David snorted.
'Don't be silly,' he said, 'of course it is. It doesn't come any securer … securer …'
'More secure?' Sean suggested.
'Yes, exactly. It doesn't come any more securer than this.' He looked pleased with himself, swelling with pride.
'Very impressive.'
'Isn't it just? You'll need to use a wired connection though, I hope that's alright?'
'That's fine, thank you.'
'Wireless connections just aren't secure enough.'
'I figured.'
David clicked away at Sean's laptop for a few minutes, sucking crumbs off his fingers as he worked. 'All done,' he said, handing the device back. 'Cable's pretty long, so you can take it to the workbench if you want.'
'That's okay,' Sean said. He assumed the workbench was the same rotten one with the cake on it. 'I'll sit here and use it on my lap.'
'Okay, but that's not good for your back.'
'I'll be fine, thank you.'
'Can I get you a drink?'
'No, thank you.'
'How long will you be staying?'
'I'm not sure.'
Sean opened his browser and tapped Major General John Bales into the search bar.
'What are you looking for?' David asked.
Sean shut his eyes. He'd forgotten how annoying David could get. 'Actually, I will have that drink, thank you,' he said. That seemed to appease David.
'What would you like?'
'Some water would be great, I've got a bit of a headache.'
'Would you like some aspirin, too?'
'Okay, sure.'
David, grinning, left to get Sean's drink and pills. Sean scrolled through the results, but he couldn't see anything relevant. He scanned page after page, with nothing catching his eye. It wasn't a surprise, but he couldn't help but feel disappointed. He tried a different search: SETI Sally Fisher
After he and Aleks had cracked Lev's code, they'd spoken more about UV One and Sally Fisher, and of the whole picture, it was Sally Fisher that bugged him most. She was the anomaly in all this, the sore thumb that stuck out from here to the International Space Station. If Bales wanted to destroy UV One — and it was hard to imagine he wanted to do anything else with the explosive on board Progress — then it didn't make sense to send her. Maybe she was a last resort, a bridge to burn if communications failed. It all seemed very drastic.
He scrolled through the results and found a bio of her on a university page. She was a plain-looking girl, yet Sean found it hard to take his eyes off her. When he finally did, he read through the post, scanning past the details he already knew. He re-read it, and then again. Something twigged in his mind, but he wasn't quite sure what it was. He searched for: Robert Gardner TMA-08. Again, it was no surprise that nothing came up, save for a mission report that said everything had gone as expected. The report was accompanied by a photo of the crew: Gardner, some other guy, and someone that for some reason he recognised. He opened a new tab, loaded up the mission page for the current Soyuz TMA Ten M expedition, and the same face was there. Captain Evgeny Novitskiy.
Sean's brain thundered with electricity as he untangled threads at random in the hope that something would come from it. Bales, Novitskiy, Gardner, Fisher, TMA Eight, TMA Ten M — it was all somehow linked, and no matter how close he was to understanding that link, he just couldn't grasp it.
'I've got your water. And your aspirin.' David wandered back in, carrying a glass that was brim-full of cloudy water. He handed it over, looking pleased with himself. 'Didn't spill a drop.'
Sean nodded his thanks and took a sip. It tasted chalky.
'And here's your aspirin.'
He opened a dirty hand to reveal two pills sticking to it. Sean peeled them off, looked at them, figured that he could do worse than to cure his headache, and placed them on his tongue. Taking another long swig of the chalky water, he swallowed them both down. 'Thanks,' he said, his tongue tingling in a most unsavoury way.
'You're welcome. What are you looking at?'
Sean's train of thought was well and truly derailed, so he decided he may as well share it with David. It couldn't hurt. 'I'm trying to find a link between four people. One guy reckons he found god and nearly killed two others doing it; another guy is one of the guys the first guy nearly killed; there's a girl that doesn't seem to fit in at all; and the last guy, he's in charge, and he's about to do something big.' He made an explosion sound, throwing his hands apart to simulate what he meant, but David just looked blank. Never mind.
'I don't believe in god,' David said.
Sean smiled. David may be simple, but he wasn't stupid. And he was damn handy with a computer. 'No, me neither. It's too easy to believe in something so conveniently inexplicable.'
'They used to kill people who didn't believe in god. Can you imagine that? It's madness.'
Sean smiled. 'Yes, it is.'
Then it hit him, all at once. Novitskiy was on TMA Eight with Gardner, when Gardner almost killed everyone on board. Novitskiy continued going into space, but Gardner didn't. Why? Because Gardner was a liability. Yet he had been sent up again seven years later on TMA Ten M, with Sally Fisher riding shotgun. It would have been Bales' decision, but why pick Gardner? Why not someone else? Because last time Gardner went into space, he saw something. God. Or at least that's what he thought he saw. And Bales knew as David knew that people who didn't believe in god got killed, so he was getting in early and killing god first. But not before he sent his messenger, Sally Fisher. What was the message? That's where Sean's mind hit yet another dead end.
Something in his pocket vibrated, making him jump.
'Shit!' he yelped, dropping his laptop in shock. It was his phone. He pulled it out of his pocket and looked at the number: Aleks. He answered the call.
'Hello?' he said.
'Hello, Sean.'
'Who's this?'
'You don't know me, but thanks to a mutual friend, I know you. He says you have something of mine, some information. I want it back.'
'I don't know what you're —'
'Listen,' the voice cut in. 'You need to know there is nowhere on this planet I can't find you, nowhere you'll be safe from me. But I'm willing to cut you a deal.'
Sean could feel a cold sweat beading on his forehead. His worst fears had come true: they had found him. 'Go on.'
'Come to the RFSA headquarters tomorrow morning. Bring this phone.'
'And what do I get in return?'
The voice laughed a slow, deep laugh.
'Let's just say you'll have a guilt-free conscience.'
Sean tried to think of a way out, but he knew he didn't have much choice. 'Okay, okay. I'll be there.'
'Good. And one more thing: if I discover the information you have has been leaked, then, well — I'm sure I don't have to explain what would happen.'
The line went dead. Sean lowered the phone from his ear.
'Is everything okay?' David asked.
'No …'
'Can I do anything to help?'
Sean looked at him. Beneath his scruffy hair and permanent layer of dirt, David was a good man. He shouldn’t have got him involved in the first place. 'Look, David — no matter what happens, you mustn't tell anyone I was here, or what we've spoken about. Do you understand?'
'Sure,' David said, nodding.
'And keep your door locked.'
David invigorated his nodding.
Picking his bag up off the floor, Sean headed for the exit with David following. Before he left, he turned back to David and held out his hand. David looked at it, then took it. They shook.
'Take care, David.'
'You too.'
Sean marched off down the long drive and didn't look back.
* * *
Sally awoke after six dreamless hours. After trying to get back to sleep, she gave up, got dressed, and worked her way free of her tiny cocoon. Outside, Gardner was still affixed to the wall, clear tubes winding from his arms to the IVGEN unit
mounted to one side. His elated expression hadn't changed; it creeped Sally out. He was like a giant toy, a glass-eyed puppet hanging from the wall, pulling a playful gurn at nothing in particular. As Sally propelled herself past him she got a horrible feeling that his eyes were following her. What made her skin crawl wasn't the thought of Gardner himself watching her, but something else watching her through him.
She shook the thought from her mind and continued along the station. Novitskiy, if he was up, would be in the Russian section, so she headed over in that direction. He wasn't there, but Chris was.
'I — I'm sorry I shouted at you yesterday,' he mumbled.
'That's okay,' Sally said, giving him a reassuring smile. She helped herself to a yoghurt pouch from the fridge.
'No, I really am. Since I've been here I've realised that I do have a bit of a propensity to, well — snap.'
'Really, don't worry about it,' Sally said, sucking yogurt from the pouch.
'I'm learning more about myself every day. Before, I would stop at nothing to be the best. I would trample on people just to get that bit higher. But now I realise that I can achieve more by using my strengths to help others.'
Sally stopped eating. She was getting a strange feeling that she couldn't pinpoint. 'What made you figure that out?'
Chris shrugged. 'Our situation, I suppose. Being so close to thinking there was no way out, that I was going to die up here.'
Sally resumed eating her yoghurt. She couldn't be sure, but she felt certain that Chris was leaving a particular detail out of his story. 'Do you think it — UV One I mean — has been communicating with us?' she asked.
Chris frowned, as if the thought hadn't already crossed his mind. 'I don't know. I mean, you're the communications expert. What do you think?'
'I think it has. At least I think it's trying. Perhaps it doesn't know how.'
'Perhaps. Maybe that's why Gardner ended up like … you know.'
Sally didn't say anything.
'Look,' Chris said, 'Novitskiy wants me to check Soyuz out and I need someone to give me a hand.'
'I'm not really qualified to do —'
'It'll be fine. Novitskiy's looking after Gardner, so that leaves you free to help me.'
Sally could sense an energy building around Chris, the source of her strange feeling. The way his nostrils flared, the creases forming in his brow — something wasn't right. She backed away under the guise of putting her yogurt pouch in the disposal. 'I'll check with Novitskiy first —'
'No!' Chris yelled, slamming his fist on the table. 'You're going help me so we can get off this god-forsaken hell-hole and go home!' His eyes flashed with anger and his chest swelled.
'Okay,' Sally said, trying to maintain calm. She was backed up flat against the wall. 'I'll help you. Let's just keep it together, shall we?'
Chris watched her, and she watched him as his breathing returned to normal. He blinked his savage expression away. 'Okay,' he said.
They suited up in silence, except for the odd word as they helped each other check zips and seals. Chris had already explained it was just a precaution in case Soyuz hadn't maintained pressure, but still Sally felt sick with nerves. The list of worries was long, topped by a fear of being sucked into empty space, finding Mikhail's corpse — which was a given — or finding something … worse. Worse how? She didn't know, and she didn't want to know, either.
The MRM Two module where Soyuz was docked was right above the dining table, so as another precaution they closed and sealed all the hatches in the service module. It was something of a relief to shut the hatch that led down into the MLM. Module secured, Chris waved Sally after him, and they negotiated the tight funnel to the airlock. With a raised palm he told her to hold position, then unsealed the airlock to Soyuz. Sally held her breath, waiting for a horrible rush of wind to suck her out, but none came. Chris pulled the station's hatch inward, then unlocked Soyuz's hatch and pushed it outward. Sally looked past him into the cramped spacecraft, a feeling of dread creeping up inside her. Soyuz, however, was empty.
Chapter 17
Aleks had never been in so much pain in his life. His eyes, his lips, his ribs — all at once they pulsed with white hot agony in time to his palpitating heart. The taste of blood was strong in his mouth, but his jaw ached too much to spit it out. All he could do was swallow, making his face burn twice as much under the fire of his tenderised skin and his stomach roil with the metallic-tasting fluid.
Through the small window, a bleached light began to glow. The sunrise, after the longest night of his life, brought fresh hope, but that feeling faltered at the sound of a key turning in the door. Tied to a chair, he could only turn his head to see who was coming for him next. Bales walked in.
'I've brought you some breakfast,' he said in a jovial kind of way that made it seem like he hadn't noticed Aleks' bruised and battered state.
Aleks said nothing, watching Bales with a mix of loathing and apprehension as he walked towards him across the small room.
'I got you porridge. I hope you like porridge.' Bales dragged a chair in front of Aleks and sat down, ladling a spoonful and holding it to Aleks' mouth. 'Here. Eat.'
Aleks turned his head away, flinching at the pain triggered by the movement. 'I don't want any,' he mumbled through lips sticky with blood. It wasn't true; he did want it, having not eaten for around twelve hours — or maybe more, he had no way of knowing — but the thought of chewing and swallowing made him nauseated. Also, he didn't know what kind of trickery Bales was trying to pull, and he needed to be on his guard.
'Come now,' Bales said, lowering the spoon. 'You need to eat.' He held the spoon up again, closer to Aleks' mouth.
Again Aleks turned away. 'Why are you doing this? What do you want from me?' he said.
Bales put the spoon and bowl down on the floor. When he sat straight again, his face was grave. 'You've done a bad thing, Aleks. But I understand why you did it. You're a proud man. You’re a man who wants to do what he thinks is right. This time, however, you made a mistake.' He leaned towards Aleks, who stiffened. 'But people make mistakes, and I'm willing to overlook this one if you help me set it right again.' He sat back, lips spreading into a broad grin as if they were the best of friends sharing a joke together.
As much as Aleks felt wary of Bales' newfound friendliness, a part of him crying out for relief latched on to this sudden goodwill, believing it without hesitation. It was going to be hard to keep that part of him suppressed for long. 'What do you want me to do?'
Bales chuckled, spreading his affability on thick. 'You gave me Sean,' he said, looking down at Aleks' blood-soaked shirt, 'albeit with a little persuasion, and I'm grateful for that, really I am. But I need you to do one more thing. The trap is set, and now I need you to get him to walk into it.'
Guilt joined the throbbing nausea in Aleks' stomach. He had tried so hard to resist the never-ending torrent of blows, but he was just too old to stand up to that kind of treatment forever. After all, Sean was a journalist, sticking his nose where it didn't belong, so he should expect to get on the wrong side of people — and in this case, the wrong side of the wrong people. He was young and fit; he should be able to fend for himself. That was the thought that helped ease Aleks' conscience as much now as it had done when he'd given up Sean's phone number. That part of him crying out for relief had won over, leaving him powerless to resist it. 'What do you want me to do?' he whispered, swallowing his shame deep down.
Bales' grin spread even wider.
* * *
The taxi, as they all did, smelled funny. It was a strange blend of cinnamon and cigarettes, and Sean did his best not to heave as its driver negotiated the back roads of Korolyov at frightening velocity. His stomach could normally handle the pace, but today his nerves wouldn't allow it.
'Here will do,' he said, clutching his seatbelt, and the driver stopped. He paid the fare and got out, surveying his surroundings as the old Trabant took off, tyres chirping. It was a deserted street, damp with earl
y morning rain, and as he walked along it he stretched out the aches left by a night in his pop tent. As miraculously small as it folded up, the miracle only went so far: it wasn't the most spacious of sleeping environments. Still, it was better than sleeping in a hedge, and he wasn't going to be staying in any hotels for a while.
It was strange being back on the street again, homeless. As a journalist in his field he knew a certain level of dedication was required of him, but it always made him feel like a small country mouse in a very large city when everything he owned was slung over his shoulder, including the place he laid his head at night. The bag he carried — which went with him everywhere — contained the ideal journalist’s survival guide inventory — at least it would have done if such a thing as the journalist’s survival guide existed. Perhaps I should write one, he thought to himself as he trudged on.
In with his tent was a penknife, custom built into the base of a torch to make carrying it through customs easier; his phones; three Kendal mint cakes; a notepad and several pens; a global phrase guide; and a few other knick-knacks. He also had a stun gun — but this was no ordinary stun gun. He'd picked it up in a camping store in east Sormovsky a few years ago; it was disguised as a travel radio that slipped easily into a pocket. It packed a hell of a wallop, depleting its entire battery charge in five blasts. It may only be five blasts, the man who sold it to him had said, but one is enough to get the message across. The shopkeeper had demonstrated it on a goat tied up behind the counter, which made a noise Sean would never forget. But still he bought the stun gun, which even played FM and AM band radio.
This constant chatter in Sean's head served as it always did to stop him turning on his heel and running away. He found distracting himself before a big interview, a stakeout or potential capture and torture as he might be experiencing today, a necessary device to keep his head in the game. But as he drew closer to the RFSA building, he could distract himself no longer: he needed to be prepared. As he crossed the road he fumbled around in his bag, retrieved the radio-shaped stun gun and pocketed it. He expected to be searched and hoped it would go unnoticed.
Vessel Page 14
