Going Grey

by Karen Traviss

  "Come on, Dad, it's bloody brilliant. I'm in a billionaire's house, using his private jet, drinking his cocktails, and having a murder mystery weekend, only it's real. And nobody actually dies. How cool is that?"

  Tom was a born diplomat. He wouldn't have said if he was scared or upset. But Rob needed to know the truth. "Do you feel I'm putting Mike's problems before you?"

  "Never. Abso-bloody-lutely never. I know what you've been through to give me all this. I'm more worried about you."

  "Kiddo, I promise you it's nothing dodgy."

  "And I know you weren't pleased about GCHQ."

  "Tom, I'm proud. I swear I am."

  "You don't like it."

  "It's not a matter of liking. I'm just scared of that kind of stuff."

  "Dad, I did it because I can't ever be like you. I'm never going to be Action Man. But I'm good at what I do, and if I do it right, blokes like you won't have to die and lose limbs in foreign shit-holes. And I accept there'll always be things I don't need to know and won't be told."

  Rob wasn't sure whether to be mortified or proud to the point of bursting. It was terrible to think he'd shaped Tom's choices that much. He wasn't convinced that they'd make a blind bit of difference to troops on the ground, but he'd die before he told Tom as much.

  "This'll be over soon." Rob still had a grip on Tom's hand and couldn't bear to let go. "How about taking the Jag for a spin next week? Mike and Livvie want to buy you a car for Christmas, so start thinking about what you want."

  Tom laughed. "This is unreal. I'm glad you and Mike haven't fallen out over this."

  That was Tom all over. He didn't miss a thing. He could sense the tension.

  Mike left the house at eight and told everyone to start dinner at nine if he wasn't back. Rob had discovered long ago that Livvie's dinners weren't girly domestic duty. She cooked and presided over meals like a cross between a High Court judge and Boadicea, defying those at the table to turn down anything she put before them. It was another expression of her authority, Mike said, and she was exercising that authority now. She called everyone to dinner – her favourite cassoulet, real rib-sticking stuff – and sat Dru next to her, facing Tom.

  "This is Tom, Rob's son," Livvie said. "Tom, meet Dru Lloyd."

  Rob watched Dru's face as she nodded at Tom and then glanced at Ian with a split second of surprised recognition. Rob braced.

  "I saw you out walking the dog," she said. "The greyhound."

  It was the look at Ian that did it. Rob would have to ask her later what she'd been thinking, but he could guess. She was doing a comparison. She hadn't said exactly how Ian had changed when he morphed. Rob could work it out for himself now. He certainly didn't want to watch Ian do it, because he'd never see Tom the same way again, and he'd feel totally robbed of a face he loved. He couldn't explain it. He just had to know that Tom was Tom, and no other face would ever remind him of his boy except Bev's.

  "Yes, Oatie's very well-behaved," Tom said. "He's Ian's."

  Rob almost choked with guilt. He needed Tom to keep secrets from him now. He wanted him to even the score. It would make it easier for Rob live with his own secret and compartmentalize it.

  Ian joined in the conversation and talked about Oatie being scared of the sheep on the ranch, and Rob came as close to an out-of-body experience as he thought he'd ever get without incurring a head wound. There was no hint at all that this wasn't a normal dinner where people who didn't know each other swapped stories to break the ice. There were no shape-shifters, no wars, no moneyed classes, and no armed kidnappers waiting somewhere in the dark. Mike walked in about ten minutes into the meal and sat down as if it was a normal evening. Rob's surreal meter peaked.

  "I put your bags in your room, Dru," Mike said. "No messages at reception, but you might want to call Clare."

  Rob had Dru's SIM cards. He slipped out to find her bag and put them back in the phones. When he checked her personal cell, it was showing missed calls.

  Mike caught him in the hall. "There's no sign of the bike or the van at the hotel," he said. "We still don't know if we're dealing with a guy who keeps the bike in the van, or two separate units. Anything on her cell?"

  "Missed calls," Rob said. "One number withheld."

  "Better get her to check it's not Weaver, then."

  Rob went back into the kitchen and put the phones on the table in front of Dru. "You want to check that one, just in case? Might be Clare."

  There was no way of knowing if the biker had called Weaver and let him know where Dru was. If Rob had been her, he'd have been more worried about her kid, halfway across the country with her ex. She cleared her plate and she went out into the hall.

  Mike followed. Rob strained to hear, trying not to catch Tom's eye. Livvie, telepathic as well as terrifying, gathered Tom and Ian to usher them out.

  "Downstairs, now," she said. "I'm going to kick both your asses in the game of your choice. I'll bring the dessert."

  Rob followed Mike and Dru into the living room to keep an eye on things while she checked her e-mail. "Yes, I need to reply to Clare," she said. "She might ring back."

  "Anything else? No Weaver?"

  "There's a withheld number. But he'd usually mail me."

  She tapped out a message while Mike watched. Rob wondered how they'd keep her secured here for more than a day or two, because it was clear that it was going to get tedious even in a big house. How long would it be before they could risk sending her home?

  She sat looking at the phone for a few minutes, a little lost. Then it rang and she made a disappointed unnhh sound.

  "It's not Clare," she said. "Local number."

  "Give me a couple of seconds and put it on the speaker." Rob held his own phone close enough to record the call. "Go ahead. Answer it."

  "Mrs Lloyd?" a man's voice said.

  "Yes?"

  "We both got a hell of a surprise, didn't we?"

  Dru was steady under fire. Rob had to give her that. "I have no idea what you're talking about," she said, expressionless. "Who are you?"

  "You don't need a name. Our mutual associate didn't tell either of us what his asset could really do, did he? He certainly didn't tell me, or I'd have renegotiated my terms. So why don't we compare notes? I can find a market that'll pay a lot more than he's paying either of us."

  Mike was right in Dru's eyeline now, mouthing prompts at her. She followed them. Rob could only watch.

  "I have no idea what you mean," Dru said carefully. "Are you the asshole who assaulted me? How did you get my number?"

  "You could have cooperated and let me take the kid."

  "Why don't I call the police and let them talk to you?"

  "Oh, I don't think you want the cops involved. Look, I haven't told anyone yet. It's just you and me for now. Or have you done a deal with your rich buddies instead?"

  "Did Weaver give you my number?"

  "I know where you are now, and where you live. Think about it. You can't hide him forever."

  Mike indicated to cut the call off. Dru showed him the number on the call log.

  "Either he's dumb or that's a payphone."

  "I'll get the number checked," Mike said.

  Dru looked like she'd remembered something unpleasant. "A car was hanging around our street before I left. Clare got the plate. I bet that was someone Weaver sent as well. Like the guy said, he knows where I live."

  "She's with your ex, so the urgent question is whether this tosser knows where he lives." Rob was impressed by Dru's lack of panic. "Is he going to be any use if this bloke's mates comes knocking?"

  "Larry's in marketing. He's not even the same species as you guys. I'll ring him now, but he'll do the full drama queen act and call the police."

  Mike took over the conversation, all quiet reason. "I'll make a call and get security to watch Larry's home. He needn't even know. Just give me an address."

  "Who are you going to call?" Rob asked. "Brad?"

  "He's got plenty of contacts. He can al
ways find somebody at short notice."

  "That's my kid." Dru was getting angry at last. "My daughter. Does that mean anything to you?"

  "Nobody's going to lay a finger on Clare or anyone else," Mike said. "Sit tight and let us do our jobs. Larry's address, please. And the car's plate if you've got it."

  Rob opened the security room doors and sat down to watch the screens while Mike disappeared to make calls. When Mike came back, he had a couple of extra phones. He put one on the console in front of Rob.

  "All done," he said. He was wearing his thin-lipped angry look. "Brad's getting someone out there right away."

  "Are these things breeding?" Rob examined the phone. "Burner?"

  "I don't want any more activity on our own phones. And that was a payphone call, by the way. It's the hotel one. It's even in the directory."

  "So this is another scenario we didn't predict."

  "What is?"

  "That Weaver would send a heavy and not tell him what Ian really was. That's bound to piss a bloke off."

  "I don't think Weaver knew he could morph at all. Even Kinnery doesn't know how good he is at it."

  "Yeah, but our biker friend won't believe that, will he?"

  Mike pulled up a chair. "I'm not sure that call puts Weaver in the frame."

  "Does it need to?"

  "It would be handy to have something solid to lawyer up with."

  "Look, let's worry about Biker Boy first. It's clear he saw Ian morph. He still knows what he knows, even if Weaver calls it off and forgets it. And where's his backup, and that van?"

  "If he's keeping this to himself, he might be cutting accomplices out of the deal as well as Weaver," Mike said. "He's been told that Ian's just a mule. He's seen for himself that it's way more than that. There's a market out there and he knows it. It's probably not Weaver we need to worry about. It's whoever else the biker offers Ian to."

  "How does he think he's going to get Ian out of here, though? And why call Dru?"

  "He must still be watching. He realises we haven't called the police, because he's seen no activity. He knows we don't want attention."

  Rob didn't like guessing, but they had nothing else to go on. "He probably thinks we're scared, too, and Dru's a way of testing the water. He's still working out the rest. Just like we are."

  "I doubt he's aware of you. He knows I live here, though."

  "But if he knows you're minted, he probably thinks you're soft and useless. So he'll underestimate what he's up against."

  "He'll still need to make sure I don't have a security detail. If I were him, I'd assume there was one."

  Rob watched a deer tiptoeing through the trees to the rear of the house, clear as day in infrared. "He'll need to get close to the house, then."

  "So we watch and wait for him to come to us. Because he hasn't got forever, either. He'll watch to see if we try to move Ian. There's only one way out for a vehicle."

  "Then what?"

  Mike started going back through the day's recordings. He'd made up his mind to do something. Rob knew that look. The only way he could describe it was that Mike looked resigned to being someone else for a while, the Mike he didn't seem to like very much.

  "I don't think I'll be buying him off," Mike said.

  Rob could only nod in agreement. Whatever Mike had in mind, Rob was now committed to going along with it.

  CHALTON FARM, WESTERHAM

  0155 HOURS, SUNDAY.

  It was nearly 0200, and Mike found himself on the point of calling Dad to ask him to bring the full weight of his wrath to bear on Shaun Weaver. The house had been in complete lockdown for nearly 36 hours. He'd had enough.

  But the moment passed, and he snapped back to normal. This was the result of his own decisions, and he'd deal with them himself; beds, once made, had to be laid upon. He'd chosen to give Ian a home and now he had to live with the consequences. It was just fatigue and a disrupted body clock talking, making him cold and hungry despite a warm house and a stomach still full of last night's dinner.

  I used to be more resilient than this.

  He varied his sweep of the security monitors to keep himself alert; left to right, then up and down, then a diagonal pattern. When he heard quiet footsteps, he looked up expecting to see Ian. But it was Rob. He put two cups of tea on the narrow console.

  "We shouldn't both be up, Zombie," he said. "There's nobody to relieve us. Stick to your watch."

  "It is my watch. You're the one who's up early."

  "So I am." Rob produced up a packet of cookies. "At very least, he's got to watch the drive to see if we panic and try to move Ian."

  "And he knows we've got something to hide and that we're constrained by it. Everything we don't do confirms to him that we can't act."

  Rob glanced at his watch. When he didn't have car mirrors to watch, he fell back on checking the time. "Nearly thirty-six hours since the contact. You think he'd be worried that we could play dirtier than him, what with your dad and everything."

  "The longer he sees nothing happening, the more sure he is that he's got a chance."

  Rob sighed. "He's doing what we're doing, Mike. He can't tell anyone else what he's up to, his plans have gone to rat-shit, and he's trying to come up with a new plan on the fly."

  The switch from Zombie to Mike was usually a significant pointer to Rob's mood. Mike couldn't war-game this any longer. They'd just have to assume the worst and react accordingly. But he was sure of the one fixed point the biker had to plan around. If he lost track of Ian, the guy had nothing. So he'd still be watching.

  Slip out the back? He knows we don't have a rear vehicle access. It's easy enough to check on a sat map.

  Ian came downstairs around 0230 and stood watching the monitors with them for a while. Mike reached behind his chair to prod him.

  "Go back to bed, buddy. Nothing to see here."

  "I can't sleep."

  "Then read. But go back to bed."

  Ian trudged off again. Rob drummed his fingers on the console.

  "He morphed into Tom, didn't he?"

  That explained the use of Mike. "Does that piss you off?"

  "A bit."

  "I'll have a word with him when this is over."

  "I'm not knocking him. He's a good lad. He gets stuck into a fight and he keeps his head."

  "He's what we made him, Rob."

  "And what Maggie made him." Rob fidgeted. "Tom said he only went for the GCHQ thing because he couldn't be like me."

  "No shit? Wow."

  Maybe that was Rob's real issue. It was a heavy responsibility. Mike knew how it felt to be an adoring son who felt he wasn't capable of following his father.

  "If he doesn't like the job, will they let him leave?"

  "It's not a life sentence, Rob. Even real spooks get to resign. He's an IT man."

  "Just checking."

  Mike called up the map of the estate on one of the monitors and re-checked lines of sight to the driveway and front door. He was thinking about the calls he'd have to make on Monday to set up transport, finance, and a new job for Dru when one of the movement sensors blipped. Rob pounced on the camera feeds closest to the sensor and put the images on the screens.

  "Wait for it to pass the next one," he said.

  It took a few minutes before another sensor was triggered. Mike plotted the camera positions and the direction of movement against the sight lines. The NV filter gave a brief glimpse of a human shape moving, but the infrared showed very little, just the hint of a hot spot at head height. The position was less than a couple of hundred yards away.

  "So he can't wait any longer," Rob said. "He's getting in bloody close."

  "Can you see a weapon?"

  "If he's got anything bigger than a pistol, it's under his jacket. He must have some thermal barrier. It didn't look like a clean outline to me."

  "Foil blanket with cape over the top. I've done that."

  They couldn't see anything now. The next camera and set of sensors didn't catch the g
uy, so he'd either stopped within that area or moved off his predicted path.

  "Well, we know roughly where he is," Mike said. "Wait one."

  He trotted off to the utility room to pick up his plates, jacket, and radio. His Glock and his AR-10 were already out of the locker and loaded. With NV goggles and handheld thermal imaging, he could move around quietly and easily. When he got back to the security room, Rob was marking up a sheet of paper.

  "I think he's in this square," Rob said. "I'm going to kit up now."

  Mike checked the camera positions again. "No, keep an eye on the monitors and talk me through it."

  "You better leave this to me. Stay here and protect the house in case he's a decoy and he's got mates on standby. He's not going to try again without some extra precautions."

  "No. I've got this."

  "If anything goes wrong, your dad's going to get the blowback."

  "I can buy my way out of anything. But if you get pulled in, then it's still on file and it could catch up with Tom one day."

  "Don't make me say that I'm better than you at this shit."

  "I don't care if you are. This is my responsibility."

  "This isn't about your hang-ups, Mike. It's about getting a fucking result."

  "I said you're not doing this."

  Rob ignored him and lifted his sweater to tap his ballistic vest. "I've already got my party frock on. Take the roof and watch for backup vehicles."

  He got up to go, but Mike blocked his path. "You're not listening to me. My problem. I'll deal with it."

  "Come on, stop dicking around, mate." Rob wouldn't listen. "Move it."

  He just caught Mike with his shoulder, a friendly shove with a little insistence behind it, nothing he wouldn't have done on deployment. Mike reacted blindly. He pinned Rob flat against the wall. He regretted it instantly.

  "Whoa, steady, mate," Rob said. "Relax."

  "Sorry." Mike was mortified. He let go, embarrassed. "Leave this to me. Take the roof."

  Rob looked bewildered. Mike had never done anything worse than swear at him and then apologize immediately. He didn't even think he had the physical edge to take Rob. If he'd been anyone else, Rob would have flattened him without a second thought.