“No. Our friends at Agrippine wouldn’t like that at all.”
“It’s got nothing to do with Agrippine,” Stradford snaps. “But it has everything to do with the continuation of our work. Grimwood is trying to undermine everything we stand for, and I won’t have it. Is that clear?”
“Perfectly.” Stewart stares at the wall and tries not to picture Brunner’s livid expression. He presses his lips together tight and pushes a few choice words to the back of his mind.
“Meanwhile, we’ll say Eileen has rushed away to visit a sick relative. And I want you to take over her responsibilities in cybersecurity.”
“What? I can’t do that. I’m not even remotely qualified.”
“But you’ll manage, Stewart. I’m certain of that. You’ll adapt.”
Stewart suppresses a sigh. “I can see I have no choice. But I suppose it will give me a decent cover story. If I’m taking Eileen’s place, no one will wonder why I haven’t gone back to the States as planned.”
“There you go,” Brunner says. “And it will give you unlimited access to Eileen’s students. With your training, you’ll sniff out anyone suspicious in no time at all.”
“All right. I know how to proceed. I’d better go and get started.”
“That’s the spirit. And don’t forget to send me that report. Three hours, Stewart, then I want it in front of me.”
“Yes. There’s just one more thing,” Stewart says. But there’s a faint click, and Brunner has already ended the call. Stewart looks down at his phone and fights the urge to call Brunner back. I should’ve asked him to confirm all this in an email, he thinks. If anything goes wrong, they could hang me out to dry. But Brunner wanted this situation kept under wraps and off the record, so he probably wouldn’t have agreed to that request anyway. There’s no point in antagonizing the man—it only makes him more bullish. Stewart rakes his fingers through his hair. “Thanks for your support, Stradford,” Stewart says. “Thank you very much indeed.”
CHAPTER 21
SANJAY STANDS OVER THE MAN lying on his side in the dusty road. “Hey, Marcus. Wake up.” She raises her foot and gives the prone figure an experimental nudge in the ribs, but Marcus doesn’t budge, doesn’t make a sound. “For Christ’s sake,” Sanjay mutters. She uses her UI to pull up the control menu for the code embedded in her bullets, then she swings her weapon around and aims at Marcus’s lower leg. “You’re too far gone right now, Marcus. I’m going to have to shoot you again. But don’t worry. It won’t hurt. Much.” Sanjay pulls the trigger, and a single round blasts into Marcus’s leg.
Marcus screams. A long, bitter yell of pain and anguish. He writhes on the ground, kicking out at an invisible enemy, and Sanjay jumps back and hisses, “Hell’s teeth!” Maybe Marcus is stronger than she thought, or perhaps she made a mistake on the settings for the ammo; either way, the guy is out of control. Marcus’s body twists and thrashes, erratic spasms jerking his limbs in a wild, horizontal dance. His shoulders heave in a parody of hysterical laughter, and the movement rattles his head repeatedly against the concrete. Sanjay keeps her weapon trained on his twitching body, her eyes wide. Marcus looks for all the world as if he’s about to rise up to his feet, like an undead fiend from a horror movie.
“Marcus!” she yells. “Listen to me! Hey, Marcus!” She swallows hard and tightens her grip on her gun. “Settle down and stop struggling for Christ’s sake, or I’ll shoot you again!”
And this threat gets through to him. Marcus quivers to a standstill, his body limp, his shoulders sagging. Only his arms and legs still move, his muscles trembling pathetically.
“That’s good, Marcus,” Sanjay calls, and she keeps her voice low, her tone gentle. “Now listen. You’re going to be fine. That bullet woke you up, all right? But you won’t be able to get up—not yet. So don’t even try. If you fight it, it just makes it worse.” She hesitates. “Can you hear me, Marcus? Can you talk?”
“You’re a goddamned bitch!” Marcus groans and his words are slurred, his voice thick, as though his tongue is heavy in his mouth. “You’re a goddamned—”
“That’s enough,” Sanjay cuts in. “This isn’t a popularity contest. I don’t give a damn what you think. But you need to remember who’s in control here. You need to listen very carefully if you want to get out of this alive.”
Marcus doesn’t answer. He lies still, his fingers plucking at the ground, scrabbling to get a grip on the dusty surface but lacking the motor control to achieve it. Sanjay circles around him and bends down so she can see his face properly. His eyes are open, and his pupils swivel toward her, meeting her gaze. “What?” he mumbles. “What the hell do you want? Are you going to let me go?”
“Soon, maybe.” Sanjay softens her expression. “We just need to try again, Marcus. You know I mean business. So now that you’ve had a chance to think about it, you’re probably ready to talk. That’s right, isn’t it, Marcus?”
Marcus shakes his head.
“Come on, Marcus. All I want to know is a way to get hold of Scarlett. You told me all about her, remember? But I need to meet up with her. I need to get a message to her, so I can talk to her myself. And then I can let you go, OK?”
Marcus works his mouth soundlessly, then a low groan escapes his lips. “There’s no point. It won’t help—not like you want it to.”
“I’ll be the judge of that, Marcus. Just tell me how to get in touch with her.”
“It doesn’t work like that. I just log on to Jungle Combat, and when I do, she knows somehow. She must have a way to pick up my avatar. As soon as I log on, if she wants to talk, I get a message in my UI.”
Sanjay bites her lower lip. Yes. This has the ring of truth to it; it’s a simple routine, but very few people could make it work. The system’s privacy settings are powerful and comprehensive; only someone with a high level of system access could trace another person’s avatar in real time. “OK, Marcus, that’s good.” Sanjay straightens her back, then she looks down at Marcus and heaves a sigh.
“What now?” Marcus asks. “Are you going to let me go?”
“Sorry, but I’m going to have to do something now—something that you’re not going to like.”
Marcus shakes his head. “No. You said you’d let me go. You promised, goddammit!”
“I know, I know. But then you dropped this bombshell. And you pushed me into this, Marcus. You left me no choice.” She looks across her UI and runs through her inventory, studying her range of custom mods.
“What are you doing?” Marcus groans. “For Christ’s sake! I can’t take anymore!”
“Just relax,” Sanjay murmurs. “Ah, here we go.” She focuses on the menu and selects a mod labeled UTILITY 003. Activate Utility 003, she thinks, and a panel opens in the bottom right corner of her UI, along with a basic reticle and the simple message:
SELECT TARGET
She turns, centering the reticle on Marcus until the message changes to:
TARGET ACQUIRED - INITIATE AVATAR HACK?
“Stop!” Marcus shouts. “I know what you’re trying to do—I can see it in my UI. For God’s sake, stop. It won’t work. You’ll fry my goddamned brain.”
“You’ll be fine. This mod works like a dream. Honestly, you won’t feel a thing. And I should know.” She flashes Marcus a grin. “You see, I’ve used it before.” And as the light of understanding sparks in Marcus’s eyes, Sanjay thinks, Initiate. And a thrill runs through her as the process begins.
She looks down at her hands, watching them change before her eyes. A harsh buzz drones in her earpiece: an automated warning. But the sound cuts off abruptly as a ripple runs through her body, distorting her shape. For a split-second, she can see through her legs to the ground beneath, and even her shadow fades away then reappears. But now her shadow is broader, taller. She pats her chest and the muscles beneath her uniform are hard and well-defined. “Not bad,” she says, and she smiles as the deep voice of the Rhombus avatar comes from her lips. “Not bad at all.”
�
��You won’t get away with it, Sanjay. Scarlett will know you’re not me. She’ll be able to tell.”
Sanjay scarcely spares Marcus a glance. “How? Do you two have a secret password or something?” She chuckles. “Don’t even answer that. I know you’d just lie.”
Marcus snorts under his breath. “I told you before—she’s too smart for you. But hey, it’s your funeral. And maybe when she’s finished with you, she’ll figure out what you did, and then she’ll come and get me out of here.”
“Maybe, Marcus. But I wouldn’t count on it. As far as she’s concerned, I’m Rhombus, her faithful servant. She’ll give me what I want. And so will Sue Derrick.”
Marcus strains to sit up, but all he can do is lift his upper body from the ground. He strains his neck to stare up at her, and he hisses between clenched teeth. “You leave her out of this. You don’t need her. Leave her alone.”
Sanjay’s lips form a silent O. “I’ve hit a nerve there I think. So you have something going on with sweet Sue, do you? Interesting.”
“You bastard! Shut your goddamned mouth!”
“Save your strength, Marcus. I’ve no interest in messing with her. I need to chat with her for a minute, that’s all. And I need her not to suspect anything, so you needn’t worry about it. I won’t harm one little hair on her head.”
Marcus growls in frustration, then his body sags and he rests his head on the ground. He closes his eyes, screwing them tight shut. “I wish to God I’d never laid eyes on you. I wish I’d never heard your name. But Scarlett told me. She told me to—“ He stops abruptly as if realizing he’s said too much.
Sanjay raises an eyebrow. “Scarlett used you, Marcus. She used you to rope me in. And I’m willing to bet that it’s not even about the money.” She pauses. “The more I think about it, the more I realize the truth—Scarlett wants to get some kind of hold over me. First, she gets me hooked on this mod, then she expects something in return. But she didn’t figure I’d fight dirty, did she?”
“You got it wrong,” Marcus moans, but there’s no conviction in his words, and his voice is tinged with despair. “She’s not like that.”
“Don’t make me laugh. She can’t have gone to all this effort just to snare one person. She must be planning to rope in a whole string of victims. If she’d succeeded in getting her claws into me, she’d have sent you out after some other sucker. And if you didn’t like that, she’d have dropped you like a hot brick. You’re out of your depth, Marcus. Hell, you’re lucky I caught you. At least I’ll give you a fighting chance, which is more than I can say for your precious Scarlett.”
Marcus exhales noisily. “No. You won’t give me a chance. I’m finished. I know it. Just get out of here. Leave me be.”
“All right. But don’t give up the ghost just yet. If everything works out, I might just let you go.”
Marcus doesn’t reply. He just stares in silence as an identical copy of his own avatar throws him a mock salute and then fades away.
CHAPTER 22
“DAD, HAVE YOU SEEN MY PHONE CHARGER?” Hank stomps across the landing to the top of the stairs and leans over the banister, then he repeats his question, hollering down the stairwell.
Mervin appears in the hallway below and looks up, a patient smile on his face. He opens his hand revealing a black plastic charger. “You mean this one?”
“Yeah, that’s it.” Hank picks up his bulging duffle bag and trudges down the stairs. He drops the duffle bag and crosses over to his dad. “Where’d you find it?”
“Plugged in by the sofa—where it always is.”
Hank takes the charger and stuffs it into the side pocket of his duffle bag. “Thanks. I thought I’d looked everywhere.” He stands still for a moment. “I just realized—the damned thing won’t even fit the sockets over there, will it?”
Mervin shrugs. “Don’t sweat the small stuff, Hank. I expect you can get an adapter or something.” He hesitates. “Hank, maybe you should stop and eat something. You didn’t eat the eggs I made, and you hardly touched the bacon.”
Hank runs a hand through his hair. “No thanks, Dad. I’m not hungry.”
“That’s a first. Are you all right?”
“Sure.” Hank takes a breath. “It’s just…you know. There’s a lot to remember. I don’t want to leave anything behind.”
“I understand,” Mervin says. “It’s a big step you’re taking.”
“And a hell of a long way if I forget something.” Hank scratches his chin. “I mean, England. It doesn’t seem real. And it’s all happened so fast. It’s only a few days since we were in Austin, and now I’m heading out to another country.”
Mervin puts a hand on Hank’s arm. “I understand. But you’ll be all right, Hank. I know you will.”
“Yeah. But how about you? Will you be OK?”
“Don’t even think about it, son. I’ve got my job to keep me busy, and to tell you the truth, I’ve never been better.”
Hank gives his dad a doubtful look, but Mervin doesn’t let him get a word in. “And all I’ve ever wanted for you is to go out and live your life. You need to spread your wings, to go out into the world and see what’s out there. And if I thought I was keeping you here, I’d feel just awful. So you go out there and knock ‘em dead, Hank. All right?”
Hank nods, and Mervin gives him a smile. “It’s all right, Hank. I understand. You’re a good kid—always have been. And it’s not like you’re going to Mars or something. They do have phones and such in England.” He makes a show of scratching his head. “At least, I think they do.”
Hank laughs. “Jeez, Dad, they invented them, didn’t they?”
“Oh no, Alexander Graham Bell was a Scot. For Christ’s sake don’t make that mistake, Hank. I know it’s a small country but they’re awful touchy about who comes from where.”
“I guess I’ve got a lot to learn.” Hank looks across at his duffle bag. When he lugged it downstairs, the bag was too big, catching on the furniture, the doorframe. Now, it’s too small. Far too small. His life must be bigger than that, mustn’t it?
Mervin follows his gaze. “Do you reckon you’ve got everything you need?”
“Yeah. I think so anyway. It’s clothes mainly. And I’ve got a few things in my small backpack—stuff I might need on the flight.”
“There’s something else,” Mervin says, and he puts his hand in his pocket.
“There’s no need to give me money, Dad. It won’t be any good over there anyway.”
Mervin takes his hand from his pocket. “I know. This is something from me.” He uncurls his fingers revealing the sleek red shape of a pocket knife. “I want you to have this.”
Hank shakes his head. “I can’t take your Swiss Army knife, Dad. You swear by that thing.”
“I know. But I can always buy another knife.”
“That’s not the point.”
Mervin turns the knife around in his hand. “It’s only special to me because my daddy gave it to me when I joined the army. But now, it’s time for me to pass it on.” He holds it out to Hank. “Please take it, Hank. It isn’t much, but it’s something, and I want you to have it.”
Hank looks at his dad for a moment, then slowly, he reaches out and takes the knife, surprised at the smoothness of the red plastic casing, its sides polished to a sheen through long years of use. “You know, when I was a kid, I used to beg you to let me use this thing.”
Mervin smiles. “Well, you finally got your wish. Sorry, you had to wait so long.”
“I’ll look after it,” Hank says, and he starts to put the knife in his pocket.
“That won’t be allowed, son. You need to pack it in your bag.”
“Oh, yeah.” Hank crosses to his bag and stuffs the knife into the middle of his clothes. And just as he closes the zipper, there’s a knock at the front door. Hank stands up straight. “Is that the car already?”
Mervin checks his watch. “Could be. It’s a little early, so maybe…” He hesitates. “I hope you don’t mind, bu
t I invited someone to come and see you off.”
Hank frowns. “Who? It’s not Mom, is it? I said goodbye to her yesterday.”
“Why don’t you open the door and see for yourself?”
Hank steps up to the door and opens it. “Diane! Hey, I wasn’t expecting you.”
Diane raises her eyebrows and gives him a smile. “You didn’t think I’d let my star student go without saying goodbye, did you?”
“No, I guess not.” He stands back from the door, opening it wide. “Come in. I’m just getting ready. They’re sending a car and it should be here soon.”
“Sure.” Diane steps inside and gives Mervin a warm smile. “You OK, Mervin? How are you holding up?”
“Me?” Mervin asks. “Oh, I’m fine. But it’s nice of you to stop by. I appreciate everything you did for my boy.”
“It wasn’t much,” Diane says. “And he helped out in the store a lot.”
“But you gave him the confidence,” Mervin says. “I don’t know how you did it, but you showed him he could get somewhere.”
“He always had it in him, Mervin. He just needed to find his feet, that’s all.” She puts on a stern frown and looks at Hank. “And now you’re making tracks, huh? What am I going to do the next time a chair comes in busted?”
Hank smiles. “You can fix up a chair better than I ever could, Diane. And you know it.”
“Maybe. But it was nice to have you around, kiddo.” Diane turns to Mervin. “How about you? You look pretty handy—are you any good at fixing up chairs?”
Mervin shrugs. “I could probably figure it out. I’ve been known to mess around with a soldering iron in my time.”
“Sounds like you’re a little rusty,” Diane says. “But hey, you can always drop by the store and take a look. I make a pretty good cup of coffee, if I say so myself.”
“OK,” Mervin says. “Maybe I’ll call in one day next week.”
Hank looks from his dad to Diane and back again. There’s a sparkle in Mervin’s eyes that Hank hasn’t seen for a while. Why do I feel like a third wheel all of a sudden? he asks himself. Is there something going on here? But no, that’s ridiculous—isn’t it? He shakes his head to push the thought away. “I should check my room. The car could be here any minute.”
The Trust (The Downlode Heroes Book 2) Page 16