Chapter 12
The Docklands riot left ten dead, over twenty wounded, and an additional forty-eight under arrest for a variety of crimes. In the aftermath, the mods of London flocked to the clubs and bars that they frequented, a show of unity in a city gripped by fear.
Friday evening saw The Beast Within even more crowded than usual. Green and blue lights flashed and danced near the entrance while a line of eager patrons stretched around the block. The crowd was varied, but most sported outrageous hairstyles, skintight clothing, and bodies that were perfected from modding.
Liane walked past the line, feeling eyes follow her. In a sea of surgically enhanced, artificial partygoers, she stood out even more than usual. She wore the black lace dress, and her long hair was left straight and sleek down her back. Her strange eyes were shaded with black, and her face looked even colder and more beautiful than it usually did. She moved gracefully around a group of laughing mods, stepping carefully in her heels as she muttered, “This isn’t going to work.”
“Sure it is,” Seth said on the other end of her com. “You look great.”
“They’re not going to let me in,” she said, her cheeks flushing as she neared the door.
Seth chuckled. “Trust me; no bouncer in his right mind would turn you away.”
Liane fell silent, walking up to the enormous men guarding the door. Several of the girls nearest the velvet rope eyed Liane with hostility. Liane thrust a hip to the side, planted a hand on it and said to the guards, “My boyfriend’s already inside.”
The men eyed her consideringly, and then one motioned for her arm. They scanned her tattoo ID, glancing at the screen before jerking a head towards the door. The girls in line screeched in protest while Liane smiled at the guards and walked past them into the club.
The hallway beyond the door was dark and flashing with even more lights, and she was instantly engulfed in the steady beat of the latest pop sensation from Seoul. Liane walked slowly, taking her time and making note of the cameras, staff exits, and side rooms. The tunnel of the hall gave way to an enormous, cavernous dance floor. Panels on the floor shifted colors under the crowd of dancers, all of them singing and swaying to the thumping music. VIP booths with black couches ringed the room, and most of them were filled to overflowing with rich men and beautiful women. Above her, a wide balcony wrapped around the perimeter of the club, holding yet more patrons.
Liane stood for a moment, memorizing the layout of the club as she said, “I’m inside.”
“Told you so,” Seth said with a small amount of smugness. “Come get me. I’m outside the emergency exit to your right.”
Liane walked down the stairs to the dance floor, winding her way through the patrons. Several partiers tried to pull her into a dance, shouting out insults when she ignored them. One man even reached out and smoothed a hand over her backside; Liane seized a finger and bent it backwards until she heard a scream of pain above the music. Letting go, she drifted through the crowd until she reached the wall.
The emergency exit was alarmed, but it only took a moment for her to disable it. Turning to keep an eye out for staff, she pushed the door open. Seth slipped through it, the lights of the club gleaming on the burnished leather of his coat. He leaned up against the wall alongside her, asking, “See him yet?”
“Not yet,” Liane said, her eyes on the dance floor. “But from what we know, he’ll likely be in the VIP section.”
“Speak of the devil,” said Seth, gesturing across the room. “There he is.”
Liane followed his finger to one of the VIP booths. Crispin was sitting on one of the black couches, flanked by women with fluorescent hair and very little clothing. He tossed back almost a full drink as she watched, a moody expression on his face. One of the women was cooing to him, and as Liane watched he extended his tongue to his companion, who placed a small white pill on it. He closed his eyes and leaned back, enjoying the first effects of the drug.
“He’s got a lot of people around him,” Liane observed.
“Then we need something to draw them away,” Seth said, drifting past her. “I’ll work on that; you get to him and wait for when the time is right.”
“How will I know when?” Liane asked with a frown.
Seth laughed knowingly. “You’ll know.”
Liane wasted no time in getting across the room to where Crispin sat. She lingered against the wall, eyeing him while pretending to watch the crowd. The flashing lights and the thud of the music were beginning to get to her, making her feel slow and befuddled. They seemed to be getting to Crispin as well, whose eyelids were fluttering as he leaned his head back against the couch cushions. A woman with turquoise hair was kissing down his neck, her magenta lipstick leaving stains on Crispin’s white shirt.
There was a break in the music, and Seth’s enhanced voice came over the speaker as he announced, “In memory of the Docklands fallen, the next hundred drink orders at the center bar are on the house!”
All of the strobe lights and laser displays in the room burst to life, creating a cacophony of light as the patrons cheered and rushed towards the bar. Even the people in the VIP sections were moving forward, drinks raised in a toast. The guards near the velvet ropes separating the booths from the rest of the club were distracted, and Liane slipped under the barrier and into Crispin’s section. The blue-haired girl had drifted towards the dance floor, cheering, which made it easy for Liane to dart towards Crispin as he sat unguarded.
She straddled his lap, her thighs clamping around his and her arms wrapping around his neck as she said unsmilingly, “Hello, Crispin.”
He looked confused, his bloodshot eyes attempting to focus on her as he said, “Liane? Get off of me . . .”
The moment he began to struggle she shoved a snub-nosed gun into his belly. The angle of her body shielded the gun from the view of the other patrons, even the VIPs in the adjoining booth. Crispin stilled, and she said quietly, “No fighting. We’re old friends and we’re having a fantastic time here tonight. Smile so everyone else believes it.”
Crispin managed a grimace, and she shrugged, “That will have to do. I have some questions for you.”
“And you think I’ll answer with a gun in my gut?” he said through gritted teeth.
“Everyone does,” she said, pressing the barrel harder into his stomach. “If you need a little motivation, I can shoot you in the side. It won’t kill you, but trust me when I say it will sting like hell.”
He glared at her, demanding, “What do you want?”
“Answers. Answers about the mods that were murdered and the serum they were using.”
“I don’t know anything about that.”
“Bullshit,” she said, borrowing from Seth’s vocabulary. “You were suspicious when I was asking about it last month. Tell me what you know.”
Crispin shook his head, and she caught a glimpse of fear in his eyes. “If I breathe a word of any of it, I’m a corpse. Do you understand that? Everyone else who used it is dead. I’m the only one left.”
Liane looked at him hard, asking, “What did you use?”
He shook his head, lips pressed together. “No, they’ll find out. These people . . . they’re not normal . . .”
Liane’s eyes narrowed, and she grasped his wrist with her free hand, bending it against a pressure point and shouting above the music, “Tell me what you know!”
“I’m next!” Crispin screamed, fear and pain mingling in his cry of, “I was the last to purchase from Banbridge, and they’re going to kill me next!”
Liane released the pressure on his wrist, shock filling her. “Banbridge? Nikolai Banbridge?”
Crispin nodded, his face crumpling. “He was the one who sold it. Said it was the real thing, the next step in genetic modification . . .”
Liane leaned back slightly, finishing for him, “The Titan Strain; that’s what he sold you, wasn’t it?”
“I didn’t know,” Crispin said. “He claimed it was safe, that no one would ever know it was missing. I didn’t know that people were going to die.”
“Did you know the other victims?” Liane demanded.
Crispin shook his head. “Just Jeanelle. I was the one who gave the sample to her.”
She leaned forward again, her voice hardening as she asked, “Where did Banbridge get the Titan Strain? Who made it?”
Suddenly there was a tremendous crash, and both Liane and Crispin turned to see police in riot gear pouring through the entrance of the club. The music skidded to a stop, and an amplified voice shouted, “This is a raid! Stay where you are!”
The nightclub erupted into chaos, mods running for the exits, women screaming and people trampling one another in attempt to get away. Crispin took advantage of Liane’s shock to throw her off of him, darting forward and vanishing into the crowd. Liane pushed herself up from the floor, stowing her gun and hurrying to the edge of the booth. The police were already swarming the lower level; she took a moment to glance around, then seized the metal supports holding up the balcony and climbed up to the second level. Flipping over the railing, she stood searching for the nearest exit.
“Liane!”
She turned to see Seth fighting his way towards her. Grabbing her wrist, he pulled her along with the crowd, saying, “This way—there’s a staircase!”
They came to a door. Seth rattled the handle, shouting out in frustration when he realized it was locked. Pulling him away from it, Liane kicked the door so hard that the wood around the lock splintered. The door swung open to a dark, empty staircase, and the two of them raced down.
They had just reached the landing between the floors when Seth froze, hearing the sound of steel-toed boots on the stairs just below them. Liane was stepping forward, clearly ready to fight her way out, but Seth turned and pushed her against the wall, ordering urgently, “Kiss me.”
Liane stared at him, convinced for a moment that he had lost his mind. “Do what?”
The footsteps neared, and without bothering to explain Seth seized her face, kissing her full on the mouth. Liane’s senses reeled, fear and surprise mingling. Her instincts told her to pull away, to attack whoever was coming towards them, but instead she closed her eyes, fingers catching in his curly hair and pulling him even closer. Seth’s hands tilted her head, trailing down her neck. The buttery softness of his leather jacket was under her fingers, and she could taste the sweetness of cranberry juice on his lips . . .
The cop found them like that, raising his stun gun and shouting out, “Police! Turn around and present identification!”
Seth turned, wiping a smear of lip-gloss from his mouth as he grinned apologetically. “Didn’t know this sort of thing was illegal now.”
“Name and ID,” ordered the officer, not lowering his weapon.
Seth shrugged, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a narrow, folded badge. “Officer Seth Laski of the Genetic Modification Task Force. You from Specialist Operations?”
“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to come down and be detained,” the officer said, though slightly hesitant now that he knew he was talking to a fellow cop. “This is a raid to detect abuses of modding, and we’re under orders to question the patrons of this establishment.”
Seth laughed. “Well, I’m not a mod. Neither is she, at least from what I’ve seen.”
The officer’s eyes drifted to Liane, who was too confused to do anything but stand against the wall. Her white-blonde hair was mussed, her face red, and she was trying her best not to make eye contact.
Seth stepped towards the officer, saying softly, “Look, I know you’re just following orders, but I’ve been trying to catch this bird for weeks. I mean, look at her—who wouldn’t try, right? And if you ruin this night for me, she’s never going to give me a second chance.”
The officer hesitated before saying, “Sir—”
“Come on, I’m desperate here,” Seth pleaded. “You just continue upstairs and we’re out the door never to return; cop’s honor.”
The officer shook his head, then said tersely, “Hurry up and get out of here. There’s an emergency exit on the floor below.”
Seth grinned, clapping the officer affectionately on the shoulder before grabbing Liane’s hand and pulling her down the stairs.
Moments later they spilled out into the empty alleyway behind the nightclub. Liane kicked off her heels and left them behind, pulling Seth into a light run down the street to where they’d parked his car.
They slid inside, and only after Seth had peeled away did Liane let out a breath. She leaned back in the seat, admitting, “I thought we were in trouble there.”
Seth grinned, his eyes on the street as he drove. “Never say I don’t have my uses.”
“You weren’t bad,” she said, affording a small smile. “The trick with the free drinks worked well. And I got a little out of Crispin before he got away.”
As quickly as possible, she told him what Crispin had let slip. Seth’s smile faded, and by the end he was frowning. “Banbridge? Is that the guy you . . . ?”
Liane looked out the window, nodding. “The one I shot; yes. Crispin said he was the dealer selling the Titan Strain.”
“So all of the vics bought from Banbridge?”
“Or got it from the mods who did,” Liane said, thinking of Jeanelle. “But Banbridge was just the dealer. Someone else made it, someone who Banbridge didn’t think would notice if a little went missing. And whoever that is has killed every person to come in contact with this serum.”
Seth shook his head in disbelief. “What kind of serum is worth killing people over?”
“That’s what we’re going to find out,” she said firmly. “We’ll go back to your place and change, then go and stake out Crispin’s home. I have a few more questions for him.”
Seth nodded, glancing at her as he said, “Hey . . . thanks for playing along back there. We must have put on a convincing show.”
Liane felt her cheeks burn as she said lightly, “I could have gotten us past him.”
“Not without breaking bones. There is something to be said for thinking your way out of trouble rather than fighting.”
She raised her chin, her tone lofty as she said, “Well, don’t plan on getting into the habit of using me as your cover.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he smiled. “I’ll save that tactic for special, life-threatening occasions.”
They arrived at Seth’s flat shortly, and Liane carried her bag into the bathroom to change. As she took off the lace dress she examined it, irritated to discover that she had torn the fabric in several places. She was about to toss it into the waste bin when she paused, hearing Seth’s voice in her mind; I mean, look at her—who wouldn’t try, right?
She looked up at the mirror, quietly considering her own reflection. It stared back at her, pale and familiar, and she wondered for a fleeting moment if Seth had actually meant it; if he truly found her beautiful. Even Damian had never called her that, at least not within earshot. She remembered asking him once if he thought she was, as well as his curt answer; “Physical beauty is of far less importance to an Agent than skill and strength.”
Seth probably doesn’t even think about me that way. What he said was only for the benefit of the officer, she thought firmly. But she ended up folding the dress and tucking it back into her bag. Without meaning to, she thought back to the moment in the stairwell, wondering what it would have been like if there had been no motive behind Seth’s kiss. What would it have felt like if he had kissed her solely because he had wanted to?
A strange, pleasant feeling spread through her, and Liane realized that she wished that had been the case. The realization seemed to take the bones from her knees, and she sat down on the lid of the closed toilet.
Looking up at the water-stained ceiling, Liane grimly understood just how much trouble she was in.