by D C Vaughn
‘As soon as Artyom joins you, you will leave the country. I don’t care how. Just do it, quickly.’
‘I wouldn’t worry,’ Sergie replied. ‘Neither Artyom or I want to spend a moment more here than is necessary.’
‘Then we agree on something,’ came the response. ‘Neuray has risked a great deal in assuring the security of this technology.’
‘Showing Kyle the evidence was the only way to convince her to help us,’ Sergie replied defensively. ‘I had her eating out of my hand after that. The only thing it hasn’t delivered is Sam Lincoln himself.’
There was a long silence, as though the driver was considering that one highly inconvenient fact.
‘You can’t leave until Sam Lincoln is confirmed dead,’ the man said. ‘That was part of the deal.’
‘He will surface eventually,’ Sergie replied without concern. ‘After that, he won’t be an issue for you any longer.’
Sergie pulled out a mobile phone and dialled a number. Despite the rain and the remote location, he was able to get enough of a signal to make the call. Artyom’s phone rang, but nobody answered.
‘It must be the rain,’ Sergie said as he shut the line off. ‘Maybe he can’t get a signal out there.’
The man in the front began to fidget uncomfortably. ‘It’s time for me to leave.’
‘Our money,’ Sergie snapped.
‘Has already been transferred,’ the man replied without concern. ‘You and your friends are killers, Sergie. If I’m lying, I’m not under any doubts about what will happen. It’s not like you don’t know where to find me.’
Sergie offered the man a dirty look, but he thrust the drive onto the seat next to him, then got out of the car and hurried through the rain to his own vehicle.
Moments later, the Mercedes drove away into the darkness, sticking to the back lanes. Sergie watched through the rain soaked windscreen as it disappeared into the blackness, and was considering turning to drive back to the abutments to see whether there was anything left of Kyle to play with when something hit the side of his car and made him jump half out of his life.
He whirled as the door opened and Artyom slumped into the vehicle, his face a bloodied mess.
‘What the hell happened to you?’ Sergie uttered in disbelief.
‘Sam Lincoln is alive!’ Artyom growled back. ‘He must have followed you out here!’
Sergie didn’t know how to reply to that.
‘Neuray have the data,’ he said simply. ‘They’ve paid us.’
‘Kyle’s still alive and she’s seen us both,’ Artyom snapped back. ‘We can’t leave until she’s done. Take us back to the abutments, we need to do this together!’
*
Rebecca would never have believed that she would miss the Faraday Cage in which she had been imprisoned. The wonderful, blissful silence in her mind that the cage afforded her was now but a memory as she slogged through the darkness, Sam helping her as she struggled, her mind aflame with uncontrollable impulses and visions, the OCD that had plagued her life a mere inconvenience compared to the hellish paranoia she had endured since leaving the abutment.
Sam’s lying to you.
Sam’s going to kill you.
Sam’s working for Neuray. His job was to kill the Russians and end the deal, freeing Dylan Carter from investigation. Now, he’ll kill you too and you’ll be blamed for everything.
You’re guilty. You’re worthless. Nobody cares that you’ll die out here on the moors.
‘Keep going, we’re almost there.’
Sam’s voice seemed to come from miles away, muted by the rain and wind, the cold and the darkness that assaulted her. Her legs would not coordinate their movements, crippled by a fear that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. She knew that she should not be afraid, and yet was utterly terrified at the same time. It made no sense and yet it was tangible to her. Tears mixed with rainwater streaming down her face as Sam led her to what looked like an abandoned cottage nestled in the darkness.
Sam led the way inside, shutting the door behind him. Everything was secured with padlocks and the windows were blocked with wooden panels, the glass long ago shattered. Rebecca shivered in the darkness, vivid images flashing in her mind’s eye as Sam hurried this way and that. She spotted cans of food, a table, a pile of what looked like Neuray–labelled medical equipment and other accoutrements, and she realised in an instant that Sam could not have gathered everything since his disappearance.
‘You planned for this,’ she said, her lips quivering with the chill.
‘For a while now,’ Sam replied. ‘I stockpiled this stuff here, although I didn’t expect to be performing surgery. This is Distworthy Warren House. My folks used to visit here from time to time, a place where I could run free as a child, it was like a little adventure every summer. The house was abandoned years’ ago, not many folks bother to come out here except in good weather.’
Rebecca listened to the rain outside and hoped that Sam would do whatever he had planned before the police got here. It could only be a matter of time before they showed up, and no doubt this time she would be arrested and possibly even charged with the murder of the homeless man she knew as Greaves.
Sam began unpacking the medical equipment. Rebecca saw scalpels, syringes and dressings among the assorted items and a tingle of apprehension twisted her guts.
‘It’s okay,’ Sam said. ‘It’s worse than it looks. I can do this here, but it’ll have to be quick.’ Rebecca picked up one of the small bottles of fluid among the pile. ‘You’re going to operate on me?’
‘It’s the only way,’ Sam said. ‘Get that thing out of you and Ashton can no longer see what you’re doing. I’d planned to locate one of the people whom Ashton had implanted, retrieve the implant as evidence, identify the other victims and then go to the police, which would be you.’ He smiled. ‘What I didn’t think I’d be doing is pulling one of Neuray’s chips out of your head.’
Rebecca heard the voices taunting her.
He’s going to kill you.
This doesn’t feel right.
He assaulted you.
‘I don’t know if I can do this,’ she said.
Sam hesitated, watching her for a moment. ‘OCD getting to you?’
Rebecca nodded.
‘Did you give it to the rabbit?’
For a moment she stared at him as though he had gone insane, and wondered whether the implant in her head was producing hallucinations so realistic that she couldn’t tell her dreams from reality. Then, quite suddenly, she heard his voice from the past.
These thoughts of yours, they’re like everybody else’s, but they’ve just become a bit more overwhelming. It’s normal to have violent thoughts sometimes, or to want to arrange the bed clothes in a certain way, or use numbered tasks to order your life. Why do you think people are told to count to ten when they’re angry? It’s a part of who we are. The important thing is not to internalise the stress of those thoughts. If I were you, I’d put the thoughts down to an interfering bunny rabbit.
She had laughed, thought that he was mocking her, but he had shaken his head.
I’m serious. Don’t make the character an evil creation, something to blame. Make it sympathetic, something decent that’s struggling with these thoughts and actions just like you are. Console it. Every time you have an OCD moment, it’s the bunny. It’s the rabbit. Visualise it, compartmentalise it, and that will allow you to learn not to internalise the feelings that give you such stress. They’re not abnormal, everyone has them, but most people just reject them, don’t dwell on it like you do. It’s the rabbit, Rebecca, or whatever creature you choose. Trust me, just give it a try.
She had. She’d tried, and it had worked. Not right away, but within a few days she had felt a burden lift from her shoulders as the compulsive thoughts were gradually rationalised.
‘It’s you,’ she said, and although she could still see the hallucinations in her mind’s eye she knew that they were not fr
om her, not of her. ‘It’s really you.’
Sam took her in his arms and held her tightly. ‘And I’m not going anywhere else,’ he said.
Rebecca looked up at him, and he turned to point to a bench that looked almost like a pew from a church.
‘We can do it here, but we have to hurry.’
Rebecca laid down on the bench as Sam prepared an anaesthetic.
‘This won’t knock you out unless you’re already exhausted,’ he said, ‘but it’ll give me enough time to open the wound, locate the chip and extract it. The chip lies just under the surface of the skin. I can close you up and then you’ll be free and we’ll have what we need to bring Neuray down.’
‘I feel like I could sleep for a week,’ she replied.
Rebecca tried to relax, knowing that she now trusted Sam completely. The demons flitting through her mind receded like errant shadows extinguished by candles glowing ever more brightly in the darkness.
Sam readied the syringe and then carefully removed the dressing from her head. He cleaned her wound with alcohol and she smiled at him as he did so.
‘Promise me we’ll take a bloody break once this is all over?’
Sam grinned back.
‘After this, we’ll take more than a break. We’ll have a honeymoon, agreed?’
Rebecca laughed, joy suddenly flooding her with warmth and light, so much of it that she didn’t feel the needle and she was aware only of Sam smiling down at her and gently cupping her face in one hand. It was the last thing she saw as she slipped into unconsciousness, weary beyong imagining.
***
XXXI
‘DCI Stone, DC Harris, Exeter CID.’
Stone stood in the ornate office of the CEO of Neuray Solutions, thick carpet beneath his shoes, ornate furnishings all around and a commanding view out toward the moors through broad fourth floor windows.
‘Please, won’t you sit down?’
Daryl Carter shook their hands as he gestured to two seats opposite the CEO’s own leather chair, which was positioned behind a vast, uncluttered polished–mahogany desk. Several monitor screens were set into the walls around the office, none of them switched on at the time.
‘We’re here regarding the incident on the River Exe involving one of your employees,’ Stone began, ‘by the name of Samuel Lincoln.’
‘Yes,’ Daryl replied, appalled as he took his own seat. ‘A terrible business. Do you have any idea of what happened?’
Daryl was a small but energetic man with receding brown hair, a permanent tan and a sharp North American accent that sounded something between New York’s harsh twang and Florida’s lazy drawl. In his forties, he looked the type to have been wearing a suit since the day he was born.
‘An investigation is underway,’ Stone reported, not willing to give anything away. ‘How well did you know Sam?’
Daryl Carter looked up and to the left. ‘Not all that well. My responsibilities are to the financial performance of the company, its bottom line. Sam worked in research and development so we didn’t see a lot of each other, but his work was considered vital to Neuray’s future.’
‘May we ask what he was working on?’ Harris ventured.
‘You can ask,’ Daryl replied with a curt smile. ‘The most that I can tell you is that Sam had been developing technologies that were based on earlier Neuray patents for neurological solutions to spinal injuries. The projects were part of a Ministry of Defence initiative and as such we’re all under Non–Disclosure Agreements that prevent us from speaking openly about the nature of the programs.’
Stone nodded, glancing at his notes.
‘Did Sam have any problems with any other employees here at Neuray?’
‘None,’ Daryl replied without hesitation. ‘He was a popular member of the team about whom we’d received no complaints.’
‘Except for the assault allegation,’ Harris pointed out.
‘Yes,’ Daryl agreed. ‘That came from his fiancee, via Ashton Kershaw, the founder of the company.’
‘And when did this happen?’
‘The assault? I don’t know. Ashton reported the event to our administration a few days ago, but beyond that I know nothing.’
‘Why do you think that Rebecca Kyle would report the assault here, and not with her colleagues at the police station?’
Daryl shrugged. ‘Rebecca is friendly with Kershaw, they’ve known each other for several years and Sam Lincoln worked directly for Kershaw for many years prior to that. My understanding is that she wished to resolve things without police involvement, so she brought it here. I wasn’t involved.’
‘Yet you are the CEO,’ Harris pointed out.
‘Yes, but as I said my work is mainly handling new and existing clients at the personal level, while administration of personnel is the remit of other departments. It’s not something that would have been brought to my attention. You’d have to speak to Kershaw about it.’
‘We will,’ Stone said. ‘If Sam’s work here was so sensitive, then is it possible that his work led to the attack? Could there have been some reason why third parties might have wished him harm for his work here?’
‘I wouldn’t have thought so,’ Carter replied. ‘The fact that nobody really knows about the work would make it tough for anybody to have a reason to attack anybody at all. Sam’s worked here for Neuray for well over a decade, often on sensitive projects, and nothing untoward had occurred before.’
Stone again nodded, glancing down at his notes.
‘Did Samuel steal something from the company?’
Now, Carter froze in motion. ‘Steal something? Like what?’
‘We were hoping that you’d be able to tell us,’ Harris replied. ‘Has anything gone missing from Neuray, prior to Sam’s disappearance?’
Daryl Carter looked positively uncomfortable.
‘No, not that I’m aware of and nothing’s been reported as missing. If it were, it would be a huge blow to our reputation. Losing material or data from a sensitive project would throw the whole company’s business model into doubt. What’s been suggested as missing?’
‘We’re not at liberty to say,’ Stone replied.
‘What do you mean, not at liberty?’ Carter snapped. ‘You’re telling me that Sam stole something from the company, and yet then in the same breath that you can’t tell me what that something is? Do you have any idea how dangerous that could be?’
‘No, we don’t,’ Stone said, ‘because we don’t know what he was dealing with. Right now, we have evidence that for some reason Samuel Lincoln saw fit to steal something from Neuray and that might be the reason he was attacked.’
Daryl Carter sat in silence for a moment as he rolled Stone’s suggestion around in his head.
‘Are you accusing me of something?’ he asked finally.
‘No accusations have been made,’ Stone replied. ‘We’re forced to follow up on any lead that may throw light on a potential homicide.’
Carter appeared so stunned that he couldn’t speak. He blurted out a laugh. ‘You’re saying that you think somebody from Neuray shot Sam Lincoln?’
There was a long pause. Harris said nothing, Stone knowing that he would not take the lead when such a shocking statement had been made.
‘Nobody said that Samuel Lincoln was shot,’ Stone said quietly.
Dylan Carter stared at the DCI. ‘I assumed that he had been. It was a mugging gone wrong.’
‘That’s quite an assumption.’
‘Not where I come from,’ Carter replied. ‘I grew up in DC, back in the day when it was the murder capital of the country. Gun crime is a standard in the United States. A mugging gone wrong would be assumed to be a shooting. It’s a cultural thing. So it was a shooting, then?’
Stone wasn’t about to accept that, even though he knew that guns were far more a part of the fabric of life in the United States than they were in the United Kingdom.
‘Gunshots were heard,’ Harris replied, ‘but that information was not released t
o the media.’
Dylan Carter shrugged, leaned back in his seat. ‘It is what it is. I don’t have anything to hide, and nor does Neuray. I doubt very much anybody here would have either the motive or the means to want to shoot Sam Lincoln, quite the opposite in fact. Sam’s work was integral to the company’s future, so although I can’t talk about it in detail, rest assured that it’s gonna be far harder for us without Sam here than it would have been had the shooting not occurred.’
‘And you have absolutely no idea what it might be that Sam supposedly stole before he disappeared. I have it on good authority that whatever it was, it was very small.’
Now, Dylan Carter shifted in his seat.
‘How small?’
Harris looked at Stone for guidance, and the DCI nodded once.
‘No larger than a cigarette packet, as far as we know.’
Carter frowned, looked down and to the right.
‘I don’t know,’ he said finally. ‘There are a lot of things he could have taken that would be smaller than that, all of which are highly valuable. It’s possible that he could have stolen data rather than a physical object, but really, he never showed any inclination toward that kind of activity.’
‘But if he were to steal something,’ Stone pressed, ‘could it have been sold to a competitor, or perhaps on the black market?’
‘Yes,’ Carter replied, apparently having never considered this before. ‘If he was willing to offer it to the highest bidder, then it would be worth millions to rogue states, competitors and so on. But it would also open him up to charges of treason both here and in the USA if the sale were discovered. His life would be over in an instant. I can’t believe that someone with Sam’s skills and future would take such a course of action. Did he have any financial reason for doing something like that?’
‘We’re looking into that right now,’ Stone replied.
