"But that's not—"
Cheong held up a hand. "I think he may intentionally be evading detection."
"Why?"
"I can't say right now. We're still looking into it."
"So, you're censuring me." He shifted uncomfortably. If it was just him and Cheong present, that would be one thing. But having Emily in the same room made the situation all the more awkward. "If I had known this meeting was going to be a performance review, I would have dressed more appropriately."
Cheong did not seem amused. "The Eitan issue is only part of it. The truth of the matter is, I also need you to observe. You've always warned me about the woman, that she's not who she appears to be. It looks like you were right all along."
"How can I observe? She thinks I'm dead."
"No direct observation. No contact."
"Why me?"
You know her better than anyone on my team."
"Not really."
"I have not been as objective about her as I should have been. You have, despite the personal connection you formed with her. I need to tap into that. So, you can think of this as punishment or an acknowledgment of your importance to me, that's up to you. It makes no difference to me either way."
"Yes, sir."
"Now, about this story she told me."
"You don't believe her."
"No."
"Why not?"
Once again, Joseph's eyes flicked over to Emily. She was smirking now. He could almost hear her thinking that she'd told him as much, and he knew that, later, when they were alone again, she'd bring up the subject just to poke. She rarely let an opportunity pass to chastise him for not giving her more credit for being as smart as she was. It was the one thing he found unattractive about her, this need for validation. And the further along they got in this strange relationship of theirs, the worst it seemed to get.
He supposed he could partially excuse her behavior, given what he knew of her past. There was also the fact that Cheong treated her like a child, even though she had stopped being one years ago. But she was a smart girl, very self-aware. And very much in control when she wanted to be. She didn't need to act this way.
Cheong cleared his throat. "Let's just say I have some serious doubts about her reliability right now."
"I knew it!" Emily whispered. It was loud enough for them all to hear.
Cheong turned to her, frowning, and it was like a switch was flipped. She was his timid little mouse again. "Sorry?"
"She's just echoing what I've always said in the past," Joseph quickly offered.
"Yes, well, I should have listened to you better. Emily, would you leave us now, please? I'd like to talk to . . . Joseph now, and I don't want to bore you. You may have the rest of the day off."
"Are you sure, sir? I don't mind."
"Go on now, enjoy your free time. I'm afraid you would find all of this terribly uninteresting."
"Yes, sir."
Joseph caught her sticking her tongue out at the back of Cheong's head as she departed. He knew Cheong was wrong in his assessment of her; she'd interrogate him later, once they were alone again. She'd want to know everything the two men had talked about.
Patience, he silently urged her. Don't push our luck.
Chapter Forty Four
Cheong gestured for them to sit. He wasted no time relaying Angel's story, abbreviating it to just the gist. It still took a while, and partway through, Joseph went into the kitchen to warm himself up some takeout that Emily had brought in from town. The smell of the reheated fish and sweet potatoes filled the apartment. As expected, Cheong declined his offer to join him.
When the Chinese man finished, Joseph said, "That is . . . quite the story. I can see why you're reluctant to believe it."
"It's not just the story. Her erratic behavior undermines her credibility."
"And what if she's telling the truth?"
"The technology is far beyond anything we're capable of right now."
"On the other hand, it fits well with what we know about China. It fills in the gaps of what we didn't know quite nicely. And it could explain some other incidents popping up on our radar lately."
"If you're talking about East Africa again," Cheong began, "I already told you we can't be distracted by the activities of a group of poorly coordinated, uneducated, religious zealots and tribesmen. Even after all the attacks we've suffered lately, they are not enough of a threat to concern 6X."
"You don't think we're underestimating them? I mean, it took a hell of a lot of coordination to do what they've done over the past couple of weeks. They nearly brought the world to a standstill."
"You need to consider the big picture. These acts of violence are little more than a nuisance. The question we need to be asking is whether Angelique's nanites are indeed an existential threat to our species or the product of a deluded mind. If it is the latter, then the only threat is the risk she represents to our organization and its operations."
"Actually, I was referring to the Russia and Chili events. Do we have any proof supporting her claims that they were experiments?"
"I've got people digging into them. In the mean time, she promises that when we meet tomorrow she'll give us direct proof of the existence of these nanite things. I assume, given the arrangements she demanded for this Mister al-Haddad, that he is the source of that proof."
"Why wait? Why haven't we tested his blood already?"
"You know that is not how I operate."
Joseph frowned as he remembered what Emily had told him about Cheong letting Angel walk all over him. He could see it now. Usually, the man was fully in charge, but in this instance he seemed to have taken a hands-off approach. Had their bosses so tied Cheong's hands that he was afraid to take any action?
Cheong lapsed into silence, as if contemplating his options as well. He tapped his gloved fingers on the arm of the chair and stared off into the distance.
"I know about the exhumation," Joseph finally said. "Does your sudden . . . change of heart regarding her have anything to do with what you found there?"
Irritation flickered across Cheong's face. Joseph knew he wasn't supposed to say anything about it. Emily had told him with the expectation that he would not let on to Cheong he knew. But there was no reason Cheong would instantly assume it was her who had told him. There were other people who could have spilled the beans.
"You've always had trouble accepting Jacques' death," he pressed, when Cheong didn't answer.
"She acted as if she believed he was alive. Up until a couple weeks ago, she would leave messages on her answering machine for her brother. Then there was the paperwork . . . ."
"The lack of recent medical records, you mean? The death certificate? No one just drops off the face of the earth like that, not unless they really are dead."
"I had doubts about the death certificate's authenticity. And you know as well as I that, with regards to the medical records, absence of evidence is not evidence of absence. There are options for treatment that leave no paper trail. I just needed to be sure."
"Had you spoken with her about him?"
"I haven't spoken with her in nearly six months!"
Joseph winced. He could sense Cheong's frustration. "And the tombstone?" he asked.
Cheong chuckled humorlessly. "There are equally plausible explanations for its existence. Knowing the relationship the boy had with his parents, he might have erected the headstone as a mocking memorial of his symbolic death from the family. The phrase inscribed on the surface supports that idea. In fact, any one of them could have erected the monolith out of spite."
He took another deep breath, and shook his head. "But I don't know why I'm going on about that. As it turns out, I had been wrong. The brother is, without a doubt, deceased. "
Joseph felt a twinge of sympathy. His boss so rarely expressed uncertainty. It was one of the things that made working for the man so easy, his unwavering confidence in the decisions he made. They didn't always see eye to eye, and o
ccasionally the man deferred to him, but those occasions were rare.
"In any case," Cheong went on, "we'll find out one way or the other if her story has any substance to it tomorrow."
"And if it turns out she can't provide any proof?"
Cheong pushed himself out of the chair. "Then my schedule should open up nicely."
"And what will you do with her?"
"I suppose I'll leave that to you."
Chapter Forty Five
"I told you I do not want any guns," Angel said. "Those, too. No bindings."
Cheong gave the bundle in Gústav's hands a guarded look. "You suggested it might be possible that drawing blood could activate one of the programs. We need to be sure he doesn't attack anyone."
"I cannot subject Farid to those again. It would be inhumane. Besides, I do not think they can just self-activate. They need to receive an order from an external source. So, if you are telling the truth and there is no possibility of any wireless or cellular signal reaching us down here, then we should be safe."
"Should? It doesn't sound like you're absolutely certain yourself. I won't put my people or this bunker at risk."
He gestured at the two armed men standing with them. "Either he puts on the bindings, or Eduard and Gústav stay with their guns, just in case anything happens."
"I said no. Why do you think he is refusing?"
Cheong shrugged. "Could it be he believes it might activate this kill program? I would be afraid."
"Farid does not believe he is infected with the nanites. He does not believe they are real. So why would he fear for his life?"
Cheong shrugged. "We all hedge our bets. I know many people who claim they don't believe in God or Satan, yet at the same time they fear the consequences of temptation."
"God's existence cannot be proven. I can prove this very easily."
"Some would argue that God can be proven."
She huffed in frustration. "If I can just get Farid upstairs to the medical clinic—"
"Or you could draw his blood here and take it upstairs."
"I have told you already, Monsieur Cheong, that would take too long, at least five minutes. I can't guarantee that the blood will still be intact by the time we reach the lab."
Gústav handed the bindings and his gun to Eduard, then stepped past them toward the hallway. Cheong and Angel watched in puzzlement as he entered Farid's room, wondering what he was going to do. A moment later, there was a startled cry, followed by an angry one. The guard reappeared a moment later with a knife in his hand. The tip was red. Several more droplets of blood dotted the blade.
"Here is your sample."
"Don't drip that anywhere!" Cheong snapped.
"What did you do?" Angel cried.
"You need blood. Now you have it. Don't worry, he will live. I will get him a little bandage for his little finger." He shrugged. "It is a dancing puppy dog cartoon bandage. Everyone will be happy."
Angel gave him an angry glare, then took the knife from him by the handle. "You had no right to do that!"
"Be careful," he warned her. "Pay attention. Don't want to stain carpet or Miss Emily will get angry."
Cheong gave the guard a disgruntled look. Then he grabbed Angel's arm and swung her toward the apartment door. "Let's just get this over with. Eduard, please see that Mister Haddad's cut is properly attended to. Gústav, I will see you in my office immediately after this."
"Yes, sir."
Angel watched Cheong jog up the hall ahead of her. She couldn't remember ever seeing him in any sort of a hurry before. He was always in complete control, his movements economical, never in haste. Since last night, however, she had sensed a persistent impatience in him that put her nerves on edge. Once more, she wondered if her arrival here had simply come at a bad time, or if there was more to the chilliness she felt coming from him.
It was almost as if he didn't care anymore what she did or what she said. It was like he was simply going through the motions, humoring her. Why, for example, hadn't he interrogated her or Farid? At the very least, she expected him to demand that she explain the sudden recovery of her memory. But he didn't even do that.
He knows you lied to him. That's why. He doesn't trust you. He expects nothing from you but lies.
Well, in just a few minutes, she would prove to him that she was telling the truth.
They didn't speak during the ride up the elevator, and only when the lift reached L2 did she break the silence by asking him to thank Emily for her help yesterday.
He nodded distractedly while staring at the doors, as if willing them to open more quickly. But he said nothing.
The medical facility took up nearly a quarter of the floor, occupying as much space as the gymnasium across the hall. It was, unsurprisingly, well-appointed, and yet Angel couldn't help but be impressed by the equipment. As they passed through the waiting area, she counted enough chairs to accommodate thirty people. The two triage stations, where the nurses would take patients' complaints and vital signs, looked to be quite comfortable and well stocked.
They threaded their way between the chairs and tables and entered the medical treatment area. As with the lights everywhere else, these snapped on automatically.
"I just need a microscope," she said.
He pointed to one of the rooms past the emergency area, visible behind a mobile x-ray machine. A plaque on the door said that the CYTOLOGY LABORATORY was located inside.
Stainless steel fixtures gleamed against the walls, including a pair of tissue culture incubators and a laminar flow hood for sterile work. Every type of basic lab equipment could be seen, and she suspected that many of the more esoteric instruments were probably stored away out of sight somewhere else in the facility.
"You expect to have cell biologists here?" she asked.
"Our residents are all carefully screened and selected based on their ability to provide some sort of unique service or expertise, all in support of the continued welfare of the community," he responded. "It is the same with all of our bunkers. The survival of the species could very well depend on someone in one of them finding a solution to end whatever disaster we might encounter."
To Angel, it sounded a lot like ad copy, and she wondered if one of those vital skills he mentioned was the ability to recite the promotional brochures.
"Would that include people who can stop nanites?"
He frowned at her, then gestured inside the lab. "You'll find the microscope in there."
As she removed the dust cover and turned it on, she asked him to find her some glass slides. With a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, she saw that a thin skin had already begun to form over the droplets. Farid's blood was starting to clot.
He retrieved the requested items and pulled over a lab stool for her to sit down on. She prepared the slide, applying the blood from the tip of the knife and smearing it around. "Cover?"
It took him another minute to find the tiny glass squares. By then, the blood on the slide was dry.
"See if you can find some saline," she said. "Eye drops, maybe. Anything but water to wet the blood."
She heard him shuffling around as she slid the glass onto the stage and flicked on the light. But even before she had the lenses focused, she knew that she wouldn't find what she was hoping for. The cells had ruptured, and there was no sign of the smaller black urchin-shaped objects.
She tried again with fresh blood still wet inside another droplet, adding a few microliters of the sterile wound wash Cheong had found to keep it wet.
Under the scope, intact red blood cells floated about in the solution. The platelets had clearly begun to aggregate, although the addition of the saline had stopped the process. She even found a rare white blood cell. But there were still no nanites.
"Nothing?" he said. He seemed equally disappointed in her as with the result.
"I told you we needed to bring Farid up here," she bemoaned. "It has to be fresh blood. The nanites can self-destruct. It only takes a few seconds
."
"You said they would only disintegrate after they had destroyed the surrounding tissue."
"I don't know," she exclaimed in frustration. "But I know he is infected with them!"
"Or maybe he isn't. He says he isn't. Wouldn't he know if he had them inside?"
"No! You don't understand!"
"I think I do." He shook his head. "I had my doubts in the past, but I allowed myself to disregard them. I can no longer allow this charade to contin—"
An urgent chime sounded from the speaker located in the ceiling over their heads.
"What is that?" she asked.
"Emergency paging system," he said, shushing her.
"But—"
"It's a closed intercom," he snapped impatiently.
The chime sounded again, followed by Emily's voice:
"Mister Cheong, please dial 011. Mister Cheong, please dial 011. This is an emergency. Please dial 011."
He had already reached the phone mounted on the wall and snatched up the receiver. But when he punched in the number with his gloved finger, he misdialed at first. His second attempt succeeded.
Once more, Angel could hear the girl on the other end of the line.
"Sir, we have an urgent situation up top! I need you up here immediately."
"Where are you?"
"In the elevator lobby. Hurry. There's a man and he's—"
"What is it, Emily? I'm kind of busy here."
"A man! He's outside in the lobby with a whole bunch of people and— Oh my god! Wait! Stop! Get out! How did you—!"
Cheong stared at the receiver for a moment. To Angel, he looked like a man who was starting to realize his world is crumbling around him.
"What is it?" Angel asked. "What man? Who's here?"
But he ignored her question. "Emily? Emily! What's happening?"
"Mister Cheong, please," she sobbed. "He has a gun to my head! He says he knows about the French woman! He's demanding to be let in."
"Oh my god," Angel cried, jumping up from her stool. "It's Kurtz! Don't let him in! I have to get to Farid."
"Mister Cheong, please!" Emily cried. "Oh my god, please! Don't kill me! He says he's going to shoot me, if I don't let him in now!"
Iceland: An International Thriller (The Flense Book 2) Page 29
