The news startled Jack. His stomach rolled. “But, she was unconscious.”
“She must have recovered.”
“She was in the lab on the second floor.”
“I know.”
The detective turned the car, cursed as another driver cut him up at the junction, then relaxed as he straightened. “She’s—what did Anna call herself—a prime? Maybe she had the instinct to throw one last idea your way: convince you she was out for the count.”
“She mustn’t have been as badly hurt as I’d thought.” The tightening sensation on his stomach began again. Not sure what to make of the news, he turned to look out of the window, watch the world spinning past. “She’ll come for me then.”
“Perhaps, but if she’s got any sense, she’ll keep a low profile for the time being. We know what she looks like, and what she can do. Her image has been fed to the security networks. There are a thousand drones patrolling this district. She’ll get picked up by one of them at some point.”
The detective was right. It was impossible to stay hidden in the district for long.
“Chloe’s been looking closer into Moira’s bank statements. She’s optimistic she can follow the trail back. Perhaps find a way in to his organisation; find something we can use to shut it down.”
Jack wondered what he might do in Indira’s situation. Had she the means to survive on her own like Anna, or would she head back to Growden’s lot and seek protection from them? “She’ll be running the show by the end of the week,” Jack said.
“Perhaps. But we don’t know how strong she is. How many people do you think these primes can control at once?”
“One week, mark my words.” Jack frowned, ignoring the question. “And what about Moira? Why did Indira go after her?”
“Maybe she got too greedy, maybe Growden just wanted to clean up his tracks. I guess we’re not likely to find out. We’ve not contacted OsMiTech yet. They’ll want a full report and access I’m not quite ready to give them.”
“You’d need Indira to be sure.”
He shrugged. “I think it’s beyond reasonable doubt now.”
“How have the team taken that news?”
“About as well as you’d expect,” Burnfield replied. “She kept herself to herself but she was a nice girl. It hurts to think one of your own might turn against you.”
“Your secondment to our team ends this week. What are you going to do next?”
“I haven’t really thought about it.”
Silence between them. Jack had thought of nothing else all morning. Now that the current excitement was over, he’d considered how he wanted his life to turn out. Going back to OsMiTech cap in hand seemed like a backwards step.
“You’re going to need a job after your remnant surgery.”
Jack bit the inside of his cheek. “I’m not going through with the reversal.”
“You’re not?”
“I’ve spoken to Adam—told him I want to go back on the register.”
“It will take a while for them to repair the damage to the remnant vault—if they ever do.”
“There’s more than one vault. Growden wasn’t trying to destroy the whole infrastructure. He just wanted to get his brother’s eye. Send a message that collecting eyes and memories isn’t right.”
“And you don’t agree with him?”
“It makes sense to work from within. If there’s a problem it will take clear-headed people to think rationally about this.”
“And you think you can do that?”
“Anthology Storage can’t ignore me.”
Burnfield drove into the underground car park and turned off the engine. “You need to be careful. If this has shown us anything it’s that there are people out there who know more about the infrastructure than the rest of us. You’re going to need some security behind you. Why not come and work for us full-time?”
Jack looked at the detective, confused.
“But I’ll be working on remnant cases.”
“You don’t do that all the time. After the fire, I think it will be a while before you’re in much demand. The other districts are going to have to take the load. With Moira gone, I need someone I can trust.” He extended his hand. “What do you say?”
Yesterday, Monday, 27 May 2115
1:10 PM
DS Chloe Emilia Moselli was sitting on a wall looking across at OsMiTech headquarters, trying to imagine what it must be like to spend all your working life cooped up inside. The crescent-shaped building was certainly impressive, but it stirred no emotion in her other than disappointment. For a government to allow that fraudster Oster into this country and form this cult of an organisation and be allowed to do as he pleased, relatively unchecked, annoyed the hell out of her.
The emergency services had been quick to arrive. Ambulance crews were still working their way through the teep crowd, and many uniforms from her station were here taking statements. Steve was over there somewhere, talking to Mr Langer, the man who asserted himself as in charge. Throughout all of this excitement, however, she’d seen nothing of Devan Oster. Was the man hiding away from all of this chaos?
Burnfield had almost been caught up in the blast that had destroyed several offices on the third floor. She’d been briefed by him on her arrival, making sure to keep her grade A blocking pattern cycling, lest any of these parasites fancied taking a peek inside her head.
Frazier had alluded to something going on today, but she still didn't know for certain that this had been his doing. Given it involved his least favourite people on the planet, she found herself unable to dismiss the possibility. But, so far, she hadn’t been able to get hold of him. That troubled her.
Something else troubled her. Jack Winston had been here as well, looking as shook up by the blast as Burnfield. Frazier had had a bee in his bonnet about Jack Winston ever since the night Jack had interrupted his ATL meeting. On that night, Frazier had taken a retinal scan of Jack and sent it to one of his contacts. The results had only come back a few days ago and Frazier’s attitude changed upon seeing them. He was now certain that Jack was involved in his brother’s death and his anger had materialised like a storm cloud, darkening his already black thoughts. He hadn’t shared the results of the scan with Chloe, and such had been his mood that Chloe knew she wouldn’t be able to ask immediately. This was one of those things she would have to patiently coax out of him.
Her HALO buzzed, and she answered without checking the caller.
“Everything OK, Chloe?” Burnfield asked.
She straightened at her superior’s voice and slipped off the wall. “There’s still a lot of activity here. The fire chief has sent drones in, assessing the amount of damage. I don't think anyone’s going to be allowed back inside any time soon. How’s things your end?”
“We found where Booth was working. An anthology storage unit. He was one of a number employed to process eyes ready for storage in a remnant vault. Growden and Indira had already gotten here and… ” Chloe felt herself go rigid at the sound of Frazier’s name. So, he had been up to stuff today. She still wasn't any clearer whether that meant he was also behind the explosion at OsMiTech.
Burnfield continued his story, but Chloe already had that terrible sinking feeling in her stomach that came at moments like these. Moments when she could hear the words being spoken to her as if she were the one saying them.
“Can you repeat that, Sir? What happened to Frazier?”
Burnfield paused. “Jack was attacked by Growden in the remnant vault. He’s OK, though. Got out by the skin of his teeth.”
“And Growden?”
“Growden’s dead. Indira’s missing.”
Chloe ended the call. Later, she’d have to make up a story about being interrupted by someone at OsMiTech. But, making up stories wasn’t difficult for Chloe.
She swallowed and began walking away from the activity outside the main entrance, back to where she’d left her car on the main road outside the OsMiTech complex. Her body
wasn’t her own, the limbs were moving but her mind was spinning too fast to do anything more than keep her going in a straight line.
Follow the road, get out of here.
Her HALO buzzed again, and she ignored it, slipping it from off her finger and tossing it idly into the lake as she passed. Frazier was dead and Jack Winston had killed him.
Back at her vehicle, she realised that the car was less than happy with her lack of a HALO and she resorted to the secondary retinal scan security to unlock the door. From the glove box, she pulled out her bag and dug out her personal HALO, the one Frazier had given her.
The call to Frazier went straight through to the messaging service. That on its own was enough to make her know that Burnfield was telling the truth; Frazier never missed a call from her.
Without warning, a wave of nausea hit her and she opened the car door and threw up on the road. After wiping her mouth on her sleeve, Chloe sat on the edge of her seat, legs in the road, looking down at the phlegm on the tarmac. She swiped through her HALO and called the only person she felt could help.
Paul Westcoat answered at once. “Hi, Em, what’s up.”
“Sit down, Paul. You’re going to need to… Frazier’s dead. He’s been killed by Jack Winston.”
A noise came over the call like a startled animal.
“Paul, you still there?”
Cautiously, he replied, but it wasn't the confident tones of the man she’d known as Frazier’s right-hand man all these years. “What happened?”
Chloe floundered with the bits of the story she could remember Burnfield telling her. The confrontation in the remnant vault, Indira missing.
“Em, I’m so sorry. I don't know what to say.”
“It’s not what we say now that matters, it’s what we have to do. The last thing we need is for news of his death to get out before we’re ready to shore up the business. If we’re not careful, we’ll have the Nixons moving in on our territory by the end of the week. That can’t happen.”
“The Nixons won’t cause us any problems. Frazier sorted things out with them.”
“Frazier’s gone. They’re not going to honour any agreements they made if it’s not in their continued best interests. Paul, you’ve got to speak to the dealer managers. Let them know that you’re in charge.”
“Me?”
“I can’t let myself become too visible. You’ll have to be the new face. I’ll be here, we can do it together.” Chloe sighed. “I’m not going to let all of Frazier’s work be for nothing. I won’t let that happen. I’ll be in touch later. I’ve got something else to do first.”
Chloe ended the call then reached back inside her bag for the item she’d taken from Phil’s office when he’d been out on his lunch. So far, no one had reported it missing—Jack Winston’s HALO. His personal one that he’d handed over when taking his official police issue version. Careless of him, but it was just the thing she needed.
*
It took Chloe twenty minutes to get to Jack’s house. Twenty minutes of keeping it together and holding back the tears. Paul would do his best to handle the dealer managers but it wouldn’t be enough. He’d never been an independent thinker able to deal with issues on the fly. The moment the system started to unravel, the dealer managers would smell the indecision on him and they might well defect to the Nixons. Whatever happened next, Chloe couldn’t let that happen. She wasn’t about to let down Frazier. The business funded her lifestyle, the ATL, and eventually, it would be powerful enough to bring down the telepath system and level society once again. She had no doubt that it would happen.
But the business could wait a couple of hours. Jack Winston had become her top priority and must be dealt with. The only trouble was, as a special agent attached to her own police department, it would be difficult to arrange without arousing suspicion in her. What she needed was leverage.
Chloe parked her car three doors down from Jack’s house and approached confidently like she was a caller with every right to be there. Using Jack’s HALO, she let herself inside and headed straight for the house AI unit. It was installed in the kitchen, not even tucked away. And it was disabled. She remembered from Jack’s reports that intruders had come into the house and disabled the AI. Had he never bothered to get it fixed? Well, it meant she didn’t have to worry about erasing any security logs that showed her entering.
The house was as she’d remembered it from the simulacrum. Middle-class and dreary. From the little time she’d spent with Jack, it seemed fitting to his personality. From what she remembered, his wife, Keeley had been a journalist at Fuse Media. A strong woman had unfortunately chosen a telepath as a husband. She shuddered.
Upstairs, she paused by the bookshelves and ran her fingers along the backs of the books that filled the shelves. The yellow spine of one of them piqued her interest, and she lifted it out and looked at the cover. A detective story set in the last century, considered classic literature to many. She hesitated and then put the book in her bag. Frazier had never been one for books of any kind. One of his faults. Still, she supposed that wasn’t going to be a problem anymore.
The layout of the house was straight forward, and she made her way quickly to the study where Jack’s wife had been found dead. The whole case had been redacted—code twenty-six—the murders filed away, no longer to be investigated. Burnfield knew what they’d found out but could no longer say. She suspected Jack Winston knew more about the case than he was letting on as well. She’d already been involved in the case up to a point. Alexander Leech was the prime suspect in the murder but was now dead. Also, there was someone else involved, someone important, but she hadn’t worked out who that person was.
Bland uninteresting furnishings met her inside the study. An ornate desk, a comfortable sofa, a fireplace, landscape prints on the wall. But the floor was what held her attention. A large section of carpet had been cut out. This was where Jack’s wife had had her throat slit.
Tears came then. She was surprised at her reaction to being at a murder scene she’d previously visited. Keeping her emotions in check was something she’d learnt to do ever since her sister’s diagnosis, and the skill had served her well living her dual life.
Damn. Why can’t I stop crying?
She looked up at the mirror and saw her unbrushed hair and reddening skin. Grabbing the paperweight from the desk she hurled it at her reflection. Glass shattered. Fragments exploded out into the room. Instinctively she raised her arms before her face to protect herself.
But when she lowered them, she stared right back at the broken mirror. The frame hanging on the wall sparked with electricity and she realised the mirror hadn’t been just a mirror. It was more like an enhanced access point, but it wasn’t even that that caused Chloe to feel the lump in her throat. The parts of the mirror that remained in the frame lost their silver and Chloe could see right through to the wall where the mirror had been hanging.
Something was on the wall. Artwork. Shapes.
She stepped closer and then she held her breath as she reached out to touch the repeating swirls and lines hidden from their initial investigation. Jack was hiding something all right and Chloe had just found the leverage she needed to bring him down.
It had only been two days since she’d last seen one of these fractal inductor patterns. At Booth Maguire’s house.
Chloe smiled.
“Oh, Jack. Frazier was right about you all along. Who the hell are you?”
What happens next?
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*
“Do you see him yet?” Ruby held her finger against the earpiece as her eyes scanned the room.
“Nothing, yet.”
Damn.
Ruby had hoped this would be an easy catch tonight, so she could finish up, go ho
me, and take off this ridiculous outfit. It had taken her a while to find the cocktail dress buried at the back of the wardrobe, and amazingly, the thing still fit her. However, she hated the way it clung under her breasts and made it difficult to twist freely.
Drinks flowed as waiting staff melted through the gathering, trays with crudites and champagne flutes aloft. The Arts Centre had been transformed by the event organisers. The hundred foot entrance hall looked magnificent tonight with spotlights aligned perfectly along the hall, lighting each of the twelve columns leading to the ceiling. A stage had been erected at one end of the atrium with screens and lights and a podium. Balloons and streamers trailed from the first-floor balcony. Music played from hidden speakers and sounded equally nuanced wherever she stood. Guests clustered together sharing stories and gossip, all trying to outdo each other to be the most interesting.
“Anything your end, Nikoli?”
“No,” he replied. His voice sounded bored. “This isn’t going to go well if we can’t at least identify who we’re looking for.”
“We’ll find him,” Ruby reassured, but inside she felt the same as her colleague. Tracking down an individual amongst a sea of strange faces was difficult enough, but all they’d been given to act on was a tipoff that a rogue would be here tonight. As the local Department for the Regulation of Telepaths team, it was their responsibility to follow up on such tip offs. Especially as tonight was OsMiTech’s latest press event and the main man, Devan Oster, was due on stage in ten minutes. “You alright, Nikoli?”
“Fine. I just want to get this over with.”
Ruby took half a dozen steps up the staircase to the balcony level and caught sight of her friend at the far side of the room. He’d taken up a position close to the stage where he had a good view of the main doors into the event and could keep his eyes on the people around the stage area. She smiled weakly at him as his eyes met hers and he half-heartedly returned the smile. This was his first day back at work after being off ill all week. She wondered whether it had been a mistake bringing him in on this job.
The Remnant Vault (Tombs Rising Book 2) Page 19
