by Claire Merle
– Ana understood something: Cole thought he might not 194
see her again. This business tomorrow night, helping the minister disappear, was more risky than he was letting on.
They left the flat, showing themselves out, and stood in the brick corridor, as though they’d both had the air knocked out of them.
‘Your mum?’ she asked.
‘Your mum?’ she asked.
‘Yeah. It’s the Benzidox. She’s been on it for a long time.’
Benzidox. The ‘miracle drug’ had appeared on the market about fifteen years ago. It reportedly delayed the advent of every diagnosable mental ilness and slowed down development of the Big3. It was so effective and so broadly useful, more people took Benzidox than al other medications and anti-depressants put together. And now Novastra were in the middle of negotiating a one-bilion pound deal with the government, so they could provide Benzidox free to every Sleeper or Active Big3
under the age of eighteen: BenzidoxKid.
‘She seemed . . .’ Ana wanted to say ‘vacant’, but didn’t want to offend Cole.
‘The drug’s got a four- to six-year peak,’ he said. ‘After that the mind often deteriorates so rapidly it’s like it colapses. One day she was there and the next she’d gone.’
A memory flashed over Ana. A green barn door. Car fumes poisoning clean air. Messy morning hair hanging in tangles across her face. Mud seeping up the bottoms of her white pyjamas. A gentle throb of a car engine. Her heart crashing against her chest.
She gasped and doubled over. Her arms flailed the air, searching out an alcove to her left. Reaching it, she vomited. A whiff of urine and sick struck her, making her 195
heave again. Her throat burnt. Her head pounded. She wiped the corner of her mouth with trembling fingers, wiped the corner of her mouth with trembling fingers, then stumbled back towards daylight.
In the narrow corridor Cole stared at her, eyes dark with concern.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.
‘I . . .’ Ana shook her head. She held her knuckles against her heart, fearing the stabbing pain would return.
‘My mother—’ she managed. Her eyes swam with tears.
They dropped down her cheeks. She swept them away with her sleeve, but they kept coming. ‘My mother was on Benzidox.
I remember now. She didn’t want to take it. She said it made her feel like the Unliving. But my father, he insisted.
He—’ she faltered. How had she forgotten al this? ‘He ground it up in her food. So she starved herself. For days.
At first I tried to sneak her stuff from the kitchen, but my father locked the kitchen door and instead of going back to London, he spent the week working at home. After about four days she came and ate dinner with us. He was pleased.
He produced her special plate and watched as she spooned it al in.’
Ana battled to inhale and exhale. Cole stepped towards her. Gently, he put an arm around her back. She leaned in towards him. He smoothed his hand over the tufts of hair at the nape of her neck. A racking sob built deep within. It lashed out from her in uncontrolable spasms.
But in spite of the pain, she felt like she was finaly being But in spite of the pain, she felt like she was finaly being released.
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17
Revelations
Jack Dombrant didn’t like complications. Nor did he like traveling on the Underground or mixing with the crowds that glutted City high streets. But here he was, stepping out of Camden Tube on foot, into the stench and mayhem of North London, to check out an anonymous tip that Ashby Barber’s daughter was staying on a barge in Camden Lock.
Side-skipping a half-crushed carton of puke-coloured noodles, he headed up the main street, sticking as close to the central flow of bicycles and as far from the sprawling market stals as he could manage without getting run down.
He checked his projected map and turned left down Jamestown Road leading to Gilbey’s Yard. Several things irked him, which is why he hadn’t told Ashby what he was up to. Ariana Barber was more astute and inteligent than her father gave her credit for. Her composure the morning after Jasper’s abduction showed an unusual amount of self-control; a reminder to everyone involved that this was not the first devastating blow life had dealt her. Additionaly, she’d been suspicious of Jack, when she should have felt trust.
But Jack hadn’t foreseen anything like this. It begged the question, how much did she know? Had they underestim-197
underestim-197
ated her relationship with Jasper Taurel? Why the heck would she be sneaking around the City, if she didn’t have the faintest inkling of what Jasper had been up to?
It was complicated al right. He didn’t like it at al.
Just as the informer had described, Jack found two boats moored a hundred metres up the canal, in the direction of Gilbey’s Yard. He stroled towards them, flicking through scenarios, mentaly preparing himself for a myriad of possibilities, so he wouldn’t be caught off guard.
Bending into the black barge, he scratched fresh mud off the hul. Both boats had recently been moved. The varying watermark striations indicated regular moorings in several different places. Then he noticed the name – a name he’d been chasing for the last four days like an idiot trying to catch his shadow. He might have laughed at himself, if it wasn’t for the fact that he’d mentioned
‘Enkidu’ to Ariana.
From somewhere behind and to the left, gravel crunched underfoot. Jack deducted a short lone male heading towards him from the market. He swiveled to his feet and smiled at the sight of the young man with spiky hair.
It felt good to have his powers of deduction proved right time and again. It was one of the things he loved about his job.
‘Can I help you with something?’ the man asked. Jack had set his interface on profile mode, yet nothing projected on the boy’s grey sweater. He glanced at the interface hanging from the boy’s neck. The power light shone green.
Which meant either the guy had no blog, no face page, Which meant either the guy had no blog, no face page, no website, no frequently visited sites and no memberships to any online organisation, or he knew one heck of a talented profile blocker.
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‘I’m looking for a girl,’ Jack said amiably. ‘Young, five-foot-seven, very attractive. I heard she’s staying here.’
The boy shrugged as though he didn’t know, didn’t care.
‘Why don’t you try Barry’s. There’s lots of pretty girls there.’
Jack smiled. ‘This girl’s special,’ he said, loading the word
‘special’ with undertones even someone as unsubtle as this guy wouldn’t be able to miss.
The boy’s left eye twitched.
‘A lot of important people are worried about her. Here.’
Jack extracted his hand-sized pad and held it up.
‘Perhaps I could show you some video of her. You tel me if she looks familiar.’
Something moved on the red boat. Jack looked up and saw a dark-haired teenager with black lipstick, heavy eyeshadow and bright blue eyes, peering from the wheelhouse.
The girl folded her arms across her chest and walked across the rear of the barge. She jumped on to the dock and joined them, never breaking eye contact.
Jack swalowed his annoyance. She was a child, nothing to worry about. He connected his interface to his viewing pad and puled up the video he’d prepared of Ariana playing piano at last year’s school variety concert. As the thirty-second segment began, he noted the girl and the boy’s reactions. The boy’s level of discomfort instantly rose, but the girl didn’t bat an eyelid.
‘She looks like a Pure,’ the girl said. ‘What would someone like her be doing around here?’
Jack’s mood darkened. What was it with this assignment and clever young girls who looked deceptively sweet?
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‘Recognise her?’ he asked the boy.
‘No.’
‘She could have changed her hair,
or eye colour, or makeup.’
‘I don’t recognise her,’ the boy answered.
‘Because, you see, the problem is, she’s supposed to be joinin’ with that abducted Oxford student Jasper Taurel in a couple o’ weeks and—’ The young man flinched.
‘And, we think she may have seen somethin’, may have information about the abduction, but she’s scared of comin’ forward.’
The boy’s eyes darted from the dark-haired girl to the red barge, then across the towpath and back again.
‘Her father, Ashby Barber, is extremely concerned,’
Jack continued. Now even the girl paled. Despite Jack continued. Now even the girl paled. Despite Ashby’s renown in educated Pure circles, it was surprising to find two young City kids who’d heard of him. Most Sleepers, Carriers and Actives under the age of thirty paid no attention to the news or politics. Half of them couldn’t even name the prime minister.
Jack took out his walet and flashed his badge.
‘Can I see some ID?’ he said.
The boy swalowed, hands now rigid in his pockets. He blinked, but didn’t move, like prey suddenly recognising it’s in the sight line of its pursuer. The dark-haired girl handed him her ID stick.
‘If this person you’re looking for was afraid,’ the girl said,
‘why wouldn’t she go to you, the Wardens? Pures don’t exactly hang around in the City, do they?’
Jack felt his patience wear thin. He ignored her question, 200
flashed the girl’s ID in front of his interface and examined her details.
Lila Aimes. Born October 2026. Fifteen years old.
Daughter of Simon Aimes, 54 years old, whereabouts un-known, and Jennifer Winter, 47 years old, 84
Burbary Estate, Archway.
Jack stared at the data, scarcely believing the coincidence.
He’d instaled a hidden surveilance camera at that He’d instaled a hidden surveilance camera at that address only last month when it had come to light that the Secretary of State for Trade and Industry could no longer be trusted. The minister visited the Archway estate weekly.
Jack hadn’t paid it too much attention; he’d thought the Secretary was simply paying an old debt – his son had kiled the woman’s husband in a drunk-driving accident twenty years ago. But maybe there was more to it than that.
If these people were connected to the Secretary of State for Trade and Industry for other reasons, this went beyond complicated. The Secretary and Jasper Taurel were the Pure Protection Unit’s prime concerns right now, and Ariana was linked to both of them. Ashby would be furious if his daughter had discovered what Jasper was involved in.
Lila Aimes had no judicial or psychiatric history. Jack thrust her ID back at her.
‘Yours?’ he said, glowering at the boy.
The boy’s gaze snapped forward from somewhere off to the left. He’d been looking at something. For a fraction of a second, there’d been fear in his eyes. Jack turned. A pregnant girl waddled towards them. Jack scanned the boy’s ID, keeping an eye on the latest arrival.
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Nate Winter, born January 2020, twenty-one. Son of Samuel Winter, deceased, and Jennifer Winter, 47 years old, 84 Burbary Estate, Archway.
So the dark-haired girl and this boy were half-brother and sister. Unlike his sister, however, what folowed the boy’s headers looked like a dissertation on a dysfunctional childhood in the system. Taken away from his mother by the health services when he was fifteen months old; moved foster care homes three times before he was six; ended up in an orphanage before his seventh birthday. Six months later, he disappeared. The authorities had him filed under missing persons until four years ago, when he applied for official ID and declared the birth of a son, folowed by his marriage to Simone Janet April.
Out of the corner of his eye, Jack saw the pregnant girl veer away from them. Nate Winter was signaling her with his eyes.
‘Excuse me,’ Jack caled. The girl ground to a halt. Nate and his half-sister froze. Jack stroled over to the boy’s wife.
‘Six months? Seven?’ he asked smiling. The girl’s hand moved over her stomach.
‘Six,’ she said.
‘You’re carrying it low. Looks like another boy.’ He paused. ‘Strange, I just checked your husband’s ID and it didn’t come up that you were expecting another child.
Can I see the pregnancy permit?’
The girl twisted her plain silver wedding ring, which sat tight around her bloated fingers. She didn’t deny she was Nate Winter’s wife. Spot-on as usual, Jack thought.
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‘I . . . er . . .’ She blew her fringe and flipped open her shoulder bag. Practicaly dipping her head inside it, she rummaged through the contents. Meanwhile, Nate and his sister approached.
‘What seems to be the problem?’ Nate said.
‘Your ID doesn’t show you have a second child registered,’ Jack replied. ‘Your wife is just looking for the permit.’
Nate gazed at Jack evenly.
‘It’s on the boat,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you wait here, while I find it?’
‘Sure.’ Jack nodded.
Nate strutted towards the boat moored alongside Enkidu.
The girls backed away. Jack didn’t fancy his chances of getting out of there unscathed if he pushed any harder.
He needed back-up. He needed concrete confirmation that Ariana was with these people. And then he’d figure out how they were connected to Jasper Taurel and the Secretary of State for Trade and Industry.
Pretending to receive a cal on his interface, he plugged in an earphone and hand gestured picking up. ‘Yes . . . ?
Yes
. . . Straightaway.’
‘Looks like we’ve found the girl elsewhere,’ he said to
‘Looks like we’ve found the girl elsewhere,’ he said to Nate’s sister and the pregnant girl. ‘I apologise for bothering you.’ He arranged the pad in its leather case and slipped it into the inner pocket of his jacket. ‘You make sure you sort out the permit, though. Home births are dangerous, and you’l need it to be accepted into any hospital.’
He smiled and turned towards the warehouses, stretch-203
ing out his awareness behind him in an effort to discern whether Nate was folowing.
*
After leaving Cole’s mother, Ana and Cole rode a short distance to Tufnel Park. Ana waited with the bike, while Cole vanished into a town house and emerged several minutes later apologising for having left her on her own.
‘I thought we could go and get a coffee before we go back,’ he said. ‘If you’re up for it.’
Ana nodded. ‘I’d like that.’ She felt drained and wanted to recharge before she faced anyone else.
They headed in the direction of Camden, turned right off a long road and traveled west, weaving through the backstreets. Cole drove slowly even where the roads weren’t crowded. Exhausted, Ana rested her head on his shoulder, aware of the exact places their bodies met and breathing in the smel of soap and summer on his jacket.
He hadn’t said anything, but she knew he understood the guilt and the helplessness which would stay with her always.
always.
They puled up at a huge round monument constructed from antique brick. Cole cut the engine.
‘Here we are,’ he said, nodding at the building. A glass, rectangular extension jutted out from the sandy-coloured structure. The three-storey addition bore scruffy letters on the windows. ‘The Roundhouse’, Ana read.
‘Long, long time ago it was a steam-engine repair shed,’
Cole said, alighting. He reached out to help her down.
As her hand slipped into his a hot shiver flushed through her.
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She puled away, wondering why she couldn’t control the way her body reacted to him.
‘Where do you get the petrol from?’ she asked, trying to cover up her embarrassment.
‘Actualy, it’s ethanol, a form of alcohol. They make smal
amounts of it in the Project from overripe fruit. A few mod-ifications to the bike and I don’t even have to mix it with petrol.’
‘Realy?’
‘Sure. If you know what you’re doing there are several ways around the petrol issue. For example, you can make a diesel car engine run on pure vegetable oils . . .
Smels like someone’s having a fry up.’ He grinned. She smiled back, her embarrassment almost forgotten. They pushed through the glass doors and entered a large reception area. A girl behind the counter batted her reception area. A girl behind the counter batted her eyelashes at Cole.
‘This the latest one, then?’ she asked, flicking a fake smile in Ana’s direction. ‘She looks younger than your sister.’
Ana grew self-conscious again. Staring at her pumps, she tucked her hands in her pockets.
Cole ignored the girl’s innuendos. ‘Is Rob around?’
‘No, but you can wait for him upstairs til he gets back.’
Placing his hand on the centre of Ana’s back, Cole guided her to an arched doorway. She lengthened her step to break contact. You have to stop thinking of him like that, she warned herself.
‘Denise is rehearsing,’ the receptionist caled after them.
‘Sure she’d love to see you.’
Denise . . . Rachel . . . Apart from the fact that Cole was 205
clearly the kind of guy who played the field, he was also involved in the Enlightenment Project and folowed a mys-tic shaman, whose vision had him doing God-knew-what in the future. Besides, she had Jasper. Once Jasper was free, he would need to go away until the evidence against the Pure tests was in the public hands. She would go with him; support him. Perhaps they’d return to the farmhouse where she’d lived as a child.
Resolving to keep her distance from Cole, Ana strode ahead through the arched corridor.
ahead through the arched corridor.
‘You al right?’ he asked as they entered a circular room with six arched corridors leading off it.
‘Fine.’
‘This way.’ He took the lead. Ana folowed him down a brick passage, nerves tightening around her insides. She needed to remain on guard. It wasn’t normal the way Cole had managed to penetrate her defences in such a short period of time.
He opened a door into a white area with a glass desk, huge flatscreen, microphones and recording equipment.
