The Cut Out Read online

  ‘Because I owe you,’ Cormanenko said. She didn’t meet his eye. ‘From a long time ago. So I had to come here and explain.’

  She was going around in circles. ‘About not being dead?’ Fero asked.

  ‘No,’ Cormanenko said. ‘Do you know what midazolam is?’

  Sloth had told him in the truck on the way to the Dead Zone. The Bank sometimes uses midazolam and other neuro-disruptive drugs to erase the memories of their prisoners and give them new personalities.

  ‘A brainwashing drug,’ Fero said.

  ‘Right. Listen, this isn’t easy to say. But you saved my life, and many others. You deserve to know.’

  ‘Know what?’

  ‘You’re not Fero Dremovich,’ Cormanenko said. ‘There was never any such person. You are Troy Maschenov.’

  Fero stood very still. ‘You came back from the dead,’ he said, ‘to play a prank on me?’

  Cormanenko didn’t smile. ‘When you were locked up in Velechnya, Noelein knew you’d never be willing to help them. So she poisoned you with neuro-disruptors. She convinced you that you were someone else and then she released you. She assigned two Librarians to play the roles of your parents. They’re probably getting debriefed right now.’

  ‘No,’ Fero said. ‘That’s ridiculous. That’s impossible.’

  ‘She was planning to recruit you in a few years,’ Cormanenko said. ‘But the terrorists forced her hand.’

  ‘Maschenov escaped from Velechnya,’ Fero said.

  ‘According to Sloth. Right?’

  Fero was silent.

  ‘He was working for the Bank. He wanted you to abandon the mission, so he told you your cover was about to be blown. That’s all.’

  ‘Troy Maschenov has a scar on his chin,’ Fero said.

  ‘Who told you that?’

  Noelein did, Fero realised.

  ‘Was it on his passport photo?’

  Fero couldn’t remember.

  ‘If it was, they must have added it. Because I’ve met you several times, and you never had a scar. Other than the one on your chest, where I . . . where I shot you.’

  Fero staggered backward as though she had punched him.

  ‘That’s from – I had a car accident,’ he said, with increasing desperation.

  ‘An accident. Let me guess: you woke up confused. Not sure where you lived, where you went to school. Not sure who people were, including maybe yourself.’

  ‘I don’t – I’m not—’

  ‘This is why you speak Besmari so well,’ Cormanenko said. ‘It’s actually your first language. It’s why you needed so little training – memories of your work as a Teller are just beneath the surface. Have you been having nightmares?’

  Fero stared at her. He hadn’t told anyone about his night terrors.

  ‘A side effect of the drug. Don’t worry. They’ll fade.’

  ‘I am Fero Dremovich!’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Cormanenko said. ‘Really, I am. But there was never any such person.’

  The floor seemed to move beneath Fero. He wobbled, and fell to the carpet. He felt like he might throw up.

  ‘It’s okay,’ Cormanenko said, gripping his shoulder. ‘Remembering will hurt, but only for a second. Just breathe.’

  She made it sound easy, but it wasn’t. Fero’s lungs were bound in fear.

  What if she was right? But she couldn’t be. But what if she was?

  ‘You’re saying I’m Besmari,’ Fero whispered.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m one of the bad guys.’

  ‘You saved lives,’ Cormanenko said. ‘It doesn’t matter what country you’re from.’

  A swarm of chills swept through Fero’s limbs. He couldn’t keep his hands steady.

  ‘No,’ he mumbled. ‘You’re wrong. I’m Fero Dremovich. I’m Fero Dremovich.’

  ‘I came to warn you,’ Cormanenko said. ‘Noelein must think you’re still useful or else she wouldn’t have let you come home. But someday she’ll kill you or throw you straight back into Velechnya. You want my advice? Convince her that you’re dead.’

  Fero kept wheezing and gasping on the carpet. ‘I’m Fero Dremovich,’ he said again.

  When he looked up, she was gone.

  Everything felt so real. His old high school, his family’s last apartment, his childhood birthday parties. Could all these memories really be fabrications?

  Surely not. He was Fero Dremovich. Definitely.

  And yet, Cormanenko’s theory made sense. He looked so much like Troy Maschenov that Vartaniev and Silverback had been completely fooled. And when he was found out, Silverback didn’t think he was an impersonator of Troy Maschenov. He assumed the real Troy Maschenov had switched sides.

  Fero leaned against the table. His palms left sweaty imprints on the wood. If he was Fero, then Cormanenko was lying to him and he couldn’t trust her. But if he was Troy, he couldn’t trust Noelein, or his parents. And there was no way to know for sure.

  Or was there?

  Fero dug through his bag. Yes – he still had it. The roll-on deodorant that Sloth had given him.

  The fluid in that deodorant stick contains enzymes that should reverse the effects of the neuro-disruptors.

  Had Sloth given this to him specifically so that he would discover his own identity?

  You don’t know it, but we’re on the same side.

  Fero’s teeth chattered. The fluid could be a cure. Or it could be poison. Or it could be regular deodorant.

  He had to know for sure.

  He popped the cap off the deodorant.

  He stared at the framed photographs, the bookshelves, the furniture, wondering if this was the last time he would see it as his home.

  Then he smeared the fluid onto his skin – and waited.

  FERO WILL RETURN IN THE FAIL SAFE. COMING IN 2016.

  THANKS TO:

  Lena Schreider and her grandparents, who showed me Russia. Clare Forster at Curtis Brown, who never gave up on this book. Everyone involved in NaNoWriMo who made The Cut Out so much fun to write. Sam McGregor for his literary and geopolitical expertise. Justine Larbalestier, whose thoughts on character made a big difference and who has done so much for YA in general. Belle Evans for her enthusiasm and attention to detail. Paul Kopetko, who helped me out whenever I was tone-deaf. Tobias Holm, who’s been a tireless advocate for my work. Anna McFarlane, who saw The Cut Out’s potential when many others didn’t. Jennifer Dougherty, who examined the book from every possible angle and helped me make it better in more ways than I can count. Nicola Robinson, who made the text flow. Nan McNab, who pushed me to make the themes consistent. The rest of the team at Allen & Unwin who worked so hard to make this book a success. The librarians, the English teachers and the booksellers (particularly Andrew, Angus, Catherine, Emily B, Emily S, Hannah, Heidi, Katie, Kayla, Jake, Jonathan, Kayla, Kelsey, Luke, Sarah, Steve and Zac) who work tirelessly to put books into the hands of young people.

  Mum and Dad, who are critics and cheerleaders. Venetia Major for inspiring me and for fending off an army of distractions. Tom Heath, who’s always willing to talk about stories and art. And lastly, Redvers Heath, who has a smile whenever I need one most.