by Chris Dolley
The guard ran a finger down a screenful of names and shook his head. "No Mercado listed here. Have you tried the Victoria office?"
"How about Miss Kent?" Was Annalise still using Tamisha's name and ID?
"Miss Kent is in 5G."
Graham slid the last three yards to the lift and slapped the button hard with his palm. He was so close. The lift arrived and Graham jumped in. He turned and stood close to the doors. And wondered. How close did he have to be to create a bridge to another world? Standing on the exact same spot or in the same room? Was standing by the lift doors instead of his usual place at the back protection enough? Or didn't it matter? Would resonance step in and force the two ends of the bridge together? Would his two selves be compelled to meet in the center of the lift? Was that how it worked?
The lift doors opened on the fifth floor. He stepped out and reined in his imagination. He couldn't risk flipping. Not when he was this close. Annalise might be on the other side of that door.
He inserted his key card, placed his hand on the panel and waited for the light above 5G to flash green. The door clicked, he went inside, his heart thumping, her name on his lips.
"Ann—"
He stopped.
The woman was not Annalise.
Fifty-Two
"Tamisha?"
Tamisha swivelled in her chair. She looked almost as surprised as Graham.
"Where's Annalise?" he said.
"Who?"
"No time to explain. I've got to get to a world where Annalise is in this building. You know who I am?"
"Graham Smith on speed?" she said, raising one eyebrow.
Graham's mind filled with a thousand things to do. He had to make choices, interact, force himself to flip until he found her. She had to be in this building. Annalise Six practically lived here.
He paced around the room, spontaneously changing direction, staring at Tamisha, waiting for her face to morph into someone else.
"What the hell is the matter with you, boy?" said Tamisha, standing up. She looked confused, a hint of anger. Graham felt stupid. It wasn't working. He was making choices but nothing was happening.
Maybe his choices were too small to have any impact? Hadn't Gary said as much? The greater the choice, the greater the chance of forming a bridge.
"Sit down, Tamisha," he said. "I'm going to tell you something huge."
He told her everything he knew. The Etxamendi file, Sylvestrus and natural selection, the link across the twelfth dimension, how the resonance wave could be blown away if the Grahams broke the link with enough energy.
She listened and took notes, told him to slow down and go back. She'd heard of the Etxamendi file. She'd seen it referenced in a log she was reading barely twenty minutes ago. She'd been wrestling with the math when Graham had burst in.
Graham waited to flip. With every new fact he divulged, he imagined the charge building.
Nothing happened.
"I don't understand," he said. "I should be flipping now, shouldn't I? Doesn't this count as a major interaction? I've given you information you're going to pass on to countless others and change the lives of thousands, maybe millions of people, right? You are going to pass this on?"
"Oh, I'm passing this on, all right," she said nodding. "I'm calling Kevin and Shikha now."
She leaned over and pulled the phone towards her.
"Then why aren't I flipping? With the charge I've just set off, I should be attracting every other Graham Smith in the building."
"It doesn't work like that," said Tamisha, as she waited for someone to pick up. "Hi, Kevin, get the others and come down to 5G immediately."
She put the phone down. "From what I read this morning, you have to be in the exact same spot or the bridge won't form. Doesn't matter how powerful the charge is."
"I thought it increased the chances of connection?"
"It does." She turned and flicked through a series of screens. "There," she said, pointing to a line of text on the screen. "The greater the charge, the longer the filament's life." She turned back to Graham. "You should be trailing a filament right now. But if you sit here, you'll waste it. Run around the building, visit all the places you think other Grahams might be . . ."
Graham had the door open before she'd finished.
* * *
He ran, he visited every room he'd frequented before. Even the one in the basement. He circled each room, quartered each room, covered every inch he could think of. He took the lift from top to bottom. Ran the stairs from bottom to top. Every few seconds he checked his clothes or the note in his pocket to see if it had worked.
And every few seconds he was disappointed.
He returned to 5G, despondent. What else could he try? Go back to work and flip through 200 billion worlds? Or keep trying here?
He opened the door to find Kevin, Shikha and two other men he'd never seen before closeted around Tamisha. Not one of them turned to see who'd come in. Tamisha was talking about bridges and the twelfth dimension.
"I need help," said Graham. "I need to get an urgent message to another world this morning. Is there any way of doing that?"
Kevin answered. "The only gate we have is one-way. We can receive but we can't transmit."
Graham felt stupid for asking a question he already knew the answer to. He was failing again. The pressure was on and he was floundering. Without Annalise, he was nothing. Even when he had a plan, he couldn't manoeuvre himself into the right place. Everything hinged on him being in the right place at the right time and he couldn't even manage that!
"Are you okay?" asked Shikha.
He turned away, embarrassed and angry.
"Graham, are you okay?" repeated Shikha.
Maybe he'd given up too early? Maybe it was a matter of perseverance, keep making choices, keep interacting, keep circling the building?
He turned and froze. Everyone had left. Except Shikha, who was sat at Tamisha's terminal looking at him quizzically.
He'd flipped. He must have.
"Are you all right?" Shikha said again, an element of concern in her voice.
Graham was about to respond when a thought stopped him dead. Was replying a choice? Would a yes or no send him back where he'd come from?
"I don't know," he said as impartially as he could. His eyes flicked across the room. Should he move? Stand somewhere else. Was the filament still active? Could he be sucked back if he made the wrong move?
He shuffled his feet. Shikha was staring at him, concern turning to worry. How could he ask her if she knew Annalise? Wouldn't that be interacting? Should he leave the building and call from a public phone?
"Graham?"
Graham took a deep breath. He was undoubtedly being stupid. Ten minutes ago he was trying everything he could to flip and failing, why should it be any different now? His little voice provided the answer—Murphy's Law, more powerful than Schenck: if anything can go wrong, it will.
He tried something else.
"Annalise," he said in a voice devoid of inflection.
"You want Annalise?" asked Shikha.
Graham's brain felt like it was seizing up. He couldn't think straight. He was terrified of flipping, he was terrified of thinking, he was terrified of doing anything that might precipitate a flip.
"Shall I call Annalise?" asked Shikha.
Graham closed his eyes, relief flooding over him. She was here! She had to be. Shikha wouldn't have said that otherwise.
"Do you think I should talk to Annalise?" he asked.
"Graham, you're worrying me. Why are you talking like that?"
"Annalise," he repeated and pointed to the corridor. "Do you think I should wait in the corridor?"
Shikha stared at him and Graham felt like the stupidest robot ever conceived.
"I'll call her," Shikha said.
Graham hurried into the corridor. Was he any safer out here? Was there a place he'd be safer still?
There was. It came to him just as Annalise stepped out of the lif
t. An Annalise with brown hair. Annalise Six? He grabbed her and pushed her into the Ladies.
"Graham!" she shouted.
He threw himself against the far stall, as far away from the door and the corridor wall as he could.
"It's all right. We'll be safe here," he said, breathing hard.
"Safe from what?"
"Flipping," he said, unable to stop smiling. "It's me. I'm back."
"Graham?" She blinked twice. "Is it really you?"
"It's really me."
She fell on him and hugged him so hard he thought his ribs were going to crack.
"I think I know how to stop the resonance wave," he said when he got his breath back. "Fetch the others. I want to make sure I'm right."
"Bring them here?" asked Annalise.
"It's the only place I feel safe."
* * *
He told them everything that had happened. How he'd flipped, Sylvestrus, natural selection and how he'd returned.
Then he told them his plan.
They were sceptical at first but he won them over. He knew the Grahams, they didn't. All he wanted from Gary and Howard was confirmation that his theory was correct.
"It'll take time to confirm," said Howard.
"How long?"
"An hour?" said Howard glancing at Gary for confirmation.
Graham checked his watch—10:15 a.m. He was forty minutes away from Westminster Street. He'd need five, ten minutes contingency.
"You've got fifty-five minutes," he said. "I leave at 11:10 whatever happens."
Annalise stayed after the others had left.
"I'll start contacting the girls," she said. "It's not going to be easy—this plan of yours. Most of the girls have taken their Grahams into hiding. And only five of us have security passes to Westminster Street."
"I know," he said. "But I also know how resourceful the girls are. They'll get passes from ParaDim, they'll set up dummy interviews, they'll get Graham to open the delivery bay doors. They'll do whatever it takes. They always do. And I know that come twelve o'clock, when I start things off," he paused, his voice quivering, "there'll be two hundred Annalises with me to keep it going."
Annalise's eyes suddenly widened in horror.
"What's the matter?" he said, swallowing hard. Had she just received a message?
"Graham," she said. "There's something you ought to know."
"What?"
"It's Annalise Fifteen."
Fifty-Three
Annalise Fifteen spent a restless night at the flat. Several times she awoke convinced she wasn't alone in her room. Each time she had to check, each time she had to search the built-in wardrobes and look under the bed.
And once awake, she had to check on Graham.
She thought the night would never end. But it did.
She rose at seven, forced herself to eat something and drank far too much coffee. She was nursing her fourth cup when Jenny burst in.
"Sylvestrus is running," Jenny announced. "I heard the news on the way over."
Annalise spilt her coffee in her rush to sit up. "Why? What's happened?"
"Ostensibly he's flying to Geneva to consult a plastic surgeon but I'm sure he's fleeing the country. I'm having the facts checked now but I can't see him receiving better treatment in Geneva than at the Cavendish. It's one of the world's top hospitals."
"Can he leave just like that? Doesn't he have to report to the police like I do?"
"Rich men obey a different set of laws than you and me, dear," she said, reaching into her handbag and pulling out her cigarettes and a lighter. "Once he's out of the country, he's not coming back."
"Does Dave know he's skipping the country?"
"He will in five minutes when I tell him."
Annalise felt like a huge weight had been taken off her. "So, the case against me collapses?"
Jenny screwed up her face. "Not exactly. Jerry thinks Sylvestrus will try to distance himself from proceedings while his legal team try to rip you to shreds. If they can nullify you, then the case against Sylvestrus goes away. If they can't, they'll sacrifice the four men in custody—two overzealous employees and two strangers with no links to Sylvestrus. Whatever happens Mr. S. will be out of the country and denying everything behind a wall of lawyers."
Annalise had a worrying thought. ParaDim did not leave loose ends. Any one of those men in custody could cut a deal. Would Sylvestrus risk his future on the lives of four men?
She didn't think so.
Without Graham's testimony, four men would be released at one o'clock. How many would be alive at one-thirty?
Or were they booked on the plane as well?
"What time's Sylvestrus's plane due to leave?" asked Annalise.
"Two, why?"
"How long does it take to drive from Ladbroke Road to the airport?"
Jenny looked hard at Annalise then shook her head. "Sylvestrus would never do that. He needs an element of deniability. If he takes any of those men with him, he's pushing himself closer to the crime."
"Then someone's going to kill four men very soon."
* * *
Annalise paced the room. She had to do something. She checked her watch. Ten o'clock. The men would be released in three hours, Sylvestrus would be out of the country in four. Could she coach Graham? Would he lie for her? Was there a way she could persuade him that in this world it was the truth? Would there be a bruise in the middle of his back from where the gun had dug in or cuts from the struggle?
The phone rang.
It was Jerry. The police wanted to know when Graham was arriving. They were prepared to send a car. They were prepared to do anything.
Except extend the deadline.
Dave's career was on the line as it was. And if Annalise didn't produce Graham by 12:45 at the latest, a warrant would be sought for her immediate arrest.
"On what charges?" Annalise shouted down the phone.
"Attempted murder—"
"But the kidnapping," Annalise interrupted. "The witnesses. They must have found other witnesses by now. The cameras." She was too angry to be coherent. She thought all this had been settled. Sylvestrus was on the run. Didn't that count for anything?
Jerry attempted to calm her down. There were witnesses. One thought she might have seen a gun in Graham's back; some saw the struggle between Annalise and the gunman. But everyone recalled how the orange-haired girl had thrown the flaming waste bin into the big, black car.
"What about the man shooting at me? You can't tell me no one remembers that."
"That's not a point of contention. The man claims to have overreacted. You'd attacked his boss. He thought you were terrorists and opened fire."
And the CCTV cameras hadn't been much help either. The resolution was poor. Several cameras showed Graham and one of the gunmen walking together, but without Graham's testimony there was nothing to suggest anything criminal was taking place.
Annalise put the phone down and slumped onto the sofa. She had less than three hours to coach Graham. Somehow she had to describe the faces of four men in such detail that Graham could pick them out from a line of similar-looking men.
She held her face in her hands.
"Annalise," said a voice in her head.
* * *
"I'll go to her," said Graham. He'd made up his mind before Annalise Six had finished explaining. "I can testify."
"How can you get there?" asked Annalise.
"I'll find a way."
She shook her head. "What about your plan? Do you want me to contact the girls or not?"
Graham felt like he'd been kicked in the stomach by a herd of wild horses. Was Fate conspiring against him? Was his plan so abhorrent to the nature of the universe that it had to be thwarted? Or was he being forced to choose? Was there some malevolent deity out there testing him—okay, Mr. Smith, you wanted choice, here's the biggest choice you'll ever have to make. Who do you save? Millions of strangers or the love of your life?
He looked at Annalise, and
all he could see was Fifteen. She looked so sad. How could he not go to her? His plan could be postponed. There'd be another opportunity.
Not like today. Three words that cut him like the sharpest knife. There wouldn't be another opportunity like today. Not for a long time. He knew where everyone would be at twelve o'clock. The longer he waited, the less chance of success. Every day there would be fewer Grahams and maybe fewer Annalises too. How long could the girls stay hidden?
And how long could Fifteen stay alive? Sylvestrus would hunt her down. As long as she remained a threat to his plan, she'd be a target. And Fifteen would always be a threat. She wouldn't stop until she brought down ParaDim. A chance she had now. If Graham testified.
He had to go to her. He owed her, he loved her. He realized that now.
And he realized something else. Once the resonance wave was stopped, there'd be no more flipping. Fifteen would be left to fend for herself on a world he could never reach. He'd never know what became of her, he'd never see her again, he'd never know what might have been.
He had to go to her.
But if he did, thousands more people would die.
He couldn't save one without dooming the other.
Unless . . .
"Tell the girls," he told Six. "Then send this message to Fifteen."
* * *
Graham checked his watch for the seventh time in as many minutes.
"It's eight minutes past," he told Annalise. "I've got to go."
The door to the Ladies slammed back against its hinges. Howard burst in.
"It works," he said, out of breath and wheezing. "Simulations confirm a . . . ninety-seven percent probability . . . but you must keep it going."
Graham took a deep breath and looked at Annalise. "Ready?" he asked.
"Always," she replied.
Graham closed his mind to anything resembling a choice. He couldn't afford to flip now. He and Annalise had to arrive together. One mistake and everything would be lost.
They didn't exchange a word on the tube. Graham shut himself off from the outside world and let Annalise guide him.
The train stopped in the tunnels outside Earl's Court. Seconds ticked away. Why had it stopped? Graham tried to keep calm and detached. He wouldn't check his watch, he wouldn't open his mind to doubt. All his energy had to be focused on the one room and the one time. Twelve o'clock. He had to plan, he had to run through the sequence of events; once there he couldn't afford to freeze or be deflected.