Enemies(103)

Spread in the warehouse-sized space between us and the treasure trove were living quarters, complete with a kitchenette, floor to ceiling cabinets with some doors that led into another room, and even a set of six cots in the corner opposite the treasure. Along the wall to our left was a lab area, filled with scientific-looking equipment. In the middle of it all was an empty space where something had been, something big, and I wondered about it even as my eyes slid over six rows of filing cabinets that lay just feet away from us.

Karthik made a noise behind me. “The Primus’s emergency apartments,” he said, looking over the space. “I must confess, I thought they were a rumor only.”

“Where did he live the rest of the time?” I asked.

“He had quite a few palatial estates,” Karthik said, looking over the dim, dank space before us. “Nothing like this, of course. Places that were presentable, that allowed him to mingle with society. This space … this is …”

“It’s like a little slice of heaven come to earth,” Breandan said, his eyes still fixed on the gold in the corner.

“It’s like the last refuge of a man who knew things were going to get really bad,” Reed said.

“And who loved to … what? Experiment on people?” Kat waved a hand at the equipment along the wall. “You need your own personal science lab in your post-apocalyptic apartment?”

“Maybe,” I said, turning my attention toward the filing cabinets. “Let’s see what we have here.” I made my way over to them, brown metal with silver trim on the handles and doors. They looked like they were from the seventies—the 1970s, in this case, rather than the 1770s like the rest of the furniture. I came to a drawer marked with a large red S in the filing label. I pulled it open, and it was empty, all the way to the back.

I frowned, then shook my head, and walked over to the drawer marked N and slid it open. Nothing.

“Looks like the Primus cleaned things out at some point,” Reed said, looking over my shoulder. “Maybe he joined the twenty-first century and went digital?”

“I guess so,” I said, feeling a tug of disappointment.

“You don’t mind if I clean him out, do you?” Breandan said, pointing toward the gold and baubles in the corner. “I mean, they are just sitting there, and he and his whole bloody family are dead, after all—”

“Go,” I said, “but be careful.”

“I am the soul of caution,” he said, already running with meta speed across the room.

“If he doesn’t trip all over himself laying hands on that gold, it’ll only be because of his meta dexterity,” Reed muttered.

“Heard that!”

“Help me look through these filing cabinets,” I said, pulling out the next drawer, the one marked M. It, too, was empty.

Reed and Karthik each took a side, and we started to work our way through. Karthik made a noise at the first drawer he opened, and I paused to look at him.

“Found one,” he said, pulling out a thick file.

“What does it say?” I asked, standing up and leaving the drawer for L open behind me.

“Quite a bit, I’d guess, based on the thickness,” he said with the trace of a smirk. “Here.” He offered it to me and I took it, turning it over to look at the top leaf. It was marked with a carefully typed label, in a font that made me think it had been done by a real typewriter or a very early printer, and it bore one word to indicate what it contained.

Agency.

I stared at it for only a second before I opened it, scanning the first page, which was a letter detailing commencement of surveillance activities centered on the old Agency, the place where my mom had worked. The file was an inch thick, filled with neatly typed reports and the occasional glossy photograph attached with a paperclip. My eyes skimmed over the text but one of the glossies caught my attention immediately: a photo of a young woman with dark hair, pale skin, and freckles. Her expression was alight with a smile, and she was caught in a tender moment, with a man on her arm. He was taller than she was, handsome, rugged, and yet looked a hell of a lot like the man standing only feet to my right.

“Mom and Dad,” I whispered, and I felt the tug of emotions as I glanced at Reed, who nodded. I flipped the photo over and read the caption.

Subjects S. Nealon and J. Traeger, October 1992.

“Well before you came along,” Reed said to my right.

“Yeah,” I said absently. The file was thick and whispered of secrets that I hungered to dive into.

“You look a lot like her,” Karthik said. “Is she still …?” He let his words trail off.