“Quite the irony, is it not?” he said. “People like you are more like unthinking robots than the synthetics I create. You deny who you are. You think the world cares about you, Tanya? You think the world gives one damn about your dreams and goals? You’re krill in an ocean of bigger, more vicious, more in-tune species.”
“I don’t understand,” she said, wiping away the tears. “Why are you doing this to me?”
Gray smiled, picking up the desk telephone. “Michael, come to my office, please. I need you to conduct an exit interview.”
Merriweather’s eyes widened. “Mr. Murphy? No, God no… Please, Dr. Gray— “
“It’s company policy. In the meantime, sit.”
The synthetic pushed her forward and forced her down by her shoulders until she sat in the office chair. Gray spun around to face the rear wall, upon which hung an LCD TV.
“While you wait for your exit interview,” Gray said, “I’ve got something I’d like to show you. Have you seen the news today?”
She shook her head, and Gray leaned forward to switch the TV on. It was tuned to CNN.
Merriweather watched the live CNN stream as Gray monitored her reaction.
The presenter recapped what they knew of events.
“A man dressed as a policeman is reported to have gone on a rampage today in Manhattan, killing over a dozen people. He is currently under arrest for the homicides. Some of his victims were killed in an apartment block, and a further death was witnessed at a ferry dock.”
The program cut to an eyewitness: “It was crazy, the guy was like the Terminator, throwing people out of the way. He wasn’t human, man.”
The presenter introduced some smartphone camera footage that had already appeared on YouTube. Initially the pictures were shaky. People were shouting and screaming. The camera focused on a man in uniform. He stared straight forward, thrusting his arms out at anyone who stood in his path. And then the killing. Quick, efficient.
Merriweather placed her hand over her mouth. Gray detected the recognition in her eyes. She should recognize the synthetic, he thought, his model was standing right behind her.
Gray surveyed Merriweather’s expression of growing horror.
“That’s evolution, Tanya. Right there you’re seeing the krill swept up by the whale of progress. You could have been a part of that. You could have been with us, shared in our vision, our future. A tide is coming, Tanya. The wave of advancement will sweep away everything and bring with it a new dawn.”
“Please… Dr. Gray, I… I…” Tanya dropped her head into her hands. Her shoulders bucked as she sobbed.
Michael appeared in the doorway.
“Is she ready?” he said.
“I believe she is. If you would do the honors, Michael. Make it quick. Miss Merriweather is eager to leave us.” Gray snipped the head off a match and watched the color drain from Merriweather’s face.
“No, no, please, not this. I didn’t do anything; I won’t say anything, just let me go. I won’t say anything, oh God, no.”
Michael stepped into the office and lifted Merriweather up from her seat by her arms. She tried to fight back, but Michael gripped her shoulders until she screamed and fell to her knees.
“Get up,” Michael said. “Show some dignity.”
Pulling her up, he, along with the synthetic, led her toward the door.
Michael looked back, his eyebrow raised in question.
“Do it,” Gray said, dismissively waving them away.
Michael dragged Merriweather out of the office. She stumbled alongside him and shrieked as he closed the door. Gray heard muffled protests outside, eventually fading to silence along the corridor. He shook his head and started to prepare another match for the model ship.
***
Gray held a magnifying glass over a smooth piece of oval-shaped wood; it was slightly bigger than his thumbnail and was painted gold around the edge. The masthead didn’t have to be perfect, he thought, not at this scale. He dabbed a small brush through the blue paint on his palette and started creating an inner circle.
“Yes, that’s right. Now you’re coming alive.”
Three sharp knocks rang from the other side of his office door. He dropped the paintbrush and magnifying glass and sighed.
“Come in.”
Michael entered the office, carrying a clipboard under his left arm. He faced Gray and straightened his tie with his right hand.
“Is it done?”
“It is.”
“Good. I’d say the decision to leave was mutual consent. We don’t need her for the next part of the plan.”
“Technically, she’s staying in the company.”
“I don’t want to know the details, as long as the situation is no longer an issue.”
“There’s one other thing you should know. A friend of hers has just turned up down the road. I thought it would be prudent to make sure they were together.”
Gray drummed his fingers on the table, momentarily closing his eyes. “That’s unfortunate, but as Devereaux would say, you can’t make an omelet without breaking eggs. How are the network changes coming?”
“They’ve been successfully completed. We’ll be in position in three hours, and Unit A is standing by for next orders.”
“And the secondary assault. They’ve been fully briefed and ready to go?”
“They’re ready.”
“Good, good. When we strike, it needs to be decisive, final. When they wake up, they need to see our foot on their throat.”
Gray picked up his stress ball and started pumping it.
Michael looked at his clipboard. “I’m heading into town for that other business with Jacob Miller.”
“He’s like a gnat. Buzzing around, making a nuisance of himself. Make sure he no longer presents a problem as we move ahead.”
“That’s guaranteed. By the way, we’re all packed up in the warehouse. When are you planning to have us leave?”
“That depends on where Hatfield’s group will want to take us. Wait for my further instructions.”
“Very well,” Michael said, leaving the office.
Gray picked up the brush and magnifying glass. He focused the glass on the masthead and completed the blue circle. He smiled to himself as he sat back in his chair, folding his arms behind his head.
Despite a few bumps along the way, he felt confident about executing the next stage of his plan. He didn’t mind so much that he had to change a few elements around. Kept him sharp, intrigued. Kept him focused.
CHAPTER TWENTY
2:00 p.m., Day 3, Eastern Washington Airspace
Zoe felt every rattle and bump as the C130 transporter headed toward XNA Industries’ Alaskan facility. And worse, she had three more hours of it. Three more hours of listening to Cooley drone on with the tactical squad about his various missions.
Cooley was leaning over a bored-looking blonde woman. Lisa Gallant, one of the tactical squad who, along with the other six members, had introduced herself earlier. The squad joked around with each other. Seemed to have a close bond. Zoe wondered just how much work they did for the director, and the nature of it. They resembled military vets, people who had seen combat and grown accustomed to it.
Lisa stifled a yawn, but that didn’t deter Cooley.
“So this Mexican drug lord had me cornered in his villa,” Cooley was saying, “and the next thing I know the guy empties his gold-plated Desert Eagle. I caught a bullet in the face before returning fire. I just had a single round in the H&K. Despite his cousins swarming the place, I kept my cool and took him out with a headshot.”
“Bullshit,” Zoe said, not even trying to hide the boredom in her voice. She’d heard this ridiculous story a dozen times in the last week alone. She knew exactly how Cooley got the scar on his face.
“Oh?” Lisa said, now paying attention. “What did happen?”
“He was dicking around on the firing range. The bullet ricocheted, grazing his face. He was back at work within two
days.”
Lisa and the rest of the squad burst out laughing. Cooley’s face went the color of a smacked ass. He shot her daggers. “Laugh it up, Vega. Keep it going.”
Zoe gave him a smirk and looked away. Why did the director have to team her with such a buffoon? The guy was a liability.
His cell rang and for the next five minutes he spoke in hushed tones, his back to everyone near the rear of the plane. When he came back and sat in his seat, he said nothing. Just wore a stern expression on his face.
“Who was it?” Zoe asked. “Anything important?”
“None of your fucking business, Vega. Just keep your mind on the mission.”
A further hour into the flight, Zoe felt herself slipping into a light sleep. She stood up, stretched her legs. It was her turn to receive a call. The director.
She answered.
“Vega, I’ve got an update on Devereaux.”
“Where is he?”
“Washington State.”
“Okay. Is everything all right?”
“He’s dead. A fishing trawler brought his body in with one of their nets. He had his ID on him. Looks a real mess. Nasty wound to his neck. Seems he was murdered.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that, sir. I know he was a friend of yours.”
“Yes. Well. At least I know now. I’ll inform his family. But this tells us something new.”
“You think Gray has something to do with this?”
“I don’t think it’s any coincidence that his body was caught between Alaska and Tacoma. The initial report suggests he’s been dead for a day. Shortly after he left the meeting with you he was killed and dumped in the sea. And we know that Gray, Murphy, and Merriweather were heading back to Alaska on that very route.”
“Does this change anything?” Zoe asked.
“No, it just makes their arrest and detainment even more important. Get them to the Montana compound and get to the bottom of this. I’m counting on you.”
Zoe pocketed her cell and tried to ignore the queasy feeling in her guts. This was escalating too fast. Too many things to consider, and her only real ally, Cooley, was spending more time sulking and fiddling with his notebook than focusing on the task at hand.
Still, this could be the making of something, she thought.
If it went to plan. If.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
2:30 p.m., Day 3, NYPD Broome and Pitt St.
The prison-issue coffee tasted like dirt. Worse than instant. Jacob pushed the Styrofoam cup away from him, looking at the door. Shadows passed underneath. Each time he expected an inspector or some sergeant to come in and charge him for the XNA break-in and the murder of Miss Clipboard, plus whatever other charges they’d lump on him.
He assumed Emma had been taken to another interrogation room. Or ‘interview’ room as the officer had called it, yet it still had a microphone and recorder in the middle of the desk. The sleek black device with its series of speaker grooves waited, ready to record his confession.
Arrested for fleeing the scene of a crime, they said. Wanted to ask him about the murders and assaults at Phillip’s apartment building. They’d confiscated his backpack.
It wouldn’t be long before they found the biochip, the USB drive, and some of the paperwork he’d brought with him, most of which referenced Julian Gray. How could he explain all that? But the paperwork covered his research into Steven going missing. Despite the fake reports and photos of him travelling, neither Jacob, his other friends or even Steve’s family had heard from him. Perhaps he could finally get someone to take him seriously about that.
Other than that, he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep quiet about the synthetic he’d murdered and buried. They were probably digging it up right now. But then it wasn’t a real person, so he couldn’t be held for murder, surely. He wondered what story Emma was giving them. Was she trying to cover for him? What if she—
The door opened.
Two women came in, both wearing matching gray trouser suits with white ID cards attached to their lapels. Feds. They were onto him.
One held a plastic bag containing his backpack and cell. A plainclothes inspector or detective followed in behind, his bearded face reddened, his tie loosened and hanging at an angle.
“Hey,” the man said, reaching for one of the women’s arms. “You can’t just barge in here and take over my investigation. I don’t care who you’re—”
The elder of the two women turned and brushed his hand from her arm. “NSA, Detective McCain, this is our jurisdiction now. We’ve already spoken to your lieutenant. This case is now a matter of national security.”
“National security?” the man said, his eye twitching. “You’re joking, Agent Marsh.” He reached out for an arm and pulled her back. “I’ve had a goddamned madman run through the middle of my neighborhood, killing and assaulting anyone who got in his way. With his bare hands! Who the hell does that? And this one was right in the center of it all. You think you can just take him out of here without my questioning him first? I don’t think so, NSA or not.”
The agent spun round, freeing her arm. “You touch me again, McCain, and I’ll have you up for assault. Now go speak with your lieutenant.”
The two stood almost nose-to-nose, staring each other down like a pair of predators fighting over a kill. McCain’s face puffed; he opened his mouth before he closed it again, then turned away and slammed the door behind him.
The younger woman, Agent Bradley according to her ID badge, approached Jacob and put her hand on his shoulder. “You’re coming with us.”
“Where’s Emma?”
“She’s waiting outside.”
“And where are you taking us? Some shady place off the grid perhaps? Quantico? Gitmo?”
“That information is classified, Mr. Miller.”
Agent Marsh stepped closer. Gripping his shoulder, she whispered into his ear, “If you so much as breathe without my say-so, you can kiss goodbye any hope of getting out of this. Do you understand me, Mr. Miller?”
Jacob nodded his head and felt his neck prickle with heat. He had visions of the feds taking him to a filthy torture room in Gitmo. Or worse. Who knew how far these agencies would go these days? Jacob had read some horrific stories online.
His legs suddenly felt too heavy.
The two agents grabbed him under the arms and hauled him toward the door. He shrugged them off and walked by himself. When they stepped outside, he briefly considered making a run for it, finding Emma, but right there, two huge men in similar gray suits were waiting. They too wore ID patches on their lapels. All they needed were sunglasses and they’d be your typical governmental ‘Men in Black.’ Or gray, as the case may be.
Agent Marsh headed off down the corridor. Bradley took Jacob’s elbow and followed after her. The two MIGs stepped in behind them.
Jacob’s guts clenched as they marched him out of the police station. All the time he was looking for Emma. She couldn’t be far.
A silver SUV waited outside, the rear door open. Marsh and Bradley got in the front. Bradley took the wheel and fired the ignition. The MIGs bundled Jacob into the back and got in on either side of him.
He jumped when the doors slammed.
The engine roared and they sped off into the New York streets. Another silver SUV pulled up behind them. He wondered if Emma was in that one.
“Where’re we going?” Jacob asked, his voice croaky and shaking with fear.
Marsh turned round and peered over the seat. “To a compound. It seems you’re quite involved with XNA Industries, Mr. Miller. Seems like you’ve got some explaining to do.” She held up his backpack. It was open and he could see they’d collected the chip and paperwork.
“I… well, yes, but—”
Marsh shook her head. “Save it for the interrogation.” She gave him a look that almost dared him to speak, but he remained silent and tried to ignore the growing twitch in his leg and his racing heartbeat.
With the two enforcers on either si
de of him, crushing him between them, and the tight confines of the car, he could feel his grip on staying calm dissipate as the claustrophobia took over.
He wondered then if they knew he was claustrophobic and this was just a way of softening him up for whatever might come next.
He thought of Emma, hoping she was okay. What could they want with her? He was the one who had broken in and stolen the data and took the chip from the synthetic.
The car headed away from the city sprawl and joined a freeway. He noticed they were following the signs for LaGuardia Airport.
Oh God, we’re leaving the country, he thought. Gitmo!
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
8 p.m., Day 3, XNA Industries, Alaska
Julian Gray squinted, peering through a microscope at a thin slice of kidney. He pulled at it with a pair of tweezers. “Interesting.”
He scribbled notes on a pad, stood and left the lab. Gray was pleased with himself that the stress tests on the latest versions of XNA organs were going well.
In the kitchen area, he snapped off his plastic gloves, dropped them in a recycling station and looked down at his white coat.
He tutted as he pulled at a loose thread on the embroidered name above his breast pocket.
Gray grabbed a bottle of mineral water from the fridge and walked to a sitting area at the far end of the kitchen. Nobody could accuse him of having an unpleasant work environment. He listened to the soothing music of Giovanni Palestrina quietly playing through a group of four mini-speakers fixed to the wall at regular intervals. He unscrewed the bottle and sipped the water.
The door opened. A security guard’s head appeared around it.
“Doctor, there’s a call for you on line two.”
“Thank you; I’ll take it in here.”
The guard nodded. Gray turned to a phone attached to the wall, lifted the receiver and pushed ‘2.’
“Dr. Julian Gray,” he said.
“It’s Michael. The NSA guys are here. Our lookout saw them land. They’re approaching in three black vans.”
“How long have we got?”
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