‘Don’t give me orders—’ began the punk, but Pyne cut him off.
‘Eat shit, Null. You know who this is, right? You are fucking skiddies compared to this one.’ Pyne prodded her where she had landed her punch, with a long finger lined with rings. ‘This is the Song.’
‘And it’s a tune we haven’t heard for a long time.’ The voice came out of the darkness, cool and metered. It made Kara tense, and a long-closed part of herself unlocked, emerging whole and full as if it had been waiting for this moment. A want, a kind of belonging that Kara had convinced herself was gone, came back in a rush – but this time corroded by raw anger. The emotions were too swift, too strong, and she felt giddy as she dragged them back under her control.
‘Madrigal,’ she managed. The woman walked into the light and smiled, in a way that someone who didn’t know her might have called maternal. It was all part of her performance. A step behind her came a dark-skinned guy with a storm-cloud face, all clenched and sullen.
‘Wong Fei Song,’ said the older woman, sounding out the name like a line of poetry. ‘Here you are.’
‘That’s not who I am any more,’ she corrected. ‘Call me Kara.’
‘Kar-ah.’ Madrigal tried it out. ‘I like it. It suits you.’ She glanced at the man with her, who advanced, brandishing a security detector wand as if it were a short-sword. ‘No offence, but Erik here is the suspicious sort.’
Erik took the bag off Kara’s shoulder and gave it to the trapper-hat guy to paw through while he ran the wand over her. She allowed it, surrendering the two smartphones she had in her pockets. Erik carried them to a gutted microwave oven and deposited the phones inside, where the appliance’s shielded interior would block any incoming or outgoing signals.
‘This is interesting timing,’ Madrigal said lightly, looking her up and down. ‘After everything we went through, you show up here, out of the blue. How did you know where to find us?’
Kara faked a smile. ‘You did teach me a lot.’
‘Everything you know,’ she returned. ‘But not everything I know.’ Madrigal cast around the room, and from the looks Kara was getting, she had the sense that she’d become a cautionary tale for those among the Ghost5 crew.
Wong Fei Song, the one that broke faith, she imagined them saying. The one who couldn’t cut it. The self-starter outcast, lost and forgotten.
Madrigal gave her a familiar, easy smile, and it was tempting to slip right back to where she had been a few years ago. Like she’d never left. Kara hated that part of her actually wanted to.
Madrigal’s expression became one of sadness, of motherly disappointment. ‘As delightful as it is to see you, we went our separate ways for a reason,’ she said. ‘Why have you come to Berlin?’
‘Answer the question,’ Erik grated, when Kara didn’t reply right away. He returned her bag, and she saw the butt of a pistol peeking out from under the MA-1 jacket he wore. It was a deliberate show, to remind her of her place.
She ignored him and spoke to Madrigal. ‘Can we talk privately?’ Kara made sure the inference was clear; only you and me.
Madrigal drifted toward the shadows again. ‘Let’s take a walk.’
She led Kara to the roof beneath one of the hollow domes, and in the shade it cast the air had turned night-cold. In the distance, light glittered off the stainless-steel tiles that formed the silver orb of the Berlin TV Tower, as the sun dropped toward the horizon. The spire was signalling her, telling Kara that she was past the point of no return and still falling.
Falling back into the darkness. Becoming a ghost again.
Madrigal reached up and brushed a thread of dyed-dark hair from Kara’s eyes. ‘You haven’t smiled in a long time,’ she said. ‘I can tell.’
‘Not much,’ Kara admitted. Madrigal had always been too good at seeing into her, when others had rebounded off her walls of brisk sarcasm and indifference. It was a struggle to keep anything from Madrigal. It always had been. She decided not to give the other woman the time to dig deeper. ‘I want to come back in.’
Madrigal gave a chuckle and set to work lighting a cigarette. ‘Just like that? No explanation, no apology. You ask, I open the door?’
‘You don’t need my skills?’
‘It’s not about that,’ Madrigal arched an eyebrow. ‘Where have you been, Song—?’ She stopped, catching herself. ‘Sorry. Kara. What have you been doing all this time?’
‘I stayed sharp. I’ll be of use.’ She hated how desperate she sounded.
‘Do you remember what you said when you left?’ Madrigal aimed the lit tip of the cigarette at her like a weapon. ‘You told me you couldn’t be part of us anymore. You said we were on the wrong side. That I was on the wrong side.’
‘I remember,’ she said tersely.
‘So why come back now, at this moment?’ Madrigal demanded, her tone hardening. She advanced on Kara. ‘What do you really want? Who are you working for?’
Kara glimpsed movement at the edge of the dome and she realised that Erik stood in the gloom with that gun of his drawn and ready. One wrong word, and he would use it.
‘I want to come back,’ Kara repeated. ‘I’m not working with anyone. I’m alone and I don’t like it.’ She looked at the ground and found a truth to tell her. ‘With Ghost5 I knew who I was. I’ve never had that anywhere else.’
‘Why now?’ Madrigal pressed.
She met her gaze. ‘Because I realised you were right all along, okay? When I left, you said I was naive. Because I thought the world could be black and white. But that isn’t how it goes, out there. There’s nothing but grey. There’s no good guys or bad guys, no wrong or right. There’s just the place—’
‘The place where you’re standing.’ Madrigal’s tone softened and she turned away. ‘Oh, girl. I want this to be what it seems. I really do.’ She eyed her. ‘I’ve missed not having you around. But the timing raises questions. And you did burn through a lot of trust when you abandoned us.’
Kara carefully selected another truth and cut it to length. ‘You’re a man short. I heard about Lex.’
‘Ah.’ Madrigal’s head drooped. ‘Tragic. I blame myself. I should have looked out for him more. But we have a lot of enemies and some of them found him . . .’
‘I want to know who did it,’ Kara told her. ‘I’ll help you find them. Punish them.’
‘Yes.’ Madrigal took a long draw on the cigarette. ‘We have that in hand. We think we know who murdered him. Everyone in the group wants to see Lex get his measure of justice.’
‘So do I,’ Kara said flatly. ‘He was my friend too.’
Madrigal studied her. ‘I didn’t think you were that close to him. You were never really close to anyone.’
‘It’s not about that,’ Kara went on. ‘He was one of us. So there’s a price for someone to pay.’
‘Did he ever try to contact you, after you left us?’
‘No.’ Kara shook her head and sold the lie. ‘But I heard about the shooting. I want to do something about it. It can be my way to prove you can trust me.’
Madrigal sighed. ‘I’m sorry. But I need more than that.’ From the corner of her eye, Kara saw the shape in the gloom move again. The older woman’s voice thickened with emotion, real and sorrowful. ‘And I don’t think you can give it to me. I’m close to the end of a venture I started a long time ago and I can’t . . . I can’t let anyone distract me. Not even you.’
‘You’ll change your mind when you hear what I have to say.’ Kara reached for the last truth she had, and played it. ‘I know who’s tracking you.’
Madrigal stopped dead. ‘What did you say?’
‘The guy in Malta. The one you caught searching Lex’s hotel room. I can tell you who’s running him. They’ll be closing in. You must have an inkling, right? Spider in the web, feeling the tremors?’ A flicker of concern crossed Madrigal’s face and Kara knew she was right.
‘How could you know about any of that?’ Madrigal’s face turned stony.
&nb
sp; ‘They’re called Rubicon,’ said Kara, the words coming easily. ‘And I can tell you a lot about them.’
NINE
‘Two minutes out,’ Lucy reported, flicking open the thin pocket mirror built into the lid of her lipstick case. She’d chosen a rose-pink shade to compliment the ochre of her face and the dark navy of her outfit. She gave herself a quick once-over and pulled gently at the material. The asymmetric bodycon dress rolled off her right shoulder and ended just above her knees, the figure-hugging form of it flattering her athletic silhouette. She had a black clutch bag on her lap that resembled a Chanel, but the faux-leather exterior was actually cover for ballistic nylon with a special weave that fogged the scans of metal detectors.
‘Roger that.’ Marc’s voice whispered to her from the skin-coloured radio bead in her right ear. ‘We’re setting up now. Should be green for go by the time you’re on site.’
Lucy looked across the interior of the limousine at the other passengers. As always, Ekko Solomon appeared to in his element, elegant in some Savile Row suit worth as much as a new midsize car. At his side, Delancort appeared decidedly less at ease, alternately adjusting the silk tie around his neck or fiddling with his cufflinks. Solomon’s aide had insisted on coming along, and Lucy had agreed to it only because it would have raised questions about their cover not to have the man around.
They were here on an impromptu ‘fact-finding’ visit, after all, in the guise of allowing the Rubicon CEO to meet his opposite number at Horizon Integral in order to cement future collaboration between the two companies. But all through the flight to Australia, Delancort had been pushing his dislike of this operation. It was only now they were on the way in that he had let it drop. Still, Lucy could tell he would demand they pull the plug at the first hint of danger.
For his part, Solomon had accepted Dane’s scheme and the subterfuge that came with it without question. It was easy to forget that the African billionaire’s fortune had grown out of a life of ashes, blood and bullets. Solomon was no stranger to personal risk. He had been a soldier once. He understood the needs of the mission.
Lights flashed past outside as the limo turned on to Bridge Street and headed east across Sydney’s central business district, a skyscape of modern glass and steel office towers rising around them. In the day, it would have been thrumming with activity, but it was early evening here – although Lucy’s body clock tried to convince her it should be morning. She still hadn’t got her sleep pattern synched back from California time, and she stifled the urge to yawn by downing a caffeine tablet from a pack in the clutch.
‘Okay, I have your car in sight,’ Marc reported. ‘Here we go. Comm check.’
‘Good to go,’ said Lucy.
‘Copy,’ repeated Malte. The Finn’s reply was terse, as usual.
‘Base copies,’ said Assim. The technician was back on Solomon’s private airliner out at the airport in Mascot, running overwatch for the operation from the on-board conference room.
‘Do we get radios?’ Delancort eyed her.
‘You have your spyPhone.’ Lucy nodded at his jacket pocket. ‘It’ll buzz you, three short bursts if there’s a problem. That happens, you make your excuses and leave immediately. Got it?’
‘Oui.’ Delancort shifted uncomfortably. He didn’t like being on the back foot in this, but even he was smart enough to know when to get out of the way and let the professionals do their job.
The limo slowed as it approached their destination. ‘I do not need to remind you what will happen if this evening’s events do not proceed smoothly,’ Solomon offered, pausing to brush a speck of lint from his lapel. ‘So I will not.’ He met Lucy’s gaze. ‘After what has happened, it would be easy to slip into second-guessing every choice we are making.’ He shook his head. ‘I will not. Do what you are best at.’
The vehicle rolled to a halt and a valet leaned in to open the door. ‘Count on it,’ Lucy told him, and stepped out on to a green carpet leading to the entrance of Horizon Integral’s head office. She gave the valet a dazzling smile and took in the surroundings. Well-dressed young women and men in sharp suits were walking in through a wide-open atrium of tinted glass, and a cluster of photographers behind a velvet rope were in the process of snapping shots of a tanned, muscular guy in a tailored Armani ensemble. She didn’t recognise him, but she knew the type; he had professional sportsman written all over him. He played to the paparazzi, grinning wildly as he posed in front of a three-metre high model of a racing yacht in black and green livery. Horizon Integral’s corporate logo featured prominently on the boat’s sails, and Lucy remembered that this was the reason for the evening’s gala reception. The company had inked a major sponsorship deal for a big-ticket race taking place in the summer, and the yacht crew were here to be feted and take part in a charity auction.
Solomon climbed out of the limo, with Delancort following on behind, and offered his hand to Lucy. ‘Shall we, Ms Keyes?’
‘Absolutely, Mr Solomon.’
‘Well, don’t you three look nice,’ said Marc. ‘Drink some champers for me, will you?’
‘Don’t pout,’ Lucy replied. ‘Next time, you can be Henri’s date.’
‘Can’t wait.’
‘Fascinating . . .’ Solomon’s gaze ranged along the length of the building as they walked up the stairs. ‘One might think it had been grown rather than built.’
‘Yeah . . .’ Lucy followed his line of sight. Horizon Integral’s headquarters was an unusual fusion of emerald glass, white concrete and a mass of living greenery. Tropical creepers formed patches of leaves that clothed the tower, rising from the base toward the upper storeys nearly thirty floors above street level. She could see the edges of another cavernous atrium toward the top third of the tower, the open space lined with trees shifting in the evening breeze coming up from Circular Quay.
‘It’s amazing, isn’t it?’ An aboriginal woman with jet-black hair and a welcoming smile approached them. She wore an orange sportsuit ensemble and what Lucy thought at first was some kind of fingerless glove. ‘Our building hosts a living ecosystem as part of its structure. As well as the plants, we have insect colonies, even birds nesting up there. It’s a trailblazer in green design.’ She gave a little bow. ‘I’m Orani! I’m Mr Wehmeyer’s personal assistant. He asked me to escort you in.’
‘Delighted.’ Solomon shook Orani’s hand, before introducing Delancort as his aide and Lucy as his ‘companion’.
Lucy smiled back and the woman led them inside, beckoning over a waiter to provide them with flutes of Bollinger.
As they crossed the threshold, Orani’s glove emitted a digital chime and she raised her wrist to her mouth and spoke into it. ‘Mr Solomon. Mr Delancort. Ms Keyes.’ The glove chimed again and, looking closer, Lucy could see it had a curved screen fitted to the back of the hand.
‘What is that?’
Orani smiled. ‘As well as being a green building, this is also a smart one. We have a computer system that regulates all functions of the tower, from the lights and the power to the elevator. Even down to the food stocks in the employee break rooms. It automatically manages heat and light to make sure we’re not burning electricity in empty rooms. It’s helped us to be one of the top five most efficient companies in the country.’
‘It runs off the HIOS software?’ said Delancort.
‘That’s right, yes!’ She nodded. ‘With a more advanced voice-recognition system built in . . .’ The woman paused and spoke to the device on her wrist again. ‘Isn’t that right, Sigma?’
‘Yes, Orani,’ replied a synthetic, slightly stilted female voice. ‘I have logged in the arrival of our guests. Mr Solomon. Mr Delancort. Ms Keyes. Do you require anything else?’
‘No, we’re fine.’ Orani grinned at them. ‘We’re very proud of our products.’
Lucy eyed Delancort, silently warning him to say nothing more.
Within, the building’s motif of merging of hi-tech with raw nature repeated itself. Weeping willow tr
ees grew out of an ornamental pool in the middle of the atrium, and pillars of steel and concrete wreathed in vines ranged upward, supporting the floors above them. Glass elevator tubes, under-lit by warm yellow lights, vanished up into the shadows.
Lucy sipped at her champagne and continued her survey of the area, casting a tactical eye over the layout, noting exit routes, potential cover and the like. She immediately spotted a handful of men and women in dark suits wearing radio earpieces, each of them carefully minding their posts.
‘Good deployment,’ she noted quietly. ‘Horizon Integral is certainly serious about their security.’
‘We have a lot of guests here tonight,’ said Orani. ‘It’s wonderful that you were able to join us. We do love to have our investors come visit.’
‘I’m looking forward to seeing more of what you do here,’ replied Solomon.
They crossed the atrium, through knots of well-heeled company types and the great and the good of Sydney’s rich set, finding their way to an older white man in a tan suit holding court with a group of Chinese investors. He had a wide, smiling face and thinning brown hair. Lucy recognised Horizon Integral’s CEO, Martin Wehmeyer, from the images she’d seen on the company website. The man had a reputation for instilling loyalty in his employees and dealing harshly with his rivals, but right now he projected an avuncular persona, laughing as he cracked a joke about the prospects of the yachting crew. His gaze found Solomon’s and he excused himself, walking over to offer warm handshakes to the group from Rubicon. Another man, tanned and square of face, disengaged from the other group and trailed after Wehmeyer, as Orani melted into the background.
‘Good man, glad to have you here tonight!’ He clapped Solomon on the back and then made a show of taking Lucy’s hand like that of a newly arrived courtier in a king’s castle – which in a way she was. ‘Welcome, welcome. We have a lot to talk about. I hope you’re pleased with the Nigeria thing.’
‘As you say, we have some matters to discuss,’ began Delancort.
Ghost: Page 17
