George’s eyebrows rose, wrinkling his forehead. “Do you think she jumped?”
“You know her better than I do.”
Folding his hands together, he thought for a moment then nodded. “Yes, if she felt threatened and jumping was the only option, she would take that course of action.”
“Do you think she feels threatened?”
“For unknown reasons, she left. She knew to do so was prohibited. I sent you after her. Yes, it stands to reason that she feels threatened.”
“Then she could be dangerous.”
Trying to remain calm, Dr. Hirch met the detective’s gaze. “All the children could be dangerous,” he said. “Your job is to bring her back safely. Do you understand, Detective?”
“Perfectly,” Angela said, through tight lips. She rose to her feet. “One more thing.”
“Yes.”
“What about emotions?”
“She has been trained not to feel useless reactions that could jeopardize themselves.”
“But she can still feel them?”
Narrowing his eyes, George leaned forward in his chair. “Yes, I suppose feeling is possible. Regardless of how she was conceived, she is human. But I, myself, structured her program. And Ellyssa’s ability to fool me for eighteen years would be unlikely.” He leaned back. “Why all the questions, Detective?”
“Have you ever thought that maybe something went wrong?”
“Never. Not since she was young has Ellyssa shown any inappropriate emotions. She is quite efficient. Why do you ask?”
“Because, when she stepped in front of me on her way to the train, she seemed nervous.”
The doctor’s eyebrows stitched together. “Nervous? What do you mean?”
“Exactly what I said. She was fidgety, and she over-explained her situation, like she couldn’t stop talking.”
“Interesting,” he said, tapping his finger to his chin. After a moment, his eyes shifted back to Angela. “She needs to be brought home.”
“Yes, I know,” said Angela, her tone abrupt. “I think we should take the dogs.”
“Dogs?” The idea of his creation being treated like a common Renegade, instead of the secret to a better humankind, sickened him.
“According to the train personnel, all exits were covered. If she was on the train, she jumped, and if that is the case and if she didn’t sustain serious injury, she’s on the run. The dogs will pick up her scent.”
“And what if the whole thing was a ruse?”
“I have my best men searching for any sign for her in Chicago.”
Dr. Hirch rubbed his forehead. The whole thing was getting out of control. It was bad enough he had had the detective involve more of The Center’s secret police, but also the local authorities in Warrensburg. Secrecy was of top priority and becoming impossible to maintain.
“Fine. Take the dogs.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “You have to understand the dilemma we are in. Ellyssa must be found, but by divulging as little information as possible.”
“I understand.”
He paused for a moment while he removed a ticket and the proper traveling papers from his desk drawer. He slid the credentials over to her. “Unfortunately, due to our circumstances, you will have to travel by train. It will leave in two hours.”
She leveled her eyes on the doctor. “I will find her.”
“Very good,” Doctor Hirch said, dismissing her.
With a curt nod, Detective Petersen departed. As soon as the door closed, George reached into his bottom left-hand drawer and pulled out another file on his missing beloved creation. The file contained his lifelong work, each of the children’s powers well documented and studied. When Ellyssa returned home, Hitler’s future goals—his future goals—would soon come together.
Detective Petersen stalked through the long corridor of the sterile center on her way to her apartment. From her coat pocket, she removed a copy of Ellyssa’s picture and unfolded it. The creases were beginning to warp part of Ellyssa’s face, but the photo only served the purpose of keeping her quarry next to her, not for a reminder of her appearances.
The platinum hair, the bright azure eyes, and smooth, pale skin were embedded in Angela’s mind. She served as a constant reminder that the detective had failed.
But Angela wouldn’t fail again. Ellyssa would pay for the embarrassment and disgrace she had caused.
When she was a child and had been brought to The Center for training, she’d competed with the children born there, both types—the ones like Leland
Angela had worked hard, studied hard, and excelled in physical fitness. She was just as intelligent, cunning, and beautiful—determined by the unwanted attention she received from male suitors. But even with working her ass off, her excellent record, and obtaining the position of Chief of the
Angela released the tension in her hands, where the edges of the photo crinkled under her grip. Fighting an urge to rip it apart and stomp on it, she placed it against her stomach and smoothed out the wrinkles.
After glancing at the photo one more time, Angela slipped it back into her pocket. She rounded the corner and stopped at the first door, extracting her card to swipe through the lock.
Because of her position as head of the Kripo unit held, her set of rooms was larger than those of her subordinates. The apartment opened to a decent-sized living room, decorated in soft earth tones, and a black and white walk-in kitchen. Immediately to the right of the kitchen, a small hall led to the bathroom and ended at the bedroom.
Angela went straight to the bathroom, shrugging off her jacket and clothes along the way, and turned on the shower. Steam rose in the air and coated the mirror with a sheen of condensation. She stepped into the hot water and quickly washed away her grogginess. There would be time for a nap on the train.
Her head wrapped in a towel, the detective hurried to her bedroom, where she changed into off-duty flared-leg jeans and a gold blouse. Then, she went to her closet where a military-green duffle bag hid on the top shelf behind blankets and other knickknacks. She yanked it out. The bag fell like it held bricks, and thumped against her thigh on its way down. She shuffled over to her bed and dumped the contents onto the cover.
A metallic clatter came from the growing pile, and the scent of old gunpowder and cleaning oil filled the air. Her green bedspread was covered in pistols and rifles. Unlike the authorized .40 S&W, the only weapon allowed when hunting Renegades, these firearms had been illegally obtained from the Renegades she’d captured over the years. None of them could be traced back to her.
Angela picked up an SG 550 assault rifle, liking the weight of it in her hands, and brought it firmly against her shoulder. She’d had the opportunity to sight it only twice, but the feeling of her finger on the trigger, the forced impact against her shoulder, and the odor of the powder as it filled her nostrils were all ingrained in her memory. Unfortunately, the rifle wouldn’t accompany her on the trip.
She set it down and picked up the Taurus PT145. Perfect. A smaller handgun, designed for concealed carry. She removed the double-stacked magazine and loaded ten rounds of .45 cartridges. Sliding the magazine back into place and chambering a round, she held the gun. Her fingers felt at home around the contours of the polymer grip.
Placing the gun on the bedside table, Angela grabbed three more magazines and stuffed ten .45 rounds into each one. She couldn’t imagine needing more. Then again, after what had happened at the park, who knew? She had no way of knowing whether Dr. Hirch kept other secrets, and she wasn’t going to be unprepared again. The embarrassing episode of waking behind the bush back at the park had been enough. Even now, the humiliation burned through her with a vengeance of its own when she thought about it.
