Generation 18 (Spook Squad 2)

“Hybrids are very rare; I think the figure is something like one in a billion births. But Emma’s abilities were rarer still.”

“And that’s what Generation 18 was creating? Hybrids capable of multiple identities and abilities? Did the project defy the odds?”

“We were more successful than the quoted figure, yes.”

So the military had hybrids at their disposal. Her gaze went to King. Hybrids with psychic abilities. “Why wasn’t Emma listed as a hybrid?”

The general’s smile was disdainful. “Because those who do the testing don’t know what to look for. Generally, the hybrid is stronger in one area. Emma was listed as a changer simply because that was her strongest ability.”

Which meant, more than likely, that Emma’s sister had also escaped the net. They had a definite suspect

. Now all they had to do was find her—and stop her.

“Is it possible for one of your hybrids to have escaped and be killing her less successful brothers and sisters?”

“No. As I’m sure you’re aware, everyone at Hopeworth is tagged. All movements are monitored. Even mine.”

She nodded. “The question had to be asked.”

“I’m sure it did.” He leaned back in his chair, regarding her through slightly narrowed eyes. “You have very unusual eyes, young lady.”

The tension level jumped several degrees, though why she wasn’t entirely sure. She took a long drink of water and nodded. “A few people have commented on that.”

“Inherited from your mother or father?”

“I was placed into State care as a teenager. I have no memory of my parents.” Her smile was grim. “As I’m sure you already know, General.”

He flashed his reptilian smile again. “I admit to doing a little checking myself.”

“Why?”

“I thought you might be one of our rejects. I wondered if, perhaps, the programming had slipped and you were using this case to learn more about Hopeworth. Something similar happened recently with another project’s reject.”

So Hopeworth knew how to reprogram babies. The place was definitely the stuff of nightmares. “I was not a Greenwood kid.”

“No. And we never did use the Ashwood center.”

He’d definitely done more than a little checking if he knew she’d been in Ashwood’s care. She took another sip of water to ease the sudden dryness in her throat. Was it just nerves, or had the temperature jumped by several degrees?

“There are natural redheads in this world, General,” she remarked, voice dry.

“Oh, I agree. But your hair is not just red. It is more a red-gold, and in certain lights—this candlelight, for example—appears molten. It is something of a signature for our creations.”

She glanced at King. “Molten” was an apt description for his hair. “Coincidence, General.”

“Maybe.”

His tone suggested he didn’t think it was so. “General, I’m nearly thirty. Too old for the Generation 18 project by about five years.”

“I’m well aware of that. There were other projects, of course.”

“Like Penumbra?”

“Penumbra was our only true failure.” The finger tapping hesitated slightly. “Though sometimes I wonder…”

He glanced briefly at King. Again, she had the sudden impression of information being exchanged, though neither man moved or spoke.

The general pushed back his chair and rose. “I don’t believe there is much more we can help you with.”