Trinity

by Patrick Morgan

  ‘JT is the man I called you about.’

  ‘I remember,’ said O’Brien, stabbing his glasses up to the bridge of his nose.

  ‘I’m sorry to drag you back here from whatever you were doing, but I think you should listen to what Mr Gilbert has to say.’

  ‘Certainly,’ said O’Brien, willingly. ‘I’ve been trapped down in that accursed Vault for shifts now. It’s actually quite a relief to be above ground for more than a few rotations. I need to spend some time here on a disappearance in any case.’

  Evelyn Tudor regarded him seriously and he felt obliged to explain. ‘I don’t think it’s related to Mr Gilbert here. A missing woman called Kyra Devin. We’re getting pretty worried and I need to shuffle some rosters around to widen the search.’ Perching himself on a corner of his desk he gestured for the other two to retake their seats.

  JT told his story, recounting in as much detail as he could the discrepancies in the tag-in, tag-out system and how he had begun to trace Unit Hydra. When he came to the part about the T7 facility and their inability to help him, O’Brien interrupted briefly, addressing Evelyn Tudor.

  ‘Homicide found a body a couple of shifts ago, a man dumped in a refuse collector. I don’t know all the details but he was identified by some documents he was carrying. They pertained to the conversion of desert vehicles to run in the deep cold. We’re sure it’s Austen Worral, the man you mentioned when you called. Are the documents relevant? We were surprised he was carrying them, to be honest.’

  ‘They certainly could be,’ said JT with consideration. ‘You could see the imprint of snow chains in the tracks the Unit left at T24. That really surprised me, for a desert allocation. I’m not sure what it means – maybe he was trying to cover up the conversion?’

  O’Brien considered this a moment then asked JT to continue his story. When he came to his mistreatment in the slums, his audience scowled but remained silent. The name Bill Connor clearly registered and mention of the Mal-Kas mine elicited an intrigued look from the CID man. When he had finished, O’Brien thought for a moment then asked, ‘This man Ira, where is he now?’

  ‘He’s outside,’ said Evelyn with displeasure.

  ‘Worried we’d recognise him?’

  ‘I think so,’ said JT.

  ‘I take it you don’t want to press charges?’

  This had occurred to JT more than once but, after a hesitation, he said he didn’t.

  ‘Then we’ll let this run for a while but I think you should be careful of this man. I’d like to know who he really is, if that’s possible.’

  ‘I think you’re right. I’ll try to find out.’

  O’Brien shifted his weight slightly and assumed a resigned look. ‘We’ve been trying to get someone into one of those mines for a while now,’ referring to JT’s mention of Mal-Kas. ‘We’ve speculated for some time about exploitation and we suspect deaths have been covered up. Every time we get close, the corporations smell a rat. How, I don’t know.’

  ‘You think they know about your agents in advance?’ asked Evelyn.

  O’Brien regarded her carefully, then nodded. ‘It looks that way, yes. They have someone on the inside, here in this office or close to it. Could be a secretary or typist, I don’t know. Déjà vu, wouldn’t you say Evelyn?’

  ‘And Connor is someone you know?’ asked JT when there was no response.

  O’Brien gave a little laugh. ‘Yes, he is. A slippery man, Connor. A thug and almost certainly a murderer, but he continues to elude us. He has protection provided by a lot of influential people.’

  ‘I said I’d try to get into the mines to find Connor when I was being questioned in the Landlord’s Arms. Would it help you if I went through with it?’

  ‘That would be a crazy risk to take,’ said O’Brien, raising an eyebrow.

  ‘I’m not sure it would,’ said JT, thoughtfully. ‘I’m supposed to take field trips as part of my job – check on equipment, make sure it’s actually being used and maintained properly. I don’t know for sure that we have any equipment at Mal-Kas, but it’s a fair bet. I might learn nothing for you and I may not find Connor, but, in the worst-case scenario, I’ll have taken a legitimate trip out there and verified my kit’s in place.’

  ‘It seems a little too good to be true,’ O’Brien said, looking at Evelyn. She returned his stare but again said nothing.

  ‘If you’re sure you won’t be at risk, then go. You’ll be working for me informally – no pay, no contract, is that understood?’

  ‘Perfectly,’ said JT. ‘I’d just be happy to help if I can.’

  This seemed to satisfy O’Brien. ‘Okay then, good luck. Evelyn, could I speak to you alone?’

  ‘Of course.’ She glanced at JT, who took the hint, nodded to O’Brien and crossed the office to join Ira, who was no doubt loitering with intent somewhere outside.

  When he had gone, O’Brien asked, ‘I’m not being foolish? This isn’t a monster-sized trap is it?’

  ‘Like the one that ended my career, you mean?’ she asked. When he didn’t answer she continued. ‘I think he’s exactly what he appears to be, a good conscientious soul. I think, for a change, you’ve been dealt a good hand and you should play it to your best advantage. He’s good to work with, as far as I can tell.’

  O’Brien acknowledged this with a nod. ‘Okay, I trust your judgement,’ he said, and offered her his hand warmly. ‘Keep an eye on him, though, will you? It would be better if he communicates through you if we are to keep him as a usable asset.’

  ‘Of course,’ she said, a little testily. ‘I’m a little out of practice but agent-running isn’t something you forget in a hurry. And it seems anyone that would remember me has long ago retired.’

  ‘Probably they have,’ he agreed, with a placatory smile.

  Getting up to leave, she paused and turned back. ‘Remember me to Tyler, won’t you?’

  ‘Of course. Goodbye, Miss Tudor, and thank you.’

  018: The Chamber

  Ayon Research Facility, Eastern District, Skala City

  Under a dark, foreboding sky that filtered only occasional beams of sunlight, Megan Devin climbed the stone steps to the entrance of Ayon Research. She moved with a confidence of familiarity that was not lost on Tyler Olson, who regarded her ascent from just inside the doorway. She had changed from smart working clothes into a grey jumpsuit and boots, an outfit she apparently considered more appropriate attire for working down in the Vault. It suited her, but then she had the maddeningly athletic physique that made just about any outfit look natural. She pushed the door open and stepped onto the ageing, polished surface of the mosaic floor.

  ‘You’ve changed,’ Olson observed, looking her up and down. Coming from most men this gesture would have made her feel uncomfortable, but somehow Olson didn’t exude any sort of seediness; in fact his apparent approval came as a mild relief to her. The jumpsuit, however appropriate, was not a uniform she felt she necessarily had the right to wear in public.

  ‘I didn’t think scratching around in a skirt was ideal, Mr Olson. I had this old thing from doing work experience at Hellinar Research.’ She took an involuntary look at her left shoulder, which was adorned with an embroidered badge depicting the split circle with the Hellinar half highlighted.

  Olson gestured to the Cannula, now guarded by two black-uniformed officials. Without protest, one summoned the elevator and both moved aside as the doors parted. Olson stepped in first with Megan a pace behind him.

  ‘You know,’ began Olson, as if speaking to no one in particular, ‘it’s a good thing you’ve studied those schematics so hard, this being your first visit to the Vault. I wouldn’t act as if it’s too familiar.’ He glanced over to her but she didn’t meet his eyes. She coloured slightly and gave a barely perceptible nod.

  The doors slid open and they ventured out past security towards Vincent O’Brien, who sat on the end of Myra Cena’s desk in the next-door monitoring room. On seeing Olson through the glass, he rose and stepped into t
he corridor, followed gingerly by Myra herself.

  ‘Mr Olson?’ said O’Brien, in an enquiring tone.

  ‘Vincent,’ replied Olson, less formally. ‘Can I introduce Megan Devin? She’s been extremely helpful researching the local architecture.’

  ‘Miss Devin,’ said O’Brien, with a curt nod. ‘Thank you for your assistance. Mr Olson has filled me in on your findings. Good work.’ He made to move past them, pushing his spectacles back to the bridge of his nose as he did so. ‘Time to prove your theory.’

  Olson gave Megan an expectant frown and fell in behind his superior. Noticing Myra loitering in the doorway, Megan turned and introduced herself in a somewhat awkward exchange. Myra frowned, then scowled at the younger woman’s uniform, knowing it couldn’t possibly be hers by right, she was far too young. But she restrained herself and said nothing as they fell into step behind the CID men.

  HEX’s chamber was darker than Megan remembered it, although she didn’t say so and made a show of looking around as if for the first time. She felt Myra’s eyes following her as she moved to stand by Olson. He was already examining the section of wall that stood to the right of the entrance, running his hand across it with the flat of his palm. Myra stood back with O’Brien as Megan and Olson began to search for the joint in the plaster that would show the location of the original door. It took them longer than either had expected and, ultimately, it was Olson who found the smallest of ridges, which he picked at with a fingernail.

  ‘It’s certainly faint,’ he said. ‘I guess I’m disappointed we missed it, but not surprised now that I see it.’

  ‘I can’t imagine how such a close fit could have been achieved,’ said Megan, in a tone that suggested such interesting anomalies were commonplace to her. Inadvertently, she caught Myra’s disapproving stare again, as the technician scratched distractedly at the pale scar on her cheek.

  ‘Maybe it will be more obvious once we get the door open,’ said Olson, oblivious to the animosity that was growing between the two women.

  ‘How do you want to go about this?’ asked Megan, trying to sound unfazed.

  ‘Vincent, would I be right in saying you have photographed, scanned and dusted down every square millimetre of this chamber?’

  ‘You would,’ agreed O’Brien.

  ‘Then, being as we don’t know where the 7075 tunnel terminates, or even if it does intersect with the space behind this door, we could save ourselves a good deal of time by just drilling it.’

  O’Brien considered this for a moment. ‘Miss Cena, are the locks in this door secured by compressed air, same as the others?’

  ‘They are,’ said Megan, answering for Myra, who scowled.

  ‘Then if we drill one of the link pipes, the whole system should depressurise?’ asked O’Brien.

  ‘I imagine so,’ said Myra. ‘It’s not something I’ve ever tried.’

  O’Brien left the room, returning moments later with a long, thin drill bit mounted in a cordless drill. In his other hand he held an endoscope. ‘Where do we drill?’ he asked, approaching the plastered wall.

  Megan stood aside and gave him a shrug. ‘Your guess is as good as mine,’ she said.

  ‘If that’s the outline of the door,’ said Myra, tracing the invisible shape onto the wall, ‘then I would start about here.’

  He looked at the blank spot she was pointing to, then pushed the drill bit firmly into contact with the wall. The drill cut effortlessly though the dry, brittle plaster. It took a few moments before the muted whine became a grinding screech as the bit hit steel. O’Brien applied effort and presently a few red flecks of paint were pushed up the flutes of the drill bit, spilling over his starched, white shirt cuffs.

  Hot metal swarf followed as the drill penetrated the outer layer of steel before it sank through the inner layer of sound-deadening rock wool. The tone changed again as the bit made contact with the door’s outer casing. Another turn passed before O’Brien, with a jolt, was through and withdrew the smoking drill bit.

  Carefully, he picked up the endoscope and connected it to the light source. Leaning into the eyepiece he squinted and plunged the shaft in through the hole. He rotated a collar that tilted the tiny mirror, angling it back towards him, drew back and, leaving the endoscope in place, offered it to Myra. She looked. It was hard to position her eye to the lens but once in the right place she could make out the dim shape of pipework and the nearest pneumatic lock.

  Olson and Megan took turns to look, both squinting to make sense of the dim shapes. O’Brien gestured to Myra to take the scope again.

  ‘If I drill, you tell me where I come out and where to angle the tip,’ he said, again falling to one knee and pushing the bit into a fresh area of plaster below the first. Myra stood over him as the silence of the chamber once again gave way to the high-pitched shriek of the drill. A couple of turns later, O’Brien was through.

  ‘There is a pipe above and just to the left of you,’ said Myra, straining with intense concentration from her position above him.

  ‘How far up?’ he asked.

  ‘Hard to tell, it looks like about six or seven centimetres but it could be more.’

  O’Brien withdrew the bit, angling it up and to his left before attacking the outer skin once again. Presently the sound wound down and Myra again gave instructions.

  ‘You’re really close – angle up two more centimetres.’

  The shrieking resumed but this time, as the drill poked through, O’Brien jolted and came to an abrupt halt.

  ‘You’re on the pipe,’ said Myra. ‘Just a bit further and you’ll pierce it.’

  O’Brien got the drill turning, more slowly this time.

  ‘Gently,’ said Myra. ‘The pipe is pushing away from the tip of the drill bit. Just take it slowly.’

  O’Brien did so, and after a few moments was rewarded with the sharp crack of depressurisation that gradually reduced to a gentle hiss of escaping air. In less than a turn they heard a series of dull thuds as the locks retracted on the far side of the door.

  O’Brien pulled the drill back from the door as Myra did the same with the endoscope. With the heels of his hands, the CID man gave the wall a firm, deliberate push. To everyone’s astonishment, the invisible gap opened up as the door swung open.

  ‘Well, I’ll be damned,’ said O’Brien, in disbelief. Examining the edges of the opening, he dug into the plaster with a fingernail. As the others watched, a lump of smooth, freshly painted filler chipped off with ease and fell to the floor.

  ‘Someone’s put a lot of effort into this,’ said Olson, with reverence.

  O’Brien nodded, then turned to push the door again. The heavy body swung silently open on freshly oiled hinges to reveal the mouth of an unlit passage.

  ‘I think it would be prudent to get Katherine Kane down here if we can,’ said Olson, staring into the darkness. ‘She knew this place right back to its origins.’

  ‘She’ll have other stuff to worry about,’ said Megan, with a familiarity that clearly grated on Myra. ‘Besides, we’ve got the plans here.’

  The Vault technician felt a bubble of anger burst inside her. ‘I’ll get Councillor Kane,’ she said and turned to march down the corridor.

  ‘What’s her problem?’ asked Megan.

  ‘Stress,’ said O’Brien. He turned his gaze from Myra back to Megan. ‘Just take it easy on her, you’re in her territory.’

  Megan looked chastened but said nothing.

  ‘I’ll get the forensics people back as well,’ he said and turned to follow Myra.

  *

  Katherine arrived before the forensics. Myra met her at the Cannula and escorted her to the chamber with a simple greeting of, ‘You need to see this.’ On entering and seeing Megan, Katherine’s face brightened before she saw the open door and dark space beyond it.

  ‘Of course,’ she said, as if it should have been obvious. She looked back to Megan. ‘You figured this out?’

  ‘Not really,’ said Megan, blushing girlishly.
‘Mr Olson and I figured it out together.’

  ‘We’ve not been through yet,’ said O’Brien. ‘Miss Devin has explained the layout of the original Vault, but I wanted you here, as you probably know it better than anyone.’

  ‘I doubt that’s true,’ said Katherine. ‘Do you want me to go first?’

  ‘Please,’ said O’Brien, gesturing to the doorway and handing Katherine a flashlight as he did so.

  She took it and snapped it on. The air smelled musty and was laced with damp and mildew. She approached and scanned the immediate vicinity before crossing the threshold. The ground beyond the door was strewn with debris, mostly the broken-up concrete of the floor mixed with dark bits of lino and ceiling tile. In comparison with the floor, the walls seemed to be largely intact, but for the peeling paint that adorned them from floor level up to waist height.

  Katherine stepped forward into the dark and scanned the flashlight further down the corridor. After a few steps she heard the crunch of broken glass under her feet and saw jagged shards of old strip lights smashed on the ground. Realising she was holding her breath, she exhaled and summoned up the memories of how this place had looked back when it was immaculate, new and at the cutting edge of technology. It looked smaller than she remembered, the corridor shorter and lower. The suspended ceiling had partly collapsed at the far end of the corridor, its flimsy metal framework bent and twisted.

  She cleared her throat. ‘It’s amazing how run-down this place is.’

  She turned and played the light over the broken shards of glass that had been the window of the old monitoring room. ‘This is where you would have lived, Myra.’

  Myra made her way forward and peered into the space. ‘It’s not very big,’ she said, disapprovingly.

  ‘There was only ROOT to keep track of at the time,’ said Katherine, absently. ‘What’s this?’ she asked aloud. Tracing a line of incongruous new cabling emerging from the wall to her right, she tracked it down to a small metal cabinet on the floor. Puzzled, she moved to it and heard a faint whirring from small vents in its side. She squatted to examine a bank of flashing LEDs mounted beside a stencilled, rather worn manufacturer’s logo. It read INI Industries Inc.