Going Grey

by Karen Traviss

  He watched while Rob tried on a jacket in a clothes store. He was a fit, muscular guy and he must have known that women checked him out, or else he wouldn't have worn those tight T-shirts. The two girls at the cashier's desk kept taking sneaky looks. When he went to pay, they were all giggly with him, and he gave them a big smile, chatting effortlessly. He made it look easy. Maybe it was when you'd been around like Rob had.

  There was clearly a different set of rules for married men, though. Mike didn't join in. He rolled his eyes at Rob as they left the store. "You're such a skank, Rennie. You only come here to flaunt your pecs."

  "Shall I ask them to guess my inside leg measurement too?"

  "Ignore him, Ian." Mike obviously found it funny. "He's a disgraceful role model."

  Ian trailed them around the computer store, longing to sit down and rest his arm on something, and tried not to show how much it hurt. It was, as Rob said, only pain. He nodded acceptance of the first laptop that Mike selected for him, bewildered by the choice, and realised again that he wasn't worrying about being conspicuous. It was still a novelty. One day he'd stop morphing, take it for granted, and all things would be possible.

  Beer, birds, BMW.

  But not an Army career.

  The thought still left him hollow with disappointment, but he had choices for the first time, even if he couldn't imagine them yet. He tried his first cup of green tea at an oriental snack bar while Mike bought a box of fortune cookies for Livvie. The tea tasted of grass and seaweed. Ian didn't like it. But it was a novelty, and any new experience was worth having.

  Rob sat checking his phone. He was always waiting for messages from his son. Whatever he was reading wasn't good news, though, and he clicked his teeth in annoyance.

  "Something wrong?" Mike asked.

  "Tom can't make it until later this year," Rob said. "He's working for the rest of the summer. I'll have go back and see him during term time."

  Mike nodded. "Sure. Let me know when you need the jet."

  Rob just smiled to himself without actually looking happy and spun the phone around on the table like a party game. He was still fidgeting with the phone when it rang.

  "Hello?" He didn't seem to know who it was for a moment. "Yes, Joe, this is Rob ... yeah, sorry, we got him a new phone to stop someone pestering him ... oh Christ, really?"

  Rob went quiet, just listening with a defocused look while Mike stared at him. There was only one Joe it could be. Ian's first thought was that the ranch had burned down or something, but Rob felt in his pocket for a pen and wrote some numbers on a napkin. Then he thanked Joe and rang off.

  Mike stared at him, head tilted as if he was asking for an explanation. "That doesn't sound good."

  "Some woman called at the ranch claiming her aunt was Maggie's old college friend," Rob said. "She knew Ian's name. She didn't seem to know that Maggie had passed on, though. I'm betting that's Mrs Wrong Number from Lansing."

  Mike's face fell. "How the hell did that leak? Kinnery?"

  Ian felt instantly sick. He needed to focus: he had to stop himself from morphing. He concentrated on his breathing like Livvie had taught him, staring at the detail of pores on the back of his hand to shut out all other thoughts.

  It seemed to work. There was no windburn or tightening sensation, and Rob didn't react when he looked at him.

  "Don't worry, Joe kept his mouth shut," Rob said. "She called him Ian and he just said it wasn't his name. But she left him with a name and number to pass on."

  He held up the napkin with the details written on it. Mike looked at it and shook his head, eyebrows raised.

  "Drew Wilson. Description?"

  "Thirties, maybe forties, brown hair, smartly dressed, hire car from Ready Rentals. She said she was staying in Spokane for the night. Good bloke, Joe." Rob gestured at Ian. "That's not Zoe the Hack's alias, is it?"

  "No." Ian tried to be kind. "She's fifty, grey, and dresses like she's still at college."

  Rob put his phone in his pocket. "Well, gents, we've definitely been dicked. Tasks – warn Leo so he can have a word with Kinnery, check out Mrs Wrong Number, and work out how she got the bloody names and address."

  "I think it's a good idea to dispose of the ranch right away, Ian," Mike said. "Burn all your connections. Don't worry. Nobody can get anywhere near you."

  "What do I do, then?"

  "Give me permission to sell, sign a few documents, and I'll take care of the rest." Mike checked his watch. "Let's go home and get things moving. And you need to call Joe and tell him you're okay."

  "Which phone?"

  "Use mine," Rob said. "It can be tracked to Joe's now anyway. Keep your new number clear of connections to Athel Ridge, just in case."

  He was pretty calm about it all. Rob and Mike were completely in control when things went wrong. Ian had absolute faith in them, but was he always going to need protection like some witness in hiding? Sooner or later, he'd have to take responsibility for his own safety. It wasn't fair on others and it made him feel like a useless child. He was eighteen, for Chrissakes. He didn't need to remind himself how he stacked up against the likes of Rob and Mike.

  On the drive home, he sat in the back and called Joe while Mike and Rob discussed how Gran's name and address had gotten out. Joe seemed worried.

  "Are you sure everything's okay, son?"

  "It's a great place. Mike's taking good care of me."

  "Do you really want to be there?"

  Ian could hear the unspoken question. "Yes, nobody's making me stay. Don't worry. I just need to keep away from people like that woman."

  Ian had no idea how to tell Joe that he wasn't coming back now. Gran's note had said not to make any rash decisions, but Drew Wilson had forced one on him. He was surprised how instantly he'd accepted it, but Mike knew what he was doing and could make anything happen if he wanted it to.

  So could Livvie. She took the news about Joe's encounter with a faint smile as if she already had the upper hand.

  "So this woman stayed in Spokane last night, did she? Okay. So she probably picked up the rental at the airport. Let's get the number." Livvie picked up the cell on the kitchen counter and tapped the screen. "I'm calling the Ready Rentals desk. Mike, see if you can find the number she gave Joe in a directory. It's unlikely, but let's rule out the obvious.

  Ian watched her as she walked around the kitchen with the phone to her ear, waiting for someone to pick up. She was just like Mike and Rob in her way. She plunged into situations and took over. Gran would have liked her.

  "Hello? This is the accounts office at KWA ... yes, that's right, KWA, Lansing ... I just wanted to confirm that one of our employees dropped off her car today ... I'll hold ... she did? Good ... I can check that off the list, then. Thank you."

  Livvie ended the call and turned around to curtsey with a big smile on her face. Ian had no idea she could lie so expertly. It looked as if Mike didn't know, either. He clapped. Rob joined in.

  "The prosecution rests," she said. "Ninety-nine-point-nine per cent certain that it was KWA at the ranch. If she hadn't booked via a company account, I would have been screwed, though. But she doesn't know what we know, obviously."

  "I'm never going to cheat on you, honey," Mike said. "Ever."

  "No hacking, no bugs. Just charm. Easiest way to confirm something is to make a statement and wait for correction. Innocent people do that instinctively."

  "We still need to know how Drew Wilson or whatever her real name is managed to locate the ranch, in case we've got an active leak," Mike said. "She only had a Seattle area code. So unless she's got intelligence-level assistance to pull location records to track where that phone's been, she's done some serious digging. Maybe the college connection's real somehow. I'm putting in a call to Dad now. He needs to ask Kinnery."

  "But how did she get Ian's name?" Rob asked. "Do you have compulsory electoral registers over here? You know, a public list with the name of every person who lives at an address."

  Mike
snapped his fingers. "I'd bet it's the property register. Ian's name's on the deeds of the ranch, but she didn't seem to know his age. She thought Joe was Ian."

  "Well, whatever she knows about the Washington end, there's no connection for her to follow here. Unless Kinnery's getting careless."

  Mike read the number on the napkin again. "I'll be in the study. Don't eat all the fortune cookies."

  While Mike made his call, Ian tried to gauge how bad things were by watching Rob's expression, then Livvie's. They seemed mildly irritated rather than anxious. Livvie divided the bag of cookies into four piles and unwrapped one of hers. Ian got up and checked himself in the mirror in the hall.

  "It's okay, you haven't morphed," Livvie called out. She must have guessed what was worrying him now. "Well done. Deep breaths. Now come and eat your cookies."

  Rob broke a cookie in half and read the message on the crumpled slip. Ian followed suit.

  "Your skill will accomplish what the force of many cannot." Rob laughed his head off and put it in his wallet. "Too bloody right, mate. They must have known a Bootneck would be eating that one. What does yours say, Ian?"

  Ian thought this was good fun. "The first step to better times is to imagine them."

  "There you go. Spooky. How about you, Mrs Mike?"

  Livvie's smile spread and turned into a big grin as she read. "Those who have love have wealth beyond measure."

  "And those who marry a billionaire's son aren't doing so badly either, eh?" Rob laughed loudly again. "See, that's how horoscopes work, Ian. You can always make any old load of bollocks fit your circumstances.."

  Livvie reached across the table and put her hand on Ian's. He'd forgotten how much his arm hurt until she did that.

  "Ian, they can't find you here," she said, suddenly serious. "There's no connection for them to find. And even if they did, they've got to get past Mike and Rob."

  "Yeah, and then they've got to get past Mrs Mike." Rob broke open another cookie. "We'll just find a few bones and a half-eaten handbag."

  "If they find me," Ian said, "I've done nothing wrong. But KWA has. They ought to worry about me shooting my mouth off."

  "That's the spirit. Take the battle to the enemy."

  Ian recalled Gran talking about shadowy government agencies making people disappear. He'd had his doubts, but the things he saw on the news now were more like movies than he'd ever imagined. If agencies could kidnap terror suspects on the street and ship them to secret jails, he couldn't take his own safety for granted.

  He couldn't expect Mike and Rob to protect him forever, either. He had to be ready to do it himself.

  LANSING, MICHIGAN

  TWO DAYS LATER.

  "You haven't told me what happened yet, Mom."

  Clare was loading the washing machine without being asked. Dru almost felt guilty for dropping her T-shirt and underwear in the laundry basket.

  "That's because it's company-confidential," Dru said. "And maybe because I've got absolutely no idea what I found."

  Clare gave her a theatrical puzzled look as she shut the washer door. "No gold bullion, then. Or secret meth lab."

  "A guy with a shotgun."

  "Oh wow, Mom."

  "A farmer."

  "Oh. Not wow, then."

  "Okay, I've got to go. Don't burn the house down. If you hang out with Rebecca, make sure you lock up properly before you leave."

  Dru resisted the urge to nag, worry, and lecture. She felt she'd turned a corner with Clare and that treating her like an adult would encourage responsible behaviour. When she closed the car door, though, she thought about all those studies that showed how differently teenage brains were wired. She was sure she'd come home to find Clare had succumbed to liquor, drugs, and a boy with a gang tattoo.

  And mollycoddling produces entitlement-obsessed brats who never learn to play nicely with others and need some fake syndrome to excuse why they're obnoxious. Jesus, where's the balance? Okay, let her burn the house down. At least I can claim on the insurance.

  Dru now carried her bag of paperwork like a diamond courier. She hadn't gone as far as chaining it to her wrist, but she wore the shoulder strap cross-body and used a small suitcase padlock on the main zipper. None of that would have defeated a ten-year-old with a box cutter, but it made her feel she was doing what she could to keep the information secure. Everything was handwritten hard copy. Her bag was getting heavier each week.

  Weaver was back from his trip today, Dru's first chance to brief him personally. She passed one of the lab technicians in the parking garage.

  "Hi Dru," the guy said. "Haven't seen you for ages. I thought they'd downsized you."

  "Oh, I'll be the last out the door." The comment stung, but she felt suddenly bullish. She'd knocked on the door of potential criminals with firearms, after all. "I know where all the bodies are buried."

  No, she didn't. The only person with a corpse stashed in the basement was her, thanks to accepting illegally-obtained phone records. She needed to start amassing some insurance in case this blew up in her face.

  By the time Weaver was free to see her, she was even less certain about how much to tell him. She met him in his office, her first foray into the Olympus of the third floor in weeks. She had no idea if Sheelagh or anyone else had bought her cover story. It was fine if they hadn't, though, because they'd think she was engaged in some covert downsizing that would affect them, and treat her with appropriate caution.

  "So what's come to light?" Weaver asked.

  "Some information I can't make sense of. It might mean more to you than it does to me." Dru didn't elaborate. She had no idea if Weaver was recording this, and she realised what a sorry state her world was in that she even had to consider it. "That Seattle connection I mentioned. I rang the number, and the guy who answered was very cagey. I passed it off as a wrong number."

  "Why would that be significant?"

  "Because Kinnery has a landline that he appears to keep just for that number."

  "I'm not going to want to know where that information came from, am I?"

  "I think I'm somewhat hazy about it too, Mr Weaver." Just listen to me. I lie better each time. She had to tell him just enough to prove she wasn't just sitting on her ass. "I took The Slide's piece at face value and tried to work out who Kinnery would have trusted with genetic material back then. It would have to be someone who was terrified of him and did whatever he asked, or someone he already trusted implicitly. So I worked back as far as I could – his college class. I mapped his social connections using publicly available data from that point. I follow behavioural patterns, not objects."

  Dru paused to make sure Weaver hadn't zoned out. She thought he was staring at the monitor on one side of his desk, but on closer inspection he seemed to be gazing past it at a point in mid-distance as if he was trying to remember something.

  "And what did you find?" he asked.

  "I contacted people from his college year to look for a Washington or Seattle link, and eventually I got a lead. A classmate who owned a remote property in rural Washington. That seemed to chime with the allegation in The Slide."

  Weaver turned his head slowly to look at her. It wasn't a relaxed movement. "You're remarkably thorough."

  "You asked me to dig, Mr Weaver."

  "I realise you're accomplished at discretion, but Kinnery's not going to get to hear about these checks from his old classmates, is he?"

  It was an elegant way to be told she was a terrific liar. "No," Dru said. "His name never came up. I found the property, but it looked unoccupied. I left a neighbour with a number to pass on to the owner."

  "Not our switchboard, I hope."

  "Of course not. Don't worry, there's no audit trail here. Not that we're doing anything illegal." Well, the private investigator did, but let's bury that. Dru had an odd detached second as she realised she was lying about lying. "There's something not quite right, which is hardly scientific, but one thing I do know is that humans can be subconsciously aware of
real inconsistencies."

  "You think this place is significant, then."

  "I'll keep an eye on it. The Seattle number certainly is. Keeping a landline solely for one number is odd. Is there anything more you can tell me? Even things that seem apparently unrelated?"

  It was a non-threatening way to warn him that she couldn't do much more if he was lying to her about anything. It was up to him now.

  "So who's this college friend?" he asked.

  Dru wasn't planning to surrender all her cards. "Someone called Maggie. I don't think this is a business rival. It might even be personal. An affair his wife found out about."

  "That would explain a lot."

  "Okay, seeing as you're talking to him again, why don't you prod him a little and see what falls out?"

  "Oh, I'm more than talking to him. He agreed to visit and discuss working with us again."

  Dru really hadn't expected Kinnery to want to set foot in the place. Now she wanted to look him in the eye and see if she could tell whether he was lying or not. Even professional interrogators were generally poor at detecting lies from body language, but at least getting him in a room was a good way to pile on the pressure and see if he slipped up. That was probably Weaver's plan. He knew the man better than anybody.

  "When is he coming in?"

  "End of this week. Do you want to meet him?"

  "That depends what you want me to do."

  "Observe."

  "You really do believe he's stolen something."

  "My gut says yes. I'm still working out what he could have taken from Ringer."

  "You'd better have a plan in case we find a mule after all, then. You might flush out Kinnery sooner than you expect."

  Weaver did his finger meshing gesture as if he was trying on tight gloves, looking at the screen. His focus was all wrong. This wasn't for her benefit. He really was thrashing out something in his mind.

  "I'm going to give him the opportunity to come clean with me," Weaver said. "An amnesty. And that could well be the end of it. Neither of us wants bad publicity."