The Chimera Vector by Nathan M Farrugia

Adamicz. Was he the target? Was he an informant? She couldn’t even remember what operation she was on.
    ‘How did I get here?’ she said.
    Adamicz smiled. ‘With great deal of money, planning and some luck. The bus sliding across bridge was not part of plan, but we adapt.’
    The dull pain in her head began to recede. ‘What are you talking about?’
    ‘The former Blue Berets you see here are responsible for your capture.’
    Her vision found an anchor. Men dressed in jeans and dark T-shirts, carrying M4 carbines, flanked Adamicz. The rifles looked heavily customized with suppressors and square-shaped holographic display sights. Sophia’s gaze locked onto the balcony overhead. Four other men with M4 carbines. She checked her flanks. Just dark-stained bookshelves. She was in a library.
    ‘You’re holding me hostage?’ she said.
    ‘Actually, I hope to set you free.’
    Great. What the fuck was that supposed to mean?
    Back on her feet, steadier this time, she turned around. A heavy door twice her height was blocking her exit.
    She wanted desperately to escape.
    She wanted to listen to what he had to say.
    She wanted to kill him.
    She needed to regain her senses, observe her surroundings and, above all, think. If she couldn’t think, she couldn’t escape.
    She sat back on the chair. ‘I need some water.’
    Adamicz gestured to one of the men beside him, who disappeared from her line of sight. He returned a moment later with a dusty glass of water. He placed it a meter before her, then retreated, rifle aimed. His behavior seemed odd. Why was he scared of her?
    She stood, scooped the glass from the antique rug, but decided not to drink from it.
    ‘I don’t remember what happened.’
    ‘Memory shall return. In time,’ Adamicz said.
    She tried to think of what she was doing before she was captured. It felt as though her mind was wrapped in a heavy fog.
    ‘Where’s my team? What have you done with them?’
    ‘They were recovered by Fifth Column.’
    ‘Who do you work for?’
    ‘No one. But I used to work for Fifth Column.’
    ‘Do you really think I’d believe that?’ she said. ‘How do you know about the Fifth Column?’
    He frowned. ‘I was there when they abduct you from family and begin training you. I know in great detail every operation you take part in. Your first operation as team leader was a false flag in November, three years ago. That was when your career went off with bang. Three bangs, actually. How do you say . . . simultaneous suicide bombings.’
    She had a faint recollection of the operation. But she remembered it differently this time. The terrorists no longer existed; just civilians. A little girl offered her an arrangement of flowers, said they would make her smile. The girl even had her name, Sophia. But a very different life. A normal life. Then Jay cut the lights. Sophia’s team, one of three inter-reliant teams, had the explosives ready in the ceiling. Sophia gave them the green light. The wedding guests never saw it coming. Little Sophia never saw it coming.
    Adamicz moved to a bookcase. He rolled a ladder aside to reveal a wind-up gramophone and an old wood-paneled television with a late-1970s videocassette recorder. He turned on the television and recorder, then hit the play button. He stepped back, allowing Sophia to see the dusty screen.
    At first, she figured the footage was from a security camera, only it was placed in an unusual position. It could have been a pinhole camera. Disguised in a fire sprinkler or smoke alarm. Onscreen, she saw a middle-aged man lying on a bed, his business shirt undone to reveal a pallid chest. A young woman sat astride him, dark hair and ivory skin. She unraveled his tie and passed him a glass of caramel-tinted liquid. He gulped thirstily, emptied the glass, then let the woman place it on the nightstand for him. Sophia caught a glimpse of the woman’s face.
    It was her.
    Adamicz hit the fast-forward button. The onscreen Sophia stroked the