Generation 18 (Spook Squad 2)

“Want to pass me one of those newspapers? The ones here are too flimsy to squash that spider with.”

He raised an eyebrow but did as she bid before approaching Allars. She showed him the lump and then removed her fingers.

Gabriel pressed the old man’s flesh. “Quite ugly, isn’t it?”

“Nasty,” she replied. She grabbed the rolled-up paper and thumped the arm of the chair with it. Remotes jumped and rolled off onto the floor.

“Hey, watch them things,” Allars said. “They’re expensive to replace.”

She glanced at him. “Missed it. You got anything in the kitchen we could use?”

His gaze met hers, his expression shrewd. He knew she wasn’t talking about fly spray. “Yeah, in the cupboards, under the sink.”

She left the room and went in search of the kitchen. It lay at the far end of the house. Dirty dishes were piled in the sink, but otherwise the kitchen was relatively clean. She found a sharp knife, then grabbed a pot. After putting the knife into the pot, she filled the pot with hot water. Lighting the stove, she leaned a hip against the sink and waited for the water to boil and clean the knife.

Crossing her arms, she stared out the window. The old man’s property was on a slight slope, and from the kitchen you could see the traffic on the nearby road.

Though it was early afternoon, a steady stream of cars rolled past. The constant, droning hum would have driven her mad had she lived here, but perhaps the old man liked it—and the reminder that he wasn’t entirely alone in this world.

When the knife was sterilized, she hunted around for some antiseptic and a Band-Aid, then headed back to the living room. It barely took a minute to remove the chip from the old man’s armpit. The cut wasn’t very deep. Like hers, the chip had been planted close to the surface. She patted away the blood, dabbed on some antiseptic and stuck a Band-Aid across the incision.

Gabriel dropped the knife back into the pot of water and held the microchip up to the light. It was bigger than the one they’d found in her—about the size of a small pea. He scanned its image with his wristcom, then dropped the bug to the floor and crushed it under his heel.

“You mean them bastards have been listening to me all these years?” Allars said immediately.

“I’d say so,” Gabriel said. “How else would they have found out about Meg?”

“Bastards.” The old man squinted at the circuitry remains on the floor. “But why would they bother doing something like that? They forced me into retirement, for Christ’s sake. Why would they want to keep track of me?”

“Maybe they were worried that some aspects of the tests they performed would have negative effects later in life.” Gabriel got a small bag from his pocket, then knelt and swept the remaining bits and pieces into the bag. “Of course, destroying the chip will warn them that something is wrong.”

“That’s how they knew about Meg,” Allars murmured.

“And maybe even Emma,” Sam suggested. Though why would they take Meg from Allars’s care and simply leave Emma to die? She glanced at Gabriel. “Did you find a chip in Emma?”

“It’s not something we would normally look for,” he said. “I’ll get them to check.”

Sam nodded, then picked up the knife and water and headed back to the kitchen. On the road below, a green army truck slowly cruised past.

Her heart leapt. It couldn’t be a coincidence, nor could it be a reaction to the microchip being destroyed. The military were fast, but they weren’t that fast. Either they’d been intending to pick up Allars anyway or they’d swung into action the minute she and Gabriel began questioning him. And that might mean the old man knew more than he was currently telling.

She waited, watching the traffic roll by. Eight minutes later, the truck did another drive-by. She walked back to the living room and went over to the window. Through the grime-darkened lace, she could see a military green Ford parked in the shade of a tree two houses down.

“We have compan

y.” She stepped back, out of sight. “One out front, and one out back.”

“Damn, they moved fast.” Gabriel looked at the old man. “Do you want to go with them or not?”

Allars snorted. “I’ve spent half my life with them, lad, and look what it’s done to me. I don’t want to spend what’s left with them.”

“Then you’ll come with us.” Gabriel dug the keys out of his pocket and dropped them into Sam’s hand. “Take the car around to the back street and meet us there.”

“There’s a truck around the back, cruising past every eight minutes.”

“Wait for the next pass, then give me a call.”

She nodded, grabbed her bag and headed for the door. Not looking at the Ford down the street, she climbed into the car and started it up. The green Ford didn’t follow as she moved off. They wanted Allars, obviously.