by Amy Cross
She paused, before shaking her head.
“I'm gonna get to the bottom of it,” he added, sighing before finishing his coffee and getting to his feet. “I actually have got a few leads, believe it or not, and I'll be following them up at the first available opportunity. Tell him I can't help with this one, not while Wagoner's got the bit between his teeth. Tell him I need to tread carefully for a while, so I'll be in touch in a little while, okay? This isn't the moment to be ruffling feathers and making a stink about...” Staring at the file, he paused for a moment, as if he was reconsidering his stance. “No,” he added finally, “sorry, I'm out of this one. Sorry, nothing personal.”
Quix sat and watched as he made his way to the door. Closing her eyes for a moment, she seemed to slip briefly into a kind of trance, before opening her eyes again and standing up.
“Alright, love,” said a guy at the next table. “Had a tiff with your boyfriend, have you? Why don't you come and have a coffee with me, eh?”
She stared at him, thinking dark thoughts.
“Right then,” he replied, clearly feeling extremely uncomfortable as he looked down at his newspaper. “Didn't mean to offend.” When he looked up again, Quix had already left the building.
***
“Alright,” Milhouse said, as someone answered his call, “it's me. I just finished -”
Feeling a top on his shoulder, he turned to find that Quix had followed him out of the cafe. A cold wind was blowing along the street, and for a moment they stood face to face, simply staring at one another as if they each expected the other to make the first move.
“I'll call you back,” Milhouse muttered, cutting the call and slipping the phone into his pocket. “So what's up? Do you want something?”
She stared at him, as a bus roared past and voices cried out to one another all around, adding more noise to the cacophony of the city. All around them, the madness of London was building and building, and light rain was starting to be felt in the air.
“What is it?” Milhouse asked after a moment, starting to feel exasperated. “If you want something, you're gonna have to give me a clue, 'cause I'm not a bloody mind-reader.”
She paused, before turning and walking away.
“What was that all about?” he called after her, before losing sight of her in the crowd. “Bloody hell,” he muttered, taking his phone back out of his pocket, “I reckon it's catching. People who spend too long around Robinson, they end up messed in the head.”
Chapter Twelve
“I'm off for the night,” Doctor Leach said as she made her way down the metal stairs from the observation room. “Everything's automated, but if there's a problem, I'll come straight back. All the systems are linked to my phone.”
Sitting cross-legged on the floor, watching as Meg floated in the gel, Hanson seemed lost in thought.
“Are you okay?” the doctor asked as she reached him. “You've seemed a little pensive all evening.”
“I just had a session with the board,” he replied, keeping his eyes fixed on Meg. “They wanted to know why Mr. Millner wouldn't be returning, and I'm not sure my explanation satisfied them so I think there'll be more trouble at the next meeting in a month's time. It's starting to look as if I'm going to have to make some changes around here. Those pathetic money-men have reached the point at which they're more trouble than they're worth. To be honest, I should probably have made changes sooner.”
“To the project?”
“No, to the company,” he replied, “to protect the project. The project must be safeguarded at all costs, that's how Harrington Cole set it up and that's the spirit in which I aim to continue. Nothing else matters, it's all about the project and achieving our aim. When Subject A reaches its final form, the lives of a few forgettable little men won't matter to anyone. I'd cut all their throats right now if I thought I could get away with it.”
“Remind me never to get on your bad side,” she replied.
She waited, but no response came.
“I should probably tell you that her readings are deviating slightly from the plan,” she continued, looking over at Meg. “Imperfections are starting to appear in the data, and the cellular growth isn't quite as rapid as I would have liked. It's not sticking rigidly to the cell scaffolds, either, so there might be some rotary deformations. I can't explain why these deviations are occurring at the moment, but I guess the human body's reactions can never be completely predicted.”
“I suppose that was inevitable,” Hanson replied sadly.
“Still, she's doing much, much better at this stage than Martin Williams. She's going to be a useful stepping stone, if nothing else.” She paused. “Have you had any luck finding Mr. Williams, by the way? I'd still like to get hold of his body, so I can check to see how the cellular degeneration progressed following his initial problems. We can learn so much from the mistakes we made with the early subjects, so it's very important that we find him.”
“Finding his body is not a priority.”
“Are you serious?”
“You've got the abominations, haven't you? If you need to poke something, poke them.”
“It's not the same,” she replied. “Martin was viable! He actually looked like he might be a success for a while.”
“I don't care,” Hanson told her. “The old failures have no value.”
“Maybe not for you, but from a scientific standpoint -”
“From a scientific standpoint,” Hanson replied, interrupting her, “I need you to focus on this young lady. Even if she's not perfect, she's already a vast improvement over Mr. Williams. We're getting there, I can feel it, and I've already started looking around for a Subject D. It doesn't matter how many people we have to bring into the program, eventually we'll get the perfect creature. Maybe this one wasn't quite as pure as we'd hoped.”
Doctor Leach allowed herself a faint smile, but at the same time she also seemed a little uncomfortable.
“Well,” she said finally, “I warned you when you hired me that perfection -”
“Is possible.”
“But not guaranteed.”
“I'm sure you're doing your best,” he replied. “That last little push will have to come from some other form of intervention.”
“Such as?”
She waited for a reply, but after a moment she realized that Hanson seemed lost in thought, watching Meg and thinking only of the project. She was used to the moments when he seemed to drift away, and she knew that there was no point trying to drag him back to reality.
“Good night,” she said finally, heading over to the door. “Remember to sleep, okay?”
Once he was alone in the room, Hanson leaned forward and took a closer look at Meg's face, which was just about visible beneath the ripples of the clear gel.
“So beautiful,” he whispered after a moment. “You have no idea how lucky you are. Such a shame you aren't perfect, but still, I think your final form might be rather spectacular. Mr. Cole will be so pleased when he sees you.”
Chapter Thirteen
“Robinson,” Katie said as she hurried into the office the following morning, “I've had an idea. I think we should -”
Stopping suddenly, she stared at the middle-aged woman who was tied to Robinson's office chair, her terrified eyes visible above a large white gag that had been strapped around her mouth. The woman struggled for a moment, desperately trying to get her hands free from the ropes around her wrists, and she let out a faint murmur of alarm, followed by a series of urgent, muffled groans that seemed to be a plea for help.
“There you are,” Robinson said, sipping from a cup of tea as he looked out the window. “Katie, I'm glad you're on time, there's something I need you to do for me.”
***
“This is insane,” Katie whispered, adjusting the waist-strap of her uniform as she stood in the yard next to the service entrance. A truck was reversing nearby, beeping loudly in the process. “These clothes are way too big, no-one's ever going t
o believe that I'm a cleaner here!”
“No-one's ever going to look twice at you,” Robinson replied, speaking through the earpiece. “Just calm down, push your trolley around, do some cleaning and above all, make sure to whistle all the time. That's key to the whole endeavor, okay? Whistle while you work.”
“This is like the plot of a bad movie,” she pointed out. “Robinson, no-one actually goes undercover as a cleaning woman!”
“Exactly! In the history of the world, I doubt anyone has ever actually done something this crazy, so it's absolutely the last thing they'll be expecting.”
“Robinson -”
“Would you ever suspect the cleaning lady?”
“No, but that's because -”
“Besides, you've got a 'cleaning lady' vibe about you.”
She paused. “I do?”
“Definitely.”
Another pause. “What does that mean?”
“It means you should get your head down and start working. Get in, get out, that's the order of the day. And whatever you do, don't forget to whistle!”
“Robinson, I really don't think whistling is going to convince people that I'm a -”
“It's not about that,” he said with a sigh. “I've told you, it's complicated, but your most important job today is to walk around that place and whistle as much as possible. I'll explain everything when you get back, but if I tell you now, you'll just have lots of questions and eventually someone'll spot you talking to yourself, and that never ends well. Just don't forget to whistle, any tune will do, just so long as there aren't too many gaps. And try to cover each floor of the building at least twice. If you work fast, you can be done in a couple of hours' time.”
Taking a look at the entry pass taken from the kidnapped woman's purse, Katie stared at the photo, which showed the same woman she'd found tied to a chair in Robinson's office a short while earlier. “Elizabeth Bales,” she said quietly. “If anyone asks to see my pass, I'm screwed. I don't look anything like her.” She looked at the bio information. “She's forty!”
“The pass is just to get you into the building,” Robinson replied, “and don't worry about dear Elizabeth, she's absolutely fine here in my office. I've been explaining things to her and I think she's starting to see it from my point of view. Slow process, but still...”
“Have you untied her yet?”
“No,” he said uncomfortably, “I think she'd try to run away. Like I said, it's a slow process and I startled her when I abducted her earlier. There's some trust to rebuild.””
“I think there might be,” Katie said, rolling her eyes.
“It was the name that the dead angel mentioned,” Robinson continued. “Gregory Hanson. I knew it rang a bell so I did some research, and I don't think it's a coincidence that he's one of the top figures at the Harrington Cole company. I had no idea until now that Cole's work was preserved after his disappearance, and that a modern company still carries his name. They do a lot of work in the gene-splicing business, but they have certain projects that are kept top-secret. Even their own board members apparently don't know the full details. Somewhere in that building, Katie, you're going to find evidence, and I'm convinced it'll tie Gregory Hanson's company to the dead so-called angel.”
“And you think they'll let a cleaning woman just stroll into their secret lab and poke around, do you?”
“Of course not. That's why I need you to whistle.”
“Robinson -” Hearing footsteps nearby, she turned and saw another woman headed her way, wearing a similar uniform. Swiping her way into the building, the woman held the door open, while chewing gum with her mouth open.
“Coming in?”
“Yeah,” Katie replied, hurrying over and slipping inside. “Thanks.”
“New, are you?”
“First day,” Katie stammered, trying not to sound too out of place. “The... agency sent me.”
“Bloody agency,” the woman replied, heading off along the corridor. “They don't know their arses from their elbows at that place.”
“Good job so far,” Robinson whispered through the earpiece. “It sounds like you're already popular. You've got the lingo down pat.”
“Do me one favor,” Katie whispered, taking a deep breath. “Only speak when I ask you a direct question, okay? Apart from that, please just stay quiet.”
***
“I told him to go to hell,” the man in the white coat explained to his colleague as they headed into the elevator. “I mean, if he can't get his department's finances sorted out, I'm sure not going to step into the breach.”
As the elevator doors slid shut, Katie made her way around the far corner, whistling as she pushed a trolley filled with all manner of cleaning equipment. She stopped for a moment and looked at the floor-plan on the wall, which showed the layout of the building's top floor – including a large section that seemed to be completely sealed off. Glancing ahead, she saw a heavy metal door at the far end of the corridor, with warning signs plastered all over, and she realized that she'd found the entrance to a part of the building that was afforded even greater security than the other levels. Two-and-a-half hours of cleaning had finally paid off.
Still whistling, she pushed her trolley forward, stopping a couple of times to run a cloth over some doorknobs, while making her way slowly toward the metal door. When she got closer, she saw that one of the signs on the door proclaimed it to be accessible only to people with special security clearance, and she figured that her pass to get into the building almost certainly wouldn't work on the door's sensor.
“Back to work, then,” said a male voice nearby. “See you at lunch?”
“So what exactly do you do in there?” said another voice, as footsteps approached Katie from behind. “Come on, can't you give the rest of us a hint?”
“Sorry, mate,” the first man said, walking past Katie and heading to the security door. Swiping a card in the sensor, he opened the door and stepped through, before holding it open and turning to the other guy. “Trust me, though, we're doing some pretty amazing work. You'd be so jealous if you could see some of the rigs we've got in this place. It's state of the art, mate.”
“See you around.”
As the second guy wandered away, the first man headed into the security area, leaving the door to swing shut. At the last moment, Katie hurried over and grabbed the door, holding it open and pulling her cleaning trolley through, while still making sure to whistle. Her heart was pounding and she knew she was taking a huge risk, but at the same time she figured she had to at least try.
“Hey,” the first man said suddenly, having heard her and returned to block her way, “what the hell do you think you're doing?”
“Cleaning,” she told him, trying to peer past him but seeing little more than a corridor with various doors leading off to either side. There was a bubbling sound in the distance, though, and thick metal pipes ran across a surprisingly high ceiling.
“Not in here, you don't,” the man continued, gently pushing her back. “Didn't the agency tell you? You don't get into this part without special clearance. We clean up after ourselves in here. Stick to the lobbies and the other offices.”
“Sorry,” she muttered, still trying to see through, before the man pulled the door shut. Sighing, she took a step back.
“What did you see?” Robinson's voice asked through the earpiece suddenly.
Startled, she took a moment to answer. “Nothing much. Lots of pipes on the ceiling. Sorry, it was a bust.”
“But you talked to him. That's good. Excellent work, Katie.”
“You think? It's not like he told me anything useful.”
“On the contrary,” Robinson replied, “his voice told us a great deal. Your day's done, get back here as fast as possible. And you can stop whistling now.”
***
“Acoustic spatial imaging,” Robinson explained a few hours later, as he turned a control wheel on the computer. “In other words, the analysis of sound recordings
in order to determine the precise acoustic environments in which they were made. It's some real CSI kind of stuff.”
“Come again?” Katie asked, glancing over her shoulder to take a look at the kidnapped woman, who was still tied to the chair with a gag over her mouth. “Don't you think you should let her go?”
“I didn't just want you to whistle for fun,” Robinson continued, “I needed you to whistle so I could use the recording of that whistle to do this...” He pressed a few more buttons, and finally a wire-frame model was generated on the screen, showing a series of corridors and rooms. “Recognize that?”
Staring at the screen for a moment, Katie realized it was a 3D map of the Harrington Cole company's lobby, complete with figures of the two receptionists.
“How did you do that?” she asked, shocked.
“By analyzing the recording of your whistle and the way the sound waves bounced off nearby walls,” he continued, unable to hide a faint, smug smile. “Pretty smart, huh? This is cutting-edge stuff.” Hitting a few more buttons, he brought up a series of other maps, each showing different parts of the building. “You see the spots where the wire-frame has gaps?” he asked. “That's where your whistle stopped for a moment. Most of the time, the spaces could be filled in, but not always, so sometimes the system had to make a few educated guesses. The computer program analyzes the sound and interpolates the spatial dimensions of the room that created those specific audio qualities. It's accurate to within a few centimeters.”
“This is like something from a sci-fi film,” Katie pointed out.
“Getting an accurate reading through a doorway is much more difficult,” Robinson added, bringing up another image, this time one that still seemed to be rendering, “but it's possible. Fortunately, you had that brief conversation with the man when you tried and failed to get into the top security area, and voices are much more useful for this sort of thing than a whistle, so...” He paused, watching as the wire-frame image continued to build. “Fascinating,” he muttered finally.
