HELIX (a technothriller)

18 - Operatives in Moscow

TODAY

Moscow, Russia

Olesya stepped into the dark, stale armory and found Ark and Val already inside, cigarettes glowing between their lips as they muttered to each other while the armorer wrote down the items they withdrew.

Having grown up alongside the brother and sister, they'd become like a brother and sister to her as well. The three of them had come a long way since their training in Project GATE. Their teenage years were long gone, even the special forces soldiers they passed in the corridors looked younger. Now, Olesya's team was assigned to hunt the very operatives they were supposed to become.

Olesya shed her charcoal coat and folded it over the table. 'What's the brief?'

'Three operatives in Moscow,' Val said. 'They're on the move.'

Olesya picked up her thin bullet-resistant gel vest. It comprised layers of Kevlar and a type of liquid that hardened on impact.

'That's one each,' Ark said.

Val tucked a curl of dark hair behind her ear. 'Still more than we're used to.'

Olesya removed her shirt and slipped the vest over her head, then fastened the straps across her stomach. At barely two kilograms, it didn't weigh her down like Kevlar, yet it could absorb knife attacks, most rounds—including armor-piercing—without crushing her ribs or lungs.

'When was the last time we had three in our backyard at once?' Val picked one of the new pistols, a polymer Strizh chambered with seventeen 9mm rounds. It was angular like a Glock, except for the grooves on the slide that looked like shark's gills.

'They're getting more confident,' Ark said.

Olesya considered her options for a moment.

'Whoa, hold up a sec,' Val said. 'Olesya might actually try something different.'

Olesya picked out her favorite, the Gyurza—Russian for blunt-nosed viper—an ultra-compact pistol from the early '90s. It was small and shiny in her hand, with a tapered barrel that never snagged on her clothing. Despite its size, the Gyurza carried eighteen armor-piercing rounds.

Ark exhaled cigarette smoke. 'And hell might freeze over.'

'That happened already.' Olesya took three magazines and loaded one. She fed a round into the chamber and pulled the slide just enough to see the glint of brass inside, then holstered it under her arm.

Val and Ark were competing over who got to choose the non-lethal weapons on the table. Typically, that was decided by a game of Rock Paper Scissors — or as they called it, Assassin, Drone, Suicide Bomber.

Val's hand closed into a fist with a thumb nestled between her fingers, while Ark's remained flat, with his little finger and forefinger tucked underneath to mimic the shape of an arrowhead.

'You cruise, you lose,' Val said.

'How does a suicide bomber beat a drone, anyway?' Olesya asked.

'Easy. The drone can't kill what it can't see,' Val said.

'That might be the worst explanation I've ever heard,' she said. 'And I've heard Ark explain hot yoga.'

'Fortunately I missed that one,' Val said.

'But you are fighting over a Glue Gun.'

'Firstly, we call it the Ejaculator,' Ark said. 'And secondly ... OK, there's no secondly.'