Chapter Ten

As Stacey turned round, James had the satisfaction of seeing her eyes widen behind her black-framed glasses as she found herself staring down the barrel of a gun. She composed herself easily, “This is a familiar situation, isn’t it?”

James adjusted the gun, “If I were in your position, I’d keep your mouth closed.”

“You know that’s not my style…” Stacey’s face hardened. “And until you’ve been in my position,” she said coldly. “I’d prefer if you didn’t comment.” She nodded slightly when James didn’t reply. “When did this last happen again?” She motioned to the glowing monitor behind her, “1997, wasn’t it? Raid on the council building. I remember I was under surveillance after shooting Marks. Not that he didn’t have it coming…” She stared at him, “As soon as I saw you, in person, I thought there was something familiar about you. But I’m impressed. You’ve really outdone yourself this time. You’ve been playing us from day one. Morte, my ass!”

A smirk formed on James’ lips, but he kept the gun steady. He had to bear in mind that this teenager had outsmarted him before, and was probably smarter than him. “Of course, Mackenzie. Who would you never suspect as trying to kill Matthew Willis and Charlie Simpson? It’s been a long, hard, tiring process, and I’m not going to let you screw it up so close to completion! I knew you were going to work it out as soon as I heard that you were to be protecting us. But I couldn’t really decline, could I? No… I had to pretend to be human!”

“That is kinda pissy…” she agreed.

“Shut up!!!” It was more like a manic shriek than a request. “You think that if you keep talking, you’ll be able to distract me like last time. But you can’t! You can’t! I’m going to shoot all three of you. And then Rediunyn Jr. are going to come home from their false mission, and weep over the fact that they find your lifeless, bloody, bullet-ridden corpses.”

“You still can’t aim.”

“Excuse me?!”

“I’m guessing you’re aiming for my heart, but if you shoot that, it’s go into my pancreas. A lot of pain, none the less, but it lessens the chance that I’ll actually snuff it.” James glanced down. She was right. He was pointing the gun too low, and too centred, for it to hit the heart. He adjusted it slightly. “Still won’t kill me,” she told him. He retorted by pressing the gun between her eyes. “That will.”

“Any last requests?”

“You mean apart from that you stop speaking like a cheesy movie character?” The gun was pressed further into her forehead. “Okay. Okay. I have a question. A proper one.”

James’ curiosity got the better of him, “What?”

“James Bourne. Does he actually exist? Or did you just invent him for the mission?”

James snorted, “He exists. Can’t sing for Jaffa Cakes though. Looks were the only thing he had going for him.”

“Are you surgical, or a morph?” she asked carefully, referring to how he'd managed to make himself look like he did.

“I started off as a morph, then they began to get paranoid, and commanded me to make it permanent so I wouldn’t be discovered.” There was a bitter sound to his voice.

“Where is Bourne?” Stacey asked, hatred in her voice. “The real one. What did you do with him?”

James bent down so his face was right in front of hers, but kept the gun to her head, though he moved it round to the side. He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Where is he…?”

“That was my question.”

“Mackenzie… Mackenzie… What do you think we did? You really think we’d let him carry on living… He could escape, wreck it all.” Stacey’s eyes narrowed dangerously. James paused to take off her glasses and set them aside, more to be annoying than anything else. “Mackenzie… Mackenzie…” he said again. “We killed him.”