Entanglement

by Michael Brooks

  None.

  'Daniel, you're a scientist, not a gangster. You're better than all this.'

  No response.

  'I have to get that key, Daniel,' Virgo said. 'Will you help?'

  The loudspeaker in the hall boomed into life.

  'We're getting reports of a third plane, Mr President. This one's up out of Cuba. It's turning from the recorded flight plan. Fighters have been scrambled. Three minutes to contact.'

  Born looked into Virgo's eyes, then nodded towards the hall. 'And so it's a cheap trick in there too, isn't it? This is all for nothing.'

  Virgo nodded. There were no words.

  CHAPTER 72

  JESUS MOTHERFUCKING CHRIST, FRANK.'

  Delaney stared at Morgan, but said nothing. What could he say? Two of Morgan's men were dead. Morgan had let him go out into the field with a team who should have been safe at home with their families by now. Why had he called out the chopper? They had gone out to arrest one man, a journalist. Not a fucking mafia outfit. How did it get to this? Delaney felt a mild shock, but mostly he just felt numb. Maybe he wasn't up to all this. Maybe the Bureau's shrink was right.

  No. There had been an accident. It wasn't his fault.

  'Aren't you going to say anything?'

  Morgan was pulling at his hair. Literally pulling his fucking hair out. His face was flushed red, the blood vessels inflamed on his cheeks.

  What was there to say?

  'Stay here, Delaney.' Morgan picked up his jacket. 'If you value your life, don't move from that spot. Both our careers are over tonight, but if you move from this office, your life will also be over. Before dawn. I promise you that.'

  He moved to the door, then paused.

  'You're just a washed-up asshole who ran out of balls.' Spittle flecked out from his lashing tongue. 'End of story. If you had balls, you would have shopped me, not held me to a promise. I tried to give you a break tonight, but you screwed that up, like always. Screwed it up for both of us. It's not about Nancy any more, it's about you, Frank. You just haven't got what it takes. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go and explain what the fuck you've been up to. Jesus.'

  He clattered down the stairs.

  Delaney sank into a chair.

  It was an accident. Nothing more.

  Or was Morgan right? Was he a washed-up asshole?

  Screw him. Morgan was the one who got Nancy killed. When it came down to it, the buck stopped with him. And yet he was still running this outfit. Where was the sense in that?

  Thomas Wheelan. Why had Virgo shouted something about Thomas Wheelan?

  Morgan's computer pinged. A new message. He hadn't logged out, then. Delaney got up from the chair and stuck his head out the door. There was no one around. He pulled back inside, nudged the door closed, and headed round behind Morgan's desk. The computer was live, and he clicked the message open.

  A multiple hijack situation. All planes grounded. All field offices were on full alert.

  They have my daughter on a plane coming in from Cuba. It's being hijacked.

  Virgo was right. Jesus.

  But was he right about Wheelan?

  CHAPTER 73

  SHE COULD SEE THAT Vasil was pleased. Of course he was. This would be a very lucrative day's work.

  Katie Virgo's plane was minutes from catastrophe, but Genovsky was managing not to feel anything. She felt a twinge of sadness that Nathaniel Virgo was dead. It wasn't regret: it was the same sadness as when she shot Laszlo. But what choice did she have? Laszlo had decided it for her with his actions. The sadness came from understanding that his potential would never be properly realised. It was like abandoning a promising student halfway through their tuition.

  She would get over it. And at least Virgo's death had an upside: Born had pulled the trigger. He had made the transition. He'd understood the cost involved in this kind of science. It was hard, and dirty. This wasn't some abstract idea-testing, tinkering around with things that no one would ever care about. This was real, it had real consequences – life and death consequences – and it was rewarded with progress far beyond anything you could achieve within government or university labs.

  She had got used to killing people far quicker than she thought possible. Vasil had needed to force her, goad her, the first few times, but then it started to take, she started to see the point, that it was often the best option for everyone involved. Most of the people she killed had made choices that led them across her path. They knew the risks, and death was often a better option than a lifetime of watching their backs.

  Born was an exciting recruit. She had always known he would be. It was disappointing that he hadn't risen to her challenge the first time round, but there was still time for him to flower. It was important that she surround herself with good people. She had to assemble something that would impress Vasil, something they could leave running – with all the right securities in place, of course – when they left.

  Vasil had chosen South America, not Australia. Paraguay, at least for a while, he had said. Then, one day, it would all stop. They would go back to Bulgaria. He hadn't promised, but she felt it would happen. They could live a beautiful life there. They would grow old together. Maybe they would even have children, and she could dress them up for the festivals.

  Someone was tapping her on the shoulder.

  'Ms Genovsky.'

  It was Daniel Born. He was carrying the box. This was all working out.

  'I need you out here for a moment,' he said.

  He tapped the box. She turned and looked at the men.

  They had hardly noticed the intrusion: the broadcast from the White House was too compelling. The President sounded like a defeated man.

  'I want a patch through to the F-16s this time. If I'm going to kill a few hundred more people, I want to do it with my eyes open.'

  'Yes, Mr President.'

  'We have to nail this down, Bob. In the last hour, I will have thrown a thousand families into mourning. This has got to stop.'

  Wheelan looked around and smiled at Vasil. Neither of them seemed to see her there.

  She could go. Just for a minute.

  CHAPTER 74

  KATIE CRANED HER NECK to see if it was still there. Just moments ago she had caught it in her peripheral vision, a shadow of grey against the black sky, a tall tail fin sweeping upwards. A fighter jet was flying alongside the cockpit of their plane, as close as the pilot dared. But, in the darkness, it was unlikely he could see enough to make contact. There it was again. After a couple of seconds, it peeled away, and disappeared.

  She felt a curious calm. Perhaps it was everything she'd been through already. Perhaps there was a limit to the amount of stress one person could experience inside a few hours; perhaps she had run out of the ability to care. Katie could hear the captain appealing for quiet behind her in the economy cabin; even though he was speaking Spanish, there was no mistaking the tone: he was apologising. The controls had been disabled. All communications channels were unresponsive.

  Some of the passengers at the front of the economy cabin had evidently heard the announcement he'd just finished in first class, and started shouting across him as he began.

  He broke into English. 'Please, as yet, there is no cause for alarm.' He was pleading, straining to make himself heard above the rising clamour. 'We are still flying perfectly normally.'

  He didn't mention the shift in their heading. She had felt it; surely everyone else did too?

  'Please, I would ask that everybody remain in their seats, with their seatbelts fastened. We are investigating the situation and will keep you informed the minute we know anything more.'

  He began to speak in Spanish again, evidently repeating the message. The cabin crew moved up and down the aisles, checking belts were fastened, doing their best to keep the panic out of their faces. It was more than the passengers could manage. Most of them had the wide eyes of terrified children. Vicente had sunk low in the seat next to her, and was whimpering a rhythmic pra
yer. He had done a lot of this since he got on board. She hoped he was praying for forgiveness.

  She couldn't feel like that; she couldn't just sink into despair. She was better than that. And this wasn't all over yet. She felt a fragile peace descend. She could only sit now, and assume they would survive this. If it all depended on her, she would make sure they survived.

  The stewardess, the one who had talked to Rafael in Varedero, was giving her strange looks. Katie couldn't decipher them: were they an instruction to maintain the silence, or some accusation of blame? She'd seen enough Hollywood films to know what the fighter plane was for. If this were a film, though, her dad would be onboard with her; teenage girls didn't die like this, alone and defeated. She looked through the window. She hadn't seen the fighter plane again, but she guessed it was dancing in their slipstream, waiting for the command. The thought brought the panic back to the surface, and her heartbeat quickened. She breathed deep, summoned all her strength. Somewhere down there in the blackness, her dad was working to save her. And he would succeed.

  It would be all right. She had no one but herself to tell. So she told herself again. It would be all right.

  CHAPTER 75

  VIRGO BREATHED DEEPLY, EXHALING through pouted lips. His heartbeat was rising quickly again. He prepared his mind, just as his body was preparing itself. Standing there, just behind where the door would open, he was invincible. He could crack the back of her skull before she even saw him. He would do it too. If he killed Genovsky, it would only be for Katie's sake, not for revenge. To save Katie. Genovsky had started this. And this was how she had forced him to finish it.

  He looked down at his shaking hands. He was human; so was Alexandra Genovsky. But this was about survival. She had shown no mercy, no sign that she believed there was any other way than one of them killing the other in pursuit of the prize. Whatever that was.

  How in control was Genovsky? Was she just letting it unfold, did she care what happened to his daughter, what had already happened to his wife? How much had she told her bosses? Could she call the shots at all? He'd felt something when talking to her on the plane, like there was some kind of humanity there. Maybe that was just her skill, her manipulations? But he couldn't help feeling that, whatever her mannerisms, whatever language she used – spoken and unspoken – there was something honest there still. Her eyes had betrayed something that had never quite given in, never quite accepted her circumstances as the final outcome. He shook his head, recognising the hazard of concern. There was no reason for her to care about Rachel. It was the quantum computer, the sale, that mattered to Genovsky.

  That was her only point of weakness. And that was untouchable. You don't have a choice, he told himself. Just like she said. Sometimes, you don't have a choice.

  He had lost track of time. His watch was useless: the absolute time was irrelevant now. There would be a command soon that would destroy his world, spoken by the most powerful man on the planet. All time was now measured relative to that command. And he didn't know when it would come.

  His breath was coming so heavily that it forced his chest against the confines of his jacket. And something was digging into him with each inhalation.

  His phone.

  Imogen.

  He reached into the chest pocket of the jacket and switched the phone on. He wanted to be traced now, and he needed to know if Imogen had found something. Anything. As the phone came to life, the display told him he had a strong signal. And no messages. Nothing.

  He was still on his own.

  Where were they? What if Born had decided not to help? What if he had simply handed over the box, and whispered to a guard – told him where Virgo was holed up?

  Had he read Born properly?

  He had. The door opened, and he heard Born speak.

  'It's just in here, Ms Genovsky. After you.'

  CHAPTER 76

  THE NOISE SURPRISED VIRGO. As he smashed the gun into the back of Genovsky's skull, there was a splintering, an unmistakable high overtone, like the strain of porcelain chipped. Then he was surprised that he could register surprise in the short time it took Genovsky to crumple to the floor. She stared up, her eyes blank. Virgo looked away, towards Born. He stood open-mouthed, eyes wide, in the doorway.

  'I think you've killed her.'

  Virgo breathed again. 'Shut the door.'

  He knelt down, and felt for a pulse. He hadn't killed her. He went through her pockets. There had to be a key. Born said there was one.

  He looked up. 'Help me turn her over.'

  They pulled her onto her back. There were five pockets in all. In the trousers, two front, one back. In the jacket, one over each breast. But no key.

  No way out.

  Fuck.

  She had left him with nothing. This woman had stormed into his life, shot it to hell, brought him halfway around the world, had his wife killed and put his daughter into a deathtrap. And she had given him nothing in return. How was that fair? How was any of this fair?

  He stood up and kicked Genovsky's body with everything he had. The smouldering anger burst into flames inside him and he couldn't hold back. He was no better than her, really. Victimised by circumstance, he responded with an act of senseless violence.

  Fuck. Despite himself, he kicked her again, even as Born tried to pull him back. Genovsky's body shuddered, absorbing the blow. But this time he heard something: a metallic rattle, a shiver of steel. He stooped quickly down again, put a hand on one shoulder and shook the torso. The sound came again, metal sliding over metal. It was from under Genovsky's neck. Virgo pulled her shirt open, shredding the delicate silk. A button flew past his face. There was a metal chain around Genovsky's neck, its flimsy links dulled by the passage of time. It looped down to the floor, disappearing between her shoulder blades. One hard yank and it would break away. Virgo started to pull, but her blank face, with its bruised cheek and gently curving scar, broke his resolve. He lifted her head, and pulled the chain through her dark hair. She had auburn highlights.

  Virgo held the chain in front of his face. It had a small steel key. Next to the key, grey and tarnished except where, in tiny slivers, the key had scratched it into a crystalline shine, hung a St Christopher medal. He looked up at Born. 'Is this it?'

  Born didn't have time to respond. A knock yanked their attention to the doorway.

  'Ms Genovsky?'

  It was one of the guards.

  'Mr Marinov and Mr Wheelan want you back now. The President is about to issue the order.'

  Born responded with an authority that took Virgo by surprise. 'We'll be out in just a second,' he called.

  He looked at Virgo, then stepped forward and took the chain.

  Something in Born's eyes made Virgo let go. Something had changed. Born gripped the St Christopher medal between finger and thumb and held it in front of his face. He changed his focus and looked through it, fixing an intense stare on Virgo. Then, without a word, he stepped out of the room.

  CHAPTER 77

  KATIE HAD FELT THE plane change its heading again. They were descending now. For a fleeting moment, she thought the captain must have regained control. But he had emerged again from the cockpit, pale and thin-lipped, and was discussing something with the cabin crew in agitated whispers. The fighter plane had come back into view for a moment, too, but that was gone again now.

  This wasn't how it was meant to be. There was no catastrophic lurching, no spinning, nothing to indicate the plane was in trouble. The cabin was oddly quiet, the silence of resignation punctuated only by the occasional scream or whimper of a passenger overcome by a moment of panic.

  Katie didn't know what she felt. If she stopped and thought about it, allowed herself to think about it, she simply felt responsible. For the first time in her life, she felt the weight of responsibility for people she didn't even know. Somehow, for some reason she couldn't fathom, she was connected to this. All these people were sharing a plane with her, and she was taking them to their death.


  She looked at Vicente. He was staring at the seat in front now, his dark eyes blank.

  'Do you know what's going on?' she said.

  He offered no response. Katie made to get up, out of her seat. He reacted, reaching into his waistband for the gun. But she knew he wouldn't do anything. She had no idea whether his work was driven by some revolutionary bent or the pursuit of wealth. Maybe he just wanted an equal share. But he seemed broken now, and without purpose.

  'We are going to die, Vicente,' she said. 'All these people are going to die if the plane's controls aren't restored. If we don't crash, we'll be shot down.' She pointed at the window. 'There's a fighter plane out there. No one's going to let this plane get anywhere near a city.' She paused. He just kept staring ahead, into space. 'If there's anything you can tell me, tell me now. Think of Miguel. Don't you want to go back and see Miguel?'

  He turned and looked at her, but said nothing.

  Vicente didn't know anything. She knew that. But if she was responsible, so was he. No one was ever responsible alone.

  'I'm going to speak to the pilot,' she said. 'I have to tell him what I know.'

  When he spoke, his voice was quiet and distant. 'You are right. We are going to die,' he said. His eyes returned to the seat in front.

  Katie looked at him for a moment, then pulled at her prosthetic. She had loosened it off, let it breathe, and putting it back in place was the last thing she wanted to do. Why not just sit there like everyone else, and let what would happen happen?

  That wasn't how she worked. She was a fighter. That's what had got her back on the track; that was what would get her out of this. Somehow, she would get herself – and everybody – out of this.

  She rose out of her seat. Vicente put a hand on her arm.