Untouched The Girl in the Box - By Robert J. Crane Page 0,24

with a small wooden case. She snapped it open, revealing a pen. “When you hold the clicker, it launches a tracking beacon that only we can follow.” She slid it across the desk. “It has a range of about twenty feet when it fires, so make sure you’re aiming the pen properly. It will cling to almost any surface, and it has ten tracers within it.”

“Tricky,” I said. “Reed would be pissed if he found out I was tracking him. I think he’d be less offended if I tagged him the other, more lethal way.”

“I think he knows how to find those,” Zack said from beside me. I didn’t dare look at him yet. We’d faced death together, but I didn’t want to see his reaction to my references to sex for some reason. Dammit. “Kurt used one of those to tag the bumper of his car outside your house the day we met, and it went offline after he left us behind at the supermarket.”

I stared at the pen, picking it up and cradling it in my fingers. It was small, black, and slightly rounded. Looked fancy. “I always wondered how you guys had found us there.” I held it up. “I’m not going to promise that I’ll use this because I still don’t work for you guys. But I’ll consider it.”

“Fair enough,” she said. “What will it take to get you to trust us?”

“I notice you didn’t answer any of the questions I asked a minute ago about who the players are in this meta conflict.” I stared her down, making her uncomfortable.

“You want answers,” she said with a nod. “I think we can accommodate that request. Let me talk with the Director. It will be a long conversation though, so let’s plan for it to happen tomorrow morning. There might be other things we can discuss by then.”

“Just to be clear,” I told her. “This isn’t an ‘all or nothing’ proposition. You don’t get my trust all in one move, but this will help. Be honest with me and you build your credibility.”

“That’s a two-way street,” she said with a flush.

“Which is why I’m going to see your master of mind games.” I stood and looked at Zack, now finally able to do so without profound embarrassment. “Care to show me the way to my mental doom?”

“You don’t have to treat it like it’s some awful, hellish scenario,” Zack said once we were in the hallways outside Ariadne’s office. “This is a good thing for you.”

“Maybe. But it doesn’t mean I want to do it.” I was actually more scared that I’d inadvertantly let something slip that I shouldn’t, like the fact that the first man I’d ever killed was a houseguest in my mind, spinning wheels and talking to me. Even for a recent arrival from recluse-hood like myself, that didn’t seem normal. But then, neither did killing people with a touch.

“Life’s about more than just doing what you want to do,” Zack said, terse.

“That’s the story of mine.”

“Right,” he said. “Just try and let Dr. Zollers help you. He’s good; I’ve seen him myself.”

“What for?” Now I was very curious.

“Standard procedure for agents,” he said, just airily enough that I didn’t believe him. “We’re in a high-stress occupation, so before they put us on field duty we get a full evaluation, and the doctor counsels us throughout our careers.”

“What do you talk to him about?”

“Normal stuff. The pressures that come with being on call 24/7, ready to round up and suppress any meta that steps out of line.”

“Suppress?” I giggled. “You mean kill?”

“Or capture,” he said, bristling.

I felt my face fall. “Like Gavrikov.” I thought of that coffin that they put him in, and I felt a familiar kind of sick.

The regret was there, on his face. “Yeah. Like him.”

“Are there more?” I looked at him. “Have you guys captured a lot of metas?”

“Yeah. Our facility in Arizona has a prison where they’re kept. It’s far out in the desert, middle of nowhere.”

“What do they do, these metas? You know, to deserve confinement like Gavrikov?”

“Gavrikov is unique,” Zack said in protest. “Most of the ones we have to confine—and it’s very few, fortunately—are ones that are clear, obvious cases of metas using their powers to commit crimes. They’re strong enough that law enforcement would have a hell of a time catching them.”

“Like Wolfe?”

Zack cringed. “Not that bad. At least, none of the ones I’ve dealt with. Murderers, sure, some major thieves. But every one of