Lucifer (aka the Lucifer Code) (2001)

by Cordy, Michael

  'May 1 use the restroom, please?' the man asked politely at the top of the stairs, and was relieved to be directed to the far end of the corridor.

  'I'll wait here,' the sister said.

  As he walked past the closed doors he paused when he reached suite 21. He checked that Sister Angela was out of sight and the corridor was deserted then moved closer to the door.

  Hearing voices he stepped back as the door to suite 21 opened. A man and a woman in white overalls stepped into the corridor wheeling a sturdy white coffin bearing the Church of the Soul Truth motif. They stepped past him and carried on towards the far end of the corridor, leaving the door to suite 21 ajar. The man saw that the bed was stripped and the room empty.

  He returned to Sister Angela. 'Thank you for your time. I think I've seen enough.'

  Fleming strode out into the sunshine and went to his hire Taurus, got in, and drove back to the Golden Gate Bridge. He still wasn't sure exactly what he'd expected to achieve by coming here, but whatever it was he wasn't even close.

  After his impulsive dash across the Atlantic to San Francisco he had driven to Amber's luxurious home in Pacific Heights, only to find it deserted. He had then called Father Peter Riga to check if he had had any news. He was unable to speak to him directly but received a cryptic message from the Jesuit's secretary: 'Father Peter Riga wants you to know he shares your concerns and has taken steps to assist you.'

  "What steps? What are you talking about?'

  But the secretary either couldn't or wouldn't clarify the message, leaving Fleming more confused than reassured. One of the remaining avenues of investigation was the hospice.

  Since there was no longer any doubt that Virginia Knight was poisoning his reputation, he had resorted to the subterfuge of the lowliest tabloid reporter to reach Amber, but even concealing his identity in an attempt to contact her through her hospice-bound mother hadn't worked. Gillian Grant was dead.

  Driving across the Golden Gate Bridge, he didn't notice the brown sedan following two cars behind. His eyes were focused on downtown San Francisco and the Bay Bridge beyond. He was concentrating on his last chance of contacting Amber Grant.

  *

  Optrix Industries

  The receptionist's practised smile was welcoming but her words were not. 'I'm afraid Dr Soames has just returned from Alaska and is seeing no one at the moment.'

  As he glanced around Optrix's large marble lobby, and noticed the CCTV cameras and discreetly placed uniformed guards, Fleming kept his frustration in check. 'All I'm asking is that you tell him I'm here and that I need to speak to him about his partner, Dr Amber Grant. I'm her medical doctor and have some information of which she needs to be made aware.'

  The petite blonde's smile didn't waver. 'I'm sorry, but if you haven't got an appointment I can't-'

  'Won't you use your headset to contact his office? At least let his secretary know I'm here.' There was a whirring sound as one of the cameras focused on him, then one of the guards ambled over in his direction. He was holding a finger to his earpiece as if listening to instructions. He smiled at Fleming: a corporate smile identical to the receptionist's.

  'Would you please come with me, sir?' he asked pleasantly. He was big, Fleming's height but heavier.

  Instinctively Fleming moved his weight on to the balls of his feet. 'Look, I don't want any trouble, I just want to speak to Bradley Soames.'

  'I understand, sir,' said the guard, cocking his head as he listened to something in his earpiece. He pointed to the bank of elevators, indicating the black tinted glass cabin on the end. 'Please take the executive elevator to the top floor. Turn right when you step out and Dr Soames's office is the first door on the left.'

  Fleming couldn't conceal his surprise. He looked up at the camera then turned back to the receptionist, whose expression remained unchanged. He moved towards the elevator and heard her utter a breezy, 'Have a nice day, Dr Fleming,' as the doors closed behind him.

  He pushed the top button. Seconds later the elevator stopped on the fortieth floor and he stepped out on to a plush carpet. The circular corridor was deserted and silent, the occupants of the top floor ensconced in their hermetically sealed offices. All the offices were on the outer side of the circle, facing out of the tower.

  Except one.

  On its light oak door were two words. No title, position or qualifications, just a name. Bradley Soames.

  He opened the door and was confronted by a tall, smiling woman with big hair. She gestured to a door of tinted glass to the right of her desk. 'Dr Fleming, Dr Soames is waiting for you. Please go through that door'

  'You beat me to it,' Soames said, as he rose from behind the curved desk in his windowless office. 'If you hadn't found me, I'd have found you. Can I call you Miles? Please call me Bradley'

  Trying to hide his surprise, Fleming took Soames's extended hand. The man's grip was weak and Fleming responded in kind - he had seen the scars and didn't want to hurt him. 'I was half expecting you to throw me out,' he said.

  Soames laughed. 'Oh, I never throw anybody out.' He gestured casually behind him. 'They do.' In the subdued lighting at the far end of the circular office Fleming could make out two dark shapes lying on the floor. Between them was what looked like a large bone. Only now did he detect a damp, feral smell in the mildly medicated cool air. 'But don't worry about them. Like I said, I'm glad you came. Take a seat. Have a drink.'

  Sitting on the office couch with a can of Coke, Fleming looked at his host, whose manner was disconcerting, and whose physical appearance was worse than it appeared in any photograph he had seen of him. His body was rake thin, and the exposed flesh had been ravaged by invasive surgery. The bright gold hair and pale blue eyes only exacerbated the strangeness of his scarred face. Even so, Fleming could sense a fierce intelligence in him.

  'Unfortunate business about your brother,' Soames said suddenly. 'I'm real sorry about that. Virginia Knight always was a political coward.'

  'How do you mean?'

  'Let's face it, she's a great administrator and a great maintainer, I understand she was once an outstanding medical doctor too - but, unlike you and me, she's no pioneer. She's not a risk-taker. She's a politician, and you've fallen victim to her fear of anything reflecting negatively on her.' Soames reached under his desk and pulled out a copy of The Times from London. It was open on page four and an article was ringed in red: 'Leading Neurologist Suspended, Pending Investigation into Research Patient's Death'. Fleming's photograph featured below the headline. 'I take it you've heard of the VenTec Foundation?' Soames asked.

  Everyone with even a vague interest in science had heard of VenTec. More myths than facts circulated about the highly secretive place, including one that the ground-breaking optical computers the Foundation had helped develop for the world were as nothing compared to a secret supercomputer of fabulous power Soames kept in his mountain retreat. Specializing in radical innovation at the cutting edge of computer technology, VenTec was famous as a seedbed for blue-sky technologies, which were then developed and commercialized in the mainstream laboratories of Optrix or other major client businesses. 'I've heard of it,' said Fleming, still unnerved by his casual reception. He had come here prepared to grill Soames about Amber Grant - but instead found himself on the back foot.

  'I'll cut to the chase, Miles. As you know I'm an avid fan of your work on the NeuroTranslator. It's probably the best application of the Lucifer chip optical technology I've ever seen. That's why I convinced my partner, Amber Grant, to come to you for treatment. And that's why I earmarked a significant donation towards developing it. But since you're no longer at Barley Hall, I've withdrawn my offer. Much to Virginia Knight's annoyance, I gather.' Soames grinned. 'The point is, I'm hoping that Barley Hall's loss may be VenTec's gain. I want you to use the donation and the not inconsiderable facilities at VenTec to develop your NeuroTranslator.'

  Fleming wondered what response to make. He was flattered that someone of Soames's brilliance thought highl
y of him after Knight's character assassination. Plus the facilities at VenTec were reputed to be second to none. It would be an ideal way to continue his research into the soul wavelength. Except, of course, for one key ingredient.

  'It's an interesting thought, Bradley, and in my current predicament I would normally leap at it but-'

  But what?'

  'I didn't come to you looking for a job. I came here to make contact with Amber Grant-'

  'Why? She's no longer your responsibility'

  'It's more complicated than that.'

  'How much more complicated?'

  'I need to speak to her and I wondered if you'd tell me where she is. There's something she needs to know, something related to her headaches.'

  'What?'

  Fleming repeated the story to date. When he'd finished Soames gave a low whistle, stood up and began to pace around his office. His protective hood was rolled back on his ultraviolet-proof sweater, accentuating the stoop of his thin shoulders. 'This is incredible. You've got to let me help you continue your research. If I've understood you correctly, you want to confirm that this wavelength is just a temporary aberration, the vapour trail of a dying mind before it disappears into oblivion. Because that means your brother can't be suffering and you were right not to fight to keep him alive. Is that broadly correct?'

  Fleming was impressed with Soames's grasp of what he'd told him. 'Broadly.'

  The other man's eyes sparkled with excitement. 'Fascinating. This wavelength has made you doubt what you've always believed in and now you want to explain it?'

  'I suppose so, yes.' For a private man, Fleming found himself strangely willing to answer this stranger's searching questions about his deepest fears.

  'But in purely scientific terms, by trying to prove that the soul wavelength doesn't confirm the existence of an afterlife, aren't you in danger of making a serious error?' Soames asked. 'Don't forget, it's virtually impossible to prove something doesn't exist. It's much easier to prove that something does.'

  'What are you saying?' Fleming asked. 'That I'm going about this the wrong way?'

  'Absolutely. You've got no choice, Miles, not if you want peace of mind. Instead of using the soul wavelength to disprove the existence of an afterlife, use it to look for proof that it does exist. And if you can't find it, then at least you'll be able to tell yourself it probably doesn't exist because you've looked real hard. That's what I'd do.' Soames paused. 'There's one risk with this strategy, though.'

  'Yes, I know,' said Fleming, understanding now why his overheated mind had overlooked this approach. T might find what I fear.'

  Soames smiled. 'But it's too massive to turn away from. Surely you've got no choice but to continue with your NeuroTranslator research - as a scientist but also as a brother.'

  'Yes, but I need access to Amber Grant. And I think she needs to be told about this. At the moment, she has no idea. That's why I've been trying to contact her.'

  'Yes, of course. But her mother's just passed on and Amber's gone off to have some time to herself. I don't know exactly where she is and, frankly, it ain't my business, especially as she arranged a month's leave to cover her treatment with you. However, she does call me from time to time.' Soames stopped prowling and stooped down to the wolves. Absentmindedly he spoke to them in an unintelligible guttural tongue, then picked a scab off one of the scars on his hand and fed it to the larger wolf before ruffling its fur.

  Fleming grimaced. Although the wolves paid him no heed, he still found their presence unnerving.

  'Tell you what,' said Soames. 'Take me up on my offer anyway. You can have whatever you want to build an improved version of the NeuroTranslator. Without wishing to sound arrogant, I've got the best computer people at VenTec. They could help you develop a significantly more sensitive and powerful NeuroTranslator than the one at Barley Hall.' He stood up. 'To come clean with you, Miles, a client of ours, KREE8 Industries, is particularly interested in your technology, especially the educational and entertainment applications of thought-controlled computer-generated images and prosthetics. They've already asked VenTec to build what we regard as an improved version of your NeuroTranslator prototype. But without your understanding of the neural wavelengths it could take us years to make it operational. With your cooperation it would take days. In return you could follow up your soul wavelength research with the full resources of VenTec at your disposal. Just think what you could achieve with some real computer power behind you.'

  'I'd need access to my files at Barley Hall.'

  Soames waved his right hand in the dismissive way of the truly rich and powerful. 'Virginia's easy. I understand how she works and what she wants. So long as she gets money and a share of the credit for whatever you come up with - but none of the blame if it all goes to shit - she doesn't give a damn what you do. Trust me on this, Miles. I can get whatever you need from Barley Hall.'

  'And Amber?'

  'Start work now, and the next time Amber contacts me I'll put you two together and you can speak with her. I see no reason why she shouldn't co-operate. She needs to resolve her headaches and her issues with Ariel. She may even find it therapeutic regarding her mother.' Soames was plainly excited. 'What do you say, Miles? This discovery of yours is incredible. You must take it forward and you must let me help you. This is exactly the kind of radical research that VenTec was founded to promote.' He reached for the phone on his desk. 'Laura, get the plane ready for Fairbanks with a connecting helicopter for the Foundation. Don't worry about notifying VenTec, I'll call ahead myself. I need certain things put in place. Yes, I'll ask him.' Soames looked up, his grin so boyish and his eyes so bright that in the half-light he looked almost handsome. 'Miles, how much time do you need to pack?'

  Swept along by Soames's enthusiasm, Fleming didn't hesitate. This was more than he had dared to hope for. All my luggage is in the hire car parked in a lot across the street.'

  Soames slapped him on the back. 'C'mon, then. What are we waiting for?'

  *

  Black sector secure accommodation.

  VenTec

  When Amber Grant first rose to consciousness she felt such peace that she was sure she must have died.

  A hand was squeezing hers. And there was a presence beside her, familiar, calming. Even the terrifying memory of dying again and again didn't trouble her any more. Something had changed deep within her. Whatever her abductors had done to her had somehow unlocked a blockage in her psyche. As if by capturing her body they had freed her mind. She no longer felt alone. Her sister was with her, not trapped or struggling to make contact like before but there, choosing to stay with her. Even her concern for her mother seemed easier to bear, as if she was sharing it.

  No longer drugged or shackled, Amber reached across herself to touch Ariel with her right hand but there was only crisp, smooth bed linen. Although she could feel Ariel's hand in hers, clasping it as tightly as she had when they were children, and she could sense her sister beside her, comforting her, giving her strength, she was alone in the bed.

  She opened her eyes, and found herself alone in a plain suite devoid of decoration and windows. At the end of the bed was a living area with a couch, television, chair and desk. Beyond that was a door, through which she could see a bathroom. The Spartan surroundings, white walls and simple furnishings were oddly familiar.

  She sat up and discovered she was dressed in a white bodysuit. She felt physically exhausted, as if convalescing from an illness, but she was relieved to find herself once more in charge of her body.

  It was so strange. She should feel desperate, terrified and alone. But she didn't.

  'Where are you?' a voice asked. A voice that was both part of her and apart from her.

  'I don't know,' she heard herself reply.

  She stood up and felt somehow that she should recognize her quarters. They reminded her of a place she had visited in the past. She went to the main door and tried to open it but it was locked.

  Then she saw the whi
te bathrobe hanging on the back of the bathroom door and saw the V logo on the breast pocket with the tag line beneath: Past the Present to the Future.

  Suddenly her brain fired with connections. The familiar musk scent and voice she had recognized when paralysed: Felicia Bukowski, one of Bradley's pet scientists, whom Amber had met when visiting his Foundation in the past.

  She was at VenTec. Which could only mean one thing.

  Bradley Soames was involved.

  Her own partner was behind this.

  *

  Alaska