Cursing his disobedient pet – a magnificent Siberian Husky – the burly man is now walking at a pace towards Nero. Muttering and shaking his head, he’s clearly perplexed about his pet’s behaviour. The dog’s now trotting to heel, though the ridge of hair along its back remains bolt upright. Its eerie blue eyes pass over Nero without a show of interest.
While Nero is lost in thought, the view in front clears. Chan hasn’t moved from the spot but now someone is comforting her. Both of them are well wrapped up against the cold. The other person must be taller because he or she has to stoop in order to hug Jie Ning.
The next glimpse tells Nero it’s another woman. Her dark hair is drawn back from her face, the loose ends flaring out wildly behind. As they break apart, he notices the other woman’s skin is way darker than Chan’s. When she turns in his direction, Nero ducks into the nearest doorway hoping Maxwell will have been too distracted to spot him spying on the two of them.
Twenty-Six
Bruno’s first lecture isn’t scheduled until later; under different circumstances he’d be enjoying a long lie in. Instead of helping to clear his mind, fitful sleep has left him less certain about everything. There seems no solution to the conundrum he’s wrestling with and, though he tries to concentrate, his brain won’t supply a vision of how this is going to turn out.
The first step is easy enough. Getting dressed, he almost wishes for more impediments, more obstructions in the path to renewing his friendship with Baltasar Avraham.
He gets to the cafeteria way too early; the place has just opened and still smells of cleaning spray. His eyes retreat from the glare of so many overhead lights. It’s dark outside – he could be on a ship in a black sea. Not one person seems to notice him as they scurry around preparing for the imminent morning rush. The prevailing aromas begin to change; he can smell the hot fat and baking pastries, none of which whets his appetite.
Bruno grabs a large coffee and sits down to take his time over it, stirring the scalding hot liquid until the surface spins to form a whirlpool at the centre. He runs through his options again. He could try to warn Commander Avraham through his son but the man’s unlikely to listen to anything someone like him had to say – especially second-hand. Even if Avraham did listen, he would have to specifically warn him that his attackers will be wearing those suits. Doing that, who knew where the trail would end.
‘D’you mind if we borrow these chairs?’ a girl from a noisy group asks him. He shakes his head, though their removal leaves him feeling more exposed – more set apart from everyone else.
He turns his mind back to Freyja and her targeting of Commander Avraham. She believes the man’s a key player in the group aiming to wrest control of Eldísvík. Who’s to say she’s not right about that? She’s certainly convinced Quentin.
Bruno gulps down more coffee hoping the caffeine will kick in to revive him. The noise level is increasing exponentially as the place fills up; it makes it harder to think. Bruno scans the room – still no sign of Baltasar. He’s noticed before how each group has their habitual territory and Baltasar and his science buddies normally occupy the long table inside the door, which is currently almost empty. What if he isn’t feeling hungry and gives breakfast a miss? Shutting his eyes, Bruno sees Baltasar clearly – knows for certain he didn’t have anything to eat before he left home.
Robert appears first, his clothes flapping around that lanky body. He’s eager to fill his plate with fat-laden calories in the hope some of it will eventually stick to his skinny frame. Looking up from his piled-high plate, he notices Bruno watching him and gives him a half-hearted wave. Despite their previous camaraderie, Robert doesn’t come over to join him but instead sits down in his usual place and begins to tuck into his food. Then his head flicks round and, with his mouth too full, he shouts over to the others as they arrive en masse.
Bruno wonders if he should he break with established etiquette and go over to their table. No. In this situation, they’ll remember he’s a first year and studying Humanities subjects; at best it’ll be awkward; at worst, they’ll be suspicious.
Finishing his now lukewarm coffee, he decides to pick Baltasar off as he’s leaving. He’s checked the boy’s schedule – knows he has a lab session starting in twenty minutes. Allowing about five minutes for the trek over to the science block, Baltasar will leave here within fifteen minutes. It’s too cold to hang around outside, far better to bump into him, like it’s a coincidence, as he’s walking out – he’ll need to make it seem natural.
‘Hey there.’ Baltasar claps him on the shoulder, seems genuinely pleased to see him. ‘How’s it going, mate?’ They breast the outer door together.
Coming to a halt, Bruno shrugs. ‘Fine. Okay, I guess.’ Above them the stars are still visible.
Baltasar pulls on his woolly hat. He has strong features – a squared-off chin, prominent nose; not exactly a handsome face but a striking one. ‘You went AWOL on us,’ he says. ‘Where’ve you been hiding?’
The boy’s arm is quite a weight around his neck. ‘Heard they let you back in. I’m told you had a bit of a run-in with old Lorenzen yesterday. That fokker really fancies himself. They reckon you gave him as good as.’
‘Yeah, well, the bloke’s a real peacock.’ Pulling on his gloves, Bruno remembers to smile, to keep the strain from showing on his face. Had Krista told her sister everything that happened yesterday?
Baltasar’s impressive eyebrows come together as one. ‘You know you’re quite the talking point.’
‘Yeah, well.’ He tries another shrug but it doesn’t shift that arm. Their warm breath forms a cloud between them. ‘How’s things with you?’ Bruno asks. He knows Baltasar still has one of the guns he’d taken from the shack: the Browning Hi-Power Mk 1. Without needing to shake his hand, he can picture that old tin trunk underneath his bed.
‘Okay,’ Baltasar says. ‘Listen, I’d better go – got a heavy date with some relativistic wave equations.’ Throwing back his head, he gives his usual roar of a laugh and at last lets the arm drop. ‘Why don’t we catch up later?’
‘Sure,’ Bruno says. ‘Why not?’
‘We’ll speak soon.’ It’s his father’s phrase – one he’s picked up without even knowing it; though it’s not a close relationship.
Baltasar is striding away leaving Bruno to admire that rolling, confident walk of his. It interests him that someone with such a powerful father should be helping to lead the student opposition movement. When it comes to politics, father and son have had a lot of arguments; so many that, for the sake of the rest of the family, they’ve had to agree to disagree.
Damnit; Baltasar should have been more cautious when he hid that gun. What was he thinking? Despite the weapon’s age, it’s an impressive bit of kit: single-action, semi-automatic with a 13-round magazine capacity. You don’t leave a thing like that lying around. If someone were to find it, a great many questions would be asked.
Without question, he needs to find a way to go there and reclaim it. And it’s not like having that thing is going to help Baltasar’s current situation. Not that he’s aware there is a situation. Against a regular enemy, you could defend yourself well enough with a gun like that. At close quarters, against someone wearing one of those suits, as soon as the boy pulled the trigger a hail of bullets would rebound to cut him down.
Twenty-Seven
The new DCI is already in the incident room when Kass arrives. ‘Ah, Inspector Kassöndrudóttir,’ he says, ‘do come on in.’
She tries not to reveal her annoyance at the man’s proprietorial attitude. Despite his military-straightened spine, Laskaris seems awkwardly put together – not very tall but with oversized hands and feet. As he speaks, the large lump on the bridge of his nose almost takes on a life of its own. He’s growing out a severe haircut and can’t quite hold in check the wayward curl on his crown.
Looking past him, she sees the whiteboards have a new schematic imposed on them. Before she can study the whole thing, the door opens an
d Maxwell comes in with Chan right behind her.
‘Please take a seat, ladies.’ His hand gestures hasten them in with some impatience. Laskaris remains standing, waits for them to sit and then steps back with a satisfied look on his face. ‘Before we begin, I’m sure you’d like to join me in welcoming back Constable Chan.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ Chan says, her pale cheeks reddening a little. ‘It’s good to be back.’ Her face seems less than certain of that.
‘It appears Inspector Cavallo has been unavoidably delayed,’ he says. ‘I therefore propose we begin this morning’s briefing without him.’ He looks at each of them in turn.
‘Let me begin by sharing the good news that the curfew has substantially reduced crime levels in the city.’ His smile is quick to dissolve. ‘Next, I’d like to draw your attention to the board behind me. As you see, I’ve listed the department’s most recent homicide cases against the two sets of factors that influence – one might even say determine – the likelihood of the investigation being cleared-up and suspects charged.’
His accent is very slight – only discernible on certain syllables. Like a last century schoolteacher, the man actually picks up a thin baton. On the right-hand side, a neat column is headed: PHYSICAL EVIDENCE. He taps at each word in turn with his pointer. ‘You can safely leave all this to the SOCO team – they’re the experts, after all.’
Laskaris then shifts the pointer over to the middle of the board to where he’s doubly underlined the heading: INFORMATION from WITNESSES. ‘This area must be your primary concern,’ he says. ‘Taken together with forensic evidence, witnesses’ statements ought to lead us to …’ The pointer sweeps across to the final column where it lingers under the word: SUSPECT(S).
Kass fights to stifle her amusement. She sees Chan and Maxwell share the briefest of looks though they say nothing.
‘It’s generally agreed that the first forty-eight hours are crucial for gathering evidence, interviewing potential witnesses and identifying possible suspects. Obviously, further information can come to light well after that time period, but such discoveries become rarer as every hour elapses.’
Maxwell actually begins to nod at this point.
‘As you see, against each unsolved homicide case, I have made a note of both the available evidence and the time that’s elapsed since the discovery of the body.’
He turns his attention back to his captive audience. ‘Whist we should consider all human life precious, we’re all forced to operate within the constraints of the real world where, unfortunately, we have finite resources at our disposal. Taking these factors into consideration, I have outlined in red the two related homicides I want you to prioritise.
It’s no surprise to Kass that over on the far right, COMMANDER THOMAS ROCKINGHAM is spelled out in red letters. Moving further to the left in the SUSPECTS column, he’s written: “HANK WILLIAMS – Cmdr Rockingham’s chauffeur.”
‘Our prime suspect is unfortunately deceased. However, we can’t be sure if the man was in league with the murderers or had been kidnapped and then killed by them. Either way, Governor Hagalín and I are in complete agreement that apprehending all those responsible for the brutal murder of Commander Rockingham has to be this department’s pressing and primary concern.’
Though her glasses instantly steam up, Kass is relieved to step inside the welcoming warmth of the café. She shakes her head as Nero orders breakfast. ‘Just a coffee,’ she says. This time Nero leads her to a corner table well away from the one he prefers by the window.
They sit down and she begins to clean the condensation from each lens in turn. ‘You missed the briefing,’ she says.
‘How did it go?’
‘Let’s see; after he taught us how to conduct a homicide investigation, he insisted we concentrate our efforts on finding out who else besides Williams might have been involved in Rockingham’s murder.’
‘Well now there’s a surprise.’ Nero snorts. ‘I’m guessing the other commanders are all feeling a little nervous right now.’
She can see he’s distracted; his attention flicking around the room as if he’s suspicious of the young couple opposite or the grey-haired lady at the next table toying with her latte. He appears to be subtly appraising each of their fellow diners in turn.
Apparently satisfied, Nero at last looks her in the eye. ‘We need to talk.’ He leans in enough for her to see the whites of his eyes are flecked with tiny broken veins like he’s hardly slept. When his hair falls forward, he doesn’t bother to rake it away from his face. ‘I have to tell you something. Something bad I’ve been keeping from you.’
He exhales, looks down at his hands. When he looks up, his expression is grave. ‘I’m sorry to say this but I’m now certain Rashid is dead.’
She grabs his arm. ‘Tell me what you know.’
‘Not that much.’ He rolls his head from side to side. ‘Seems he was trying to discover who was responsible for what happened to us at the bank. Then his cover got blown.’
‘Who told you this?’
‘Our decoy friend; he knows some of the people involved.’ He checks she’s understood. ‘According to him, there’s no chance of us recovering Rashid’s body.’
Kass puts her hand over her mouth to stifle the cry she wants to let out. He’s confirmed what she already knew in her heart. With appalling timing, their drinks arrive and Gianni wants to chat. She looks away to shield her wet face from him. Sensing the atmosphere between them, Gianni makes himself scarce. ‘I’m so sorry,’ Nero tells her. He tries to take her hand but she pulls it away. Why would he tell her all this here – the coward’s way?
The room begins to shake, cutlery and crockery rattle together. No one moves. The earth beneath them continues to shudder for twenty seconds or so and then stills itself. A moment later conversations start up again. A minor one this time –a gentle reminder of the untamed forces right there beneath their feet.
Nero ignores his breakfast; picks up his espresso but doesn’t drink it. Finally he says, ‘I want to find who’s responsible as much as you do but where to start…’
For a long while they sit in silence. She thinks of Rashid – sees his face so plainly; remembers that infectious laugh of his.
With an effort, she wills him away. They need to make this right.
The old lady slides her chair back into place as she leaves. It’s mid-morning and the café is emptying out. Opposite her, Nero seems stricken. ‘Eat your breakfast,’ she says. ‘You look like you need it.’
Reluctantly, he takes a bite of his panini. She stares at his jawline, watches it move up and down as he works at chewing. She lets her ears fill with the low hum of conversation, and the coffee machine as it hisses and froths. Nothing else.
‘Tell me,’ Nero says, after washing down the last mouthful, ‘Did you ever play chess?’
She shrugs. ‘Used to. Can’t say I was especially good at it.’ She sips her cold coffee, waits to see where this is leading.
‘We now know that first Red Zone incident was nothing more than a product demonstration put on for the benefit of the cartels; though those who died wouldn’t have been aware of it. They were set up – pawns to be sacrificed. But Ása –’ he waves his finger at her, ‘she was different; more valuable to Dr Arthur at least. You could say she was his queen – or maybe his knight. His creation anyway; he must have taken pride in her fighting prowess.’
‘If you want I’ll extend your metaphor. I’d say it’s important we remember there are two valuable pieces in play here. Chan is his other protégé and she’s still alive. Does he have plans for her?’
Nero’s face clouds. ‘You know, I’m sure Bruno was wrong about Jie Ning. Nothing about her suggests she’s anything other than a completely normal woman. Seems to me perfectly possible, in fact highly likely that Ása was the only one of the clones he and Dr Magnúsdóttir had modified with those genes.’
‘You could be right,’ she says. ‘Although Bruno seemed pretty certain about it.’
‘The boy’s not infallible – none of us are.’
‘You’ll be telling me next that Jóra’s results were contaminated like they claim over at the IBR.’
‘It’s possible,’ he mumbles, ‘though highly unlikely. As things stand, there’s no proof. We have no evidence to charge anyone at IBR with obstructing our investigation or anything else.’
‘Listen,’ Kass says, ‘I went to see Jóra yesterday and asked her straight out if she might have been wrong. She was furious that they’d dared to question her methodology. She assured me that contamination couldn’t account for what she could see with her own eyes under the microscope.’
She’s got his full attention now. Close to his ear, she whispers, ‘Jóra’s managed to hide some samples. When the time’s right, we’ll be able to expose exactly what those bastards have been up to.’
‘Really?’
Leaning back she can see Nero doesn’t look exactly pleased.
‘You know, Jóra said the weirdest thing as I was leaving,’ she tells him.
‘What was that?’
‘I was vaguely aware she goes to church every Sunday without fail. It still surprised me when she said their experimentation with humans was evil – the work of the devil – and they have to be stopped.’
‘Jóra said that?’
‘Word for word. There’s more; she held onto my arm and said, “We have to stop them for the sake of those poor creatures they experimented on. If they’re not fully human, they can never be allowed into heaven”.’
In the afternoon Kass is called to the DCI’s office. She’s surprised to see a woman sitting opposite him. When the she turns her head, Kass sees it’s Liljan, Leifsson’s widow, looking even thinner in the flesh; her pallor accentuated by the dark clothes she’s wearing.
‘This is Inspector Kassöndrudóttir,’ Laskaris says. ‘She was the officer in charge of the investigation into your husband’s death.’
‘My husband’s murder,’ Liljan insists. She comes towards Kass with her hand outstretched. Her handshake is firm though her touch is cold like someone suffering from poor circulation. Instead of letting go, she places her other cold hand on top of
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