by L. A. Larkin
Baz nodded reluctantly and left.
John got Serena into the Devil Joe Productions’ website. ‘Tap in your login.’
She did as he asked and was straight into the client server. Her old password still worked. ‘We’re in business,’ she said, ‘Bukowski will be completely blindsided. He won’t know what’s hit him.’
Chapter 65
Their flight was at midday the following day, which meant they would arrive in New York late afternoon on Tuesday. The New Dawn launch was on Wednesday. They booked into a small airport motel under their false names and John set up his workstation. He wanted to be sure that Sarah and Ray Bradley’s passports weren’t on any watch lists. The owners of the identities had sold their passports for cash, never intending to use them. But there was a remote chance they might panic and call the authorities.
While he did that, Serena keyed in her Rooneys password. On the server was a near-final cut of a Rimmel commercial, a series of Sainsbury’s commercials and, in the ‘Social’ file, a video file called ‘Serena’s leaving do’. She saw herself and Tracey, arm-in-arm, bleary eyed and very drunk, at her leaving party in London a few months ago. She stopped the footage.
‘This is it,’ she said. ‘I just need to find the doco hidden behind it.’
John paused what he was doing and looked across at her. ‘How do you know about steganography?’
‘One of the creatives in London was really into that sort of thing. He showed me how it worked. At least we know Tracey is alive,’ she added, nodding at the image frozen on screen.
‘At least she was when she satellite-beamed it to the server,’ John said, looking concerned. Serena downloaded the file to her hard drive, and then, using decoding software, extracted the hidden documentary.
Behind the party footage lay a thirty-four-minute unedited documentary that Tracey had titled The Genesis Flaw. Eager to view it, Serena speedily reloaded the party footage onto the server, having removed all evidence of the documentary. She didn’t want a casual observer to notice anything odd about the file, nor did she want to raise suspicions by deleting it.
‘I’m impressed,’ commented John. ‘I’ll make a hacker of you yet.’ He nodded at her laptop screen as his smile faded. ‘I want to see this.’ He drew the curtains.
With heart racing, Serena pressed ‘Play.’ Tracey’s documentary started.
Images of Zimbabweans came and went in rapid succession, like bullets to the brain. Still, wax-like faces stared dully at the camera. Neither Serena nor John spoke. Both sat with necks craned forwards, listening intently. Serena had imagined she knew what to expect. She had read Dr McPherson’s descriptions of the deformities and sicknesses. But they had just been words and statistics. Now she saw people crying in distress. Now she saw people screaming in agony. Now she saw the death and despair. She was horrified to her core.
John once or twice ran both hands over his face and then removed them, returning his stunned gaze to the screen. Serena’s mouth opened to speak and then closed again, her eyes were wide with shock. As the unfinished documentary suddenly ended, they both stared at the blank screen, speechless. Finally, John slumped forwards, resting his face in his hands.
‘How could they?’ he muttered.
‘Those poor, poor people.’
They sat in the darkened room, the curtains drawn, trying to cope with the distressing images they’d seen.
‘What kind of evil are we up against, Serena?’
‘A powerful one,’ she replied.
‘Yeah. That’s the bit I’m worried about. If they can keep this quiet, they can do anything.’
‘Don’t give up. We can do it, John. We can outwit them. Everything we need to bring them down is right here. And you can hack into anything; you’re the best there is.’
‘I can’t believe they went ahead anyway, selling that shit. Jeez, we’ve probably eaten it ourselves.’
‘I don’t want to think about it.’
John prowled the room like a caged animal. ‘How do they sleep at night? Don’t they feel guilt, feel anything? All those people with hep S. The fuckers killed Kat.’ He kicked the wardrobe door, cracking it. It caused him pain and he hugged his ribcage. She reached out to touch him. ‘Oh, John, don’t do this. We have to stay focused.’
He calmed himself. ‘You’re right. If I can transfer 200 million from a bank and hide it so it’ll take them days to realise it’s gone, I can screw up the Gene-Asis launch.’ John’s eyes were cold and hard. ‘It’s time someone knocked the halo off their fucking heads.’
Chapter 66
That night, they slept fitfully, in each other’s arms. In the morning, Serena had woken first, and lay there watching him, wondering if this were the right time to tell him how she felt. Then she’d woken him with a cup of coffee, ready at last to express her feelings. But John had leapt out of bed to again check that their borrowed identities hadn’t appeared on any watch lists. Now was clearly not the time. She went to the bathroom and changed her hair colour from red to the strawberry blonde of her passport photo. The result wasn’t bad, for a bottle of hair colourant. At the airport, they endured the rigours of full body X-rays, as well as those of their carry-on baggage, but were never challenged.
The flight to Kennedy Airport was uneventful and they slept most of the way. The clank of the breakfast trolley woke Serena. Her neck ached. John’s head rested on a small pillow wedged against the window. He was fast asleep. She watched him for a moment: the dark eyelashes, the greying at his temples and the line of his lips. She remembered the night he’d kissed her. It had been at her leaving party, the night before she moved to London. Friends and neighbours had filled the house. Multicoloured lights were strung up around the verandah, the dining table was laden with food and the punch had been a big hit. Dad had made a speech about how proud he was of his successful daughter and how much he would miss her. Alcohol flowed and she’d drunk her fill. The party was in full swing when John had taken her hand, and led her away from the house and down to the creek. She’d been stunned when he’d kissed her and even more stunned by her eager response. She’d kissed him back, pushing her body into his. He’d held her tighter. His desire had been too intense for her and she’d pulled away.
‘Why now, John? When I’m leaving?’ She’d taken a step back.
‘I’ve been wanting to for a long time but I ...’ he began and then saw her rub the back of her hand across her mouth. He must have mistaken the gesture for one of disgust, as if she’d been wiping away his kiss. To this day, she didn’t know why she’d done it but it hadn’t been in disgust. That kiss had been the best one she’d ever had.
‘I’m just not good enough for you, is that it?’ he’d said, furious.
‘No, John, I’m confused. We’ve been friends for so long and I’m going away tomorrow. I …’
‘Forget it. Forget it ever happened.’
He’d stormed off. By the time she’d returned to the party, John had his tongue down Sharon Glessop’s throat. It was well known that Sharon wanted to get her hands on John and that she hated Serena because of her close friendship with him. Serena’s guests stared at her, watching her reaction, and she couldn’t bear the humiliation. She’d started dancing and put on a good show of indifference, but she’d felt totally humiliated and hurt. Shortly after, John had left the party with Sharon in tow, who was smirking triumphantly.
Serena stretched out her hand and, without thinking, ran her finger along his lower lip. She barely touched it but he woke.
‘Hey,’ he said groggily.
‘Breakfast,’ she said, softly.
After some food, coffee and a bottle of water, she was wide awake. John ate silently, deep in thought.
‘John?’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘I’m sorry I never read your emails or took your calls.’
He opened his eyes wide and his lips parted slightly in astonishment. He shuffled into a more upright position.
‘I’m sorry I hurt
you.’ He spoke quietly and carefully. Serena had never wanted to speak about that night before and he clearly didn’t want to muck it up.
Serena leaned closer. ‘The kiss was lovely, too lovely. It scared me. I was shocked by my own feelings. And then you went off with Sharon. I felt so humiliated.’
The flight attendant leaned over them, offering tea. Serena shook her head. They waited till she’d moved further down the aisle. John undid his seatbelt, and turned his body towards her and took her hand.
‘I was a prick, I know. I took Sharon home to hurt you and, God, I regretted it. It’s just, well, it had taken me years to build up enough courage for that kiss.’
‘Years?’
‘Yes. We’d been best mates for so long, I didn’t know how to change it.’ He paused and then tilted his head to one side. ‘You never read any of my emails, did you?’
She shook her head. ‘I was too angry. I deleted every one.’
‘Shit.’ He half-smiled. ‘I spent hours composing them, trying to explain. And you know what? The very thing I’d been afraid of—that if I kissed you, our friendship would never be the same—well, that’s exactly what happened. That night, I lost my best mate.’
Serena undid her seatbelt and turned to him. Their faces were barely a few centimetres apart.
‘More coffee?’ asked another flight attendant.
‘No,’ they said in unison.
‘You haven’t lost your best mate,’ said Serena. ‘No way. And who knows? When this is all over, maybe we can try that kiss again?’
He smiled mischievously. ‘Why not now?’
‘I don’t want to get it wrong this time,’ she replied, smiling.
He laughed loudly. ‘I can wait,’ he said, settling back into his seat.
Serena retrieved her bag from the overhead locker and made her way to the bathroom, where she changed into smart black trousers, black boots and a pale pink polo-necked jumper. The smarter they looked at passport control, the less likely it was they’d be stopped and questioned. Inspecting her face in the mirror, she realised the cut on her cheek had bruised badly, so she applied a thick layer of foundation to conceal it.
She returned to her seat and handed him her foundation. ‘Try covering up the bruise. A black eye kinda draws attention.’
‘I can’t believe I’m doing this,’ he said, staring at the tube of makeup. But on his return from the toilet, his black eye was well hidden. John leaned over to speak and grimaced.
‘How’re the ribs?’ she asked.
‘Maybe they’re not broken, just bruised.’ He lowered his voice. ‘I’ve been thinking about our plan.’
‘Yeah?’
‘I’ve worked out how to stop their media presentation and run Tracey’s footage instead. That’s no problem. I’ll need to do some shopping when we land ’ cause I need to build something. That’s easy enough, but my main problem will be cracking the encryptions in time.’
‘Well, we’ve got a Plan B but I’d do anything to avoid it,’ said Serena.
‘If it comes to Plan B, I’ll do it, not you,’ said John.
‘Let’s just hope there’s no need.’
They lapsed into silence, Serena staring out at the dark sky outside. Their problems would begin once they landed. If Bukowski had planted convincing evidence, the Australian Police might call on the NYPD. With their photos in circulation, they stood no chance.
‘Bukowski will be landing about now,’ she said, touching John’s arm. ‘I know because I booked his pilot. I guess I got something out of my time as his PA. His private jet lands half an hour before we do. There’s a risk he’ll see us.’
John shut his laptop and ran his hand over the top of its smooth surface. His second laptop was in the seat pocket in front of him.
‘Don’t worry. He’ll be whisked through passport control way ahead of us. He’ll be in his limo, on his way to a hotel, before we even get on the ground.’
They were scheduled to land at 5 pm and it was pitch-black outside, apart from the snow, which blew at a low angle. Having expected to see the bright lights of New York City below, Serena could see nothing through the white flecks. The plane circled the airport for twenty minutes. Then she saw the runway lights, looking like a smudged painting. The engines roared as the pilot struggled to slow the enormous plane on the icy runway. Specks of snow now flew horizontally by her window as they taxied to the gate.
‘I’m going to freeze. My winter gear isn’t warm enough,’ said John, looking out of the window.
The plane stopped, but the seatbelt sign remained on and the flight attendants stayed seated. Several passengers stood up and were told to remain in their seats. But, like a Mexican wave, passengers standing at the front of the plane prompted others further back to stand. Once again, the purser asked everyone to remain seated. The captain had not given the order to open the doors. Why? What were they waiting for? Serena glanced at John.
‘What’s going on?’ she whispered.
‘I’ve no idea. Maybe there’s a problem with the door.’
He squeezed her hand reassuringly. From where Serena sat, she could only glimpse the purser when she stood in the aisle. Otherwise, passengers’ heads obscured her view. Now two flight attendants opened the massive doors at the front of the plane and two New York cops in dark-blue uniforms stepped inside. They consulted with the purser, and began walking down the aisle towards Serena and John.
Her stomach did a somersault and she held John’s hand tighter. Had the Australian police tipped off the New York police about their flight? The cops strode towards them, a buzz of whispers following like a swarm of bees, as intrigued passengers speculated. The first cop looked at the number above Serena’s seat. She dared not look at him. John turned his head and smiled at the man. A second’s pause and both cops continued walking towards the tail section. They’d simply been checking the seat numbers.
Craning her neck, Serena saw them leaning over a man in an aisle seat. She could hear voices, and then shouting: ‘I’ve done nothing. Get your hands off me, pigs!’ The man was yanked from his seat and handcuffed, while he swore repeatedly. The cops then steered him back down the aisle and out of the plane. ‘Thank God,’ was all Serena could say as she released John’s crushed hand. The instant the police left, the seatbelt sign went off and everyone stood up.
John and Serena followed the flow of passengers down the escalators, into passport control. The enormous space was filled with people and the heating was on overdrive. On one side were ten meandering lanes of people queuing as non-US citizens. On the other side one lane of US citizens walked quickly through passport control. Serena nervously looked for Bukowski but he wasn’t in the queue.
‘Want one?’ asked John, offering her a mint.
‘Thanks,’ she said, taking one, her eyes darting back to the US citizens line.
‘He won’t recognise you even if he does see you. You look so completely different as a blonde. Don’t worry.’
They filled in their green visa waiver cards as they shuffled along at a snail’s pace. A beagle was led up and down the queues, sniffing the carry-on luggage. Serena watched it bark and sit in front of a girl’s daypack. Embarrassed, the girl shook her head and then, finally, nodding in recognition, opened her pack to produce a banana, which the security officer confiscated, patting the dog and rewarding him with a treat.
They were now just three people away from the line of twenty booths, which resembled sentry posts. Each booth was surrounded by glass, except for the space where the visitor stood to hand over their passport. There was a narrow desk counter, upon which rested what appeared to be a mini lightbox. Serena watched as a man placed his left hand on the lightbox. It lit up with a red glow. He then did the same with his right hand. The officer checked the fingerprint scans against those on his computer and then nodded the visitor through.
‘Have you seen what they’re doing?’
‘Yup, pretty spooky. It’s like they have your soul on file.’
‘Oh yes they will,’ John replied. ‘Why do you think forging passport identities takes so long?’ She nodded.
It was their turn. Serena went first, walking up to booth six. She handed over her passport and visa waiver card.
‘Where’re you staying?’ the officer asked, as he checked the photograph in her passport. He swiped the passport through a reader.
‘Hotel DeVere in Greenwich Village.’
‘Business or pleasure?’ he said, not looking up as he checked her visa waiver card.
‘Pleasure.’
‘Ma’am, can you place your left hand on the box and wait until I ask you to remove it.’
Serena hoped he didn’t see her swallow the lump in her throat. He scanned her left and then her right hand. The box felt warm and her hand left a sweaty nervous residue on the smooth, glassy surface. Serena focused on trying to look relaxed and confident but the heat and tension were getting to her. The customs officer paused. He turned on his swivel chair and looked hard at her.
‘You need to update your passport, ma’am.’
‘I do?’ she stammered. Without thinking, she touched her hair. It was blonde, so what was the problem?
‘Any defining marks, such as the scar on your face, must be noted in your passport.’
‘Oh, thank you. I’ll get it updated.’
He returned her passport. She was through, closely followed by John. They had arrived safely on American soil.
John bought a thick coat, paying in cash. As they walked out of the building into the freezing cold, Serena pulled her coat collar tight and her hat down over her ears. Snow fell in gusts, forming dirty, mushy heaps on the ground. There was a constant flurry of activity as snow ploughs worked to keep the roads clear. Cars, double-parked, honked at each other as airport staff shouted at them to drive on. The pavement was like slippery glass in patches, despite efforts to keep it ice free with sand and grit. Serena stepped carefully in the direction of a taxi rank, blinking rapidly as her eyes watered in the intense cold.