by Seth Patrick
‘Shit,’ said Ray, shocked by the sudden brightness. He looked terrible, blood soaked through his jacket from shoulder to elbow, his shirt scarlet. Jonah suspected that if he looked closer at his wounds, they would look like abrasions. Scratches of varying depth and ferocity. He thought of those obsidian teeth, glinting in the dark as the creature had approached him. He thought of Mary Connart.
Jonah took out his phone. ‘Signal’s back,’ he said. Somehow he wasn’t surprised. He walked to the end of the corridor, lights flickering on overhead as he triggered the motion sensors.
Torrance was lying on the floor bleeding profusely from two wounds that looked serious, one in the stomach and one on the left side of his upper torso. Beside him was a flashlight and a travel bag. He had no doubt now that Torrance had intended to kill all three of them before making an escape. Locking the door had been Torrance’s way of buying enough time to set it all in motion.
The man’s breathing was strained and uneven. On his shoulder Jonah could see a faint trace of the shadow, returned now. Home.
He went back to Bob and Ray.
‘I’ve called it in,’ said Bob.
Ray looked at Jonah, urgently. ‘What the hell was it? Where did it come from?’
‘You both saw it, then?’ said Jonah. They nodded. Jonah shook his head. ‘I saw things like this in dreams. Visions.’
‘Jesus,’ said Bob. ‘Nobody’s going to believe a word of this.’
‘Torrance mentioned that there were others,’ said Ray. ‘Did he just mean others who knew about it, or others who were like him?’
‘Or maybe others who—’ started Bob, but then he stopped, staring at Jonah. ‘Others who might want to keep this quiet. Others who might be in a position to keep it quiet.’
Jonah felt his stomach drop at the thought. ‘We have to act like we saw nothing.’
Ray looked at Bob. ‘So what the hell do we say just happened?’
‘We say that Torrance was rambling and then resisted arrest,’ said Bob. ‘Backup’s five minutes away. We need to have our story straight by the time they get here.’ He turned to Jonah. ‘And you should leave.’
Jonah shook his head. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Until we know more about what’s going on here, we have to be cautious. If there are others, whatever the hell these things are, none of us wants to look like a threat. And I saw it back off from you, Jonah. It might be simpler if you weren’t here when backup arrives. We took you to your car before we came to this office, understand?’
Jonah looked at Ray, who nodded. ‘Get going,’ said Ray. ‘Prop the front door open on your way out, huh? I’m not quite up to moving just yet, and I’d rather Bob didn’t have to go down and let backup in. I don’t want to be left alone up here.’
*
Jonah wedged the doors open as requested and started to walk fast. He was shivering, and not from the cold. Sirens were close; he ducked into the dark entrance of a shop a hundred yards down the street as half a dozen police vehicles converged on the building he’d just left. A minute later an unmarked car came from another direction, driven with urgency. A suited man got out and was intercepted by one of the uniformed officers setting up a cordon, the cop raising a palm to block his way.
The suited man held up ID; the cop took a look and nodded. They spoke briefly before the cop waved him through, but Jonah was finding it hard to concentrate on what was said.
Because Jonah’s eyes were on the suited man’s shoulder. At the shadow perched there, clearly visible.
Glistening in the streetlight.
23
Annabel was sitting in the same bar where she’d met Takeo and Kaylee two weeks before, finding out just how bad their coffee was.
Her thief hadn’t shown yet. The day before, Kaylee had sent her a message: their friend was willing to meet her with new information, for a price. She’d not had to give it much thought, and she’d been waiting over an hour for the man to show up. Instead, she’d had two cups of murky water and thirty minutes of glances from a guy on the far side of the room, who’d been there when she’d come in.
Shit, she thought, as he finally decided to venture over and try his luck.
‘You mind if I join you?’ he said.
‘I’m waiting for someone.’
He sat anyway. ‘I’ll keep you company until they get here. Want a drink?’
Annabel nodded at the coffee. ‘I’m OK,’ she said, with a flat voice. ‘And, like I said, I’m waiting for someone, so . . .’ She looked at him, expecting him to get the hint.
The man smiled. It was an appealing smile, the kind that begged to be returned, but she resisted. ‘I understand,’ he said, then he lowered his voice. ‘I’m Yan, by the way.’ He held out his hand.
Annabel smiled now. Yan was the thief. She shook his hand. ‘You let me sit here and drink this terrible coffee?’
‘Just being careful.’ He looked at her, appraising. ‘I’ll get you a decent drink, then we’ll talk.’
She let him get her a beer, and when he came back she handed him his payment, up front as agreed. ‘So why meet me in person?’ she asked. ‘Why not send the other two?’
Yan passed her a USB stick. ‘Means they don’t take a cut,’ he said. ‘Besides, Takeo said you were pretty, and I’m very shallow. I wanted to see for myself.’ He smiled again, but Annabel wasn’t about to let him distract her.
‘So what did I buy?’ she asked.
‘You bought a puzzle,’ said Yan. ‘Two sets of documents. One is a detailed five-year plan for the expansion of the Winnerden Flats site, aimed at crushing the competition in the cryogenics business. Significant increase in capacity, and a huge new research wing that’s already nearing completion. This was what my original clients were most interested in, and it was pretty easy to get hold of. The other is a different building plan for the works at Winnerden Flats, completely at odds with the rest.’
‘Couldn’t it just be an outdated plan?’
‘No. It was more recent. And hidden.’
‘How and when did you get hold of this information? If you’re happy telling me.’
He shrugged. ‘Allow me to keep it vague. It was over four weeks ago. I lifted the first set of documents from a system that was relatively insecure. The other came from data I managed to get from a much harder target before I got cut off. Everything was encrypted, and this was the only thing I managed to dig out. I couldn’t do anything with the rest but pass it on. I doubt my clients managed to decrypt it either.’
‘You were cut off? So they knew someone had been there?’
‘Yes, but they had no way to trace it back to source. Anyway, I told my clients what I thought had happened.’
‘Which was?’
‘They were being played. They heard the rumour about Andreas Biotech expanding their cryogenics business, and these convenient documents showed up, confirming the rumour, stored in the first place anyone from outside would have looked. Too easy to find, meaning the company had wanted them to be found. Which was why I kept looking. The second set of documents, these are the real plans.’
‘So Andreas Biotech were trying to mislead them?’
‘The first documents show an expansion over five years. My clients think the intent was to lull them into complacency. They feared a rapid expansion into their markets, so a long-term plan was less of a threat. Me, though—’ He shook his head, reluctant to continue.
‘Go on.’
‘I think my clients are wrong, but I don’t understand what the intent was. The whole thing is a puzzle, and I don’t like unanswered puzzles. One of the reasons I wanted to meet you is to ask you, face to face: if you work it out, tell me. Please. Before it drives me crazy.’
‘I don’t follow. Why do you think your clients got it wrong?’
‘It’s not about lulling them into complacency, because I don’t think the real plans are anything to do with expanding their cryogenics business.’
‘How come?’ said A
nnabel.
He shrugged. ‘Look at the alternative site plan and ask yourself a question: if they’re expanding, where do they put all the extra customers?’
*
Annabel left Yan after getting him to promise to send anything new, should he manage to decrypt the other files; Yan had been keen to meet up again, either way. She’d declined as politely as she could and headed home.
When she got back to her apartment and looked at what was on the memory stick he’d given her, the first thing she did was bring up both site plans for Winnerden Flats and compare them.
In each, the facility had improved residential quarters for a significant number of staff, and a gym area including a pool. In the first plan – the dummy if Yan’s instinct was correct – the entirely new wing consisted of storage areas for the bodies of future clientele, to complement the existing storage area marked within the older part of the building.
In the alternative plan, this area was designated as research labs, with a large circular region annotated ‘MCH’. There was no additional storage.
‘I see what he means,’ said Annabel out loud. ‘Where do they put all the extra bodies?’
She closed the document with a sigh. She’d have another look tomorrow, she thought, although she was aware that it was all just detail, an excess of information that didn’t really tell her anything useful about Andreas Biotech. Just distraction.
She poured herself a drink and threw a sandwich together, and thought about Yan’s enthusiasm to meet up again. Flattering, yes; Yan had been easy on the eye. The depressing part had been that, for the briefest of moments, she had considered saying yes.
‘You’re an idiot, Annabel Harker,’ she muttered. It was an old habit, she knew. Yan was blatantly the kind of guy for whom any relationship would have a built-in self-destruct mechanism. Even considering seeing him again was the first step on the path to using him as an emergency parachute. Something to allow her to flee a relationship that had grown beyond the confines of her comfort zone, and to enter one that could only be a disaster.
In the past, it wouldn’t have been nearly so long before her self-preservation had kicked in and made her unconsciously look around for an escape route. It was high praise in a very twisted way, although she couldn’t imagine Jonah taking it as a compliment. ‘You’re so important to me, Jonah,’ she said to her kitchen, ‘that I’ve put off consideration of infidelity for over a year.’ She shook her head. ‘Classy.’
With impeccable timing, her phone chimed; a text had come through from Jonah. Call me, it said. Need to talk. Now.
She set her phone down. She wasn’t ready for a heart-to-heart, not by a long way.
She sat and ate, marvelling at how the intense love her parents had shared had left her with an allergy to commitment. Witnessing the loneliness of her father after her mother’s death had inoculated her against it. She couldn’t bear the dread of finding herself, somewhere down the line, so alone and so unhappy.
Annabel looked around at the empty kitchen in her empty apartment and let out a cold laugh at the irony.
Then she got another text from Jonah. There were only three words this time, but it was enough to make her freeze.
Three words that changed everything.
24
That same morning, Never Geary had come to the FRS office earlier than normal. He’d woken at a crazy hour and been unable to get back to sleep, and he knew exactly what the problem was. It had been three days since the Mary Connart revival and he’d not heard anything from Jonah since the drive back to Richmond.
‘You worry too much,’ he told himself, and it was true. But there had been a time, not so long ago, when Jonah had made all of Never’s fears come to pass: when Never had found his friend in a mess on his bathroom floor, surrounded by pill-laden vomit.
Something like that tended to sharpen your instinct for worrying.
This time he’d left Jonah alone for a full twenty-four hours before he’d even called and left a message. A difficult revival could hit hard – and Mary Connart had been difficult – so he’d not been surprised that Jonah would retreat for a while, but today was the day that he would move up from tentative messages on his voice-mail and knock on Jonah’s door.
The office filled up. After Hugo’s regular update meeting Never got back to his desk and went through his schedule for the day. He planned to get downstairs and finalize the new equipment tests, avoiding any on-site duties so that he could devote himself to proper, full-scale worrying.
Then Hugo called him into his office.
Hugo’s door was open a crack, so he walked in after a token knock in case anyone else was with him. ‘Hey, boss,’ he said.
Hugo looked up from his desk, hands folded, biting at the nail of one thumb. He sighed and held up a thick wad of stapled pages. ‘My eyes only,’ he said. ‘So shut the door.’
‘Right,’ said Never. He shut it and came over to Hugo’s desk, glancing back to make sure the window slats were closed. He looked at the top page of the documents Hugo was holding. FRS Director and Office Managers Only, it said. ‘On pain of death,’ mused Never aloud. ‘You sure I can look?’
‘Officially we’re telling staff about all of this tomorrow – well, about most of it. This is to give me a little time to prepare. And I know you can keep a secret.’
‘Ha,’ said Never, grinning, but then he caught the look on Hugo’s face and put his grin away. ‘Right, yes, I can keep a secret.’
‘I’d appreciate it,’ said Hugo. ‘You’ve been here longer than I have, Never – longer than anyone in the office. I want to hear what you think: they’re starting up Baseline again.’
‘I’d heard the rumour,’ said Never.
‘Really?’ said Hugo. ‘This was news to me. There’s going to be an announcement this afternoon, I’m told. A televised press conference. But . . . well.’ He flipped through the document and passed it to Never, his finger pointing at a specific paragraph. ‘There.’
‘Shit,’ said Never once he’d read it. He looked up. ‘Do they really . . . ?’
Hugo nodded. ‘An open offer to high-rated revivers to join the research team on a full-time basis. Well paid. At least as good as the salary private insurance firms offer. And a damn sight higher than the FRS scales.’
‘Ouch,’ said Never. The figures the document listed were almost painful, and Never suddenly understood why Hugo had wanted to confide in someone. ‘How many will we lose?’
‘There are limited spaces, so it depends on the uptake. I mean, for the best private revivers it might not be tempting enough, at least financially. The location hasn’t been announced, so relocating will be a disincentive, but . . .’
‘Is there a chance they’ll use the old site?’ The original Baseline location had been taken back by the US Army when Baseline had closed, but it was just over an hour’s drive away. ‘If they do, we’re fucked, surely . . .’ Theirs was the nearest FRS office. It could prove to be a rout.
Hugo nodded. ‘They have a minimum rating as a guideline, but a third of our revivers are eligible.’
‘Have you talked to Thorne? Maybe he’d be willing to consider raising pay to keep them?’ He knew it was a forlorn hope, even as he said it.
‘I’ve talked to Robert, yes,’ said Hugo. ‘There’s no chance the FRS can match this. The biggest problem he sees is that once people have tasted the higher salary they won’t come back, even once the research project finishes.’
‘How long until it does?’
‘It’s funded for at least a year, but it could be longer.’
‘What about the Afterlifers? Surely some of them will be uneasy about this?’
Hugo shook his head. ‘Page twelve,’ he said, and Never hunted through the document until he found it. ‘The Afterlifers are part of the picture. The research has their full support, and after that it’ll be pending . . . what did they call it?’
‘“Pending a full review of the judicial use of Forensic Revival in the Unit
ed States”,’ read Never. ‘Fuck. A full review.’
‘And the Afterlifers have something else, something they couldn’t have dreamed of,’ said Hugo. ‘The review board will include several senior pro-Afterlifer members, and the review will have the power to halt revival completely. I would hope that’s unlikely, but it’s not impossible.’ He reached out his hand and Never passed back the document. ‘Of course if we lose the revivers, inevitably some technicians will go too. We’ll have to wait and see, but just be aware of the possibility.’
‘Ah,’ said Never, realizing that he would be the one who gave out any bad news.
‘There’s one other thing,’ said Hugo. ‘How’s Jonah doing?’
‘He’s fine,’ said Never, a little too quickly. ‘Why?’
Hugo rummaged among the papers on his desk and produced several envelopes. ‘I have these to hand out. Personal offers to selected revivers to assist with the Baseline research. The people they’re approaching directly get first refusal. Our top-rated people, of course. Jason and Stacy. Jonah’s offer has been sent here too, I guess his resignation hasn’t quite trickled through the system yet. Still a valid offer, though, I think. I was wondering if you’d give it to him once it’s all public, after the press conference?’
‘Sure,’ said Never. He took the envelope, knowing what it meant. He’d been holding out hope that Jonah would be back at the FRS within months, but the offer in his hand was a guarantee that he’d be gone for at least a year. Worse, he’d be gone to whatever part of the country played host to the research. He knew Jonah would want to be involved; he’d have wanted to be even if they’d been paying peanuts. To be part of finding out what revival was, and what it meant . . . It seemed a foregone conclusion that Stacy would sign up, too, for the same reasons. As for Jason, even if the guy wasn’t exactly burdened with principle, the money would sway it.
He wondered again where the new Baseline site would be; suddenly the idea of it being local had some appeal, since Jonah wouldn’t have to move away.
