“We’ll go to Austin, but only to find out more. We’re not committing to anything. OK?”
“That’s understood. But don’t worry about it,” Mervin says with a smile. “We’re going to have a great time. There’s no need for you to worry about a single thing.”
CHAPTER 5
“JESUS CHRIST!” STEWART SLAMS HIS FOOT against the brake pedal and the Land Rover grinds to a halt, gravel popping and crunching beneath the tires. A plume of fine, white dust spirals up into the air and drifts into the beam of his headlights. And there, standing in the middle of the road, a trio of black-faced sheep stare at him for fully three seconds before walking slowly away and climbing up onto the bracken covered bank that borders the narrow strip of tarmac.
Stewart stares after the retreating creatures in disbelief. “Now that’s something you don’t see in New York,” he murmurs. He takes a steadying breath and looks out the Land Rover’s window. Out here, away from all artificial illumination, the first hint of the sunrise tinges the bleak landscape with a touch of cool blue. The Yorkshire Dales stretch out into the distance in every direction: a rolling expanse of dark moorland punctuated by the stark, shadowy outlines of savage escarpments. A month earlier, the moor was blanketed by purple heather, and even in the short summer nights, there was a welcoming quality to the gentle hills and valleys. But now that autumn is here, the moor is already taking on the desolate beauty that will cloak the landscape’s gentle folds in deceptive shadows. And later, when autumn dwindles and the long northern winter has the place in its grip, every frost-crisped path will become a trap for the unwary and the unprepared. And high up amidst this forlorn landscape, tucked away behind the escarpment known as Breakneck Ridge, is his destination: Northridge House, the international training center run by the Downlode Trust.
I should have known those bloody sheep would be all over the place, Stewart tells himself. The sun warms the tarmac during the day, and where the road winds through the open moor, it makes an attractive place for the local sheep to spend the increasingly chilly nights. Stewart puts the Land Rover into gear and resumes his journey, and though it irks him to waste any time, he takes the bends a little slower.
Soon, Stewart nears the training center, and the road descends into a narrow gorge, blocked by a security barrier. At each side of the barrier, the jagged rocks rise up almost vertically, and above, Stewart can just make out the edge of the tall perimeter fence that stretches around the Northridge site. This is the just one of the layers of security he must pass through before he arrives at Northridge House; it is not the first, and it is by no means the last.
Stewart glides his Land Rover to a smooth stop at the barrier and checks the clock on his dash. He’s made good progress, and he has time to spare if he wants to follow Brunner’s instructions and take a rest. But he’s not in the mood for a nap. If Brunner says there’s trouble brewing, then as the Trust’s head of operations, Stewart needs to know exactly where the problem lies. If he uses his time carefully he can make a few inquiries, and with a bit of luck, he’ll be able to give himself a head start and arm himself for his meeting with Brunner.
He drums his fingers on the steering wheel as he waits. At times like this, when the air is clear with no wispy trails of gentle mist, the beams of light washing over his vehicle are invisible, but the row of lights blinking along the barrier show that the scanner is doing its job. The barrier is usually unmanned, and while its systems scan the Land Rover, Stewart concentrates on the pass phrase he needs to gain access. His vehicle hasn’t yet been fitted with a neural interface, but the receiver in his phone picks up his thoughts and communicates automatically with the barrier. Soon the metal pole rises, and he drives through, taking the graveled track to the parking lot. As usual, he runs his eyes over the other cars present as he selects a parking space. There are a couple of new arrivals since he left for the airstrip, and both cars belong to members of the center’s security team, so it looks as though a few extra security staff have been called in overnight. What the hell is going on? What can be so important? Stewart shakes his head. The same questions have been racing through his head for the entire drive back to Northridge, and he’s no closer to finding an answer. Still, at least he’ll have beaten Stradford Brunner back to base; there’s only one road into the site, and there’s no way another car could’ve slipped past. Unless… He parks his Land Rover and jumps down, then he stands still, straining his ears. In the calm, early morning air he can just make out the distant, clattering drone of a helicopter traveling at high speed. As he listens, the sound grows rapidly louder. “I’d better get a move on,” Stewart mutters. It looks like Brunner may beat him back to the center after all. So much for having a head start.
He hurries across the lot and takes the path toward the main door. The path curves gently in parallel to the imposing parabola of the brooding Breakneck Ridge, and it leads him directly to Northridge’s courtyard, where he’s greeted by the impressive sight of the house itself. Nestling against the backdrop of the ridge, the massive mansion looks as though it’s been there forever. As dark and brooding as the landscape that surrounds it, the house’s solid stone walls are stained dark by the stinging rain, and very few of its tall windows are lit. The house is Georgian, commissioned by a self-made man named Hawksby; a merchant who’d grown rich on the trade in slaves and tobacco. Hawksby wanted to impress the landed gentry with his newfound wealth and status, and he made sure the house would make a bold statement for centuries to come.
Now, the mansion’s towering walls serve another purpose. As well as providing secure accommodation and a meeting space for the Trust’s senior staff, its impressive bulk hides the ultra-modern training complex that lies directly behind it. The center’s trio of modern, oval buildings are largely made from gleaming metal beams and tinted glass panels, and since the buildings are four stories high, without careful positioning, they would stand out like a trio of sore thumbs. To avoid undue attention, the new buildings are enclosed on three sides by Breakneck Ridge, while the hulking edifice of Northridge House gives a very different impression to anyone approaching by the road.
In fact, very few people ever lay eyes on the center, and even fewer know its true purpose. As far as public records are concerned, the center is a private college where the offspring of the rich and famous come to improve their minds while keeping well away from the prying eyes of the press.
Appearances are always deceptive, Stewart thinks wryly, and he walks a little faster. If he’s quick, he might manage a quick scroll through some of the security logs before Brunner starts throwing his weight about. But when he approaches the main entrance to Northridge House, two men approach him, one from either side and Stewart slows his pace. Clad in dark suits, the men move like panthers, their eyes alert to every movement Stewart makes. He keeps walking and nods to each of the men in turn. “Good morning, Gordon, Douglas.”
“Morning, sir,” the man on his left replies. Gordon is ex-special forces, and as tough as they come, but he’s also from a small town in Iowa, and unfailingly polite at all times. “You know I hate to do this, sir,” he says, “but I have to verify you before I can let you go on.”
“Of course,” Stewart says. “But can’t it wait until we get inside? It’s freezing out here and I have something important I need to be getting on with.”
The other man clears his throat. Douglas is ex-SAS and generally a man of few words. Stewart turns to face him, his eyebrows raised.
“Sorry, but this is the protocol from now on,” Douglas says. “We have our instructions, and I understand the order came from Mr. Brunner himself.”
Stewart nods thoughtfully. “In that case, we’d better get on with it.” He stands perfectly still and centers his thoughts while Gordon takes something from the inside pocket of his jacket. At first glance, it looks as though Gordon has produced his mobile phone, but the sleek gray device in his hand is so much more complicated than that. Stewart focuses his attention on the device and calls to mind hi
s secret pass phrase. Like all good passwords, it’s a complex sequence of unrelated words and images known only to him. As he allows the memorized sequence to come back to him, he concentrates on the details, seeing the images as clearly as he can.
“That’s all fine, sir,” Gordon says. “You can go on in.”
“Thank you.” He gives them a quick smile. “Well done. Keep up the good work.”
Overhead, the sound of the helicopter changes in pitch and grows even louder. “You’d better be on your toes, lads,” Stewart says. “We have a very important visitor.”
The security men glance up at the sky. Then, without a word, they walk back along the path and melt away into the shadows.
Stewart climbs the stone steps that lead up to the huge, oak front door of Northridge House, then he pauses, his hand on the door handle. After a split-second, there’s a barely audible metallic click, and the door opens, gliding smoothly on its reinforced hinges despite its massive weight. Stewart steps into the entrance hall and waves a greeting at the duty receptionist. “Good morning, Ms. Sanjay. Everything quiet?”
She gives him a puzzled smile. “I do have a first name you know, Stewart. Is Asmita so hard to remember?”
“Sorry. I’ve got a lot on my mind.”
“That’s all right, “ Asmita says. “And since you ask, I’ve only just come on duty, and everything was as quiet as the grave.” She raises her gaze toward the ceiling. “Until that helicopter arrived.”
“Ah. I’m sure you’ve guessed that someone important is about to arrive. So make sure you do us all proud, eh? Show our visitor the caliber of our final year students.”
“You can count on it,” Asmita says. “But wait a minute, you told the class your teaching rotation was over. Weren’t you supposed to be heading back to the States this morning?”
Stewart forces a neutral smile. “You know it goes. Things change. And I must go and make myself useful. We’ll catch up another time. Which reminds me, I wanted to talk to you about your last assignment.” He pauses and looks around the hall, deep in thought. His office is on the ground floor, and from there he can get direct access to all the security logs and begin some preliminary checks before his meeting with Brunner. So why did Brunner explicitly tell him to go and rest? It’s as if he’s trying to throw me off a scent, he thinks. For some reason, he wants me out the way.
“My geopolitics assignment?” Asmita asks. “Is there a problem? I thought I—”
But Stewart raises his hand to cut her off. “Nothing to worry about. I just want to go through the references in your essay. But it can wait. I must dash.” He flashes Asmita a reassuring smile, then he marches across the hall and climbs the stairs two at a time until he reaches the second floor. His private suite is just along the corridor, and though it will take him a little longer to access the security files from there, he’ll be able to work undisturbed. And unobserved, he thinks. And that could be very useful indeed.
CHAPTER 6
IT’S ONLY 8:30 ON MONDAY MORNING, but Austin is having a heatwave and the temperature is already eighty-five degrees. Rush hour is well underway, and as Hank and Mervin step out from the air-conditioned calm of their hotel, the humidity and bustle of the street wrap around Hank like a smothering blanket. He grimaces and pulls at the collar of his T-shirt; the cotton is already sticking to his skin.
Mervin, freshly showered and looking like he’s on vacation in his light-blue shirt and tan cotton pants, smiles at his son. “I hate to say this, Hank, but I reckon you might just have to take off that leather jacket.”
Hank shakes his head. “It’s only a short walk. And then we’ll be inside again.”
“All right. We’re not in a rush anyhow. They’re not expecting us for another half hour, so we’re in plenty of time.”
“Sure.” Hank pulls out his phone and studies the street map. “The place we’re looking for is the Connaught Complex.”
“Yeah, you may have mentioned that a time or three,” Mervin says. “The number of times you’ve checked the route, I reckon you could find the place in your sleep.”
“I just don’t want to waste time, all right? We’ve come all this way—we may as well do it right.”
“Fair enough.” Mervin hesitates. “We’ve had a good time already, though, haven’t we?”
Hank looks up. “Sure, Dad. The movie was awesome. And that Mexican place was pretty good too.”
“Good. I must admit, it’s been real nice to get away for a few days. We should do it more often.”
“Yeah. Definitely.”
Hank looks back to his phone, and Mervin chuckles under his breath. “OK, I get it. You want to get moving. Just point me in the right direction and I’ll start walking.”
“We head east for three blocks, take a right, then we can’t miss it from there.” Hank flashes his dad a shy smile. “I checked out some photos—the place is huge. Four buildings and all of them look pretty big.”
“You looking forward to stepping inside?”
Hank nods. “You know what? I wasn’t sure before, but now that we’re here, I’d really like to see it for myself.”
“Me too, son. Me too.” He pats Hank on the arm. “Let’s get going. We’ve got a busy day ahead of us.”
***
Outside the front entrance of the Connaught Complex, Hank stands on the baking sidewalk and cranes his neck to look up at the gleaming glass building. The walls of the building, gold-tinted windows set in a lattice of glittering metal, stretch out to either side in a majestic curve that holds Hank’s eyes and draws his eye upward. “Wow,” he whispers. “This place is huge.”
“It’s sure is something, isn’t it?” Mervin straightens his shirt. “I wish I’d worn a jacket. And maybe a tie.”
Hank looks down at his own outfit. His London Calling T-shirt has seen better days, but it’s one of his favorites and he picked it carefully; it means a lot to him, and if they don’t like it, then to hell with them. “Don’t worry about it, Dad. I don’t think it’s that sort of a deal. They’re the ones who need to make a good impression.”
Mervin nods toward the building. “In that case, they’re making a pretty good start.”
“Come on,” Hank says. “It’s too hot to stand out here. Let’s go in.”
Together, they walk toward the tall glass doors, but before they reach them, the doors open and a young woman steps out and gives them a dazzling smile. She’s tall and slim, dressed in a long, dark-blue skirt and a matching tailored jacket that emphasizes her athletic build. “Good morning,” she calls as she walks toward them, her hand extended for a shake. “You must be Hank and Mr. Settler. I’m so glad you could make it today.”
“Morning,” Mervin says and shakes her hand. “Please, call me Mervin.”
Hank takes the woman’s hand and does his best to meet her gaze. It isn’t easy; the young woman has deep green eyes, set off perfectly by her long red hair and her pale, flawless skin. “Yeah, me too,” he says. “I mean, you can call me Hank.” He frowns and makes a show of wiping his hand across his forehead. “Is it always this hot around here?”
“You get used to it, “ the woman says with a smile. “I’m Sue Derrick, a fourth-year student with the Trust. I’m your Trust ambassador and I’ll be showing you around today. So let’s go inside and get you all fixed up.” She looks at them expectantly.
“Sure,” Mervin says. “I thought we’d have to wait. We’re a little early.”
“Oh, that’s fine,” Sue says. “I remember how I felt when I was in your shoes. I think I was an hour early for my appointment. So I’ve been waiting for a while, just in case.” She flashes them another smile. “If you’d like to follow me, we’ll get the formalities over with, and then you can relax and enjoy your day.” She turns away and heads back toward the entrance.
Mervin and Hank tag along behind. Mervin is looking around, a broad smile on his face, but something is bothering Hank. He clears his throat to attract Sue’s attention, and when she d
oesn’t look around, he calls out, “You, er, you knew our names.”
Sue half turns and stops just in front of the door. “Yes, but that’s to be expected. You’ve got to remember that these candidate events are very exclusive—they’re invitation only, and every candidate has been assigned to an ambassador like me. It wasn’t hard to figure out who you were.”
Hank nods. “OK. I just wondered how you knew, that’s all.”
Sue looks as if she’s suppressing a grin. “I only have four candidates to think about and only two are male. I understand that one of the young men is flying in later today so I’m not expecting him just yet. I made an educated guess, that’s all.” She smiles and Mervin chuckles under his breath.
Hank shoots him a look, then he turns back to Sue. “So, how did you know I was in your group and not someone else’s? I mean, for all you knew, we were just two guys looking around town.”
Sue grins, and there’s a glint of mischief in her eyes. “All right, you got me.” She pulls a phone from her jacket pocket and looks down as she swipes her thumb across the screen. She turns the phone around to show the display to Hank. “I have a photo, OK? But it’s nothing underhand. I have photos of all the candidates in my group. It’s nothing to worry about.”
Hank looks at the screen. “That’s from my high school. It’s the picture they used on my file.”
“Probably,” Sue says. “She pockets her phone and takes a deep breath. “I’ll be very happy to explain all this, but can we just step inside first?” Her smile slips for a second. “Like I said, I’m a student here, and I’ll level with you—I’m being assessed on how well I look after my group today. If it looks like I’m keeping you waiting, my mentor might get the wrong idea.”
“Oh, we can’t have that,” Mervin says, stepping forward. “Please, lead the way. And I’m sure Hank didn’t mean to sound rude. He’s very much looking forward to seeing inside, isn’t that right, Hank?”
The Trust (The Downlode Heroes Book 2) Page 4