Sequence

by Darren Wearmouth

  Both nodded. “I’m cut,” Brian added, “but will live.”

  Jacob looked at the body on his kitchen floor.

  “Don’t you see, guys, this is evidence. Look at it. Tell me this ain’t some crazy XNA invention? It’s like a second brain or something. There’s a freaking chip in there, look!”

  Brian leaned in closer and poked at it. “It feels like there’s a structure beneath the flesh, maybe bone or cartilage. Maybe it does something to their brains, or makes them strong, like a super villain…”

  “This ain’t no comic, Brian,” Emma said. “This is real. Too real. What the hell are we going to do?”

  “Only one thing we can do,” Jacob said, placing the organ on the counter and wiping his hands on his jeans. “Bury the body, then get the hell out of here.”

  “And go where?” Brian said.

  Jacob thought for a moment. “Bri, does your friend who writes for your comic have his name or anything on your blog? He’s some kind of tech guru, right?”

  “Yeah, he builds custom computers and stuff, but for the comic he goes by a pseudonym.”

  “And what about your email? Do you have him in your contacts or anything? Basically, is there anything that can be used to trace him through you?”

  “Don’t think so. I have his phone number on my cell, but that’s it. His emails are all under his pseudonym. He prefers to keep his artistic endeavors separate from his tech job.”

  “You know where he lives?”

  Brian nodded. “His parents got him a place in New York.”

  “Good, looks like we’re visiting the Big Apple,” Jacob said.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  4 p.m., Day 2, Tacoma

  Devereaux’s Gulfstream jet taxied onto the runway of Tacoma Narrows Airport.

  Gray peered out of the window at the tree-lined field on the right.

  Tensions still ran high after the meeting. Devereaux had traveled to the airport in a separate car, and since boarding, nobody had spoken. Taking advantage, Gray decided to enjoy the last few quiet moments before the inevitable eruption.

  He sighed and looked around the cabin, wondering how many hours went into building the plane. How much effort to create something that ultimately only benefitted the extremely rich members of society—like Devereaux.

  The lush cabin contained four large, comfortable cream leather seats, two on each side, one behind the other, a polished mahogany screen door separating them into two distinct cabins. Michael sat in the front compartment with Devereaux. Merriweather sat in the back, next to Gray.

  The engines roared, pulling Gray back in his seat. The plane shot along the runway and left the ground, making his stomach lurch before settling.

  Once the plane gained altitude, the seatbelt signs flicked off with a bleep. Devereaux unbuckled, leaping out of his seat to face Gray as he bundled into the rear cabin.

  “That was a total fuck-up. What the hell are you playing at?”

  “You really ought to work on your vocabulary, Quentin,” Gray said.

  “Don’t get funny with me, Gray. We’re on the brink of collapse here.”

  Gray leaned into the aisle and nodded towards a fridge at the front of the cabin. “Get yourself a drink and calm down. This is just a minor setback.”

  Devereaux rolled his eyes. “Fine. You want anything?”

  “Whiskey, neat.”

  The investor walked back into the front cabin and opened the fridge “We haven’t heard from any of the foreign investors yet. I may as well drown my sorrows.” He jerked his head across the aisle toward Michael. “Does he want anything?”

  “Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

  “I’m fine,” Michael said, not looking up. He frowned at his laptop screen.

  Devereaux turned to Merriweather. “Wine, Tanya? I’ve got a nice bottle here.”

  “No, thanks,” she said.

  He placed it back and leaned against the cabin. His hair was out of place, his tie loosened. Gray could tell the stress was getting to him. It always did with his kind when money was on the line. It was the same with the bean counters at the university.

  When he’d needed the funds to really push the XNA-BCI research, they’d wrung their hands, cited risk assessments and tied the whole project up in red tape. They put his research back years. Still, the private sector had a much more fluid nature of funding. It was just a shame he had to deal with people like Devereaux to get access to it.

  A means to an end, he reminded himself, and the end wasn’t far away—for either of them.

  Gray pulled a tablet out of his laptop bag and switched it on.

  Connecting to the plane’s wireless network, he pressed on the XNA icon. The screen split into four boxes. Data streamed through three. Gray selected the fourth box and scrolled through the static reports. He viewed the abrupt location detachments of Red and Blue. The timestamps matched the instructions. It was a shame they didn’t get out, but that was just collateral and to be expected.

  After reading the final report about the other eighty percent of his breakout team, he shot a glance across to Michael. “Unit B’s offline.”

  “It was a forced shutdown, not a detachment,” Michael said, then punched the seat in front of him. “I’m going to sort this out personally.”

  “Wait until we get back before making any hasty decisions. It might just be a BCF.”

  Merriweather looked at Gray. “What’s a BCF?”

  “Nothing for you to worry about.”

  She nervously smiled and returned to reading some pathetic gossip magazine.

  “No, it’s not a failure,” Michael said with an edge to his voice. “Have a look at the comms log. It’s still signaling, but independently. It’s been… taken out.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He twisted the screen around. “See for yourself.”

  Gray unbuckled and stepped across the aisle. Michael pointed to two sections of data with his middle and index fingers.

  “Here and here. You can see the forced detachment, which on its own could mean anything. But look at the second part. There’s a location update and the coordinates have changed.”

  “Could it be a network malfunction? It’s impossible that it might have started working independently of the unit while still in place.”

  “Not a chance,” Michael replied as he clenched his right fist and gritted his teeth.

  Devereaux returned with two glasses, passing one to Gray. “Here you go. What’s up with him?”

  “Just a few technical issues, Quentin.”

  “More problems? Jesus, Gray, what is it with you and your guard dog? Can’t you two handle anything properly? Just what the hell are you doing with all my money?”

  “Show some damned respect,” Gray said, fighting to hold his temper.

  “Respect? It’s my millions that are going down the drain.”

  “You’re going to end up with a lot more than you bargained for,” Michael said.

  “What’s that supposed to mean? Is he threatening me?” Devereaux snapped at Gray.

  “Don’t be so dramatic. He’s just as keen as you that our project is successful. Sit down and have your drink. When we show the world what we have to offer, there’ll be little resistance. You can trust me on that.”

  “It’s just more words, Gray. Words, words, words. If it’s not technical drivel, it’s your lofty promises. I need to see a return on investment. At the moment all I see is a disaster.”

  Merriweather looked over the back of her seat. “We’ve got an email from the Russians. They want you to call them, Dr. Gray. They say they’ve been trying to get in touch since yesterday evening.”

  Gray pulled his smartphone from his inside jacket pocket. “Four missed calls with a plus seven prefix, and a voicemail message.” He thrust it towards Devereaux. “There you go; does that look like interest?”

  Devereaux’s eyes lit up. “Listen to the message. Find out what they want.”

  “There’s
no signal up here,” Michael said. “Get the pilot to drop to under ten thousand feet.”

  “Can’t you connect to the onboard roaming service?”

  “No. I’ve tried a few times.”

  Devereaux made his way toward the pilot’s door but stopped and turned back. “Why did they phone you? I’m the business contact.”

  “Does it matter?” Gray said.

  He shook his head, knocked on the pilot’s door, and entered the cockpit.

  Gray looked at his COO and nodded.

  Michael closed his laptop screen and sat back as Devereaux returned to his seat.

  “We’re just off the coast and there’s no traffic around; the pilot’s taking us down to seven thousand feet. He reckons we’ve got no chance of a signal, though,” Devereaux said.

  “It’s a satisfactory height,” Michael said.

  “We’ll see.”

  Michael jerked up.

  Gray shook his head and gave him a warning look.

  The jet lowered and Gray felt his ears pop as the plane descended. He viewed the distant coastline before checking through the reports on his tablet again. He comforted himself with the fact that the contingency plans more than covered the casualties. Gray had planned for a sixty percent attrition rate. At the moment, the XNA operational field team was at twenty.

  “Have you got a signal?” Devereaux said.

  “Not yet, just be patient,” Gray replied. He looked across to Michael, nodded, then whispered, “The two from Portland are moving. I think it’s time you sorted out your differences with Devereaux.”

  Michael stood up and walked toward Devereaux by the fridge.

  “Sit down, Lurch, I don’t remember giving you permission to go through my fridge.”

  “I don’t want wine, Mr. Devereaux,” Michael said, taking off his jacket.

  “On second thought, you look like you could do with a drink. Loosen up for once. You’re always so uptight.”

  Gray leaned into the aisle and watched Michael lay his jacket down, then advance towards the investor’s seat with a predator’s focus to his eyes.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Devereaux shouted.

  “Uptight? I’ll show you how I loosen up, Quentin.”

  Devereaux leaned around his chair. “Gray, sort your gorilla out. I want him fired right this damned minute. I never want to see this lunatic’s face again.”

  “You’re out, Quentin,” Gray said.

  “What do you mean? My money—”

  “Will be put to the best possible use. I can assure you of that.”

  With that, Michael closed the door separating the two cabins. Gray switched on some music, using the control panel on the arm of his seat. The sound of Bach came out of the speakers, filling the cabin and making Merriweather jump.

  She looked up at Gray with fear in her eyes.

  “Sorry, Tanya, I didn’t mean to scare you with the sudden music.”

  “Oh, it’s quite all right,” she said, raising her voice, looking at the closed door and then back to her magazine, concern etched across her forehead.

  From beyond the door that separated the two cabins, Gray could hear sounds of a struggle. Something banged against the door, but the sounds of the music hid it well. Merriweather hadn’t realized what was happening. Gray pictured Devereaux’s face, the expression of shock as Michael did what he did best.

  After a further couple of minutes of thumping and hushed tones, the door opened.

  Michael walked through, readjusting his tie. He leaned in to Gray and whispered, “It’s done.”

  “Get rid of him,” Gray whispered in reply.

  Michael nodded and returned to the front cabin, closing the door behind him. When he returned a minute later, Gray’s ears popped with the pressure change. He raised an eyebrow in silent question. Michael nodded and retrieved a whisky from the fridge, draining a shot in a single gulp. He brushed the creases from his shirt and replaced his jacket.

  “I never liked him,” Michael said as he sat back down in his seat.

  Merriweather looked up from her magazine but said nothing.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  4 p.m., Day 2, Alaska

  It took Jacob longer to dig the grave than he’d thought. Luckily, the other trailers didn’t overlook his small patch. They ran in a line to either side, but the neighbors to the left weren’t in, and Old Mary never left her armchair. Her yard was overgrown with weeds and God knows what else.

  His body was bruised and aching, but along with the help of Emma and Brian, they soon dug a five-foot-deep hole. He wondered how far down one of the neighborhood dogs would dig if it got a scent of the body.

  “Do you think it’ll decompose like a real human?” Jacob asked Brian.

  “I couldn’t say. It bleeds like one. You can see already where the blood has pooled. The skin seems real too. As far as I can tell, and I’m no doctor, it’s entirely organic, so would probably decompose.” Brian’s face was pale and he looked away. “This is crazy,” he muttered.

  Emma brought out three glasses of water. In a hushed voice she said, “Seriously, we’re burying a body now, that’s nuts. I know it’s said that if you’re someone’s best friend you’d help them bury a body, but I never thought I’d actually have to do it.”

  “Don’t think of it as real,” Jacob said. “Remember that thing from its head. This ain’t no human. It’s one of Gray’s sick inventions. That photograph don’t seem so ridiculous now, does it?”

  “I guess not… Seems like one of our conspiracy theories is true after all.”

  “Isn’t that what you always wanted?” Jacob asked.

  “I suppose it was,” Brian said, taking a sip of the water, “but I never expected it to be… this. Alien technology in Area 51? Yeah, I could go with that. A cabal of old families running the world? I guess that’s already pretty much accepted these days. But cloned, enhanced humans? It’s… difficult to comprehend.”

  Jacob patted his friend on the back and said, “Thanks for having my back in there, Bri. And you, Em. I thought the bitch was going to run me through the neck.”

  “We had to do it,” Brian said. “But let’s hurry up, this is freaking me out.”

  Emma kept watch while Jacob and Brian hauled the body out of the trailer and dumped it in the hole. It hit the ground and stared up at them. For a brief moment Jacob thought those eyes would blink and its arms would pull it up out of the grave.

  Even though he knew ‘she’ wasn’t real, it still hit him that he’d killed it. Or more accurately, deactivated it, and was now burying it.

  He felt like some kind of incidental killer. One of those people who fight back against a home intruder, killing them, and then realize they’re just a kid or something.

  “She’s not real,” Emma said as though she could read his thoughts. She placed an arm over his shoulders. “You had no choice, Jakey. It was her or us.”

  “I know. It’s just… this shit is escalating fast, and it’s my own damn fault. What if you or Bri got badly hurt or killed because of my obsession with Gray?”

  “Hey,” Brian said, “enough of that talk. We’re in this together. All we need to do is unencrypt that data, figure out what the organ thing is, and we’ve got a case against Gray. We’ll be able to go to the feds with this. Hell, we could even be famous for exposing this. We’re doing the country, and the world, a service here, we’re like—”

  “We’re not superheroes, Bri. Well, you and Em might be, but I’m just a stupid guy who’s dabbled with things way beyond his reckoning.”

  “Are we gonna stand around an open grave all day? Can we bury this bitch?” Emma grabbed the shovel from Jacob’s hands. “Seriously, dude, cut the guilt bullshit. We’re doing the right thing here. You did the right thing.”

  Jacob agreed and shoveled faster. Their flight was in less than eight hours.

  Brian had phoned ahead and got Phillip’s address. Jacob just hoped Phillip wouldn’t freak out when he heard the whole sto
ry. All Phillip knew was that some friends of a friend he once met at a convention were coming to visit with some new piece of technology for him to have a look at. Even just listening to Brian chat with him, Jacob knew Phillip didn’t sound too convinced.

  Well, when he saw the device, he’d certainly know what they were saying was true.

  ***

  1:33 a.m., Day 3, Anchorage International Airport, Alaska

  Jacob tipped the taxi driver five dollars after he helped remove their luggage from the trunk of his car. A dozen other cabs were parked in a special bay outside the airport.

  Pale yellow lights bathed the entrance in a warm glow.

  The night had brought a chill with it. The various passengers were wrapped up in thick coats and scarves, no doubt heading somewhere warm for their spring break vacation.

  A part of Jacob wished that he too were going somewhere warm, somewhere he could forget all this madness and just relax by the sea, drinking cocktails.

  “Okay, kids, have fun,” the driver said, slamming the trunk closed and getting back into his car. He didn’t even say goodbye before he drove off into the night. Brian had chatted his ear off the entire way, and the driver was clearly eager to get away and get another job for the night.

  Watching the cab drive off gave Jacob a sense of finality. There was no going back; they were really doing this, going further into the conspiracy. It had already started out with a high level of threat—it could only get worse before they had enough evidence to back up their claims.

  He wondered then if burying the body had been such a good idea. If a coroner examined the body, would they understand the wound at the back of her neck? Would they understand that it wasn’t a real human? Emma’s words broke him out of his thoughts.

  “I’ve never been to New York. I’m strangely excited, despite everything,” she said. “And you seem excited too, Bri. That poor driver never got a word in the whole way here.”

  “Just nervous,” Brian said, giving Jacob a look. “I chat when I’m nervous. I’m not much of a flying fan. Lots of things can go wrong: terrorists, sabotaged engines, then there’s the birds.”