by Chris Lofts
‘No and no. There’s one boat still down here, but looking at the disturbance in the snow I would say another one has been launched and not that long ago.’
‘Set a camera up down there.’ He turned from the tree. ‘It’ll be good to know if he comes back.’
‘One step ahead of you.’
‘If it wasn’t for the accent that would have been classic Ethan,’ he muttered, a shiver running through him from the inside. He rubbed his arms as he waded through a snowdrift next to the schoolhouse. Halfway up the steps, he paused. What was it that Gabrielle had said when Sofi showed her the images of Carmen whatever-her-name-was? “You might say they were twins.” He caught sight of one of the nano-cams just above the door. Tilting his head, he peered into it. ‘How long did it take Ethan to rebuild you?’
‘The damage you inflicted to the cranial endoskeleton, the neural network and top four vertebrae was significant and required the—’
‘I know what I did. I don’t need the damage assessment. How long? To the nearest day not nanosecond.’
‘Seventeen days.’
‘And the injuries you sustained when they took Ethan, how long did they take to heal?’
‘Flesh wounds. Between eight and twelve hours depending—’
‘OK,’ he said, holding his hand up. ‘I’m freezing my arse off out—’
‘Your arse’s not the only thing by the look of it.’
18
Ulyana Lytkin wrapped the rojo red silk kimono around her waist, tying it to one side. The reflection of a woman 20 years her junior stared back from the full-length bathroom mirror as she towelled her hair and tied it back. It was late, but time was rendered irrelevant by the cocktail of amphetamine-based stimulants that fought off the post-coital pull towards sleep.
Turning to the shower, she studied Archer’s steamy silhouette swaying beneath the cascading water. The deluge died away. She tossed him a towel. ‘I’ll be in my study,’ she said. ‘Join me.’
‘Really?’ he said, squeezing water from his beard. ‘You’re going to work? It’s almost midnight.’
She allowed the question with the arch of a brow. ‘Yes,’ she said, running her eyes from his herculean shoulders and chest tapering down to his waist and thick thighs. ‘Sleep if you must.’ She tossed her damp towel in the hand basin.
Their sex was always mutually sadistic, bordering on violent, but that was all it was, sex. For her, it smoothed the rough edges, softened her steel exterior and satiated her lust. She had no idea or care what it did for him. The moments of weakness were a brief as they were brutal. The alternate Ulyana Lytkin lurked behind the silk and perfume and would be back by the time she reached her study. She brushed the attempted kiss away, her mind already elsewhere.
Padding barefoot from the bathroom into the sitting room, she looked up at one of the Pollocks inherited from her late brother. The chaos and confusion of the piece troubled her. She had no idea what Valerian had seen in it. Science brought order from chaos. The order and dignity of the neighbouring painting: Landscape with Lanterns by Paul Delvaux, was more to her liking. It was a clumsy juxtaposition with the Pollock. She wasn’t given to melancholy, but there was something about the mysterious nature of the work that resonated with her. Was she the elegant woman gazing into the centre ground at the two figures carrying a sheeted bier? Who lay under the cover? Was it her brother, her mother, her father or an amalgam of all the lives and loves lost? What of the structures on the horizon? Ruins or a building unfinished? A stage?
Valerian’s art and other personal effects had been the straightforward part of settling his estate. The remaining affairs to be dealt with lay beyond the oak door in her study. The evidence touted by the Helix brothers during their crusade to discredit her brother and that quisling Wheeler, was only the pinnacle of an enormous pyramid. Trust was not a trait she had been blessed with. Much of the procedural work to transfer title had been carried out by legal AI systems, but she had no faith in flesh and blood lawyers.
Leaning into the heavy door, she pushed into her library-cum-study, the stale smell of antique paper and furniture rushing to meet her. Valerian’s desk, their father’s desk, dominated one corner, much as her father had whenever he entered a room. Ulyana’s memory of the punishment she received for daring to sit in his chair still stung as much as the original slap. Using his desk and chair was an act of defiance that she hoped would ignite her father’s ire in the afterlife.
Taking a thin tablet from the desk, she brushed her finger tips over the screen. An array of holographic monitors and virtual filing cabinets loaded with digital documentation, filled the room with light, illuminating the overburdened bookshelves. She swept a folder of documents from one of the larger monitors onto the tablet.
She glanced over her shoulder as Archer ducked through the door, his white shirt sticking to his damp chiselled pectorals. The ancient floorboards creaked under his weight as he crossed to the drinks table. ‘Are they the transfer documents for the R&D centre in Berlin?’ he said, holding up a bottle of vodka.
She nodded ‘I need to review and sign them. Is everything in place over there?’
Archer poured two fingers of the crystal spirit into two frosted glasses. ‘It is now,’ he said holding out a glass to her. ‘The CEO got the message eventually. There won’t be any hitches.’
Lytkin nosed the vodka, ignoring his offer to clink glasses. ‘Good. Remove her as soon as the transfer is complete.’
Archer nodded and took a sip of his drink. He folded his arms, nursing the glass in the crook of his arm. ‘I have an update on the location of the targets.’
Lytkin glanced up from the tablet. ‘Tell me,’ she said, sliding behind her father’s desk.
‘Two are in Moscow, one in Novosibirsk, one in Damascus and two in Ankara.’
‘Who’s in Novosibirsk?’
‘Petrov.’
A half smile broke across her face. ‘He thought we wouldn’t find him in Siberia?’ She put her glass down on the inlaid leather writing surface. ‘And what about vectors? How are we going to deploy?’
Archer emptied his glass and turned back to the drinks table. ‘Human.’
‘What?’ Lytkin said, sliding the tablet onto the desk. ‘Suicide vectors are unreliable.’
‘Not if they don’t know they are suicide vectors.’ He poured himself another measure. ‘Your brother had people deep in their organisations, with access to water, whisky, food, medication, even toothpaste. Failing that—’
‘Failing nothing!’ Lytkin said, her glass jumping on the table as she slammed her hand down. ‘We will not fail. I want them all dead.’
‘I meant that if it proves difficult to spike their food, there are members of their security detail, household staff, even their whores. Anyone who can get close.’
Lytkin folded her hands in front of her face. Anyone who could get close. She tapped the display on the tablet bringing up the feed from Ethan’s cell.
Archer sauntered behind the desk and perched alongside her. ‘His brother? Or were you thinking of something else?’
‘It’s a shame we don’t have more time.’ She pressed her glass against her bottom lip. ‘How long will it take to complete everything once we have Stepper?’
‘Forty-eight hours. Seventy-two max. We could expedite the plan, take Helix out of the equation.’
‘Have a little more faith, Archer.’
He shrugged. ‘I just think—’
‘Thinking can get you into a lot of trouble,’ she said, sliding the tablet onto the desk. ‘You should do less of it.’ She tossed her vodka back in one. ‘Romantic love is a fickle thing, there one moment, gone the next. But family is everything. He will come. He will choose. And he will deliver her to me.’
19
28 Hours
Overnight, the clouds had broken, taking away the snow and leaving the moon and stars in the yawning glow of a crisp dawn. The thick brown snake of the River Wye slithered through the mist-cloaked v
alley. The fog evaporated on the western bank in the first rays of sun while on the eastern side the villagers would have to wait their turn. Wisps of wood smoke spiralled skyward from stoves, signalling the stirring of life. The crow of the cockerel carried over snow-capped roofs.
In the schoolhouse, Gabrielle stretched and rolled to Helix’s side. He simmered in the heady euphoria of a reality he’d only dreamed of in their months of separation. Pulling her closer, he held her in the crook of his arm and kissed the top of her head. ‘That’s what you call a wakeup call,’ he said, stroking her hair from her face.
‘He’s very vocal, that one.’
He laughed. ‘I didn’t mean the cockerel.’
Her sigh weighed down on him.
‘Something wrong?’
‘We’re going to have to leave here, aren’t we?’
It was his turn to sigh. She was right. He blinked his right eye, checked the time. Another eight hours gone. ‘This isn’t going to go away. The odds are stacked against us, whichever way you look at it. It’s a question of making the best of a bad bunch of options.’
Gabrielle ran her fingers through the hair on his chest. ‘Which are?’
‘As you know, I don’t do garnish, so here they are. In no particular order. We give ourselves up to Ormandy, Ethan dies, we end up in a halo-confinement tube for the rest of our natural lives. Next, we give ourselves up to Lytkin and we all suffer a slow agonising death.’
‘But she said she wanted me in exchange for Ethan.’
‘OK. So you suffer a slow torturous death and I suffer the same but in a different way, but Ethan will be OK. In fact, probably not, he loves you almost as much as I do.’
She draped her leg across his. ‘Go on.’
‘Oh, I nearly forgot. Lytkin unleashes the pathogen on whomever she likes or dislikes. And call me cynical if you want, but Miss Lytkin doesn’t strike me as the forgiving kind.’ He pulled a blanket over them and tucked it under his arm. ‘She holds us all responsible for what happened to her brother and we’ll all pay with our lives. Just like the General and Blackburn.’
‘Wow,’ she sighed. ‘I know you said you don’t do garnish, but…’
‘There’s one other option,’ he said, stroking his jaw.
Before she could ask for details, he was out of bed. ‘How many?’ he said, pulling his trousers and boots on. ‘OK. Stay out of sight. Keep them covered with the 50.’
Gabrielle pulled her poncho over her head as she sat on the edge of the bed. ‘What is it? What’s going on?’
He slung his poncho over his head, chambered a round in the Glock, pushed it into the back of his trousers. ‘Five men on horses appro—’
The clatter of the pit bells pierced the tranquillity of the dawn.
‘Sofi spotted them. Sounds like they found the trap.’ He waited, impatience welling as she hopped from one foot to the other to get her boots on.
A blast of chilled air hit him as he dragged the door open and plunged down the steps. Footprints converged from the various homes onto what he assumed to be the main footpath. Progress was slow through the knee-deep snow. Gabrielle followed a few yards behind. ‘You OK?’ he called back.
She nodded, cinching her poncho around her waist with an old leather belt.
He activated his TC comms. ‘Update, Sofi. What have we got?’
‘Three identified as Walt, our friend Issy from the bridge and you’re going to love this…’
‘Spit it out!’
‘None other than Ex-Chancellor - Justin Wheeler, aka the bean counter. No idea who the other two are.’
‘Armed?’
‘Possible, but not visible. Rags and ponchos are obviously de rigueur this season.’
He slowed, gave Gabrielle a chance to catch up. ‘Looks like it’s your ex-husband and his motley crew,’ he said. ‘Plus Wandering Walt.’ He zoomed in from the cover of a grey-barked beech tree, identifying the riders. Wheeler sat nonchalantly at the head of the phalanx on a large grey horse, looking every bit as arrogant as he had the last time Helix had seen him. The remaining four fanned out behind in a V-shaped formation around the undisturbed trap. Walt, mounted on a smaller chestnut horse, tugged at the rope carrying the scrap metal bells. The clattering metal echoed through the woods, interspersed with the men’s laughter as they watched the approaching villagers, led by Bo. Helix spotted Issy at the back of the group, hash pipe clenched in his teeth, his head on a swivel, eyes darting in all directions. He drew the Glock from the back of his trousers. With the poncho draped over his hands he stepped from behind the tree and moved forward. ‘Stay close to me,’ he said over his shoulder to Gabrielle.
Children chased each other around the edges of the group as the adults stood their respective grounds in silence. Bo turned towards Helix and Gabrielle as they made their way up the slope. Helix nodded a greeting. ‘It’s OK, Bo, I’ll take it from here.’
‘Good. Take whatever it is, back to wherever you came from. We don’t need any trouble.’
‘I’m not making any promises but take everyone with you. We won’t be long.’
‘Major Nathan Helix VC DSO,’ Wheeler announced, the blepharospasm that caused the unconscious winking of his left eye doing overtime.
Helix had forgotten about the affliction that caused the orbicular muscles of Wheeler’s eyelids to twitch, making it appear that he was winking at you. He ran his hand over the hairs on the back of his neck. ‘What do you want, Wheeler?’
‘I heard a rumour,’ Wheeler said, leaning forward in his saddle. ‘My friend Mr Brunel here, told of a large man in black in the company of a petite woman refusing to pay the toll to pass over the bridge in Chepstow. The description rang a bell.’
Walt gave the rope a hefty tug, causing the bells and scrap to clatter and clang, almost unseating himself from his horse. The men erupted into guffaws of forced laughter.
Helix fixed his eyes on Walt. ‘Can you take care of the rope?’ he said to Sofi.
Walt’s horse reared up, spinning underneath him as the branch overhead cracked and splintered under the force of the shot. His arms and legs flailed as his terrified mount pitched him from the side of the saddle onto the slush-covered ground in a heap before galloping off deeper into the woods.
Helix stepped in front of Gabrielle as Wheeler regained control of his own horse drawing one of Helix’s stolen P226s from under layers of rags draped over his head and shoulders. Taking control of his breathing, Helix painted an invisible dot on each of the men with the smart-ammo targeting overlay in his right eye. Walt, Issy and the two unknowns. With the targets locked, it didn’t matter who pulled the trigger.
‘Look familiar, Major?’ Wheeler said, pointing the gun at Helix. ‘Call your friend down from wherever she is.’
‘No. That won’t be happening. Do you actually know what you’re doing with that?’ he said, nodding at the handgun. ‘It’s hard enough after years of training and practice to hit someone with a handgun when they’re moving, even at this range.’
‘I’m sure it can’t be that complicated, Major. Tell your friend to join us.’
‘No.’
Two shots rang out as Wheeler fired the gun skyward, the smart rounds finding their targets in the heads of Walt and Issy. He looked at the gun in disbelief as the thin twig and leaf covering over the trap collapsed as Walt fell. Issy rolled backwards over the rump of his horse, dead before he hit the snow. Three more shots from Sofi exploded in front of the horses. The already spooked animals bucked and reared, throwing their riders.
Helix sprang forward, grabbing the P226 and a thick handful of Wheeler’s rag cape.
‘Helix. No!’ Gabrielle shouted. ‘That’s enough.’
Helix tossed Wheeler aside, took aim and moved on the two unknowns. Both men scrambled and slipped in the mud and slush, got to their feet and sprinted off in the same direction as their horses.
Gabrielle darted around Wheeler. She dropped to her knees next to Issy, her fingers pressed to the side of his
neck. ‘He’s dead, Helix,’ she said, climbing to her feet and rushing to the edge of the pit where Walt had fallen.
‘So is he. Nothing you can do for him,’ Helix said, turning back to Wheeler. He tugged and pulled at Wheeler’s rags, uncovering his jacket, with the shoulder holsters hung across it. He snatched out the second P226. ‘You smell like shit, Wheeler. Get my jacket off.’
Gabrielle launched herself at Wheeler as he began to peel off his clothes. ‘You bastard, Justin!’ she screamed. ‘I told you, all I ever wanted was to live in peace and quiet. Now you’ve turned up and those men are dead. Who sent you? Was it her? Ormandy? Are you working for her or is it that other—’
‘Gabrielle don’t,’ Helix snapped, taking her arm. ‘That’s enough.’
‘No, Helix. He’s got something to do with all this. How the hell do you think he wriggled out of halo-confinement. That bitch.’
She had a point, or did she? Helix slung his holsters over his shoulder, waiting for Wheeler to hand over his jacket. He wandered over to where Issy lay. If Ormandy had wanted to send anyone, it wouldn’t have been a disgraced ex-politician. Issy’s corpse slid easily over the snow to the edge of the pit. The first rays of sun warmed the back of Helix’s neck as he rolled it in. The commuting of Wheeler’s sentence to banishment still bugged him. Most of the politicians did what politicians do when one of their ilk falls from grace. They distanced themselves. All except one. Ormandy. She didn’t come out all flags waving for him but there must have been moves behind the scenes. It wasn’t on the news. They’d heard because somebody in the MoHD had flagged it to Yawlander. It should have raised awkward questions for Ormandy in Parliament, but they never came.
He snatched his jacket from Wheeler. ‘What was the deal with Ormandy?’
‘Deal?’ Wheeler said, lumbering back into his rags and skins. ‘I prefer to see it as a mutual understanding.’
‘You can call it what you like, but what do you have on her?’