Forty Two

Forty Two
"BLOODLINES"

Eagan's POV

The basement of the safe house is colder than normal. Blair is handcuffed to a metal chair, her designer clothes rumpled, mascara smeared below her eyes. I’m behind the one-way glass, watching her fidget and nervous glances around the spare interrogation room.

“She’s been in there for two hours,” Liam says, looking at his watch. “No food, no water, no bathroom break. She's ready to talk."

"And Ivanov?"

"In the study upstairs. He’s drinking your whiskey like he owns the joint.” Liam's distaste is evident. “I still can’t believe we’re not putting a bullet in his skull.”

"Not yet," I reply. "He came willingly. That either makes him very stupid or very valuable. I need to know which."

Liam glances in the direction of the stairs. "And Ms. Sage?"

“Relaxing in the master bedroom. Two guards by the door, two by the windows.”

“She’s different now,” Liam comments cautiously. “The woman I met at the auction would never have wished Blair to suffer.
"The orphanage changed her. To witness what people are capable of.” I turn away from the glass. “Have Blair prepped for questioning. No physical contact yet. I want her scared, not defiant.”

Liam nods and exits. Moments later, I see him from behind the glass as he comes through the door to the interrogation room, sets a bottle of water just out of Blair’s reach. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t respond to her questions, walks out.

Simple, but effective. Her eyes are still on the water bottle, her throat worked to swallow.

I will give it five more minutes before going in. The sound of the door makes her flinch.

"Hello, Blair." I sit down opposite her, pushing the water bottle further out of reach. "You've had a busy day."

“Just kill me and get it over with,” she says in a brave but futile attempt at bravado. “We both know that’s where this goes, of course.”

"Eventually." I lean back. “But first, we’re going to talk about The Order.
A flicker of recognition, then of fear: her eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

"Strange. You seemed rather well acquainted with them upstairs.” I put my phone down on the table, where it continues to play back a recording of her words from earlier: “They’re coming for you, for all of us who know too much.”
She looks away. “I was simply repeating Ivanov’s words.”

"No." I lean forward. "You called them 'The Order.' "Specific name, specific knowledge.”

“It’s just rumors,” she assures. “Stories that family heads tell to make sure their underlings don’t tutu out.”

“Then why were you fleeing to Switzerland with account numbers that lead back to a shell company named Ordo Genetica?”

Her surprise is genuine. She didn’t think I would know that.

“Your father was not merely a crime boss, was he?” I continue. “He was part of something larger. And now they’ve left you for dead, put a price on your head because you’ve turned into a liability.”

Blair's composure cracks. “You don’t know what you are dealing with.

"Then enlighten me." I push the water bottle over to her.
She pauses before she accepts it with unsteady hands. She takes a long sip, then looks up, decision made.

“The Order is not a street gang or a mafia family,” she begins. “They’ve been around for centuries, operating across continents, governments, industries. And the families — Vasquez, Hunt, all of us — we’re just their infrastructure. Their public face."

"What do they want?"

"Power, of course. But they want more than that evolution.” Blair's voice drops. "They think bloodlines have genetic advantages. Intelligence, strength, instinct, charisma. For generations they have been hunting these bloodlines, watching them, sometimes… breeding them.”

Disgust coils in my stomach. "Like dogs."

"Like gods," she counters. “A master race of better men to guide the world onward.”

"And my family?"

"Your bloodline was special. A rare combination of traits — strategic intelligence, physical resilience, adaptive learning capacity. Your father was their prized specimen until he found out what they were doing with the kids.”

"What children?" The question comes out more sharp than intended.

Blair seems genuinely uncomfortable. “The Order has facilities — schools, they call them — where they train special children. Your father learned of plans to take you and your sister. That he had refused, and threatened to blow the whole thing up.”

"So they killed him. My mother. Took Elara anyway."

She nods. "But you escaped. Disappeared. By the time they found you again, you’d already established your own power base. So visible that they can’t just be wiped out.”

"Until now."

“You are too unpredictable, too powerful. And now....” She looks up, vaguely in the direction where Astrid is reclining.

“Now you’re making the next generation. They can't allow that."

I absorb this, my face perfectly blank even as the fury rises within. "Who runs The Order? Names.”

“I don’t know the inside circle. My father was low to mid-level at the best of times. Regional operations." Blair leans forward.
“But I can relate access points for you. Contact protocols. Financial channels."

"Write them down." I slide a notepad toward her.

“Every name, every place, every way you know how to talk.”

She has cuffed hands to take the pen. “What does happen to me after that?”

“Well, that depends on how valuable your information turns out to be.”

While she writes, her hands shake just a little bit. “They’ll come for me too, you know. For talking to you."

“They already put out a contract on you,” I say. “They have killed you in their minds already.

She hesitates, pen poised above paper. "There might be another way."

"I'm listening."

“The Order keeps a record of all bloodlines they’re watching, including DNA. Including yours." Her eyes meet mine. “You would know everything — who they’re surveilling, who they plan to get rid of, if you could access those records.” What families they breed into their stock.

“Where are these records stored?”

“Their primary research building. In Switzerland."

Of course. Its destination the only thing on her flight plan.

“That’s why you were going there,” I realize. "Not just running. You were exchanging information for security.”

She doesn't deny it. “The man in charge of the facility is one Dr. Werner Klein. He's in charge of the whole genetic program. He is the best person who could tell the extent of The Order's operations.”

I snatch the filled out notepad, reviewing her meticulous notes. Names, phone numbers, account numbers, property locations. If genuine, this is worth more than I thought.

“Just one more question,” I say, standing. "Ren Ivanov. What’s his role in all this?’”

Blair's laugh is bitter. “Ren’s family was in the program as well. The Ivanovs were bred to achieve certain characteristics — charm, manipulation, ruthlessness devoid of conscience. """Drilled-to-perfection psychopathy.

"And his interest in Astrid?"

"Probably genuine obsession. But I bet The Order welcomed it. “They might have been curious to find out what kind of progeny you’d get from the amalgamation of his bloodline with someone… normal.”

I clench my hands involuntarily at the thought.

Blair notices. “You really do love her, don’t you? The girl from the auction."

I do not reply, facing the door.

“They’ll never stop coming for your child, Eagan,” she calls after me. “Not as long as The Order is around.”

I pause at the threshold. “Then I’ll just have to make sure it doesn’t exist.”

Ren is lounging in my leather chair in the study upstairs, swirling whiskey in a crystal tumbler. He lifts a glass as I walk in.

“Good chat with our mutual friend?” he asks.

Why are you really here, Ivanov?”

He puts down his drink, suddenly serious. "Same reason as you. Survival."

“You expect me to believe you’ll give a hoot about anything besides your own hide?”

"Not particularly." He shrugs. “But our interests are temporarily aligned. We’re both wanted dead by the Order. One reason, two outcomes.”

"And I should trust you why?"

“Because I know things Blair doesn’t know.” He leans forward.

“I know where their most priceless things are stored. The children they've taken. The research subjects. The breeding pairs."

A cold something lodges in my chest. "Breeding pairs?"

“Males and females with precious genetic information, controlled bred. Creating the next generation of ‘perfect’ humans.” His eyes hold mine. “Your sister, Eagan, included.” Before she escaped."

The room seems to tilt. "Elara was alive? Recently?"

“Until roughly eight months ago. She fled their Swiss facility. She made it all the way to the French border before they caught her.” There is something like respect in Ren’s voice.

“Your family, apparently, has a strong survival instinct.”

"How do you know this?"

"Because I was there. At the facility. “I’ve been inside their operation.

Just as I am about to answer, the door opens. Astrid is standing there — pale but intent.

“What about the rest of the children?” she asks, having obviously overheard. "The ones still there?"

Ren’s eyes slide over to her, evaluating. "Dozens. Possibly hundreds at more than one facility. “Some are orphans, some were purchased, some were bred just for the program.”

Astrid strides into the room. "We need to help them."

"Astrid—" I begin.

"No." Her voice is firm. "You heard him. Children, Eagan. Like those from my orphanage. We can't leave them there."

I know the look in her eyes. The same resolve I’d seen after the orphanage massacre.

Ren watches our little exchange with interest. “Their most cutting edge research occurs at their Swiss facility. Genomic databases, breeding records, everything. It’s also where they store their most precious “specimens.”

"Can you get us in?" I ask directly.

“Give us the right resources, the right team? Yes." He finishes his whiskey. “But we would have to move fast.” Once they figured out Blair’s compromised, they’ll move all the valuable stuff.”

Astrid moves to my side. "We have to do this. For Elara. For our child. For all of them."

I look at her face, before I turn to Ren. “If you ever betray us, what I did to the Hunt Brotherhood will seem merciful.”

He smiles the smile of arctic high math. “I wouldn’t expect any different.”

Liam stands in the doorway, a serious look on his face. "Boss, we've got movement. "Carriers coming in from the main road."
"How many?"

"At least four SUVs. Armed to the hilt by what our cameras on the perimeter detected.”

“The Order,” Ren says, his attention sharpening at last. "They work fast."

I pull Astrid close. "Liam, start Protocol Exodus. Two-minute evacuation."

As the safe house descends into organized chaos, I glance between Astrid and Ren and make my choice.

“I guess our timeline just got moved up,” I say to them. Tonight we fly to Switzerland.’