“But you’ve given me everything I’ve ever wanted. And don’t think for a moment that I don’t appreciate all of the sacrifices you’ve made for me.”
“That may be so, but I haven’t been able to give you what you needed. And this Abernathy guy sounds like he’ll be able to give you that. I’m just glad that you’re rebelling against your old dad by picking a path of law and order.”
Ani sipped her Coke and stared at the table.
“Could have gone either way,” she said.
Her dad nodded. “But it didn’t.”
They sat in silence.
“I’m going to miss you,” he said after a while, and Ani thought she’d misheard until she looked up and saw that there were tears in his eyes.
They had never been very good at expressing emotions, settling instead on showing rather than telling. If Dad was choosing to break that tacit agreement, then she thought she’d been given license to.
“Oh dad, I’m going to miss you, too. You’ve always done right by me, always looked after me. You’ve been there when I needed you and butted out when I didn’t. You made me the person I am today.”
“You’ve done that despite me, my dear girl,” he said and stared out the windows at the ripples spreading across the river.
“You do know that you’re never going to be able to cope on your own.”
“It’s certainly going to be quiet… .”
“To new beginnings,” Ani said, raising her glass.
“To new beginnings,” her dad said, and smiled.
They sat there in silence for a few moments, letting the whole thing sink in.
“You were right. It is weird,” her dad said.
Joe arrived at the building and experienced a mild feeling of déjà vu because it was another place you needed to be looking for to find. But, unlike the Pyramus Club where he’d met up with Victor Palgrave, this place didn’t even have a little brass plate to confirm its identity.
Some places are built for secrets.
Not ordinary secrets like a lie told, an object hidden, or a lover betrayed; but deep, dark secrets that could—Abernathy assured him—topple governments.
It was a tall piece of nineties architecture hidden away among the loft apartments, restaurants, pubs, and clubs of Clerkenwell, and if you didn’t know what was inside, you probably wouldn’t believe what was inside.
Joe rang the buzzer and was greeted by a young man in a white coat. He looked like a nurse or a doctor if you ignored the concealed earpiece, the weapon bulge on his belt, and the cold, dead eyes through which he surveyed the world.
“Joe, right?” the man asked pleasantly.
Joe nodded.
“Can I see some ID?”
Joe handed over his card and the man studied it carefully before handing it back.
“Excellent. Follow me.”
He led Joe to the elevator that was the sole way out of the building’s foyer. There were two levels of security just to work the elevator. It took an ID card and a twelve-digit code to open it. The man ushered Joe inside and pressed the button for floor six. There was a flash as he did so and Joe nodded, impressed.
Three levels of security.
A fingerprint scanner was built into the elevator buttons.
“You have temporary clearance for floor six,” the man said. “It expires in an hour, and it’s non-extendable.”
“Meaning I have to be back down here in an hour.”
The man nodded.
The doors closed between Joe and the man and the elevator started climbing.
On the sixth floor the doors opened and Joe stepped out. A row of blue lights lit up in the floor and Joe followed them down a white corridor to a door at the end.
Its illumination led to two doors that clicked open as he arrived outside them.
“I’ll try door number one,” he said, and pushed it open.
Inside was a bed, a dressing table, a shelf with books, a wide-screen TV and, on a chair in the middle of the room, Imogen Bell. She was reading a big fat book with no identifying marks and looked up when Joe entered. She closed the book, but not before Joe saw a mind-boggling collection of equations.
Light reading, then.
“Hi. It’s good to meet you at last,” he said. “My name’s Joe Dyson. I thought we should have a little talk.”
“The secret agent kid?” Imogen said, surprising him by grinning. “It’s good to finally meet you. I … I hear I owe you …”
“Nah. It was all in a day’s work. It’s worth it to see that you’re okay. I’ve got some news for you, though. My boss said I could be the one to tell you… .”
Imogen Bell looked at him expectantly and Joe saw that there was something fragile and broken about her, as if being the repository for the alien energy had depleted her, eaten some of her natural self-confidence, some of her own life energy.
Joe could see why.
She had endured almost three years of having the alien sound living inside her; of Palgrave’s relentless experiments to weaponize the sound; then of being a slave to the dictates of the sound. Joe couldn’t imagine how that would feel. To be locked away inside your own mind while an alien intelligence called the shots. It must have been like being a prisoner inside your own body.
“I came to tell you that you’ve been exonerated. Completely absolved of all the bad press you received. I have a list of places offering you professorships of your own—Cambridge, MIT, Japan, Cornell, Princeton—and as soon as you’re cleared here, you’ll be walking into any job you want.”
He paused.
“What was it like?”
Imogen looked down at the floor. “It was like a nightmare that I couldn’t wake up from.”
“Well, the bad dream is over now,” Joe said. “And the future looks bright.”
“Why?” Imogen asked, looking up again with tears in her eyes. “Why did he do this to us? To me?”
“Victor Palgrave? Because he was insane. But you’re going to be okay. You can start again. He’s going to be in prison for a long, long time.”
They talked for a little longer, then Joe wished her well and left her to her book.
Door number two opened onto Lennie Palgrave’s room.
Lennie was sitting on his bed, gazing into empty space with a fixation that looked part terror, part despair. He didn’t seem to notice Joe coming in.
“Hey,” Joe said.
Lennie turned, his face warming. “Joe. Joe Dyson. I understand that you saved me. Is that true?”
“Not really. Maybe a little. I didn’t come here for that, though. I just came to see that you’re okay, to tell you that you’ll be out of here soon, and to say thank you.”
“Thank you?” Lennie sounded genuinely shocked. “It’s me who should be thanking you, surely? I mean that … noise … those things … they were in my head, Joe. And my dad … my own dad … put them there. If it hadn’t been for you …”
“If it hadn’t been for you, then I don’t think I’d have been able to save anyone, Lennie.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I lost a friend. A case went bad, my partner took a bullet, died, and that was it for me. I was out, Lennie. Finished. Done. Through. I couldn’t find a reason to go on. Just a whole load of excuses not to bother trying. Then another friend—you—was in trouble, and that … that brought me back from the edge of a pretty steep precipice I was learning to fall down. If it hadn’t been for you—I’d probably still be falling now. You saved me just as surely as my people saved you.”
Lennie stayed silent and they sat there while he collected his thoughts together.
Finally Lennie said, “You know the serial killer’s neighbors?”
“Huh?”
“On the news. After they catch some bad guy, usually a serial killer, and his neighbors all go on about how he was quiet, a bit of a loner, but he seemed like a nice guy.”
Joe nodded.
“My dad was never a nice guy. But yo
u are, Joe. A good guy. A good friend. If helping me helped you out, then I’m happy.”
“Let’s call it even. I’ll come see you when you get out of here, okay?”
“I’d like that,” Lennie said. “I’d like that a lot.”
“See you, then,” Joe said, got up, and started toward the door.
“They are going to let me out, aren’t they?” Lennie asked.
“Of course they are,” Joe said and left.
“Was that the truth?” Joe asked when he was out in the corridor. “That he’ll be getting out of here?”
Abernathy sucked in a breath and then said, “I think so.”
“They’re better. The creature has gone. Why are we still holding them?”
“It’s out of my hands, Joe. Certain people just want to be sure that they’re not a threat…. But I’m pushing for their release. It might take some time… .”
“This place. It’s full of people who aren’t getting out, though, isn’t it? People involved in other cases who have become … inconvenient.”
“National security, Joe.”
“I know. Doesn’t make it sting any less, does it?”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“Ani settling in at Gretchen’s?”
“Seems like it.’”
“Good. I’m taking the afternoon off.”
“You’ve certainly earned it. See you tomorrow, Joe.”
He rode the elevator down, nodded at the guard in the white coat, and then walked out onto the street.
He checked his phone and saw he’d gotten a text message while he was inside the building.
Joe. I’m so proud of you. Mom. X
He stood there for a full minute, reflecting upon how that was the nicest thing she’d ever said to him, and being unable to decide if that was a happy thought, or a tragic one.
He sent her an x back and then made his way down the street.
He’d gotten about twenty paces when his phone started ringing, and smiled when he saw the caller ID.
“Ellie. We still on for a late lunch?”
He listened for a few seconds, put his phone back in his pocket, and stepped out into the fresh air.
The sun was high, burning off any clouds, and Joe loosened his collar, looked up to the sky, and smiled again.
It was, he thought, going to be a beautiful day.
He made his way to the car he’d been issued—Abernathy’s treat, a racing green TVR—opened it up with the fob, got behind the wheel, started it up, and drove away.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
All of my books have been a team effort, even though it’s only my name that ended up on the covers. This book truly would not have been possible without the invaluable efforts of some pretty amazing people.
First up is my long-suffering wife, Fran, without whom none of this would have been possible. Or even worth doing. When I falter, she picks me up. When I’m lost, she sets me back on track. She is, quite simply, the best.
Then there’s Jon who, in a friendship spanning over three decades, has always been there for me; and is still always on hand to beta test the latest project. Words are not enough to convey the value of his friendship, which for a writer is a pretty hard thing to own up to.
Then there’s Becky Bagnell, my jewel of an agent, whose comments, suggestions and support were crucial at every stage of this book’s genesis. She helped get the book’s balance right, and never doubted, not for a second. Even the book’s title was her suggestion.
Next up is my wonderful editor, Alison Weiss, who has not only believed in this book enough to acquire it twice, but without whose polish, attention to detail and joyous enthusiasm the final product would have been a whole lot less than it is now.
I also want to take a moment to offer my heartfelt thanks to some amazing advocates for my previous books: the bloggers who have taken my works to heart and helped spread the word. It humbles me to know that you’re out there and you care enough to take the time to tell other people. I just want you to know that I truly appreciate it.
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