Henri Beck & the Hidden Library | 📖

11

Agent Derek Callahan's office smelled of menthol. The scent made Henri's nose itch. He couldn't tell if it was because of the gum in the man's mouth or the cigarette stubs smushed into a glass ashtray sitting on the edge of his desk. Either way, he tried his best not to breathe too much.

He sat beside Thea in front of the agent's desk. Callahan only had two chairs—not counting his own—which meant Malik was forced to stand off to the side. He stuck his hands deep into his pockets and kept his head down. Henri watched silently as the boy's eyes darted about the stuffy office. Since the moment they'd stepped foot in the Edgar J. Hoover Building, he'd been on edge.

Granted, it was the FBI's headquarters, but they were there looking for help. Arkangel wouldn't be chasing them within the building's halls either. They were safe. So why was he still so high-strung?

Before Henri could dwell in that house, the special agent sitting across from him smacked his gum for what must've been the hundredth time.

"Will you cut that out?" he snapped.

"Let me get this straight." The man leaned back in his seat, the wheels and springs creaking under his weight. "Your billionaire archaeologist parents were kidnapped, a supposed map to the Library of Alexandria was stolen, and you think Arkangel Industries is behind it all?"

"Yep, that's pretty much everything."

"Don't forget about the mercenaries who burned our house down," Thea added.

"Right. Can't forget about those guys."

A wary look passed over Callahan's face. "I don't know. It just doesn't make sense why a company like that would risk the implications of doing such a thing. I mean, you know the type of stuff Arkangel is into, right? Worldwide vaccination relief, cutting edge technological advancements, and—"

Henri rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes, we know how absurd it sounds. But it's the truth. My parents knew it was them. They said so themselves before they were taken."

"Right, right." Callahan's eyes flickered over to his computer's bright display. After typing on his obnoxiously loud keyboard, he squinted at something on the screen. "And you said one of the mercenary's names is Sergei?"

"That's right."

"Got a last name by any chance?"

"Er...no. We haven't exactly gotten the chance to have a conversation, all things considered."

"Right, right." Callahan turned his screen toward the three teens in his office. A mugshot had been plastered smacked dab in the center of the display. Staring back at Henri was the familiar mean mug of the hired killer who'd been hunting him for the past twenty-four hours. The man's jagged face scar, icy stare, and nefarious scowl were the stuff of nightmares. "This is him, correct?"

Henri swallowed hard. "That's him."

"Sergei Darković. Wanted in seventeen different countries. Former member of the Serbian military. Dishonorably discharged and later joined the bio-terrorist cell Kismet. He now helms his own splinter cell mercenary group carrying out jobs across the globe."

Kismet... Henri's eyes widened. They were the bioterrorist cell that changed the world forever. Led by a genocidal geneticist, they created the machine that gave the world Primes—superpowered individuals. That was years ago, though. Nowadays, no one batted an eye when superheroes came to town.

Sergei used to work for those guys? Henri shifted in his seat.

"We've been tracking him and his boys for months now," Callahan continued. He swapped Sergei's mugshot for a few hazy night images of a desert. Armed men dressed in clothes so dark they blended in with the black sky behind them filled the photos. "We lost track of them in Egypt some time ago. And now they've popped back up on our radar."