by V. E. Lemp
“I hope so,” Mark said. “Now drink some coffee before I drive you home. I don’t intend to drag you out of the car again.”
Karen noticed the heaviness in his eyes. “Didn’t you sleep?”
“Yes, but not enough. Not unusual for me, I’m afraid.”
Karen sipped her coffee, searching his calm face. “You know,” she said slowly, “I think you’re an unusually decent person, Mark Hallam.”
“Why, thank you, Karen,” he replied with a slight smile. “I hoped you’d think so, eventually.”
“So why are you living here alone?” She was surprised she was interested in the answer.
“Oh, I don’t know.” Mark reached down and patted Kate, who had wandered into the kitchen and was busy winding her way around one of his legs. “Haven’t found anyone Kate approves of yet, I suppose.”
Karen smiled. “And her word is final?”
“Naturally. She has excellent taste,” he said, as Kate eyed them both and leapt up into Karen’s lap.
“That,” Karen said, “doesn’t count.”
Mark just grinned and finished his coffee.
SEVEN
Karen replied to Drew’s message but waited in vain for a response.
“It’s been a week. Suppose he’s changed his mind,” she told Mark in one of their daily phone calls. Mark had returned to work—properly chagrined, as he put it, although Karen doubted this.
“He may have been warned off. Perhaps he’ll contact us in the future. In the meantime, I’ve received a message from Myron Tarrow.”
“Has he managed to get us an appointment with Vance?” Karen’s voice cracked on the last word.
“Yes, and you’ll never imagine where.”
“At his new office building?”
“No, at his old office. Or at least his old stomping ground. Some suite in the Indigo Building, right there in your neighborhood.”
“That’s bizarre.”
“I thought so too. But maybe he wants to keep his meetings with new clients on neutral ground. We’re supposed to be new clients, by the way. Looking to invest in Exocorp.”
“So really spy versus spy. What’s my name supposed to be and what’re we investing in?”
“Jennifer Priestly, and we’re backing the inventor of a holographic communication system. We don’t need to understand the technical details, thank God. We’re simply wealthy entrepreneurs fronting the cash.”
“And your name is?”
“Lawrence Priestly. We’re married.”
“Well, that’s a stretch.”
“I didn’t arrange it. Tarrow set up our backgrounds. He’s quite skilled at it. It’s a bit disconcerting.”
“Because only you or your colleagues should be able to do such things?”
“Exactly. Now, we’re to meet with Vance tomorrow at three. I can pick you up on my way.”
“That’s fine.” Karen hesitated for a moment, considering the implication of his words. “It’s a little overwhelming, thinking we may get some answers at last. Especially if those answers involve … what Tarrow thinks they do.”
“Just be on your guard. We can’t trust Vance. Assume if his mouth is moving he’s lying.”
“So what’s the point in talking to him?”
“Oh, I’m fairly adept at spotting lies. I may be able to badger some of the truth out of him.”
“I’m sure if anyone can, you can.”
“I think I’ll take that as a compliment, whether it was or not. I’ll pick you up around two thirty,” Mark said, before hanging up.
As they approached the Indigo Building Karen slumped in her seat.
“Bad memories?”
“And good ones. Equally painful. I haven’t been here in a long time. I go out of my way to avoid this street.”
“Hopefully this meeting will mark the end of your suffering over the Morpheus Project.”
“Some of it, perhaps.” Karen fingered the pendant of her necklace. She’d always thought that nothing in her life could eclipse the shock of Alex’s death, but now … Tarrow’s s theories haunted her thoughts in equal measure. The idea that aliens might exist, and that she’d been in communication with them, made her catch her breath every time it crossed her mind.
“By the way,” Mark said, shooting a swift glance at her, “my contact called about your sketches. She said they look like scientific illustrations. But she couldn’t explain what the objects were. She’s got someone else looking into it. Another trusted associate.”
“I’ve never been trained to draw scientific illustrations. It’s a little creepy, creating something in my sleep I can’t execute when awake.”
“I think we must assume someone’s been manipulating your dreams. It’s certainly not all arising out of your subconscious.”
As Mark parked the car in front of the Indigo Building, Karen laid her right hand on her chest, as if that pressure could somehow slow her heartbeat. If someone, or something, was manipulating her dreams, they’d been doing so since she was a small child. Karen shivered.
“Okay?” Mark looked at her with concern.
“Fine. I’m fine.”
Mark patted her left hand. “It’s no sin to be nervous. Not with everything you’ve heard and learned recently.”
“I will be fine,” Karen replied, pulling her hand away. Not because she minded his touch, but simply to prevent him from realizing how much her fingers were quivering.
The Indigo building looked much the same, although the lobby appeared shabbier than she remembered. The receptionist was an older woman who smiled pleasantly at Karen and Mark but blinked several times when they provided their fake names and asked to see Ian Vance.
“Dr. Vance?” A puzzled expression crossed her face. “But he never comes here.”
“I believe he’s expecting us,” Mark said.
The receptionist stared at the piece of paper Mark held under her nose. “Oh, that’s upstairs. Exocorp does lease an office or two from us. I suppose if you’ve explicit directions it’s all right. But be careful,” she added, as Karen and Mark headed for the back doors. “There’s construction going on. Renovations. Watch for the barriers.”
Karen and Mark took the elevator to the third floor, to a barren hallway lined with a row of closed doors.
“This appears to be the correct floor.” Karen peered at the lettering on one of the doors. “Looks like our number must be farther down.” She strode to a pair of double doors located at the far end of the hallway.
“Hold up, Karen. We aren’t supposed to be anxious over this meeting. We’re the ones with the money, remember?”
“I know, but I just can’t wait any longer. Need to face Vance now or I might run.” Karen cast Mark an apologetic smile as she pulled open the double doors to reveal a small vestibule with yet another set of doors. “This must be the suite.”
Mark stepped up behind her, leaving the doors behind him standing open. “Maybe we should knock?”
“Nonsense.” Karen turned and gave Mark a somber look. “I’m ready to confront him, Mark. I’m more than willing to uncover the truth.”
“But perhaps we should be a little more careful,” Mark said as Karen yanked open the second set of doors and stepped forward.
“Stop!” someone shouted from the other end of the hall. “Grab her, Hallam!”
Mark reacted immediately, flinging his arms around Karen and dragging her backward. They sprawled onto the floor, Karen lying under him.
“What the hell!” she exclaimed.
Mark sat up and glanced through the open doors. All the color drained from his face. “What the hell indeed.”
Karen sat up, staring at Mark. “What was that about?”
He pointed at the space beyond the doors. “There’s no solid floor.”
Her stomach rolled over. “Oh hell, I could’ve fallen two stories.” Karen stilled her chattering teeth so she could speak again. “What’s going on here?”
“Renovations,” said th
e voice that had shouted the original warning. It belonged to a man now standing just beyond the outer set of doors. “I don’t understand. These doors should’ve been locked. And there are always barricades and warning tape. I don’t know why they suddenly disappeared.”
Karen stared at the man, wondering how he could possibly have known Mark’s name. Unless it was another of his secrets. Well, regardless of the reason, there was no use pretending to be someone else now. She sighed.
Mark stood up. “Well, thank God you were here, Mr. ... ?”
“Cole,” the man said. “David Cole. Yes, thank heavens I was in my office. I heard you walk by—it was so strange I had to step into the hall. No one comes to this floor these days, except for me.”
Karen took hold of Mark’s outstretched hand and rose to her feet. Her whole body ached, but in flexing her arms and legs she could tell nothing was broken. She rolled her shoulders and examined the man called David Cole. He was of average height and build, with unremarkable features and brown eyes. His dark hair was cut a little long and curled up slightly at the collar of his plain beige shirt.
“Thank you, Mr. Cole,” Karen said. “We’re in your debt. A few more steps, and we might’ve been seriously injured.”
“Or killed,” Mark muttered.
“Glad I could help.” Cole fixed Karen with a gaze she found oddly arresting. “I just don’t understand how you were able to open these outer doors. They’ve been locked tight for months.”
“They certainly weren’t locked today.” Karen brushed at her clothes with shaking hands. “We’re supposed to meet someone here. This was the room number they gave us.”
“I can’t imagine why anyone would direct you here.” David Cole bent down to pick something off the floor. As he straightened he stared directly at Karen. “You look like you need to sit down, Ms. ... ?”
“Foster. Karen Foster.” Mark shot her a look as she dropped her real name, but she just raised her eyebrows at him. “I confess I wouldn’t mind collapsing in a chair for a minute or two.”
“My office is down the hall. You can sit there.” Cole’s gaze remained focused on Karen.
“Very kind of you.” A wave of light passed in front of Karen’s eyes. She took a deep breath and shook off the nausea threatening to overwhelm her. As she followed David Cole and Mark back through the first set of doors and down the hallway she stumbled once or twice. Thankfully the men didn’t notice.
“You called out my name.” Mark gave Cole a careful once-over. “How do you know my name, Mr. Cole?”
“I can explain,” the other man said, “but perhaps we should get Ms. Foster to that chair first? It looks like she’s about to slide to the floor.”
Mark threw his arm around Karen’s waist as her legs folded under her. He pulled her up and pressed her to his side. “Hold on,” he said, guiding her into the office indicated by David Cole.
“Thought there was no use pretending,” she whispered to Mark. “Since he knows who you are already.”
Mark tightened his grip on her waist. “Of course,” he whispered in reply. “Not worried about that right now. But how he knows … ”
His worried expression did nothing to calm Karen’s nerves, and neither did the intensity of Cole’s gaze as Mark half carried her to one of two office chairs in front of a large metal desk.
“I’m so sorry,” she murmured, sinking into the cushions.
“No need to apologize.” David Cole sat in the chair behind his desk, which was bare except for a laptop. “Has to be a terrible shock. It’s something of a shock to me, and I wasn’t the one in danger.”
“So, that part about knowing my name ...” Mark took a seat, his gaze fixed on Cole.
“Ah, yes.” Cole flashed him a cool smile. “I’ve heard of you, Mr. Hallam, from Ian Vance. I see that name is familiar to you. Anyway, Dr. Vance pointed you out to me when I was here for a meeting, oh, many years ago.”
Karen straightened in her chair. “You work with Ian Vance?”
“I work for him. Actually, I work for Exocorp.”
Karen’s sharp intake of breath filled the room.
David Cole raised his eyebrows as he studied her. “I see you’ve heard of that as well. Vance rents this office for me. I believe he’s leased spaces all over the country for his contract employees.”
“What exactly do you do for Exocorp?” Mark asked.
“Research, mostly. Data mining, to be exact. I dig up facts and analyze information. On a freelance basis, you understand.” Cole stood and walked to a counter-height table pushed against one wall of the office. The table was piled with notebooks and manila folders, as well as several stacks of loose paper. “It doesn’t require a great deal of equipment. Just a good computer and an active mind. Vance sees no reason to house contract employees in his central offices when this space is more economical, and to be honest”—he offered Karen a gentle smile—“I prefer to work on my own.”
Perhaps he did, or perhaps his research was focused on something that required secrecy. Karen thought of Myron Tarrow’s comments about alien creatures and narrowed her eyes as she studied David Cole.
“So where is Ian Vance?” Mark asked. “He had an appointment with us at three o’clock.”
“If he had an appointment I wasn’t informed. Would have welcomed you if I knew you were expected. I’d have recognized your name.” Cole cast Mark a smile that had no gentleness in it. “Or did you use some alias, Mr. Hallam?”
Mark met his gaze squarely. “Why would I do that?”
Cole shrugged. “I don’t know who set up an appointment for you, but Vance never comes here. I scarcely see him, to tell you the truth. We communicate online or by phone. Can’t remember the last time he darkened these doors.”
“Mr. Cole”—Karen fought to steady the quaver in her voice—“what can you tell us about Dr. Vance and Exocorp? We’re searching for information, and no one seems to know anything.”
Mark shot her a fierce look. “Enough, Karen.”
“Oh, I don’t mind providing some basic information,” Cole said. “But first, Ms. Foster, I think this is yours. I found it on the floor where you fell. The clasp has broken, I’m afraid.” He held out his hand. Her necklace lay in his open palm. “I thought it might be important to you.”
Karen’s hands flew to her neck. “Yes, thank you. I couldn’t bear to lose that.” She sprang to her feet and met Cole as he crossed the room. He dropped the broken necklace into her open hands. She flashed a grateful smile. “Thank you again.”
“No problem.” Cole turned away. “Just glad I could restore it to you, Ms. Foster.”
“Karen,” she said.
He looked at her and gave a little nod. “Karen.”
Mark rose to his feet. “So we had an appointment with Dr. Vance, and he’s not here. But you are. And,” Mark said, with that deadly calm Karen had learned to respect, “we were apparently led into danger. I’d like to know exactly what’s going on here.”
“Nothing you need to concern yourself with, Mr. Hallam.” David Cole appeared unaffected by Mark’s intense scrutiny. “I assure you I’m not Ian Vance’s flunky. I certainly had nothing to do with inviting you here, or the confusion over the rooms. I’m only glad”—he shot a swift glance at Karen—“I was here to protect you from harm.”
Karen sat back down and tucked her necklace into her purse. “You have my gratitude, Mr. Cole. But we’re still interested in Dr. Vance’s activities. With good reason, I might add.”
David Cole’s brown eyes rested on her face with an expression she couldn’t decipher. “And what might that be?”
Karen ignored Mark’s attempts to catch her eye. “Someone I loved was murdered. Killed because he wanted to expose the truth. A truth that somehow involves Dr. Vance and Exocorp and something called the Morpheus Project. Have you heard anything of that?”
“I’ve heard something of it, yes,” Cole said slowly. “You think Vance was involved in this murder of your friend?�
�
“More than a friend. Much more.”
“I see.” Cole surveyed her. “And you want the truth to be exposed? Whatever the cost?”
“Whatever the cost,” Karen said, as Mark stepped up next to her chair and placed his hand on her shoulder.
“What we want”—Mark pressed his fingers firmly into Karen’s shoulder blade—“is any information you can provide concerning the research priorities of Exocorp. At least, that’ll do for starters. If you can disclose such information, of course.”
“I can tell you the company’s main interest is in human brain and computer interaction. I see that rings a bell for you, Mr. Hallam. No doubt you’ve heard of such research before.”
Karen shot Mark a questioning look, but he was so focused on David Cole, he did not acknowledge it.
Cole sat in the chair behind his desk. “At least, the information I’ve seen supports that priority. Exocorp is exploring new communication technologies, for one thing.”
“Cutting-edge technology, then?” Mark released his grip on Karen’s shoulder. “Or bleeding edge?”
“Things quite a few years away from successful commercialization. Very risky stuff for the investors, but extremely lucrative if it actually hits the market. I don’t know much more than that, and what little I do is restricted. The nondisclosure clause in my contract is rather inclusive, I’m afraid.”
“Someone died,” Karen said. “I don’t know if clauses are all that important.”
David Cole regarded her with interest. “I admire your loyalty, Karen Foster. It’s most refreshing in this day and age. Most people”—he dropped his gaze—“are all about expediency and living for the moment. They wouldn’t concern themselves with some tragedy from long ago.”
He was staring at a point near her waist. Karen realized her hands were lying in her lap, wrists up. Under the room’s fluorescent lights, her scars glowed, several shades paler than the surrounding skin. She turned her hands over.
“How do you know it was long ago? I never said.”
“I assume we’re talking about Dr. Alex Wythe.” Cole shrugged. “No need to look shocked. I’ve worked for Vance for a long time. I’m aware of that incident. It shut down the Morpheus Project, after all.”
