And Palgrave had been calling, demanding information about the investigation, but wrapping it up in concern for his son. A concern that had only started when Five started looking into Lennie’s lifestyle choices and X-Core had thrown up a red flag that demanded that YETI take a closer look. Before that warning, Palgrave had sought no help, called in no favors, made no appeals, hadn’t even mentioned it to an intelligence head over a drink in the bar.
It was like he only started caring about his son when his son was being investigated, and it would have looked pretty strange for him not to care.
Abernathy closed his eyes and thought about what he’d been told about this investigation when Ben Hoolihan from MI5 first came to brief him on the matter. In particular, he came up with a whole bunch of questions that he should have asked about the case, if it hadn’t been for Hoolihan’s charm and lightning-fast evasions.
“I am such an idiot,” Abernathy said to himself.
The parameters of the investigation had been wrong. A “routine vetting” from Five? That’s how it had been sold to him, and he’d been duped as surely as if Hoolihan had given him a handful of magic beans. The investigation was far from routine—it was part of a deeper and more comprehensive look into the life and behavior of Victor Palgrave.
Analysis?
Joe was right.
The enemy was a powerful man in the government.
And the million-dollar question became, how high up the ladder did the conspiracy extend?
Abernathy suddenly saw what Joe meant about his contacts list. Until he knew who he could trust, he was going to have to play a different kind of game. The enemy was hidden among the people that YETI was supposed to serve, and the stakes were higher than any he’d ever played for.
His control center was down.
His team had nothing but rudimentary equipment and the ingenuity of the Shuttleworth brothers.
He had two operatives in play, and they were both teenagers. One had only just returned to duty after the traumatic death of his partner. The other was an absolute beginner, with no field experience at all.
He didn’t know who he could trust, and the case had taken so many strange turns that it covered both political intrigue and alien invasion.
For the first time in half an hour, Abernathy smiled.
Mess with us, will you? Well, here’s where we start messing back.
While Joe conferred with Abernathy, Ani took stock of her mind and body.
Physically, she was exhausted—maybe even way past exhausted. Her body ached in every muscle and joint, and her eyes were dry and scratchy and in need of sleep. She felt like her body was bent into the shape of the car seat, and wondered what it would be like to stand up again. Adrenaline was the only thing keeping her going: the fear of staying still for too long.
Like a shark, she thought grimly. I’ll die if I stop.
The horrible thing about that thought was, maybe it was true. The guys following them in the SUV hadn’t seemed particularly cautious about forcing them into an accident back there, and she had a nasty feeling that the thing one saw written on wanted posters in the old westerns—“Wanted: Dead or Alive”—might be true for Joe and her, too.
So, physically, a wreck.
Mentally, she wasn’t sure she was in much better shape. A trapdoor had opened up beneath the world she’d thought she knew, throwing away certainty, comfort, and her usual reference points, and she had been propelled into this shadowy other world full of terrifying threats. Corrupt government ministers, astronomers who were alien creatures, music that made monsters, car chases and men in black with weapons, sounds from outer space.
None of it made any sense when you tried to fit it all together.
Every new discovery threw the old ideas about what was going on out of the window.
A sound that only kids can hear? That had been a reasonable working hypothesis: adults seemed unaffected by it, so it seemed the only explanation. But Klein had heard it. And it had changed him. Changed him in a way that none of the kids at the Warhouse had been changed.
How did that make sense?
It didn’t. It simply didn’t.
Unless …
The thought hit her with the force of a physical blow, and she actually felt shaky as if reeling from the weight of the idea that had just struck her.
Unless, she thought, it’s not the same sound.
She let the idea float around for a while, looking at it from different angles, gauging its size and importance. She felt a reassuring squeeze on her arm.
Joe was off the phone and there was confusion clouding his features.
“Okay,” he said. “We are in big trouble.”
He told her what the conversation with Abernathy had revealed, and Ani listened, feeling another trapdoor giving way underneath her. She’d been aware of the existence of YETI for a few hours, had been drafted in as a deputy for a little less time, and already the organization had been attacked, exiled from its home, and was trying to find a place to regroup so that they could continue the fight.
That Victor Palgrave was caught up in all of this seemed too likely to dismiss, but how? Was he trying to secure the sound file for himself, for his own use? Was he trying to shut down the investigation? And what did he have to gain from shutting down YETI? If his concern was truly for his son’s safety, then YETI provided a way to meet that goal. Shutting it down meant that there was something else going on. Ani suspected that it was dark and dangerous and full of betrayal.
“What if he blames X-Core for the rift with his son, and this … private army he’s put together is his personal revenge squad?” Ani said, knowing it sounded like she was stretching for an explanation. But that was because she was. “He wants YETI out of the way because … well, they’re in the way.”
Joe thought it over. ”It’s better than anything I’ve got. But there’s something else here, something that we can’t quite see….”
“The sound from space—it’s the start of everything. A message sent by an alien race, captured by the Pabody/Reich radio telescope, and converted into a sound file. It’s the prime mover—the thing that everything else follows from. We need to concentrate on it.”
Joe nodded. “A sound that was substituted before it was sent out to the world. Swapped out with another sound that ruined Imogen Bell’s career. But then she goes and joins a rock band, which is incorporating the same sound from space into their music. What’s that all about?”
“We’re pretty certain that the sound received by Imogen Bell and the one sent out to the world’s authorities were different sounds, right?”
“The sound that Klein played wasn’t the one that revealed him as a monster from space, so I’d say yes.”
Ani caught a flash of something in her mind: the worms inside the music, the worms crawling in and out of Klein.
A sound that makes monsters, she thought.
And then it hit her.
Hard.
“Are you okay there?” Joe asked.
“Think differently.”
“Cryptic,” Joe said. “Think differently, how?”
“Maybe we’re looking at this thing the wrong way ’round.” The idea firmed up in her mind more with every word. “Examine the chain of events. A message is sent into space. A radio telescope following that message’s path hears something in space. What’s the assumption? Something just heard the message and answered it. Sent a message back. So what are we saying sent that message?”
“An alien intelligence. A creature out there in the depths of space.”
“Exactly. But what if it wasn’t answering our message? What if it just happened to be passing through?”
“I’d think the odds of some alien intelligence passing through the same area of space we’re monitoring would be millions to one.”
“But things that have a likelihood of billions to one happen all the time. There are so many things happening in the universe. Bear with me on this. Let’s just say t
hat, however unlikely it may be, it’s possible.”
Joe nodded.
“What do you think aliens look like, Joe?”
“Like that thing we saw back at the observatory.”
“But before you saw that? How did you picture alien life? Gray men? Green men? Daleks? Klingons? Those are just things we made up, that probably say more about us as a race than they do about what might be out there in the enormity of space. The one thing I’m sure about is that if we encounter an alien race it will be nothing like us. Nothing at all.”
“But it was human-shaped at the observatory… .”
“Was it? Really? Think of the different types of life on just this planet. From humans, to sponges, to camels, to bacteria, to wasps that lay their eggs in spiders. So much variation from just one planet.
“Now think of a completely different kind of planet. Different gravity, different air composition, hydrochloric acid instead of water, knock yourself out on the details. Just imagine a truly alien environment. Now populate it. With a variety of creatures as diverse from each other as the ones in this world. Think of the changes such an environment would create.”
“Okay. Aliens are really alien,” he said, nodding. “Really, really alien. So?”
“Did you imagine arms? Legs? Eyes?”
“Yeah.”
“But they’re the things that this planet has; it doesn’t mean that every form of life in the universe will follow the same rules.”
“Tentacles?”
“Maybe. The fact is we just don’t know. But I figure that alien life will be completely alien. Not just a different color skin, or bigger eyes, or even tentacles. Here’s the mind-blowing bit. You ready?”
Joe nodded.
“What if the alien that strayed into the path of Pabody/Reich’s transmission didn’t send a message? What if it was the message?”
“You’ve lost me.”
“Bear with me. The first thing we need to realize is that space is vast. Like, really, colossally vast. And who knows what’s out there? I got to thinking that maybe an alien would be so alien as to be unrecognizable to us as life. What if the alien was the sound? What if there’s a creature out there made of sound? What if Pabody/Reich heard it, the sound that is a creature, and only thought it was a message? Recorded it? Brought it down to Earth?”
“Hang on. What?”
Ani fished for another way to explain. “I know how crazy this sounds. But think about it. An alien that is made only of sound. A living creature composed of sonic vibrations. It could travel through space without a craft.”
“And Imogen Bell caught it?” Joe said. “The sound doesn’t create creatures, it is one. And it reproduces, just like any other creature. Oh, Ani …”
“Possible?”
“I haven’t got a clue. But that’s one truly terrifying explanation.”
They sat in silence for a while and then Ani asked the question that was on both of their minds: “So where do we go from here?”
“We need to wait until Abernathy figures things out. And we have to ditch this car. We need somewhere safe to hide.”
Ani took out her phone. “I might know a place. Give me a minute.”
000
Joe looked around the library, awed at the number of books Ani’s friend had in her house.
Gretchen had listened to the latest developments without comment, then she’d gone over to a table, retrieved the china teapot, and refilled their empty cups. She added sugar and milk and stirred, all without saying a word.
Then she sat down, looked at Ani, looked at Joe, and laughed.
The reaction was so unexpected, but somehow so perfect, that Ani and Joe joined in. It might have been borne out of hysteria, but it still felt great.
When they were done, Gretchen said, “Look, kids, you really need to make those drab lives of yours a bit more interesting.”
“I’m thinking of taking up gardening,” Joe said.
“Knitting,” Ani responded, joining in.
“Both good choices,” Gretchen said, a twinkle in her eyes. “Other high-scoring answers would have been painting fantasy miniatures, trainspotting, and Sudoku. Ready for the bonus round?”
“I’ll take ‘famous composers’ for twenty points,” Joe said.
“And I think I’ll plump for ‘MPs with a hidden agenda’ for fifty,” said Ani.
Joe had to admire the girl. Even when offered a few moments’ rest, she went straight back to the problem at hand.
Gretchen nodded and pulled out a handful of computer printouts and passed them around.
When Ani had suggested that they come here, Joe had been skeptical. By Ani’s admission, she’d only met the woman the day before, and he hadn’t expected Gretchen to be so welcoming, so sharp, and so ready to accept the story of their day with such easy charm.
Another tick in the “make Ani Lee an operative now” box, Joe thought. Good people have a habit of picking up other good people along the way, and Gretchen is great.
Joe looked at the papers he’d been handed and found a comprehensive description of the meteoric rise of one Victor Palgrave, from his humble beginnings right up to the present day, which saw him as a potential leader of the country.
Joe noted that some of the pages came from sources that required a high level of clearance, including one that suggested that Palgrave was losing traction and support within his party, and had “close ties to Aeolus,” a private security firm engaged in “questionable operations” around the globe. There was also a suggestion that his “urbane, poor-boy public image” covered a “megalomaniacal hunger for power,” and that his views took him “to a level of right-wing hysteria unmatched since the rise in Germany of one Hitler, Adolf.”
“I’m not going to ask how you got this,” Joe said, waving the sheet in the air. “I doubt that even Abernathy has seen it.”
Gretchen just gave him a sweet, innocent look.
“Speaking of your boss … has Mr. Abernathy found a place to set up an alternate command center, or do you think he’s still leading his team through the streets of our fair city, making them the best-trained homeless people in London?”
“All the usual safe houses could be compromised,” Joe replied. “I figure he’s still out there.”
“Then why don’t you invite them to our little party? We could use the company.”
“Are you sure?” Joe asked, feeling almost impossibly grateful.
Gretchen nodded. “Call him. I’ve got soup.”
They laughed and then Joe dialed the number.
Abernathy and the rest of YETI’s exiles turned up twenty minutes later and, after some quick introductions, the team got to setting up their gear around Gretchen’s house. She watched with a faint smile on her lips, and guided operations as best she could.
“My dear,” Abernathy said, “I simply cannot thank you enough for allowing this intrusion.”
“Thank Ani,” Gretchen said. “I suspect you might have uncovered a rare treasure there. She needs … guidance, though, and I’m sure that you’ll repay my hospitality by providing it for her.”
She raised an eyebrow in a schoolmarm kind of way and Abernathy nodded agreement. “Already a priority, if we ever get YETI back up and running.”
“Yeah, about that. It might be time to call in some favors,” Gretchen observed. “There must be some emergency protocols that come into play when your HQ is attacked.”
“To be honest, there isn’t a procedure to cover what we’ve just suffered.” Abernathy’s voice betrayed the personal affront that he saw YETI’s invasion as. “It was simply my own limitless paranoia that made me build an escape route, rather than a thought-out strategy. And before I make any calls, I need to figure out who I can trust.”
“I’d take Victor Palgrave off speed dial, as well as anyone who might let any information slip his way. Anyway, I know a couple of YETI agents who need some beauty sleep. Can I send them off to bed, or do I need special authorization?”
Abernathy smiled. “You have it. I really can’t thank you enough, you know.”
“If I can help out a friend and her friends, then that’s all the thanks I need.”
“Are you looking for a job?”
Gretchen laughed. “I doubt you could afford me. But I’ll help Ani out for free, whenever she needs me. Just make sure there’s a good Christmas present in it for me. And yes, I love shoes. Size eight. The higher the heel, the better.”
Abernathy smiled. “Here’s the plan: we get the team up and running, we find out what’s going on, and then …”
“And then?”
Abernathy’s face clouded over, and his eyes were dark and unfathomable.
“And then, my dear, there’s going to be hell to pay.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN: CORRIDORS OF POWER
Victor Palgrave put the phone down and stared at the wall, his teeth clenched. The voice of the chief whip of the Conservative Party was still ringing in his head, and a hundred thoughts swirled there, too.
He felt on the very edge of panic.
His party was asking questions now.
Not just the bumbling muddlers at MI5.
Not just Abernathy and his army of sociopathic whelps.
His party.
The desperate efforts he’d made to derail Five’s investigation had backfired. Instead of retreating into the background where he’d needed to remain until all aspects of his plans had fallen into place, he had found his head forced up above the parapet, and now the chief whip—the prime minister’s human-shaped pit bull—was taking potshots at it.
He took a few deep breaths and, with a supreme effort of will, squashed down the panic.
“We need to talk,” the chief whip had called to tell him. Palgrave was not naïve. The word talk was a euphemism: the party was putting him to the axe. His days in the corridors of power, on which his whole scheme depended, were numbered.
He knew in that moment that his careful planning had come to nothing.
He had run out of time.
Despair tried to fill the spaces recently vacated by panic. He had been so close! He could almost taste it! Power beyond imagining would have been in his hands, and with it he could have brought order and sanity to the country.
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