Chapter 12 #2
“Or Oblivion tracing us.” His jaw worked. “Risk assessment says let it ring.”
“And then what? There’s no voicemail. It’s a burner.” I pulled away and tightened my grip on the phone. “If it’s Mattie and we don’t answer—”
“If it’s Oblivion and we do, we’re dead.” He reached for it. “Give it to me.”
I yanked it back.
He gave me a look that iced the space between us. “What if it’s a trap? Did you forget everything about op sec?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, did you finish your PhD in paranoia when I wasn’t looking?” I rolled my eyes and held the phone out of reach as it buzzed a fourth time.
“It’s called staying alive, Doctor.” He made another grab. “Something I’ve managed for a while.”
I sidestepped. “By never answering phones? Ordering pizza must be a nightmare.”
“You’re impossible.” His jaw set, but the corner of his mouth twitched.
“And you’re absurd. What’s Mattie supposed to do in an emergency? Send a pigeon?”
It buzzed again. Five rings.
“Mattie wouldn’t call unless it mattered,” I said, the phone insistent in my palm. “What if they’re in trouble?”
“What if answering gets us killed?” He reached around me. I tucked the phone behind my back. “Give me the phone, Selina.”
“You’re not the boss of my telecommunications,” I said, ducking him. “And I like my friends alive.”
“Friends are luxury items right now.”
“Says the man with zero friends.”
“I have you,” he said.
“I’m not your friend. I’m your…” Not knowing what else to say, I finished weakly, “…Doctor.”
“Is that what they’re calling it now?” His mouth curved, barely.
I glared. “The phone is still ringing, in case you missed it.”
“Fine.” He held out his hand. “I’ll answer. On speaker.”
“Why you?”
“Because I’ll hang up faster if it’s a trap.”
I handed it over with a mutter. “Your control issues are showing.”
“It’s not control, it’s—”
“Risk assessment. I know.” I moved close as he hit answer and toggled speaker.
“Hello?” His voice went flat.
“Jesus Christ, finally!” Mattie blasted through. “What took you so long? Were you two making out or what?”
“Mattie!” I snatched the phone back. “We were just discussing security protocols.”
“Is that what the kids call it?” Damon’s dry baritone drifted in from the background.
“You’re on speaker, by the way,” Mattie said, way too cheerful. “Damon insisted. Because normal phone calls are too mainstream for the spy crowd.”
“Operational security isn’t negotiable,” Damon said. Specter gave a silent nod.
“You hear this?” Mattie huffed. Then her tone shifted. “Anyway, we have news. SENTINEL’s systems are back up and clean, but there’s something weird in the—”
“Not on an open line,” Damon cut in, sharp.
“Oh, for God’s sake, we’re on burner phones in a park,” Mattie said. “If someone’s close enough to hear, they can just shoot us and save the trouble.”
“That’s not helpful,” I said.
“Your location,” Specter asked, “is it secure?”
“Mr. Sunshine here has swept the area three times,” Mattie said. “We’re good. But you need to know—”
“Details,” Specter said, leaning in. His eyes stayed on the ruins. His attention locked on the call. “Everything.”
“SENTINEL got hit,” Mattie said. “But Damon figured out the breach went both ways.”
“Not by design,” Damon added. “Their intrusion created a temporary bridge. I used it.”
“What did you get?” I asked.
“Oblivion’s network is compartmentalized,” Damon said, all business. “I didn’t have long before the connection dropped. I went for two things: the attack on SENTINEL and anything on Specter.”
“Smart,” Specter said.
“There’s something you both need to hear,” Mattie said, keyed down now. “Damon found a reference to a former Oblivion handler operating in Prague. Went rogue around the same time Specter did.”
I watched him. His face stayed still, but something shifted in his eyes. Recognition, or an old fear waking.
“This handler may be tied to you,” Damon said. “I couldn’t pull complete files, but one name kept coming up. Kruger.”
Specter changed. It was minimal and total. He went very still. Even his breathing paused. Then a small, hard shake of his head. He didn’t speak.
“Kruger?” I asked, still watching him. “That means something to you?”
He started to answer. Then his focus slid past the phone. I tracked his line of sight. Far end of the street. A man in a gray coat stood by a van, looking down at his phone.
“Anything else about this handler?” I asked, keeping us talking while Specter’s attention split cleanly.
“Nothing solid,” Damon said. “A former Oblivion asset in Prague could be an opportunity. Someone with inside knowledge who broke conditioning. If he’s alive and in the city. If he treats Prague like his playground, it’s easier to hide.”
“Or bait,” Mattie said.
“Fifty-fifty,” Damon said. “Either way, be—”
“We need to go,” Specter said, calm and firm. “Something came up. We’ll call back.” He ended the call and slid the phone into my pocket in one smooth move.
“Don’t look at him,” he said, barely moving his mouth. “Gray coat by the van. When I walk, count to twenty. Then follow. Not too close.”
“Who is he?” I whispered, holding my jaw still so I wouldn’t turn.
“I don’t know yet.” The patience in his voice raised the hair on my neck.
He adjusted his scarf like a man tired of the cold. Nothing in his body gave away the shift I felt. He patted my arm, casual to anyone watching.
“If I engage, you walk. Don’t argue.” He cut off my protest. “Find cameras. People.”
Then he moved. A bored tourist who’d found his destination closed. Shoulders a little hunched. No rush.
I counted in my head and watched him go. Not the man in an interview room. Not the one who’d shielded me while we ran. This was different. Quiet. Lethal. Awake.
Gray Coat lingered by the van, still on his phone.
At fifteen, certainty hit that he had no idea what was walking toward him.
At twenty, I followed at a distance. I kept Specter’s dark coat in sight and stayed out of Gray Coat’s line of sight. My pulse went loud as Specter shed the last of the tourist act. Step by step, the mask slid off.
Gray Coat ended his call and pushed off the van. He walked like he owned the block. Thought he was the hunter. Poor bastard.
Specter kept space. Close enough to track. Far enough to stay clean. When Gray Coat checked a window, Specter changed his stride. When Gray Coat paused, Specter found something to look at.
I stayed back, trying to keep them both in view. We drifted deeper into Karlín, past decaying apartment blocks and construction sites, chain-link and tarps. The street opened to a small square where vendors had set up their stalls.
Gray Coat’s shoulders lifted. His pace edged up. He glanced back, too casual.
He knows.
He cut into a side street without warning. Specter lengthened out, done pretending. I moved faster, stuck between obeying and needing to see.
The chase broke open. Gray Coat sprinted and knocked over a stack of empty crates. Specter cleared them and closed, movement stripped down and clean.
I stopped at the mouth of the alley and watched him work. No wasted energy. No show. Just forward.
Gray Coat broke left at the end and vanished. Specter followed. A shadow tracking a shadow. I hesitated, then ran, keeping to the edges and trying not to draw eyes.
I hit the corner and caught a glimpse. Gray Coat ducked through a construction zone. Specter vaulted a barrier like it was nothing. They wove through scaffolding and piles of materials, thinning out to specks.
“Shit,” I cursed, picking up speed.
I cut through the workers, dodging curses I didn’t understand. On the far side, Gray Coat burst onto a main street and shoved through pedestrians. Specter threaded after him.
I lost them for a beat. Then his coat flashed down another alley. I ran that way, chest burning in the cold.
The alley narrowed and dead-ended at a brick wall. Specter had Gray Coat pinned there, one hand at the man’s throat. Toes barely on the ground.
I stopped at the entrance. Specter’s hold on him was steady as a vise. The man’s face darkened above that grip.
“Who sent you?” Specter asked, calm enough to scare me more than a shout.
Gray Coat clawed at his wrist. Seeing Specter like this, stripped of all humanity, robbed me of breath. He was no longer the man who’d kissed me in Munich. Nor the one who’d kept distance in a too-small bed. This was Oblivion’s weapon, awake.
“Can’t… talk… if you’re… choking me,” Gray Coat managed.
Specter eased up just enough for air. Not much.
“You’ve been tailing us since the orphanage,” he said. “Why?”
I moved closer, behind him and to the side. Gray Coat’s eyes flicked to me, then back. He smiled, even with his voice raw.
“She shouldn’t be here,” he said in a thick accent, English smooth. “Not safe for civilians when old friends meet.”
Specter tensed. “We’re not friends.”
“No?” A cough. “But you followed me. Something in you recognized me, yes?”
Specter slammed him into the wall again. “Stop circling.”
“The doctor’s made progress with you.” Gray Coat looked at me. “Remarkable work. Untangling that much conditioning.”
My skin tightened. He knew me. He knew what I’d been doing. I stepped in. “Who are you?”
“She speaks.” Gray Coat showed a gold tooth. “The famous Dr. Crawford, breaking all the rules. Dresner is very interested in your methods. Or, more accurately, you.”
“Dresner can go to hell,” I said before I swallowed it.
“Oh, he lives there already.” His gaze stayed on me. “But I escaped. Like your friend.”
Something changed in Specter. Recognition, or a piece sliding into place. His grip on the man’s throat tightened.
“Last chance,” he said. “Who are you working for?”
“You already know,” Gray Coat rasped. “You just don’t remember. Check my left wrist.”
Specter hesitated, then yanked the sleeve up. A brand marked the inside. A simple K in a circle.
He went very still. “Kruger.”
The name hung in the cold. Gray Coat—Kruger—smiled wider despite the hand at his throat.
“The memory protocols still hold,” Kruger said. “You don’t fully remember, but your body does. Instinct. That’s why you followed.”
I stepped closer, drawn by the collision I’d tried to prepare for. “You were his handler at Oblivion.”
“Handler?” Kruger laughed, harsh and short. “I built him. Training. Conditioning. The killer. My work. From raw material to final product.”
Specter’s face didn’t move, but a muscle jumped in his jaw. “You’re lying.”
“Am I?” Kruger’s eyes lit. “Then why chase me? Why are your hands shaking?”
I looked. They weren’t.
“Your mind doesn’t remember,” Kruger said. “But the body never forgets. Pain responses. Muscle memory. Deeper than thought.”
Specter’s voice dropped. “If you made me, you know what I can do.”
“Better than anyone.” No fear in his tone. “That’s why I’m here. I’m offering an alliance.”
“An alliance,” Specter said, voice flat.
“Dresner is hunting us both. You need what I know. I need cover.”
“Why should we trust you?” I asked.
Kruger locked onto me. “Because I can tell you what happened at St. Elisabeth’s. I can tell you why the children are in his head. Why they won’t let go.” He looked back at Specter. “I can tell you your real name.”
The alley went quiet except for the city beyond. Specter’s face gave me nothing, but something sparked in his eyes. Want. Fear. Both.
“You’re lying,” he said again, softer now.
“Lennox,” Kruger said.
Specter jerked as if struck. His grip loosened. Kruger slid down the wall until his feet were solid.
“That’s not possible,” Specter said. “That’s not my name.”
“Then why react?” Kruger straightened his coat and rubbed his throat. “The blocks are cracking. That’s why Dresner wants you back or gone. You know too much.”
I watched Specter and the fight behind his eyes. “Specter—”
“Not Specter,” Kruger cut in. “Not Lennox either. Not anymore. A man between names.” He smiled without warmth. “I made sure of that.”