Split City Waltz

by Ada Redmond

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Book Details

  Dedication

  Split City Waltz

  About the Author

  SPLIT CITY

  WALTZ

  ADA REDMOND

  The London of tomorrow is a city under strain, its people divided by the very technology meant to bring them closer together. At surface level, the capital is a bright, neon lit metropolis. But in the tunnels of the former underground network, an older way of life persists—one where people aren't constantly monitored by artificial implants.

  A life-saving surgery has left Allyn Morgan feeling more machine that human, and struggling with a new career as a private investigator, her reputation damaged by the events that got her fired from her job as a security chief. So when a former lover stops by asking for a favor, she agrees to take the job on the promise of an easy paycheck.

  But when night rolls around and Allyn finds herself accused of industrial espionage, an under city hacker named Terminal may be the only person who can help her clear her name...

  Split City Waltz

  Morgan Investigations 1

  By Ada Redmond

  Published by Less Than Three Press LLC

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission of the publisher, except for the purpose of reviews.

  Edited by Tracey Pennington

  Cover designed by Aisha Akeju

  This book is a work of fiction and all names, characters, places, and incidents are fictional or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is coincidental.

  First Edition September 2016

  Copyright © 2016 by Ada Redmond

  Printed in the United States of America

  Digital ISBN 9781620048566

  To all the people who put up with me,

  carry on.

  SPLIT CITY WALTZ

  I'd like to say that nothing about this job was personal, that the reason I'm bleeding out in the Tech Centre at my former place of employment is purely a professional one. But I've got so many strikes racked up already that one more lie might just be what stops me from walking through those pearly gates. And I don't much fancy the alternative. So yeah, this was personal. To be fair whenever I fall, I tend to fall hard. I'm an all-or-nothing kinda girl.

  I woke up when the security chip behind my left ear pinged me at four thirty on a hazy Sunday morning. I started so hard I almost fell off the couch. Figured it for the office sensors at first—a B&E in the early morning light that I'd have no way to stop, tucked up safe in my cube five miles away.

  Then I heard the door click shut.

  "I thought this place had domestic service?"

  She was wearing something that looked like it been taken straight off a catwalk model—a sleek fitted suit with puffed up, shimmering detail along the arms. Green and black, the company colours.

  "They do," I told her, sitting up. "But they don't access doors they don't have the codes to. They're polite that way."

  Grinning, she tossed me a thumb drive and started picking things up off the floor. "It doesn't count as breaking in when the door lock is your birth year," she said pointedly. "And I need a favour."

  I put the drive on the small table beside me and managed to reach the basin in the corner of the room without so much as a stumble. A bottle that I accidentally kicked clattered along the floor until it hit the concrete in the kitchen and she sighed before bending to grab it.

  I stared into the small mirror on the wall. My face was the picture of insomnia, eyes still bloodshot from staring into a monitor just a few short hours before.

  I was in the middle of a cold case for a woman who lived a few roads down. Sweet old thing, lost her husband just before the riots. She wanted me to find her son, who'd been part of the protests before everyone went nuts and started cutting themselves open outside the palace. She'd shown me pictures of him back when he was just another yuppie, before the spark of revolution had carried him away. He'd been a nice looking bloke, if you liked that sort of thing.

  If he was anywhere, he was in the tunnels—but I'd made a promise, so I would keep looking for as long as she could pay me to.

  I washed my face, feeling my fingers graze along skin and the camouflaged tech that had replaced almost half of it, listening to my uninvited guest ask the dispenser for a coffee.

  "You have to programme it in manually," I said, reaching for a towel. "Voice activation is busted."

  Another sigh, then the sounds of her unscrewing the front of the damned thing with a screwdriver she'd fished out of one of the drawers. Which was odd, because I didn't remember ever having bought one.

  I walked the five steps over to where she was now wrist-deep in wires and peered over her shoulder. "What kind of favour?"

  She stiffened for a moment but then apparently decided to ignore the impromptu closeness, which took all the fun out of it, so I backed off again. Before the accident, she would have thrown insults at me in an effort to let her work before eventually giving in and letting me distract her. But that bright light had burnt away more than just my skin, and things were different now.

  I settled on the counter, rubbing a hand over my hair in an attempt to flatten it.

  "The kind that comes with few questions and fast payment."

  Something off the books then. Hardly surprising considering she'd come to me, but I wasn't interested in backhanders. Especially from the same company who'd had to fire me quite publicly only months before. "If you're looking to outsource, you broke into the wrong cube. I'm trying to build a reputation."

  She smirked, still messing with my dispenser. "As if you don't already have one."

  "As an investigator," I snapped. "If word gets round I'm doing jobs on the side for Kova, I'll get even less work than I'm getting now."

  Whatever she'd done had apparently worked. When the front was back on the dispenser, it beeped away happily after listening to her order then mine. The actual coffee still tasted like arse, but at least she'd saved me from filing another error with the landlord.

  "Wow. This," she said, looking down into her mug, "is truly terrible."

  I hummed in agreement, knocking my boots together in the air. "If I miss anything about working in that building, it's the machine on the fifth floor."

  She nodded. "Oh yeah, the one outside Andy's office is magical."

  "Anyone find out if they put a little something extra in that thing?"

  "Nah, the new Sec Chief isn't nearly as fun as you were."

  I couldn't help but smile. "Let me guess, ex-cop?"

  "SWAT."

  "Yikes."

  I watched her make a show of moving around the mess to pick the thumb drive back up again. "It's not a delivery," she said at last, not meeting my eyes. "It's a little more complicated than that. I need someone I can trust, and right now, you're the only one I can think of."

  I knew full well how much of a sucker I was even as I held my hand out, but what can I say? You don't just get over some people. "What do you mean, complicated?"

  "I wasn't joking when I said 'few questions', Morgan."

  "And by my count this is only the second, so spill."

  She placed her mug in the sink beside me and held out her hand until I drained the last of my coffee and handed over mine as well. She washed up while she spoke, and the vision of a well made up corporate girl doing the dishes was almost enough for me to stop paying attention to the words. To be fair, I probably did, but I got the gist of the tale she was spinning anyway.

  "I suspect someone on my team may have been—" she licked her lips, "—taking a little off the top, if you catch my drift."

  I nodded. It
would hardly have been the first time a newbie in that building had thought they could get away with skimming profits or dealing intel. In the end, all it usually took was a few weeks of damning evidence and a swift but silent kick out the side door. A neutral reference and lack of a conviction in return for a NDA. But if it was someone on the tech team, that probably would make things a little more difficult. Even for her.

  "So this is what? Evidence? You wanna tell me why it's in my hands and not your security chief's?"

  She pursed her lips.

  "Hey, I'm not even gonna ask for details, but you gotta give me something, Danny. I'm not exactly in a position to take things on faith anymore."

  "I know," she said, moving to stand in front of me. "I know. Listen, all I need is for you to get that to a contact of mine in Earl's Court Station, okay? They work out of one of the residential lines down there."

  The tunnels. Well, that made everything a little clearer, at least. Access was restricted at the best of times, and no way would Kova want one of its top people seen associating with the dirt who lived below street level. Every week the Beeb reported on new, remarkable horrors that had been witnessed in the depths of the now defunct train line. It was a swarming cavern of unchipped societal heretics with all manner of things to hide. After all, if they didn't, why weren't they living up here with the rest of us?

  Her hands were at my elbows, still a little damp from the soapy water. She did her best to ignore the strange, cool feeling of augmentations where there should have been skin. I remember trying my best to be rational but knew there was little point in it. Everything about her was intoxicating.

  She cupped my left cheek, leaning in. I tried my best not to flinch.

  I shouldn't have let her kiss me. However light it was, the lipstick impression would last for days. It always did.

  "It's something I need implemented from an untraceable source, and I've dealt with this person before. If the leak is who I think it is, they'll know the moment I inject it into the system. And if that happens? They'll delete any trace evidence before I can save it. Terminal is one of the best. Constantly moving, and no record above ground. Please, Allyn, I'll owe you."

  The things people do to stay on their rung of the corporate ladder. I sighed and nodded, watching her offer up another soft smile. "Terminal?"

  "Yeah," she said. "Hackers. You know how they are." She had moved off and was about to close the door behind her again when I managed to point out the obvious.

  "You know this job is the very definition of a delivery, right?" I called.

  The sound of her quiet chuckle was almost worth it.

  And so I'd found myself on the Network Tram at eight a.m., surrounded by the early morning crowd and hating every minute. The long, bright summer days had brought the tourists out in droves, excited to take in the usually grey capital under such beautifully clear skies. And from up here the city was certainly something to see.

  When the trams were first being built, Kova and Westminster alike had made a fuss about all the tech behind it. About the 'gardens' that surrounded the walkways on either side of the lines. The most innovative addition to the London Skyline since The Eye! the posters had said. Travel the City in Style!

  Towering above street level, the fully automated, zero-emissions system was deemed a technological marvel. The lines hung above a split pathway, leaving people to walk along either side surrounded by trees and grass, while glass flooring allowed them to look down at the city below. The trams themselves were powered by a mixture of the solar panels running along the walkway ceiling and the wind farms that now dotted the city. Even the Thames was home to a few dozen turbines, thin white windmills that could be seen between London's ever-growing collection of skyscrapers.

  It was a whole lot of concrete and chrome, surrounded by slate and overgrown bushes. The public had embraced it with pride, so empowered by the idea that the English were actually building things again (thanks to Kova) that the initial stirrings of protests over the closure of the tube were soon quelled.

  To be fair, the view from the trams as they glide from one stop to another is pretty spectacular. Far better than the heat and dust of the old underground network, though I barely remembered it. The pass around Elizabeth Tower has always been a favourite of mine, and I watched as the interior lights inside the carriage changed from red to green, signalling we'd entered a different section of the city.

  It was harder to enjoy the scenery this time of the morning, though, what with being pushed about and squeezed past by dozens of people talking far too loudly in the confined space. I stepped off a stop early, minding the gap and walking the rest of the way along the upper avenue.

  Knightsbridge gave way to Earl's Court beneath my feet as I followed the line above Cromwell Road before joining the queue at the elevators just above the old tube station. Descending back to street level, I popped into a newsagent and picked up a mix of chewing gum, sweets and small bars of chocolate along with a pack of menthols, dumping them unceremoniously onto the counter with a grin.

  The proprietor was a younger guy who only raised a tentative eyebrow at my purchase after I refused a bag. I held out my right arm, letting him run a scanner along my wrist and waiting until it pinged, confirming my identity and logging the purchase.

  I stuffed the goodies into the pockets of my jacket and swept back out into the street. The nagging sensation in the back of my mind, the one that always piped up whenever I bought a pack of cigs, was a lot easier to ignore than normal as I looked across the road to the station entrance.

  It would hardly be my first time in the tunnels, thanks to the connections I'd made working security. I'd taken jobs with dozens of different firms over the years, including the Praetorians, who were employed by the government to control the old tube station entrances. I had a far better shot at getting in and out without any fuss then most people. But it always did come down to luck —and to how long the officers I encountered had been around.

  The checkpoint was clear and quiet when I walked through the doors, the guards on duty leaning against their post as the world carried on around them. I approached the gates and nodded.

  "Morning," I said, in a voice that sounded a hell of a lot more chipper than I felt so early in the a.m. "Wagner about?"

  The one nearest to me gave me a once over. "He's on break. Try the corner."

  I nodded and stepped back outside, scanning the crowds for someone in standard issue armour. I spotted him eventually, tucked into an abandoned shop entrance. He nodded when I slipped in beside him with a tight smile.

  "Bit early for you, ain't it?"

  "Yeah, you and all," I shot back. "I need to go below for a bit. What are my chances?"

  Wagner was on the older side of middle-aged, though it was tough to tell with half his face covered by a helmet. I'd worked alongside him for a while before becoming a bodyguard for the corporate elite. Not long after, I'd been in charge of hiring men like him for security details around the city. He and his team were good men, but they played by the rules. Before today, that had always been a good thing.

  "Slim, unless you've got a damn good reason," he said. "There was a skirmish in the wee hours not too far away. A surge of 'em tried to get up to the surface in a panic and now everyone's a bit all over the place while we get everything squared again."

  "Anyone hurt?" I asked, opening my pack of menthols and offering him one.

  He took it with a nod. "A few of the younger ones fired a stun blast or three. Had to get a med patrol over to patch them up before we sent them back down again. Nothing major."

  "Why'd they try and get topside?" I asked, looking back out over the crowd rather than watch him light up.

  "Some territory dispute between the locals and a bunch of movers setting up a new camp. Same old."

  I nodded. A lot of people had gone below in the weeks following the protests, but as big as the tube was, it hadn't stopped people arguing over which part was theirs. It had given th
e powers that be just one more reason to dedicate a security force to making sure everyone knew where the line was between us and them.

  "So no newshounds?"

  He looked at me and sighed, smoke leaving his mouth in a cloudy rush. "Nah, no one's come snooping."

  I smiled, fluttering my eyelashes at him. "I'll be an hour, tops."

  "You're worse than my wife," he mumbled after a moment. "You know that?"

  "And I don't even cook you dinner," I replied, grinning at him.

  We re-entered the station together, and the guards nodded to Wagner as he explained that I was a maintenance tech there to read the power metres. I watched them note as much in their logs before they waved me through.

  I crossed the old ticket barrier and headed quickly for the stairs. Up here it was almost like a museum, all the posters and guide information still on the walls, though many had been torn and painted across. It wasn't until you began to descend that the reality of the present started to hit—usually the smell clued you in long before you saw or heard another soul.

  I resisted the urge to pull out a smoke for myself as I rounded a corner, smothering the very logical reasoning that even the menthol flavoured tar would probably be better than whatever else I was inhaling right now.

  I reached the platform and hesitated under the arched entrance, looking around. The place was a hive of activity, and my arrival went mostly unnoticed. A couple of kids kicking a ball around spotted me quickly enough, though. They made their way over, staring as they did so. I fumbled around in my pockets for two of the treats I'd picked up and held them out until they got close enough to take them.

  "You two know where I can find Terminal?"

  The taller one, blond-haired and wide-eyed, nodded slowly. "But Mum says to stay away. Too much tech."

  "Wise woman," I replied, crouching down and letting them take the chocolate. "Point me in the right direction?"

  I was already jumping down into the tunnel proper when the younger one called out after me. "Hey, lady! Did it hurt? When they put the metal inside?"