by Tony Batton
"That was a lifetime ago." He shook his head slowly. "It took me years to be accepted - then in a moment of madness, of anger - and with the skills I had learned - I killed a man. After that, everything was lost. I learned so much, but I did not learn everything. Here," he gestured to the crumbling walls of the temple, "I've endeavoured to share what I could."
"For that I am grateful. But now the lesson has ended."
He looked at her and breathed out. "I have long wondered what this moment would feel like. I sensed it might be unexpected."
She looked at her right hand, rippling the fingers. "You think this is destiny?"
"Perhaps just justice catching up with me." He shrugged. " I am ready."
He saw her close her eyes. He saw again the unique quality that he noted when she first came to him: the impossible intensity. The heart of stone. Even in his prime he knew he could not have challenged her. He watched as she breathed deeply then opened her eyes.
"Thank you," she said. And then she moved.
In his eighty years he had never seen anyone move even half as fast.
Three hours later, Alex sat in a bar, having caught a bus to the next village. The venue was jammed with international backpackers, all exchanging stories about recent adventures in loud, inebriated, voices. Alex ignored them all. Instead, staring at the distant mountains, she quietly raised a cold beer in a silent toast to the old man. A thank you for what he had taught her.
She had buried him in the shade of a small pimento tree, covering the grave with the largest boulders she could carry. Had he deserved this fate? Perhaps not. Or perhaps he should have already paid the price for a crime committed many years ago. Destiny, fate, or just the toss of a many-sided coin? Others would have to make that call.
Then something else did catch her attention. Someone had flicked the bar's widescreen television onto CNN. In a moment she had crossed the room, sliding between some of the patrons, shoving others painfully aside. A sharp twist of an inconsequential wrist, and the remote control was in her hand. She turned the sound up, although the images made it clear what was happening: William Bern had been released. Only on bail, but she knew that with him out of custody anything could happen. Perhaps she had less time than she'd thought.
She adjusted her belt and straightened, feeling the blood pulse in her veins. She wanted to go to her father: to tell him she had survived, that she had never been more alive. She wanted to make those who had imprisoned him suffer. But recovering him would be impossible without assistance. No, she needed to pay a visit to an old friend.
And possibly alone on the planet, she knew exactly where to go.
Sixteen
HIGH IN THE PERUVIAN ANDES it was the last minutes before dawn. In the near darkness, tired but over-excited tourists stumbled along the last kilometre of the Inca Trail, up the final rise to the Sun Gate and the view of the Lost City of Machu Picchu. Phones, SLRs and video cameras were primed ready to capture every moment for posterity.
Tom kept himself separate from the others. He wasn't here to be with other people, although this brief moment of arrival was as crowded as a town centre. The other hikers had, for the most part, made a three-day trip of the forty kilometres of aggressive climbs and descents, all at considerable altitude. But Tom didn't like the idea of sharing a small campsite, so he had walked through the night, completing the entire trail in a little over eight hours, though he'd waited for the sunrise to complete the final climb. Even the locals might have been impressed, although the record was around three and a half hours, so he had room to improve.
He followed the excited group up the rocky trail to the ruins of the Sun Gate just as the sun broke through scattered clouds, and he saw Machu Picchu, on its famous saddleback mountain, spread out below. There were gasps from those around him, and they were justified. It must have been a city of incomparable beauty, and yet designed with a mathematical elegance, all without the aid of computers. If only he could live in an age like that. A simpler life, where he was not being pursued for what was in him.
Still, he was safe for the moment, and he would make the most of it. He gazed down at the ancient ruins. Soon it would fill up with other tourists shipped in by train and bus. But for the next hour it was only open to those who had walked off the trail. He would make the most of that hour. He started to bound down the path, but someone called after him.
"Hey! Stop!"
He slowed, an icy feeling in his blood. Had someone actually been following him? He had done nothing to draw attention to himself. Yet someone was running after him.
What should he do? Where could he run? Down through the ruins? What then? It was five hundred metres vertically down to the only town and, while he had a map, he did not know the terrain. Forcing a smile he turned around.
It was a young woman, waving at him. "Stop running off."
He held his breath.
"You dropped this." She held out his woollen hat.
He took it and blinked, letting the breath go. "Er... thank you."
"Amazing isn't it."
He looked at the hat. "Just something I bought at an army surplus—"
She laughed and pointed behind him at the ruins.
"Of course." He tucked the hat back in his pocket. "Yes, amazing."
"Who are you here with?" she asked, moving closer. She had a Peruvian chullo on her head: a knitted hat complete with ear flaps. "Which tour?"
"On my own actually. Keeping my own company," he said, widening the gap between them. She seemed to get the message, shrugging and turning back to her group. Tom hurried down towards the ruins, wondering if perhaps he was being a little too cautious. But then he hadn't managed to stay hidden in a major city for a year to end up being discovered here, on the far side of the world. Still, it seemed the girl was harmless.
He tagged on to one of the groups touring the ruins, immersing himself in history, surrounded by endless views so beautiful he was glad he would be able to remember them perfectly.
Seventeen
DEPUTY DIRECTOR TRUMAN ENTERED THE secure conferencing facility at the US Embassy in London. A technician dialled in the video call then left the room, sealing the door. Truman poured himself a glass of water, wishing something stronger was available, then took a seat facing the camera. Director Banetti's face appeared on screen, his eyebrows somehow accentuated by the slightly blurred image. As usual he spared no time on pleasantries.
"You met with Reems?"
"I did." Truman took a deep breath, wishing he had more to pass on. "She told me nothing about Bern, Marron or Faraday. Then she wheeled in Dominique Lentz, who told me even less." Truman shook his head. "We could just share with them what happened. That would get their attention."
"I don't have the clearance. If we told her that we're trying to recover something, it would only pique her interest. Which would make her even less likely to cooperate. You read the file on Faraday and the Tantalus Project?"
"A neural interface designed to operate an advanced helicopter. I'm not surprised they've kept quiet about losing him."
Banetti showed a faint smile. "I'm glad I'm not in charge of MI5."
"I also read the brief on the stolen item, although it was so heavily redacted it was difficult to follow."
"I gave you what I could. The Accumulator is one of our most classified projects."
Truman took a sip of water. "It's a nuclear battery, so not exactly surprising."
Banetti grimaced. "A gross over-simplification, but I guess it sums it up. I've no doubt Bern would love to have a look."
"But why would Faraday take it?"
"When we find him we can ask him."
Truman nodded. "Speaking of Bern, you've been briefed on his release?"
"The timing is uncanny. We would never have allowed it if he'd been our prisoner."
"They do have him locked up in his private estate. He's not going anywhere."
"Not without help."
Truman hesitated. "What do you mean
by that?"
"We don't know where Faraday is, and he may be very difficult to locate. Marron is locked away beyond anyone's reach. So," Banetti said, "that really only leaves us with one person we know the location of, who is accessible, and who may be motivated to assist us."
"You want to make a deal with Bern? Why would he trust us?"
"We just need to ask him in the right kind of way."
"And what about the Brits?"
"They had their chance. It's our show now."
"I doubt we can just drive up to the estate and ask for an appointment."
"I think we both know that's not what I'm suggesting."
Truman looked down at the table. "If things go wrong this could badly strain our strategic friendship."
"I have every confidence in you, Connor."
Truman sighed. "Am I being thrown under a bus here?"
"Just make sure you avoid the wheels." Banetti flexed his eyebrows. "Call me when it's done."
The screen went dark. Truman sat staring at the table. What he hadn't shared with Banetti was that he'd been doing his own research and he'd discovered that the CIA Director had taken a personal interest in the Accumulator Project since its inception more than two decades ago. For whatever reason, this was personal for Banetti: he wasn't going to let it fail, and he wasn't going to care who he burned in the process of securing its success.
Truman swallowed hard. Right now he was feeling decidedly flammable.
Eighteen
FOR TWO HOURS TOM HAD truly forgotten about the modern world, immersing himself in the history and serenity of the ancient city. Thick cloud would sweep over then clear, the mood changing by the minute. But every corner turned brought a new item of interest, or a new vista. He wished it would never end.
But all too soon he was climbing onto a waiting bus. It descended fourteen aggressive, hair-pin bends: sharp switchbacks that the bus only just made. The newly built town below lay in the vicious channel between the mountains, where the wind never seemed to stop blowing.
Now, sitting by a swollen river, he was eating pasta and drinking bottled beer in a large, roughly-furnished restaurant. The place was heaving, two thirds full of backpackers, one third of locals. Tom had somehow found a table on his own. But as he shovelled in another mouthful of pasta, the young woman who had given him back his hat appeared from nowhere and sat opposite.
"So, where are you from?" she said brightly.
"Er... England."
"Duh, yeah. Where in England? London?"
Tom narrowed his eyes. "Sure. Why?"
She laughed. "Another wary Brit. I'm from California. San Francisco." She held out her hand in a way that was hard to refuse. "Mandy."
"Tom," he replied, feeling the warmth in her hand. "Nice to meet you."
She took a deep draught of her beer. "I've always wanted to come to this place. Can't believe I finally made it."
Tom nodded. "It certainly was something."
"I just wish I could remember it all perfectly forever."
"Wouldn't that be a thing?"
Mandy placed her bottle firmly back on the table. "So where are you off to next? Another trek? Or maybe into the jungle? You should do Ecuador. It has a bit of everything, and as for the Galapagos, they are quite..."
Tom nodded politely, but his eyes caught a newspaper on the next table. It was folded open, and one of the story titles leapt off the page:
FORMER CERUS CEO, WILLIAM BERN, RELEASED: LATEST DEVELOPMENTS
Tom stood up sharply and grabbed the paper, scanning the story. Bern's legal team had raised doubts about the validity of his confession, and were planning further submissions that might lead to the charges being thrown out.
"Something wrong?" Mandy asked.
He looked around. He had to know more, but there was no network near enough to access. This paper was a day old. "Is there internet in this place?"
She laughed. "No internet cafes until we get back to Cuzco. Why?"
"I need to check something." He hesitated. "I'm expecting an email."
"Then you should get the next train out of here. I have a timetable..." She started patting hands around her body, her face taking on a look of alarm. "Oh no! I've dropped my purse. It had my notebook and cash in it."
"When did you last have it?"
She closed her eyes. "Up on the trail."
"Won't be easy to go back. We could try—"
"We?" she said coyly. "Didn't want to speak to me earlier, and now you want to help me?"
"Yes, well..." Tom swallowed. "It's crappy when you lose something like that. I'd want someone to help me."
"I still have my credit cards and passport." She reached into her backpack and pulled them out. "And I think there's a Western Union down the street. They should be able to provide me with an advance." She stood up. "I don't suppose you'd come with me. Like a security escort."
A Western Union would have a network connection, which was what he needed: something he could tap into quietly. "Sure."
"Wonderful." She shouldered her backpack then walked towards the exit. Tom rose and followed her. In the corner of his eye he saw two men who looked like porters stand up.
Out on the street, cars and vans negotiated the muddy cobbles, trying to avoid the mules and handcarts. Tom and Mandy made their way parallel to the roaring rain-swollen river. The wind still blew almost continuously. The pavement was missing in places, showing a half-finished drainage system, and they were forced to step into the road to avoid falling a metre and a half into a small stream. Behind them Tom saw the two men appear at the door of the restaurant, then turn their way. He hurried to catch up with Mandy.
"Staying in town tonight? Or shipping back to Cuzco?" she asked, stepping around a couple of chickens.
"Haven't decided." Out of the corner of his eye he saw the two men maintaining their distance.
"Something wrong?"
"Don't look, but I think two men from that restaurant might be following us."
She immediately turned round. "Where?"
"Never mind, just keep walking."
"Why would they be following us?"
"Who knows? Are you somebody famous?" Then he immediately wished he hadn't raised the idea.
"No." She narrowed her eyes. "Are you?"
He glanced back again and saw one of the men talking into a mobile phone. Was it really unusual behaviour? What was triggering his suspicion?
"Maybe you read too many thrillers?" She pointed to a narrow side street. "Let's go up here and see if they follow." They stepped sharply sideways and vanished from the main thoroughfare. "If we go along here, then left, we can head back in the direction of the Western Union." Mandy turned left. They were halfway down an even tighter alleyway, lined with three storey apartments either side, when two new men stepped into view at the far end. They held ugly-looking clubs.
Mandy screamed, but the sound was all but drowned out by the background rush of the nearby river and the wind swirling above them. Tom grabbed her arm and began reversing back up the alleyway. Then the first two men appeared behind them.
"What do they want?" she asked.
Tom was pretty sure he knew: Mandy's credit cards and passport, and anything else they might have on them. Tom had been the victim of an attempted mugging once before. But that was a world away, in a different time and place. There had been just one attacker. And a friendly guardian angel to rescue him. It seemed unlikely that anybody would step in to save them today.
Of course, he wasn't the same person now. A moment ago he had wondered whether he could risk using his talents. Now he knew he had no choice.
He closed his eyes and concentrated. Quickly he felt a nearby satellite dish - it would take a considerable effort to connect to it, but right now that was not his biggest concern. At least it had only the most basic encryption. He was through it in seconds, and then he was online. There was a lot of latency, but the bandwidth wasn't bad. Part of him inside sighed at the feeling.
"Of course not," Tom said, opening his eyes. The two pairs of men strode slowly towards them. They were in no hurry. Where could their quarry go?
Mandy turned to him. "Any ideas?"
Tom blinked. Data streamed. In his head a street map appeared, overlaid with a recent satellite photograph. He knew where they were, and that was always a start. He turned and pointed to a door to their right. "Through here." With a fluid motion he lunged out, his foot landing square centre: a practiced motion, one that he had used before. It had saved his life.
The door buckled and collapsed inwards.
He pulled Mandy through with him, hearing shouts from the alleyway as the four men reacted. Inside, the ground floor apartment was dark and dirty, unoccupied, but he knew where he was going. He had the plan of the building in his head, downloaded from the construction company. He ran down a short hallway, through a kitchen, then to a back door. And escape.
Except it wasn't there.
He looked at the solid wall and swore.
"What?" shouted Mandy. "What's going on?"
"There's supposed to be a door here."
"How would you know that?"
He looked around. The plans must be inaccurate. In fact the room looked too large. Perhaps two rooms had been knocked together, and a door closed up. He looked to the side and saw an internal door. If there was still a back way out, then it must be through there.
And it was, leading off a small storage room.
He pushed Mandy through it. Behind floated the sound of the pursuers entering the apartment. Tom and Mandy slid out into the street, which was slightly wider, but lined with parked cars. Then they sprinted in the direction of the main road, and more people. But, as they did, there was a loud crack, the sound ricocheting off the close buildings.
A gunshot.
"Stop!" shouted a voice in broken English.
Tom and Mandy stopped, turning in frustration. The tallest of the four men held a hand gun pointing at them. "Wallets, passports." The man waved the gun at them.
