Mikey hadn’t known who Gaynor was, of course, beyond her claiming to be a cop. But because an NYPD patrol car had been involved it had been easy enough for the Chelsea Feds to track down the patrolmen’s report and identify her. Just a little more checking had revealed that she was the girlfriend of one Norman Bishop – otherwise known as the Dominator. All the Enforcer and his Apprentice had to do then was to tail her. They’d banked on her leading them to the Dominator and to Connie Pike, the woman they’d been entrusted to remove from the face of the earth. Ultimately Gaynor had done just that.
The Enforcer could break into almost any property almost anywhere without causing a disturbance. He knew as much about electronic security systems as the people who designed and manufactured them. Indeed he could probably have designed a system as well, if not better, than most of them, were it ever in his interests to do so.
It was the Enforcer who opened the door to the room where Connie and the Dominator slept. He was good at opening doors without making a sound. He moved silently towards Dom, sprawled in his armchair, snoring rhythmically, and gestured to the Apprentice, who, the sweat standing up on his brow, began to approach the bed where Connie slept.
The Enforcer reached into the inner folds of his grey overcoat and produced a butcher’s knife. The Apprentice glanced across at him. He was already carrying a smaller, but equally lethal looking, knife in his right hand. Its long narrow blade gleamed in the shaft of afternoon sunshine shining through the room’s one window. The Apprentice moved closer to the bed and aimed the point of the blade directly at the base of Connie Pike’s throat.
Dom was still snoring softly, his chest moving up and down as he breathed in and out. The Enforcer leaned over the big man, drew his knife hand back a little, and tensed the muscles in his shoulder and arm ready to deliver a lethal stab to the heart. The Enforcer was a professional. It would only take one blow.
Connie Pike and her unlikely protector were about to die.
NINETEEN
Back in the UK, in the thick undergrowth just beyond the iron railings which surrounded Northdown House, the anonymous man was ready for the kill. His first target was in his sights, clear as could be. He could not have asked for better.
He curled the index finger of his right hand around the trigger of his rifle. The man was able to hold his hands and arms almost unnaturally still. He was a professional. And to him, this was almost too easy. Sandy Jones had just seconds to live.
He began to squeeze. Gently. Steadily. Smoothly.
Within the inner pocket of his raincoat his mobile phone, set on silent mode, began to vibrate. The man paused, his finger now rigid on the trigger. He made himself relax his body. Then he lowered the rifle and reached inside his coat.
Only his employers contacted him on that phone. And he knew better than to ignore them. He was being sent a text. He called it up and read it through. The message was short and to the point. Just one word, repeated a second time.
‘Abort abort’
The anonymous man slid the phone back into his pocket, flipped on the rifle’s safety catch, once more tucked the gun inside his raincoat, and walked nonchalantly back to his car where he dismantled the weapon even more swiftly than he’d assembled it, replaced it in the case in the boot, and drove off.
In the Brooklyn brownstone the Enforcer, who rather enjoyed his work, was anticipating the moment when the cold steel blade of his butcher’s knife would plunge into warm softly compliant flesh. His fingers were clenched tight as a vice around the knife’s shaft, when he felt the cell phone in his trouser pocket vibrate.
Only his employers called him on that phone. The Enforcer knew better than to ignore them.
He reached for the phone and glanced at the text message he had just been sent. The Enforcer was disappointed, but it did not occur to him to do anything other than to obey the instruction he had been given. He relaxed his knife arm, and began to replace the weapon within the folds of his coat. With his other hand he made a kind of horizontal slashing motion. The Apprentice understood at once that the mission had been called off.
Once they’d left the building, the Enforcer held out the cell phone towards the Apprentice, so that the younger man could see the displayed message.
‘Abort abort’
Meanwhile Dom jolted suddenly awake, blinking furiously, cursing his own weakness. Something had disturbed him. What was it? Had he heard a noise? Or was it his imagination? Could he have been dreaming?
He hauled himself to his feet, shaking off his bone weariness. No harm was going to come to Connie Pike while he had care of her, that was for certain, whatever that up-herself damned Englishwoman thought.
Dom looked across at Connie, who was still sleeping peacefully. It was the first time he’d seen her at peace since it all began.
He checked the locks on the window by Connie’s bed, as he’d done a dozen times that day, and peered outside into the street. Everything seemed normal. But Dom’s antennae were waggling. He slipped out of the bedroom, and began to make his way systematically through the house, checking each room, every window and door.
Everything was as it should be. In any case surely nobody could have found them there, could they? Not yet. The brownstone belonged to Gaynor’s grandmother, who was in hospital. And Gaynor and Dom had agreed it was about as safe a house as they were going to get.
None the less Dom still felt uneasy. He still felt that something was not quite right, although he couldn’t explain to himself what or why.
Then the house phone rang. It was Gaynor.
‘Have you guys seen the news?’ she asked.
Sandy Jones was totally unaware of just how close she had come to death. She had no idea that an armed assassin had been about to cold-bloodedly shoot her through her bedroom window. And, of course, she had no idea that, in New York, Connie Pike and her minder had also only narrowly escaped a violent death.
To her, everything at Northdown seemed peaceful.
She drew her bedroom curtains, undressed, showered in the en suite, then pulled on jeans and a clean shirt. Downstairs again, the aroma of frying bacon hit her as soon as she opened the kitchen door.
‘I raided your deep freeze for the bacon, and I’m going to scramble some eggs I found in your fridge, if that’s all right,’ said Ed.
‘More than all right,’ said Jones, who had hardly eaten anything all day again, and now, smelling the bacon, realized just how hungry she was.
As she opened a bottle of wine, she glanced sideways at Ed, busying himself over the frying pan. He was such a kind, thoughtful man; still quite attractive, too, in spite of having now lost most of his hair. But then, he’d not had much left when she’d last seen him twenty-one years earlier.
She gave Ed a fuller account of the press conference as they ate, and they were still discussing what they both hoped would be achieved when her phone rang.
‘It’s me, you fucking genius.’
Jones’s face broke into a wide grin.
‘I knew you’d see the light one of these days,’ she responded.
‘Connie,’ she hissed in an aside to Ed, who let out a yelp of delight. Connie was alive.
Jones returned her attentions to the phone.
‘Are you all right, Con?’ she asked. ‘It’s just wonderful to hear from you.’
‘I’m fine. One hundred per cent. Thanks to you.’
Jones’s grin grew even wider. It was already clear that Connie not only knew that Jones had gone public, but that she approved.
‘Where are you? Are you still with Dom? Are you still hiding away somewhere?’
‘I’m with Gaynor. In her car. Along with two very large male detectives. She picked up the news first.’
There was a brief pause.
‘I understand you found out what she does for a living, Sandy,’ Connie continued.
‘Uh huh.’
‘Yes, well, Marion and I didn’t know that either. Not when we went to Dom for help. But Dom’s righ
t. The only good cop is a tame one.’
She chuckled.
‘So what are you doing now?’ asked Jones. ‘How are you handling this?’
‘Well, straight away we reckoned you’d made me pretty much bullet proof. For a while anyway. You’ve also given credence to my conspiracy theory. I’ve already given a statement to the police. Put everything on record. Gaynor and her friends are taking me to CNN. I’m doing a TV interview. They’re my police protection apparently, though I don’t reckon I need it. Anyone in high places who’s been after my tail is going to back right off now.’
‘Uh huh. I didn’t know the NYPD ran a chauffeur service for television stations.’
‘Maybe it depends on whether or not they have a personal interest.’
‘And Dom?’
‘He’s sleeping, I hope. He’s been watching over me day and night. He’s exhausted. None the less he still wasn’t happy about letting me out of his sight. I think his nose might be a bit out of joint.’
Jones laughed.
‘I guess I misjudged him.’
‘I guess so. Anyway, Sandy. I think you’ve worked a miracle. I couldn’t do any of this if you hadn’t gone public in the way you did. I do understand what it took for you to speak out like that, you know.’
Jones was silent for a moment. Connie knew better than anyone what her career meant to her. She also knew what damage an acknowledged association with RECAP could still do to Sandy Jones. Connie was, more than likely, the only person in the world who did understand. Except perhaps Ed.
‘Yes, well, not before time,’ she said.
‘Without you nobody would have given a shit,’ Connie continued. ‘Nobody would have listened. I would just have been that psi nut. More than that, if I’d come out of hiding without your backing I would almost certainly have had a fatal accident.’
‘I think we all feared that.’
‘Yep. I didn’t know you had so much clout. You clever bitch.’
‘Careful Connie, I’m not used to flattery from you. Even if it is wrapped up in your usual vernacular.’
‘Yeah, well. You may just have given me my life back, Dr Sandy Jones.’
‘I hope so.’ Jones paused. ‘How’s Marion? Have you been to see her yet?’
‘I have. Gaynor took me to the hospital on the way to the police station. It’s awful to see her looking so ill. But she’s conscious, she’s stable, and they’re planning to move her out of intensive care tomorrow. She can’t really talk much yet, but she is on the mend. And it looks as if they’ve managed to save her other leg.’
‘I’m so glad, Connie. You’ve been through a hell of a lot. Both of you.’
‘I guess so. But we might be on the home straight now. You’re all over the news here, with your allegations. Did you know that?’
‘I’ve caught a couple of bulletins,’ Jones murmured.
‘Everyone’s denying all knowledge, of course. The FBI knows absolutely nothing, as usual. Our national government knows even less, it seems. And our apology for a president has gone on holiday to Camp David. I can’t wait to see the papers tomorrow. Fox TV are already calling it Connie-gate.’
Jones smiled. Connie sounded quite like her old self. Jones was delighted. She also felt she should counsel a little caution. Whoever had tried to kill Connie after she’d escaped the Princeton blast, and whoever had been responsible for that explosion, the death of two scientists and the injuries to the students, would probably want Connie dead more than ever. Even if they didn’t actually dare do anything about it, for the time being.
‘Take care, Connie,’ she said. ‘You may not be out of the woods yet. It’s hard to second guess what will happen next. You’re still a target you know, you have to be—’
‘C’mon, you downbeat,’ Connie interrupted cheerily. ‘If an accident should befall me now there’d be an international outcry. I’m suddenly safe as houses. I’m not just bulletproof, I’m goddamned nuclear missile proof. Thanks to you.’
‘Well, I guess so, but—’
‘No buts, Sandy. Connie Pike is in business again. I reckon we’ll get RECAP back up and running after this. The university won’t have any choice. Not with all the publicity. I knew you were the one person who could put things right. RECAP could get a whole new lease of life, Sandy. It could be better than ever.’
‘Well, yes maybe.’
Jones was a touch surprised. She hadn’t expected Connie to react quite so effusively.
‘But Paul is still dead,’ she continued quietly. ‘We can’t bring him back.’
‘No, none of us will ever get over Paul’s death,’ Connie responded. ‘But he would have wanted his work to go on. And that’s what’s going to happen, Sandy. RECAP is going to go on and on, for another thirty years, forty years, for as long as it takes. The journey will continue.’
‘But what about an end to that journey? Paul’s final work, his paper—’
‘If it’s lost, it’s lost,’ Connie interrupted. ‘That’s been one of the big media lines here already, by the way. Has the secret of consciousness been lost for ever? But we won’t stop. We will carry on Paul’s work. That’s what matters.’
Ed tugged at the sleeve of Sandy’s sweater.
‘Why don’t you tell her? Tell her I copied Paul’s paper.’
‘Hold on a minute, Connie.’ Jones put her hand over the receiver.
‘I nearly did, just then,’ she whispered. ‘But she’s got half the NYPD with her, for Christ’s sake. She thinks we’re all bulletproof now. I’d like to hold back the trump card until we’re sure of that. Do you want to talk to her?’
Ed nodded furiously. Jones handed him the receiver.
‘Just remember, don’t mention that USB.’
She wondered if she was being overly cautious. But upon reflection she didn’t think so. They still didn’t know who had been responsible for the bombing, or the attack on Marion. Jones felt strongly that danger continued to lurk. The reasons why she’d withheld all mention of the existence of a USB containing Paul’s work at the press call remained totally valid.
Ed broke off his conversation with Connie in order for Jones to say a quick goodbye. Apparently the car was just about to arrive at the TV station.
‘Gotta go kick some ass,’ Connie told her.
Not for the first time Jones wondered at the woman’s strength and resilience. With all that she had been through and all that she had lost, it seemed that Connie Pike was already in the process of picking herself up and starting again.
She turned to Ed.
‘How do you think Connie sounded?’
‘Great.’ Ed beamed at her. Then his smile faded.
‘What’s wrong?’ asked Jones.
‘I can’t help thinking about Mikey. Still no response to my email. I switched on my cell phone again, after the press conference, there seemed no reason not to, and I called him a couple of times. No reply, and he’s not called back. He’s at the heart of all this craziness, after all. I know it’s his own fault, but I can’t help worrying about him. I mean, he might have been badly injured …’
‘He’ll be all right. I think your brother is a survivor.’
‘I hope so.’
Jones reached out and touched his arm.
‘And I hope he knows how lucky he is to have a brother like you.’
‘Oh, come on.’
‘No. I hope he does. I was too dumb to know how lucky I was, when I had you in my life.’
‘You’re embarrassing me, Sandy.’
‘I’m sorry. It’s just that, even with everything that’s happened, it’s been so very good to have you around these last few days, to be with you again …’
Abruptly Ed pulled away and turned his back on her. Jones kicked herself. She hadn’t meant to say any of that.
Ed was silent for what seemed like for ever. Then he turned to face Jones again.
‘I’m very proud of you, Sandy,’ he said. ‘Not because you’re a big shot celebrity scientist.
But because of what you’ve done for RECAP, for Connie, and for me. And I like being with you too. But you should know, I’ve never really got over what happened between us, what you did to me. And I’m not sure I ever will.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Jones. ‘I know I behaved abominably. I’m really so sorry for the pain I caused you.’
‘It was a long time ago …’
‘Yes. And you know what? I think I’ve spent my life ever since looking for what we had back then. But, at the time, bloody fool that I was, I didn’t even recognize it.’
In the morning Jones woke at seven, just before her alarm sounded, and slipped softly out of bed.
Ed was still asleep. In the spare bedroom. He had made it pretty clear that the situation was not going to change, not for a very long time at any rate, even though she was beginning to think she might rather like it if it did. But she knew she mustn’t dwell on that.
She left him a note before setting off to Exeter, and arrived just before eight thirty. The university was open on Saturdays and still received an early post. On the way to her office, Jones detoured to the post room to see if anything had arrived for her. She could hardly contain her excitement on finding a jiffy bag addressed to her, with a New Jersey postmark.
Jones ripped it open eagerly. Inside was the USB bearing a scientific paper which could change the world, wrapped by Ed in several layers of kitchen paper for extra protection. It looked so ordinary.
With trembling fingers she unwound the paper, and fed the USB into her laptop, avoiding her desktop computer which was connected to the university’s network system.
And there it was. Paul Ruders’ Theory of Consciousness. Jones felt the excitement rise within her. A light film of perspiration formed on her forehead, even though her office was cool. She downloaded the document and removed the USB from its slot.
Then she settled herself in her chair, and prepared to go to work.
First she cancelled – by email – the filming for the final part of her current BBC series scheduled for the following day. She was unlikely to be free in time, and in any case would now have little opportunity to prepare. She wouldn’t be popular, but she couldn’t help it. Her Oxford dinner had been cancelled for her. At that moment she didn’t give a damn about that, nor indeed anything else at all – except the Ruders Theory.
Cry Darkness Page 24
