MINDFRACK

  “Which … brings me back to my initial question,” said Mervin, ploughing on matter-of-factly. “Do you know, or perhaps we should be asking, how do you know, Zane Adams?”

  “Through those external vids. Nothing else – he was on there.”

  “All right,” said Dorsey, his manner uncharacteristically patient, which Logan put down to Mervin’s presence, “we’ll come back to that later. More to the point, do you know anything about Zane’s murder?”

  Here it was, the trick question, since if they found the body then the forensics drones would have matched up his bioprofile instantly as they had it on record: it was part of the contractual requirements. But why didn’t they come out with that in the first place? As he eyed them warily, an explanation dawned. Were they simply working him? They were police detectives, he reminded himself. Had they lied about Adams not being on the cams simply to disorient him? He settled back a little and decided to play along. He had nothing to gain by admitting anything and they hadn’t read him the Miranda – yet. “Uh … no,” he said, half expecting Dorsey to blast him at this point. He didn’t.

  “Look, Mac,” said Dorsey, sounding annoyed, “We know that you know him in some capacity, in some way. You’re the one that brought up his name in the first place. So can you just tell us what’s going on and what you have on him? And why you said it was him that took Carrie away. Quite frankly, and for the record, I don’t give a shit why you took Carrie – but I do care that you somehow have links with Zane – by your own admission.”

  Why were they playing such a complicated game? “Uh, can you tell me how he was murdered?”

  “Shot, in the heart, at home, by assailants unknown. Looks like it could be a contract killing. Does that make any difference?”

  “Uh no – just interested. And you have no leads at all?”

  “No. Do you?”

  “No. Why would I?” Logan was dumbfounded. The scene came back to him in vivid clarity: the image of Adam’s pained face inches away from his; the sensation of the small-time criminal’s body going limp on him while they clutched at each other’s arms; the stench of his breath. How could his bioprofile go undetected? How?

  They both stared at him some more before Mervin broke the silence and said, “Mark, we know you use nanos, the illegal soft type, recreational …” Mervin flicked his eyes towards Dorsey.

  Dorsey scowled at Logan. “Sorry, Mac, but it had to come out. And we know Zane was a dealer, though his usual MO is class A: Sams, nanometh, devil-dust, the whole works. But it’s the only possible connect we’ve been able to come up with. Again, we’re only asking because you yourself mentioned he was on that security video. Why on earth would you do that?”

  Logan decided to keep true regarding what he and Diaz had discovered. “I can only tell you what we saw.”

  Mervin took a deep breath. “All right. I’ve had enough of this. If you won’t provide us with any reasonable explanation, then you leave me no option but to suspend your contract – until either you clarify things for us or we find something first. Needless to say, if you are implicated in any way in his murder …” He held his hands open.

  Logan sat rigid, unable to react. He hadn’t been prepared for any of this and intuitively kept quiet.

  “And,” Mervin continued, formally, “we have to report your use of nanos. So expect a call from our Contracts Team. You may be in danger of being terminated on that alone. But I’ll intervene. Tell them you are doing some great work. And you’re reliable. Can you give me your word you’ll stop using, even if it is just recreational?”

  “Uh, yes. Of course. What happens now?”

  “For now? Nothing. If you want any chance of retaining your contract with us then we require you to leave your PD tracker on and we’d like you to limit your movements as well. In other words, your access to this building is temporarily revoked – as from now. And I want you to keep to your home. If you need to go anywhere, which is a necessity, call in. At least for the next forty-eight hours until we have completed our initial investigation of Zane Adams’ murder. As it is, we can bring legal proceedings against you for removing forensics evidence. But you’ll have the opportunity to return the evidence or at least account for it. I understand that the deceased woman, Dexy Please, was supposed to have picked it up anyway. If you are doing this as a favour in some way for a friend or relative of hers then just let us know and stop this charade. Is that clear enough?”

  “Yes, very.”

  “You have anything to add, Donald?”

  “Me? No. Just keep me updated,” said Dorsey, looking sceptical and tired of the whole thing. “I want to know everything you’re up to.”

  “Mark. Anything you want to ask or add?” asked Mervin.

  “I’m good.”

  “Then we’ll be in touch.”

  Logan got up and walked out, concerned that his grasp on reality was slipping away from him.

  25

  Logan was shown out of the forensics laboratories by a security guard and a Johnny-friendly. His colleagues witnessed his unceremonious ejection with surprise and curiosity. He received a number of emojis and text messages via iSense questioning his departure, but didn’t respond, as advised by Mervin. It seemed like overkill, but he tried to see it from Mervin’s point of view. He had become a security risk and they knew he used nanos, and he was linked to a criminal, who was murdered. Any lawyer worth his salt would have told him to keep his mouth shut until advised otherwise.

  As he made his way back to his apartment, effectively grounded, Logan caught his reflection in the window of the subway car. A tired and sullen face stared back.

  He pulled out the thumb-sized plastic nano-popper and looked at it hesitantly before slipping it back in his pocket, realising he should count himself lucky he hadn’t been cuffed and thrown in a holding cell. On the other hand, his nano habit had probably saved his ass. They’d assumed the link between him and Adams was only his habit.

  Changing his mind, he retrieved the dispenser and popped a couple of blue pills. The effects were immediate. The cadence of his heart steadied while his diaphragm relaxed, allowing his breathing to deepen and slow. A sense of control returned. The nanos were clever and detected the user’s immediate emotional needs. He’d been introduced to recreationals by a high-flier on Wall Street during one of his first contracts. They were expensive, but he was told they were safe and non-addictive. Not entirely true. He soon understood that they weren’t habit-forming provided you were in control of your life.

  Three minutes out of Jamaica station, sardined within a packed subway car and staring into a forest of hanging arms and work-drained faces, he had a call.

  Oddly, the caller ID said “unknown” yet iSense hadn’t spammed it or made any suggestions. Instinct told him it must be marketing, as companies were always looking for new ways to circumvent filtering or media firewalls. Despite his suspicions, though, he rendered a smartlense and iSense’d the answer icon.

  There was no visual response. Blue sky and coral seas persisted, his default rendered background for iSense.

  “Hellooo …?” he crooned, his tone blasé. The blues had fully kicked in. He was convinced he was about to be assailed by an irritating sales pitch. He’d give them a few seconds and have some fun if they responded.

  Three.

  Two.

  “My name is Salvatore – I can help you.”

  Yep, opening sales pitch, though the voice sounded oddly flat and the call was devoid of background music. And where were the cool product images? Logan decided to hold off for a couple more seconds before dropping the call. Maybe it was a new ploy to get your attention – and it was working, dumbass. He iSense’d the call sprite over the bin.

  “GNG.”

  “What?”

  “I am in the GNG building. I can help you. I know many things about George Grist.”

  “George Grist?”

  “I know about the Guild.”

  Not again.

 
“I know about you. I know about Carrie. I know –”

  “Whoa. Back up. The Guild? And what about Carrie?”

  “Yes, the Guild, Carrie. You are in danger. Let me help you.”

  “What? Who are you? What the hell do you want …?”

  Logan’s voice was getting louder, and a couple of his fellow commuters glanced at him warily. Their faces took on a new eeriness as outside lights of the subway strobed across them.

  Logan turned to face the doors attempting to find some privacy while he waited for a response from Mr Salvatore or whoever he was. “Hello …? Hey, you there …?”

  After a long silence and in the same detached voice, the caller said, “I can see you now. You are standing next to the man in the blue Dodgers jacket.”

  Damned if he wasn’t right. Logan glanced nervously to his right and left, checking out the car’s ceiling cams. He guessed the caller had accessed the subway’s security system, tracked the car and worked out which figure Logan was amongst the confined squash of humanity. That was impressive by any means.

  The train was slowing. Logan decided to get off. The air in the car had become thick and unbreathable. His heart was racing despite the nanos. He needed space.

  “Give me a moment. I’m getting off the train at this stop.”

  Logan jumped out while checking out the people on the platform, but gave up as he had no idea who or what he was looking for.

  Could it be the Xenos again? He didn’t think this was their style as they seemed to prefer direct contact.

  “What station are you at?” the caller asked.

  “You should be able to figure that out!” If the caller could detect what car he was in, he reasoned that he must have been able to figure where the train was on the subway system.

  “You are at Saratoga. I see you now.”

  Logan glanced around frantically. There was an abundance of surveillance: in situ on the walls and ceiling, mobile in the air, and of course any of the 5th- and 6thgen robots that circulated amongst the commuters. He even looked for Button-eyes.

  He flirted with a disturbing notion. Maybe the stress of this whole affair with GNG, Dexy, Carrie, Shala, and his latest run in with his bosses was all having a detrimental effect on his mind. And he’d been popping a lot of nanos of late. Maybe there wasn’t any call and he’d completely lost it and Mama Chicken from the Padded Palace was finally coming for him.

  He wiped sweat off his brow with his arm.

  People continued to mill about, oblivious to the strange, monotonous voice in his head.

  The subway car pulled out of the station. The surge of evening commuters had temporarily thinned, giving him space to breath. Once he’d calmed, he realised he had nothing to lose by talking to this Salvatore character.

  “I’m finding somewhere we can talk more freely,” he said, heading for the stairs and exit. “Bear with me.”

  “Please hurry. I need to tell you things.”

  Logan spotted a bar across from the subway entrance, jogged over to it and slipped through the door. Inside, it was laid out like a diner. There were tall, back-to-back, red leather-look sofa seats with hammered-steel-topped tables between them, making for enclosed booths. The set-up afforded privacy of a sort, especially with the conversational buzz going on. Logan found a free booth and slid across the seat and planted himself deeply into the corner.

  “All right,” he said, keeping his voice low, “start talking, convince me you are my friend.”

  “I cannot see you now.”

  Logan raised his eyes in despair. “Is it necessary to see me? Can’t we just talk?”

  “Yes, but I prefer to see a face. Faces are important. Can you use your selfie-cam?”

  “No go. Now, tell me what this is about, before I hang up and junk you. Exactly who are you and who do you work for?”

  “I am Salvatore Costa. I don’t work for anyone. I was a cabbie driver.”

  “A cabbie driver? There isn’t any such thing.”

  “There was once, twenty-eight years ago.”

  Logan had a vague recollection of hailing a cab with a driver on a visit to the city with his Pops, when he was a kid.

  “Forget that. Look, you have me at a loss, Mr Costa. The only reason we’re talking is that you have dropped names and references that no one can possibly know about unless they are working in the police department – or, you’re monitoring my calls and media. Is that what you’re doing? Are you a nutcase computer freak that has hacked my accounts?”

  “Listen to me. I know about George Grist and the Guild. He wants Carrie back at all costs.”

  A human waitress came over to the table with a menu card and a small pad and pencil; a nice retro touch. Before she could get into her routine Logan asked for a black coffee and indicated that he was on a call. She neatly pirouetted and headed back to the bar.

  “Okay, go on.”

  “He wants Carrie back. The Guild is helping him.”

  “What do you think I’ve done with Carrie?”

  “I know you broke into the apartment belonging to Zane Adams and took a box with Carrie in.”

  “And how the hell do you know that?”

  “Because Emmett knows.”

  “Who is Emmett?

  “He is a member of the Guild.”

  “And how does he know?”

  “I do not know.”

  “Ah, so you don’t know everything, do you?”

  “No.”

  Logan wasn’t sure what he’d won at that point. Probably nothing. But he decided to persevere before hanging up.

  “What does George Grist want with Carrie?”

  “She knows things that could hurt him.”

  “What things?” Was he a Xeno after all, a member of Intrum, Logan wondered?

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Does this Emmett have a surname? What is he?”

  “I don’t know yet. There is so much information. I get lost in the Cloud sometimes.”

  “All right … and where do I fit in to all this exactly?”

  “I don’t know. It is another puzzle … but I like puzzles. And I want to help you.”

  “Are you a child?”

  “No, I’m sixty-four.”

  Logan had had enough. “All right, I’m about to hang up. You’ve said stuff that’s interesting. Maybe it makes sense, too. But I’ve no idea how you got the information or who you are, or what you are for that matter. No offence. The best I can do for you is get back to you later. Give me your number or contact details. Can you do that?”

  “You don’t understand. You are in danger. You are –”

  “Look, stop with this damn gloom-and-doom stuff. If you want me to trust you and get back to you, give me a means to contact you again.”

  “I do not have a means for you to call me or message me directly.”

  “Then how the hell am I speaking to you? … Look, forget I asked the question. Send a link or something, and I’ll get back to you – maybe.”

  “You are in danger. Grist wants you. Emmett wants you. You know where Carrie is. They are coming for you …”

  Logan dropped the call. The conversation had left him rattled. The entire time Salvatore Costa had spoken to him he did not alter the tone or cadence of his voice, as though it was generated. Yet even the most basic 5thgen avatars had simulated emotional content.

  A tall mug sat in front of him, steam curling upwards; he had no recollection of the waitress delivering it. The coffee was welcome, and he made himself sit for a full five minutes while mulling over the conversation, trying to apply logic. Annoyingly, he couldn’t come up with anything that made sense.

  He extracted himself from the tight confines of the booth, paid the bar and walked out. It was pouring with rain.

  Lady Fortuna was not smiling on him today.

  26

  Logan awoke, sluggishly.

  The cause lay about him in the form of discarded empty beer bottles and a pizza box. He was fully dressed
and sprawled across his couch. He hadn’t made it to the bedroom.

  He’d been jumpy for the remainder of the journey home from the diner and only relaxed when he’d rammed the deadbolts home on his front door. Now he felt foolish for letting his personal soothsayer, Salvatore, get under his skin.

  Luna appeared and, after assessing him with small talk, offered him coffee and bagels. As soon as he nodded, he heard his 5thgen maid begin prepping breakfast in the kitchen. The normality was welcome, and he decided to park the mystery of Salvatore Costa – at least for now.

  After a languid shower he pulled on some cargos and an old sweatshirt and padded across to the kitchen.

  The coffee maker was burbling away when iSense told him he had a call. He answered without launching his selfie-cam as he didn’t feel up to putting himself on display, and moved back into the lounge area.

  “Mac?”

  Logan’s lips formed a silent obscenity. It was Dorsey, looking serious and no-nonsense.

  “Yes, I’m here,” said Logan, begrudgingly.

  “There’s a patrol car coming over to pick you up.”

  “Why? What’s going on?”

  “Just a formality. Let them bring you in. I’ll see you in my office.”

  “What? Oh, all right. I’ll get myself ready.”

  “You in your apartment?”

  “Yes, like a good boy, detective.” Did Stony really think he’d be elsewhere?

  “Stay put, they’ll be there in ten.”

  Logan groaned as his resolve and mood plummeted.

  Rallying himself, he fished out his selfie-cam, released it into the air and called Diaz on her private number. She looked harassed.

  “Sorry, Diaz, but I had a call from Dorsey. Said he was sending over a car to bring me in. Have you heard any news re Adams?”

  “No, it’s been quiet all morning. You okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m good … but I’ve gotta go – need to sort myself out before they get here.”

  “Watch out for yourself.”

  “Hey, do me a favour, will you? Can you check out someone called Salvatore Costa. That’s S-A-L-V-A-T-O-R, maybe with an E, and C-O-S-T-A, I think. I’ve no idea what or who he is, but he contacted me and tried to warn me about stuff only we could know about. It was freaky. Had no idea how he was able to do that. Maybe one of Grist’s employees? And someone called Emmett, maybe linked to GNG? You got all that? Maybe the combination of those names will bring something up. Try cross-referencing with the Guild.”