Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 125077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
As one of the operatives moved toward us, I pushed myself up from the bed on trembling arms.
“Wait!” I cried out, my voice hoarse and desperate. “You have to take her too. Camille. She knows… she knows more than I do. We’re in this together.”
The lead operative turned toward me, their goggled gaze inscrutable. For a heart-stopping moment, I feared they would ignore my plea. Then, with a curt nod, they spoke into their comm unit. “Package has been doubled. Prepare for immediate extraction of two subjects.”
CHAPTER 34
Matthew
I leaned back in the ergonomic chair I’d occupied for the last hour, my eyes fixed on the high-resolution display before me. The footage from the extraction team’s bodycams played out in vivid detail, every moment of the operation captured in crystal clarity. For the past ten minutes I had been rewinding and replaying a certain segment over and over, trying to quiet everything in my mind but its coldest, most analytical region, letting the dispassionate observer who lived there dissect each frame for clues.
The moment that kept drawing my attention was Mary’s desperate plea to include Camille in the extraction. Her voice, hoarse and urgent, rang in my ears again and again.
“You have to take her too. Camille. She knows… she knows more than I do. We’re in this together.”
I zoomed in on Mary’s face as she spoke those words. Her green eyes had opened wide with a mix of fear and determination, her pale skin flushed from the ordeal she’d just endured. But there was something else there, something that nagged at the edges of my perception. A glint of… calculation, perhaps?
I ran the footage through Selecta’s most advanced facial recognition and micro-expression analysis software. The results intrigued me, to say the least, even if the computer labeled them as inconclusive. While Mary’s distress appeared genuine, there were subtle indicators that suggested she might not have been entirely truthful—perhaps about Camille’s level of knowledge.
Frowning, I pulled up the dossiers on both girls. Mary’s background at a Selecta college had already piqued my interest. Her psychological profile suggested a high level of intelligence and adaptability. Camille’s file, on the other hand, was frustratingly sparse. A French university student, with no notable connections or exceptional traits on record.
Yet Mary had insisted that Camille knew ‘more.’ About what? About the meeting that only Mary had attended? Surely not.
Was it possible that Camille was more than she appeared? Or that Mary was? Or was Mary, a frightened young woman, captured and forced into sexual servitude, simply trying to protect her friend, ensuring she wouldn’t be left behind in Beaumont’s clutches?
I sighed, rubbing my temples. The complexities of human motivation never ceased to amaze me, even after all my years with the Guard. Above all when it came to things humans did out of lust—whether submissive or dominant, or somewhere in between. Just when I thought I had a subject figured out, they’d throw me a curveball.
Rising from my chair, I began to make my way through the labyrinthine corridors of the Mithraeum. I let the onus of my responsibility press down on me as I descended deeper into the earth, passing ancient mosaics and state-of-the-art security checkpoints with equal reverence. Jean Gisard had evaluated the intelligence Mary, at least, possessed as worth risking his cover for. I needed to know why.
I reached the holding cells, three levels down from the control room. Cut into the bedrock like the entirety of the Mithraeum, they featured a bit of comfort in the form of a plush mattress, a rug, and good recessed lighting, though the necessity of a toilet-sink combination in the corner removed any idea of luxury.
For subjects like Mary and Camille, the cells set the proper tone: the people who have taken custody of you want you to feel both taken care of and confined. From here, your level of cooperation will determine which of those two elements of your time with the Guard will prevail.
I paused outside Mary’s cell, taking a moment to collect my thoughts. On my handheld, I pulled up the surveillance feed from her cell. I saw her sitting on the edge of the narrow bed, her red hair a vibrant splash of color against the beige of the smooth-hewn rock walls. She looked small and vulnerable, but I saw a set to her jaw that spoke of inner strength.
I tapped a button on the little screen that sounded a soft chime in the cell, and watched Mary’s eyes go wide as she looked around, as if trying to figure out where the sound had come from. I put my handheld back in my jacket pocket and pressed a panel on the door. It swung inward in response to my palm print.
“Mary,” I said as she looked at me, her eyes slightly wild despite a clear effort to control herself that I immediately added to my mental version of her file. “You may call me Leo Marmareus.”