he also has scruples so he can’t just walk away. He has given his word to Landon, and now that word is funnelling him towards a dreadful decision.

John stands at the crossroads wishing he had the time to explain everything to Landon. He thinks of Ginn and Fanny and makes up his mind. He has but one shot at it.

“Nice knowing you, Landon,” he turns his pistol upon Marco and pulls the trigger.

A flash, and the air ripples to the shockwave of a dull report.

John’s forehead bursts open in a spray of blood and bone. His broad, strong body folds and crumbles to the ground.

Landon catches it all in a state of shock and denial, his senses acutely aware of every grisly detail. A debilitating numbness consumes him, as strong as on the day he broke his oath and ceded his family plot. He sees John’s lifeless body, the set of sad-looking, half-opened eyes below the bloodied cavity of the skull, and his soul descends into a furnace of guilt and rage. It seems an impossibility that John should die. It isn’t real. Maybe it’s the neuro-thing. Maybe it’s an illusion and this entire affair is nothing more than a bad dream.

“Fastest gun in the west!” Marco guffaws and points his smoking weapon at Hannah. “I tell you she’s ten times faster! You’ve got to try her.”

Landon sees fear and resignation in her, as if at an appalling discovery.

“Lose the gun.” Marco tells Landon.

His fingers open, and the pistol slides from his hand.

Marco then slips in behind Hannah and speaks over her shoulder to Landon. “You know, Miss Alpine-One went through great lengths to cover you up but it wasn’t quite enough, was it?” He presses close to her and Landon sees her throat strain in a swallow. “I’ve been watching you, my friend, waiting for that perfect blunder to make it all official.” He turns and croons lavishly into Hannah’s ear. “Hullo, dolly. It’s been a long time.”

The revelation strikes home like a head-on with a runaway locomotive. A spell of nausea besets him.

“Voilà.” Marco throws open his arms and does another bow without taking his eyes off Landon. “You will remember me, you measly piece of shit.”

The broad face, the sloping hulk of Marco’s once-toned shoulders, all bear a sudden, dreadful resemblance to someone. Landon’s mind settles like the dying ripples of a millpond. And from the depths of his memory a malevolent name rises.

Khun .

Hannah’s chest heaves; her mouth twitches with inaudible speech. She senses Landon looking at her, probably wondering why she isn’t shooting him dead. Truth is she hasn’t prepared for this. She has grossly overlooked this possibility.

When Arthur pulped that maniac decades earlier she had foolishly allowed CODEX to retrieve him. She could’ve stalled the whole thing so that he’d be dead by the time they got to him. She had the break she needed but she did nothing.

And that’s where it hurts the most.

“It’s amazing what a little Serum and lots of surgical reconstruction can do.” Marco slaps his belly and grins. “Gained a little weight but still me. Five years in a coma and another sixteen in a rehab tank. Do the math. CODEX would’ve left me to rot if I hadn’t kept them in check by withholding the location of my hidden omnicron. They can’t afford to lose such gadgets.” He laughs at his own humour, then his gaze abruptly freezes over. “I’ll make sure you never forget this, Arthur Lock.”