87's POV. Finally Johanna and 87 can talk, and they talk for a long time.

170025RJUN17

He was sitting at the table in the living room of the suite, sharpening his knives. It was a soothing exercise. It helped him empty his mind and focus on one thing at a time. Three hours had changed everything. He had been refining his plans for Paris and now he was in a hotel suite with Johanna.

Jo

The way she had followed him was still surprising. He had expected some resistance, he was planning different solutions to extract her by force. Instead she had just followed him into the lift. And then again in the car when she had got rid of her phone and beeper – all her contacts with the world – her wayouts. She hadn't complained or even questioned him. She hadn't uttered a single word.

She must have been in a shock.

He didn't know what to expect now. Would she have a nervous breakdown? What would he do in that case? It was evident that he could not take her with him. She would be a dead weight.

A distraction.

And he'd expose her to unnecessary risks. She had to stay in Chicago. Or some other place. A safe place.

Anywhere else.

She came out of the bathroom at that moment and she was looking more like herself. She had changed, she was wearing a t-shirt and a pair of jeans which she had chosen from the bag he'd stolen to the tourist girl when they had arrived. They fit her snugly.

I was sure that they were the same size.

She had dried her hair and tied it in a braid. By now he knew that braid meant business.

She took a chair and sat next to him, in front of him. She looked at him straight in the eyes – it was that steadfast, intense gaze he had already seen a few times but that never failed to surprise him. As if she was really willing to understand – with no bias or prejudice – just ready to listen. And she was looking at him. He felt a strange unease. He didn't know what to expect. But a part of him told him that it was an important moment and that he should be careful not to

Screw up

let things turn in the wrong direction. Whatever it meant.

She took a breath then with a tiny smile she started:

"So, you already know my name. What's yours?"

"87"

She looked slightly disappointed but insisted gently

"That's your code. Can't you tell me your real name?"

"That's my name. It's the only one I have."

She was surprised but then nodded. This time she believed him. She repeated his name in a whisper – as if she was trying to get used to it, then went on, carefully:

"Are you a cyborg? Some sort of … terminator?"

She looked perplexed by her own hypothesis but looked ready to accept any answer. 87 sniffed and answered

"No. I am human." It could have been enough as an answer, but in some sort of way he felt he owed her more so he went on "but I am genetically modified. Improved".

She nodded and said with a sad smile: "so some of those conspiracy lunatics were not wrong…"

87 went on: "I am part of a scientific project, the Agent program. They wanted to make men who could fight and … kill without hesitation or remorse. They made us faster"

"stronger?"

"No. there's nothing physical, I mean in the muscles or the bone structure, I'm just like you. I'm just faster, …. cleverer."

"Do you mean your reflexes are faster than in common men?"

"Yes"

"So they've probably managed to make your neurotransmitters more efficient?"

"I think so"

He had expected her to be shocked or sceptical.

Or to see me as a monster.

but no, her expression hadn't changed. She was still listening, still intent, still determined to understand.

"What do you mean by cleverer?"

That question surprised him. He had been told that they were cleverer – and he had had daily proves of it if he had to be honest – but it was not easy to explain it. So he made a list:

"Well, I learn fast every kind of things, languages, tactics, strategies, I can memorize easily geographical data, long sequences of numbers, notions of every sort. I can do the math almost as fast as a computer. And the last time I was tested my IQ was 223"

He didn't add that he was 15 at the time.

"Jesus Christ! You're basically the evolution of …. People like me… Man 2.0… It must have taken them ages!"

"The program was initiated in 1967".

"Well, not so much, after all." She seemed to consider for some minutes what he'd just told her. He respected her silence until she asked "Why did you say that you can kill without hesitation or remorse? Is it because of your training?"

"No. It is part of the gene alterations they've made. They have erased all emotions."

"All emotions?! Good Lord! How did they do it? They must have tampered with your limbic system. My God! That's so dangerous!" She seemed to ponder it for another while then asked

"No feelings at all?"

He shook his head. He knew that it was not entirely true but… the general idea was correct. He added "And no fear"

"That's impossible!" This time she really looked incredulous.

He was taken aback by her surprise. But she went on "They can't have touched the amygdala! You NEED the fear response! It would be catastrophic for a soldier not to feel afraid. … You DO have the perception of danger, don't you?"

She was right, in a sort of way, he had never considered it under that light. "Yes, of course, I am aware of dangers. Even more than common people. They called it "instinct" during the training but I think it's more like the sum of all the things I see and hear that combine in a heightened perception of what surrounds me."

"But you're not afraid?"

"No"

She insisted: "Don't you have the adrenaline surge reaction? Because that's crucial for survival!"

At that moment he understood a mechanism he had never questioned before. And he explained it to her: "No, that's not crucial for us. It's probably because our reflexes are so fast… we don't need adrenaline to react faster. We always react as in an adrenaline rush, but without all side-effects."

"Good Lord! Yes, it makes sense. That's amazing."

She was silent for a while, she seemed to be reflecting on all that he'd told her. Then she asked:

"So, what do you do? Are you a sort of spy?"

"No, I'm an assassin."

He could have used a less direct word but, in a sort of way, he wanted it to sound brutal. The conversation was going on even too well, it was too easy. He felt the urge to

Screw up

push the limit. But she just repeated "an assassin", then nodded again and went on

"Are you all assassins?"

"Yes"

"How many are you?"

"That's difficult to say. I think no more than 20-25".

"Holy God! Are there 20 like you?"

"Not precisely. We all look different, but yes, there are about 20-25 genetically modified agents who are on the job."

She seemed impressed at what looked to her a staggering number of agents and he did not correct her. He didn't want to explain that actually the number should have been much higher, that many more had been created and that most of them had died either during the training or while on duty. And he also didn't feel like telling her that he was the most advanced version so there actually were not that many like him. He knew he couldn't take any credit for it, but he'd feel like he was boasting anyway. After a few seconds of silence, she went on:

"And the other guys? Are they agents too?"

"No, they are operatives of another agency, called …"

"The Syndicate!" she exclaimed

87 nodded and went on "But they are genetically modified like you, aren't they? I mean, I'm pretty sure I saw one of them take at least two bullets in the chest and keep walking like it was nothing."

"No, it's different. They are common men but they've been potentiated: they have a subdermal titanium body armour. It's injected under their skin in liquid form."

"Like wolverine?" she looked perplexed. 87 didn't understand what she meant, so he just went on

"It's flexible and extremely strong. And they have also heightened their nervous system, wiring it for speed."

"Jesus Christ! It's like a horror movie!" she looked more shocked at that than for the genetical alterations.

She got up from the chair, walked to the window, opened it and took a pair of long breaths.

Then she looked out, at the lights of the town, for some moments. Then turned and looked at him straight in the eyes:

"What do these people want from me? Why did you say that they want to kill me?"

He realized the absurdity of what he was doing, of telling her all, everything, every single detail. He had not planned to do it and it made no sense. And still, she was there, listening intently to what he told her and believing every single word. So he kept on answering to all her questions with utter sincerity.

"Because you've found out about them, you even have a piece of evidence and they cannot allow it. You're a hazard which must be removed."

"And they won't stop until they've got me, right?"

87 shook his head and added "And now they know you're with me, so they'll come on us in overwhelming numbers. We'll need to move soon. But for tonight we're safe, and you'd better sleep".

He hoped she'd take the hint but she had not finished yet.

"The guy at the hospital, in Chile, the barcode man, was he an agent?"

87 nodded

"Agent 39, right? The conspiracy guys said that the final two digits of the code indicate the number, and yours says 87…"

"Yes, he was Agent 39"

"The position of the barcode has changed, yours is on the nape."

"They realized that on a shaved skull it was too evident and sometimes made it impossible to avoid detection so they moved it on the nape."

She nodded, then went on: "The guy who put the bomb in my ward, instead, was a Syndicate operative, right?"

"Yes."

"Why did he do it?"

"He had to eliminate Agent 39 to complete his mission."

"And instead the virus that erased all the data on my pc. Was it a virus triggered by my search?"

87 inhaled briefly and, once again, told her the truth: "No, it was me."

She looked surprised but didn't interrupt him.

"I knew that you'd be in danger if you went too near them so I tried to stop you, or, at least, slow you down."

A tiny smile formed on her face while she said "Don't expect me to thank you, I've lost all my data…"

Then she went to the minibar, opened a can of soda and drank it.

Is she satisfied?

It had gone incredibly well. She had accepted his explanations, hadn't asked questions he wasn't ready to answer, he had told her the truth and she wasn't looking at him as at a monster. And he hadn't spoken so much in weeks.

Months.

All in all a great result even though he felt exhausted.

Then she sat back on the chair next to him, drew a breath, looked at him straight in the eyes and asked

"87, at the airport, that day, you were there to kill me …"

That was the moment he had been dreading. He wasn't sure that she'd remember him but he had considered the possible scenario. He had no intention of telling her.

Tell her what?

But he was ready, he had anticipated her question and he had made up an alternative explanation. He would tell her that he had organized the meeting to put a tracker on her to be able to follow her, he would say that the Agency had ordered him to do it. He interrupted her before she finished her question and he started saying

"I wasn't…"

She stopped him immediately: "Don't lie to me". She was serious. She really meant it.

How did she know I was going to lie?

And he realized in that moment that she deserved it. She had trusted him, followed him, done everything that he'd asked. She deserved the truth. And in that precise instant he made the resolution not to lie to her. Ever.

He nodded and she repeated

"At the airport, you were there to kill me."

He nodded again.

"Why didn't you do it?"

He wouldn't lie but he might at least try to hide some of the truth.

Sounds fair…

So he told her all about Al Bayati, what he had done, the attempts of the Syndicate to restart the Agent project, the mission in Chile. She was so engrossed in that story, as he hoped, that she didn't realized that, actually, he hadn't answered her question. Finally, she exclaimed:

"So we're in the same team! Good for me!"

Then she moved a little closer and, with a serious look she said:

"Eighty-seven. Thank you. You saved my life" Then she smiled "Twice" then she repeated "Thank you"

Her tone was sweet and intense, 87 had to swallow before he could say: "I need to rest now. And you should try to get some sleep too"

"As if! I don't' think I can sleep. You'd better take the bed."

"No, I'm fine here"

"Are you sure?"

"Positive"

When she left the room, he took off his jacket and tie, sat on the armchair, removed the guns from his double shoulder holster and laid them on the small table next to him. He felt upset, off-balance. That first conversation had gone well

Couldn't have gone better

and yet he was still savouring some of the things she'd told him, the way she'd reacted…

The way she looks at me

He needed to sleep. He had fought and his body – and his mind – badly needed to rest.

Stop. Breathe. Relax.

Usually it took him only one single breath to empty his mind and fall asleep.

Stop. Breathe. Relax.

This time it took him two. It had never happened in his entire life.