The Lives of Tao Read online

Devin nodded. “Yes, our double-crossing mole who alerted us to their raid. You mentioned the defection in your last report. Who was it, Jeo’s vessel? Were we able to acquire any solid information on the Prophus network?”

  “Not as much as we would like. He was not privy to higher security systems. However, Jeo assisted in the designing of many of their older networks and we are exploring those options. Who better to hunt Prophus than someone who is familiar with their protocols?”

  “Good, good. Keep me informed.”

  Sean kept watching the screen after it turned black. Regardless of what Devin said, Sean knew where Chiyva’s priority lay. His Holy One had made that abundantly clear. Tracking Tao’s new host was not going to be easy. The Prophus were slippery with their new hosts. Chances were he had already gone into hiding.

  The Genjix were having an increasingly difficult time tracking Prophus movements ever since their last major conflict in Brazil when the Prophus-backed ruling party fell. The Prophus had been on the defensive ever since, the noose tightening around them bit by bit as they lost more and more engagements. They were now more covert than ever.

  A renegade Prophus might give the Genjix better prospects, though. It had been over half a century since the last defection, so it was a rare opportunity to utilize someone who had experience with the inner workings of the Prophus.

  “Just waiting for you to stick your head out, little rabbit…” Sean’s voice trailed off as he drummed his fingers along the desk. “We’ll have a net waiting for you.” He pushed the button on his intercom. “Meredith, is my 10 o’clock here yet?”

  “Yes, Sean. He’s been waiting for you.”

  “Send him in.”

  Marc walked into his office and sat down in the chair opposite Sean. Looking like he just got out of bed, Marc wore a brown golf shirt and a pair of worn blue jeans. Sean gave him one cursory glance and began typing on his computer.

  Fifteen minutes passed before Sean said another word. “I trust your new quarters are to your liking?”

  Marc shrugged. “Sure beats the hell out of what I had before.”

  “And your stipend is adequate.”

  Marc nodded.

  Sean gave Marc a hard look. “Good, then you will wear a suit and be dressed appropriately whenever you are in this office. This is still a law firm, and you’re a fool if you think your appearance today didn’t raise eyebrows. Do I make myself clear?”

  Startled, Marc bowed in response.

  Sean went back to his work on the computer. “Now, you have a chance to prove your worth to us. Your standing is low and since you failed to deliver Tao, you’re still on shaky ground. This will be your chance to rectify that. Follow me.” Sean grabbed his jacket and strolled out of his office, tapping Meredith’s desk as he passed by. She followed close behind with pen and paper in hand. Marc, unused to Sean’s methods, had to hurry to catch up.

  “Are my people in place?” Sean asked.

  Meredith nodded. “The personnel you requested were all contacted last night. All flew in this morning, with the exception of two who are still on missions for the Vatican. They will arrive later this week.”

  “Excellent.” Forty steps down this hall, left turn, five steps forward, right turn, nine steps echoed in the back of his mind.

  Meredith struggled to keep up while reading her notes. “They are waiting in your private meeting room.”

  Sean walked down the hallway to an elevator and stopped at the door. He stared at the closed doors. It bothered him that the elevator was not waiting for him. It was a small matter which Meredith would have to address. He turned irritably toward her and shook his head. “Fix this.” She understood exactly what he meant.

  The elevator door opened. Sean and Marc walked in while Meredith stood outside, still scribbling in her notebook. Sean waited for her to catch up before he spoke again. “We need to have our contact in the IRS run those checks on the paper trails. The Prophus are good at hiding their own, and this trail can’t be allowed to get cold. I don’t care if flags are raised. I want validated information on my desk tonight.”

  She nodded. “Anything else?”

  The nephew and the anniversary.

  “Of course, I was wrong to forget, Chiyva.”

  You must be aware of all things, Sean. Only then can you inspire others through control.

  “Apologies, Holy One.”

  Sean smiled at her and spoke, “I know your nephew is in the hospital for an appendectomy. Be assured that the bill has been seen to. Also, please convey my congratulations on your wedding anniversary. You may leave at 5 o’clock today.”

  The elevator door closed before she could reply. This time, Sean did not bother counting the beeps as the elevator sped down to the basement to a secret Genjix safe house. A few minutes later, he entered a private room deep underground. The fifteen people waiting for him stood up when he entered. He nodded to a few of them and ignored the rest. They knew who he was, and that was the only thing that mattered.

  There were five Genjix among them. Two were newly raised enforcers whom Sean trusted enough for mid-level missions. Three were older Genjix assigned to assist with confirmation of the vessel. While their technology was advanced enough to track Quasing outside a vessel, there was still no reliable method of detecting a Quasing within a vessel other than through physical contact by another vessel. At least, not yet. Standard vessels were too valuable to expend on a surveillance team, but Chiaolar, Heefa, and Iku’s vessels were old and no longer fit for active fieldwork. This mission would be a perfect way to utilize these resources. The Genjix did not waste.

  Sean nodded to Marc, who took a seat next to him. The rest were humans with ambitions to become vessels, hoping to prove themselves worthy enough to be blessed. This mission would be the perfect test to see which one of them was the most deserving.

  “Praise to the Holy Ones,” Sean said, taking a seat.

  “Praise to the Holy Ones,” those in the room intoned.

  “Some of you I know, and the rest of you aren’t worth knowing until you prove yourself,” he started off. “There are two more operatives on their way, once their duties elsewhere are concluded.” Sean clicked a button on the table and the room dimmed. A screen on the far wall turned on and an image of Edward appeared.

  “This is the Prophus agent Edward Blair, killed last night infiltrating our Hancock research facility. His Prophus, Tao, is a senior player in the conflict. Notable vessels: Genghis Khan, Lafayette, and Sun Yat-sen.”

  A picture of a dark-skinned woman appeared next to Edward. “This is Stephanie Qu, operating under an unknown alias. Her Prophus, Haewon, is one of their primary rainmakers. Notable vessels: Churchill, Voltaire, and Peter the Apostle.

  “We have fresher leads on Tao, so that will be your primary focus. Security forces tracked him to a large male under two meters, heavyset, with dark hair. Possible ethnicities could be Latino, Asian, or he could just be fond of the tanning bed. The target escaped driving a white sedan believed to be American-made, most likely a Ford, a four-seater model made within the past five years. Unfortunately, there were no cameras in the vicinity to record the information.

  “Your mission is to track and confirm the new vessel. The Prophus hide their people well. Obviously they have already washed any relevant data in the government systems, so scan for those characteristics. I want passive surveillance until he is located. Then physical confirmation must be made and the vessel captured alive. I don’t care if you put him in a coma, as long as he is still breathing. Also, put surveillance on Edward’s family. Knowing how sentimental the Prophus are, Tao’s new host is bound to pay a visit one of these days.”

  “White car and a short fat guy? Not much to work with,” Marc said.

  “If this were easy, I would have just pulled up his address by now and kicked down his door myself,” Sean growled.

  “What about DMV records?” one of the humans asked. “There can’t be that many white sedans in the city.”


  “The Prophus aren’t stupid.” Marc shook his head. “Even if you locate the right car, all their records will have been washed, the license plate will lead to a dead end. The Social Security number was probably wiped within an hour of Tao finding a new host. Bank records, medical records, everything would have been altered by now.”

  “Will we have access to Homeland Security’s camera network?” Iku’s host asked.

  Sean nodded. “You will have complete access to the entire city. I expect active monitoring on the entire grid from 7am to 7pm every day.”

  “Those cameras are in black and white,” someone stated the obvious. “A white car will be difficult to tell apart from other light-colored cars. It’ll be a needle in a haystack.”

  “I didn’t say the task was going to be simple. Earning the right to a Holy One requires your diligence. Prove you are worthy,” snapped Sean.

  “Why not monitor the city around the clock?” Marc asked. “Maybe he works at night. We can put a few resources on the night shift.”

  Sean shook his head. “We’re paying fifty grand an hour for this access. There’s a global recession going on here, people. Even we are affected. You’ll have access only from seven till seven.”

  Marc whistled in disbelief at the cost.

  “What is the mission timeline?” asked Amber, one of the enforcer vessels.

  “As long as it takes. However, I will be displeased if I receive a billion-dollar bill on my desk. See that our quarry is captured sooner rather than later. No doubt the Prophus are hard at work readying this vessel. As you all know, a new vessel is the most vulnerable in the early stages, so time is of the essence. The longer this takes, the more difficult it will be for you to take him down. Furthermore, we’re in a major city so the rules of engagement are limited. I want this quiet. We don’t need another LA riot to cover up our war. We do not need the heat. Anything else?” No one said a word.

  Sean stood up. “You have your orders. All relevant intelligence is being transferred to your accounts right now. Let me remind you of the critical nature of this assignment. Both Haewon and Tao are considered high-priority targets who are in the upper Prophus echelon. For now, focus on Tao. He is at his weakest right now. We might not have another chance to take him out permanently. Brother Marc will be leading this team. He has intimate knowledge of Prophus protocols and operates with my authority. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, Father,” the group chorused.

  Sean nodded and left the room. He would leave it to Jeo to sort through the details. It’d also be a good test of Jeo’s loyalties and competence as well. The two enforcers already had instructions to put a bullet in his head if he did something unacceptable. Marc would accomplish the mission and deliver this Prophus, or die trying. He walked down the hall and pushed the button to activate the elevator, again fuming at the need to wait. Meredith better have this taken care of very soon, anniversary or no anniversary.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  DAY AFTER

  Beep.

  Roen woke up groggy, slowly gaining consciousness to the strangest sensation. Something didn’t feel right. His bed felt particularly stiff and the view was wrong. Now that he thought about it, it was also cold, and his blanket was nowhere in reach. He paused. Why was he sleeping on the floor?

  Groaning, he sat up and stared at his Chicago Bears phone lying off its hook. Oh no, was he drunk-dialing again? He tried in vain to remember the events from the previous night. Roen often worried that he did incredibly stupid things while inebriated, things he didn’t remember the next day. Unfortunately, everything past stumbling through the front door was a big haze. Picking himself up, he walked to the bathroom and stared into the mirror. He looked like the walking dead, with bloodshot eyes and a haggard swollen face.

  “I think I’m still drunk.” He winced, feeling the room sway back and forth. Roen flexed his arms and chest, and sucked in his gut. With a disapproving scowl, he slapped his belly and walked back into his room, surveying the carnage of clothes strewn over the floor. His stomach growled and he wondered why he was suddenly so famished. Well, who was he to argue with his belly? Time to eat.

  Beep.

  What was that sound? His cell phone! Roen rummaged through a pile of clothes, patting the pockets on each pair of pants. Finally, he found it in a wrinkled pair of khakis discarded in the corner. He sorted through the messages, finding two texts which were sent exactly five minutes apart.

  It’s 11. Where are you?

  I was expecting you in two hours ago.

  Roen read the messages again, perplexed. Why would Musday care where he was on a Saturday?

  “Crap!” he yelled as he threw on the same pair of khakis and frantically looked for a shirt. Now he remembered why he wanted to make it an early night yesterday. He was supposed to work this morning. As he was about to head out the door, his stomach growled again, and he nearly doubled over in pain.

  Roen rubbed his belly and looked up at the clock. He didn’t remember ever being so hungry that it hurt. Did he have time to cook a quick breakfast? He was already late. His brain and his stomach had a tug of war for a few seconds on what he should do next; the stomach won and he rushed into the kitchen to make some eggs. It just wouldn’t do if he passed out at the office. Half a dozen eggs, two pieces of bacon, and three sausage links later, Roen rushed out the door, still buttoning his shirt just as the clock struck 11.45.

  He stepped off the thirty-sixth floor in his office building a few minutes past noon and sneaked toward his cubicle, trying hard not to be seen. He crept down the hallway and turned down one of the aisles. Brushing his shirt to smooth out the creases, he walked by one of the cubicles and smiled at the person sitting there.

  “Hey Jill, good afternoon.”

  Jill Tesser looked up from her work, her thick-rimmed glasses hanging low on her nose; a hint of dimples appeared as she smiled, her face lighting up the room. Roen caught himself staring at her light auburn hair and the faint freckles that accented her bright hazel eyes. He looked away, his face turning bright red.

  “Oh, hey, Roen. I see that the slave drivers got you coming in today too, huh?”

  “Um, yeah,” he stammered. He tried to formulate a clever response. “Yes, they did.”

  She grinned and went back to work. He stood there awkwardly, trying to think of something to say. She looked back at him. “Oh, I’m sorry. Was there something you needed?”

  “Um… no. Just wanted to say hi.” Roen waved and then, feeling his ears burn, fled to the end of the aisle across three more rows toward his own cubicle. Trying to appear as casual as possible, he crept to his seat and powered on his laptop. He leaned back and looked around at his disheveled desk that mirrored the state of his bedroom. He was in a six-by-six foot cubicle with blue and red carpeted walls that probably were once popular during the 1960s. Assorted stacks of paper, books, and bags of snacks littered the desk. Roen picked up a half-eaten bag of stale chips and popped one into his mouth.

  “I was expecting you in at 9am,” a voice said behind him. Roen turned to see his manager standing with his arms crossed. With a carefully combed-over hairdo and a hefty beer belly, Musday had the sort of rotund figure that Roen feared he’d acquire if he spent a few more years at the office. He already wasn’t that far off.

  “I’m sorry, Mr Musday. I forgot I had to come in this morning.”

  Mr Musday shook his head. “Everyone else got here on time. You’re letting the team down.”

  “I’ll get right on it.”

  “Good to hear.” Mr Musday gave him a plastic smile. “I know we can depend on you.” Roen preened and grinned as Musday walked away. When someone asked Roen what he did, he’d explain that he typed incoherent commands that performed virtual tasks to create intangible objects. At the very end of the day, Roen wasn’t sure what he did or why he did it – just that every two weeks, he received a paycheck for the hours of his life wasted, building these imaginary things on some server located
somewhere. Hours later, after almost everyone had left, Roen struggled to finish his work.

  Mr Musday walked by with his briefcase just as the sun was setting. “How’s it going?”

  “Fine, sir. I’m almost done with our builds. Another hour and they should be ready. I can get started on the backups tomorrow.”

  “Good, good. We need the backups by tonight though. Make sure they’re working before you leave. You’ll also need to be at the status meeting tomorrow at 7.30am. Will that be a problem?”

  “Of course not. I’d be happy to.” Inside, Roen cursed his ill fortune. Work would ruin the rest of his weekend. Roen wilted under his manager’s expectant gaze and nodded. He stared as Mr Musday chatted with the few remaining coworkers still milling about, walked into the elevator, and left – probably to enjoy the rest of his weekend while his minions slaved away.

  “I hate this job. One of these days, I’m just going to quit. I can’t believe Musday asked me to come in again on a Sunday! Sunday’s for God and football,” Roen muttered out loud. He opened his drawer and ripped open a new bag of chips.

  “So?” said Peter, who sat in the cubicle across the aisle.

  “It’s ridiculous. They don’t care about our personal lives.”

  Peter turned from his monitor and looked at Roen. “Do you care about your personal life?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Then why didn’t you tell Musday you’re busy?” Peter asked.

  “I can’t do that. I’ll get a bad review.”

  “But you just said you hate this job and want to quit.”

  Roen paused. Peter reminded him of a plaid-wearing Dalai Lama with his rail-thin frame and shaved head. The man looked much older than his forty years. The wisdom he often spouted made painful sense to Roen.

  Roen said, “I can’t just quit. I have rent, and a cat to support.”

  “There’s your answer, then.”

  “Doesn’t mean I have to like it,” Roen said, pouting.

  “You’re not being paid to like your work.”

  Roen leaned back in his chair and looked up at the ceiling. “You know, I wasn’t always meant to be an engineer. I was pretty good at debating. I bet I could have been a lawyer.”