“It doesn’t add up,” Stewart murmurs. “There’s something else going on here—something I can’t see.” He pictures Eileen handing him the headset, persuading him to go into the battlefield. She set him up from the moment he walked into the room. She was ready for him. It was as if she knew he was coming. But how could that be?
He tries running through the events in his mind once again, then he stands up and goes over to the lockers, quickly finding the one Eileen was using when he came to see her. He pulls the door open, surprised it isn’t locked. Gordon must’ve left it like that, he thinks. This was where he was looking when I came in.
There’s very little left in the locker: a pair of old running shoes and the dark jacket Eileen was wearing when he last saw her. But when he reaches up and runs his hands along the top shelf, his eyes go wide. His fingers close around the unmistakable shape of a headset. He pulls it out and turns it over in his hands. It’s old: an early model. The frame is bulky, and the glass lenses are dull and scratched. He can imagine why Gordon left it where it was; it doesn’t look as if it could still work. And even if it does, it won’t be compatible with any modern system.
But there’s someone at Northridge who can make it work, and his lab is on the top floor.
Stewart slips the headset into his pocket then hurries out the room and heads for the elevator. Shen Kwan’s lab is popular with a certain section of the students: the ones who like the acrid scent of solder fumes, and the sharp tang of ozone from a whirring motor. Kwan runs a robotics club for the keenest students, and its members wear the oil under their fingernails like a badge of honor. The club runs whenever time allows, and as he approaches the lab, Stewart can hear a buzz of conversation through the door.
Stewart knocks once and lets himself in. About a dozen students are huddled around a table at one end of the lab, while Kwan stands to one side and watches, a patient smile on his lips and a glow of paternal pride in his eyes. Kwan looks up as Stewart crosses the room, but the students remain focused on their work, their hands moving quickly over the touch-sensitive table, dragging an array of brightly colored symbols into place or swiping them away.
“Stewart, we’re playing a game,” Kwan says. “Would you like to try your hand?”
Stewart casts his eye over the table. “A logic puzzle? I think not. The rate these guys are moving, I’d never be able to keep up.”
Kwan laughs. “It’s a kind of puzzle I suppose. It’s a simple coding game, but like all good games, there are serious skills that one must master in order to win.”
“I’ll take your word for it, Kwan. But for now, I have a puzzle of my own to solve, and I’m hoping you can help me.”
“That sounds very intriguing. I can certainly try.” Kwan looks down at the students. “You can manage without me for a while, yes?”
A few of the students look up long enough to smile and nod; others simply raise a hand to wave their agreement. And a familiar face catches Stewart’s eye: Asmita Sanjay.
CHAPTER 24
WHEN HANK STEPS INTO THE CABIN of the private jet, someone calls out, “Hey, you must be Hank.”
Hank turns to see a man emerging from the flight deck. The man is dressed in a white shirt over black pants, and though he’s well past middle age, he exudes a sense of wiry, physical strength, and he holds himself with the confident authority of a man who’s used to being in charge. He stands in front of Hank and extends his hand for a shake. “Cat got your tongue, Hank?”
Hank does his best to meet the man’s intense gaze. “No, sir. I mean, yes, I’m Hank.” He takes the man’s hand and winces as the older man’s fingers tighten around his hand like a vise.
“Nice to meet you, Hank. I’m Curtis Valcourt, the vice chair of the Trust’s board, and I’ve been following your application, so it’s good to put a face to the name.”
Hank swallows hard. “Following? I—”
Valcourt waves his question aside. “I take a personal interest in all our new students, Hank. That’s why I take the time to come down and meet you all. Well, I see the students from the USA anyhow. I can’t be on six continents on the same day. Not yet, anyway.” He smiles, and though his lips stretch wide, exposing his tombstone teeth, the sentiment doesn’t reach his dark eyes.
Hank stands, transfixed, the hairs on the back of his neck standing to attention.
“Don’t look so worried, son,” Valcourt says. “It’s a big day for you and there’s a lot to take in. Why don’t you take a seat and get to know some of your fellow students?”
“Yeah. Sounds like a plan.” Hank hesitates. “Good to meet you, Mr. Valcourt.”
Valcourt smiles again and stands aside. “It’s that way. Make yourself comfortable.”
Hank nods then edges past Valcourt and hurries into the main cabin. I’m sure that guy is still watching me, he thinks. This day has got to get easier. But as he looks along the cabin, the floor shifts beneath his feet. The cabin is lined with wide seats that face each other, either singly or in pairs, and most of the seats are already taken, but staring at him, his eyes narrowed, is the last person Hank wants to see: David Garrick. A smug grin spreads across Garrick’s face, and he says, “Look who it is.” The man seated opposite Garrick cranes his neck around, and Hank recognizes the guy’s chiseled features immediately.
Osborne too! Hank thinks. What the hell is he doing here?
“Hey, Hank-the-tough-guy,” Garrick says. “Looks like you made it after all.”
Hank returns Garrick’s stare, but before he can say anything, a much more welcome voice calls his name, and Hank lifts his gaze toward the back of the cabin.
“Hey! Hank! Over here.”
Hank smiles. “Hey! Georgie! You made it.” And here she is, stepping into the aisle to greet him, her brown eyes dancing with excitement. Hank walks past Garrick and Osborne without a glance and goes to meet her. “I didn’t think you were coming, Georgie. I never heard from you. How come? I gave you my number.”
Georgie gives him a rueful smile. “I know. I wanted to tell you, but they said not to discuss it with anyone except my immediate family.” She rolls her eyes. “Which in my case is like a small crowd anyhow, so it’s ridiculous.”
Hank laughs. “I’m glad you made it. I needed to see a friendly face. I just saw that asshole Garrick and his dumb friend Osborne.”
“Tell me about it. I almost turned around and walked off the goddamned plane.” She hesitates. “But then I remembered what you said, about not letting jerks like that step over me. And I’m glad I stayed.”
“Yeah, me too.” Hank looks past Georgie, scanning the rows of seats. “Where’s your seat? Can I sit by you? If you don’t mind that is.”
Georgie’s smile drops. “Sorry, Hank. There’s only one seat by me and it’s already taken.”
“Oh. OK. No sweat. We can catch up later.”
“Yeah, sure we can. And it’s cool because I’m sitting next to Ellen. You remember Ellen?”
Hank frowns. “The girl who boxes?”
“That’s right. She’s really cool. We’ve been talking away like we’ve known each other for years. Like we’re long lost sisters or something. You know what I mean?”
“Er, vaguely,” Hank says. “But that’s great. I’ll probably catch some shut eye anyhow. I didn’t sleep much last night.”
“Me neither, but I’m just buzzing. I guess I’ll pay for it later.” She grimaces. “Ugh. Jet lag. I hate it.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Hank says. “I’ve never been far enough to get it bad.”
Georgie’s eyes go wide. “In that case, do yourself a favor and stay hydrated. Stay off the coffee and the booze and you’ll thank me for it later.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Hank says. “But I haven’t even found a seat yet.”
“All right. I’ll leave you to it.” Georgie takes a step back, then she wrinkles her nose in an impish grin that lights up her face and makes Hank’s heart skip a beat. “I’ll see you later.” Then she turns and walk
s back to her seat.
Hank smiles to himself and turns around, scanning the rest of the seats. His eyes come to rest on an empty seat that’s one of a pair, and the guy in the next seat doesn’t look too bad; he’s about Hank’s age and he’s sitting quietly, staring out the window, an oversized set of headphones covering his ears. Hank makes his way over and sits down heavily on the empty seat. His new neighbor looks around and tilts his chin upward to acknowledge Hank’s presence. He doesn’t say anything, but Hank can see the flash of irritation in the guy’s pinched expression.
“OK if I sit here?” Hank asks. “This seat isn’t taken is it?”
The guy frowns and holds up his hand to cut Hank off. He takes a phone from his pocket and taps the screen then slides his headphones down so they rest around his neck. “Sorry. I was just listening to my music. What did you say?”
“I was just checking if this seat is free.” The guy doesn’t say anything in reply, so Hank asks again. “It is free, isn’t it?”
“Oh yeah. Sure. Help yourself.” The guy takes hold of his headphones and starts to raise them back to his ears.
“Those are some headphones you got there,” Hank says. “Old school.”
The guy hesitates. “Yeah. I guess they’re pretty big. It’s worth it, though—for the sound.”
“OK,” Hank says. He lets his eyes wander along the aisle. Jeez, this guy’s hard work, he thinks. And though he wanted a quiet flight, it’s going to be a long journey, and since Georgie is thick as thieves with her new friends, it looks like the hours are going to drag pretty badly with no one to talk to. He looks back and watches as his new neighbor carefully adjusts his headphone cable. In a second, the guy won’t be able to hear him, so Hank takes the chance to break the ice. “What are you listening to?”
“Oh, you won’t have heard of them. They’re kind of old school too.”
“Try me,” Hank says.
“You heard of The Clash?”
Hank tips his head to one side. “Are you kidding me? The Clash? London Calling? Rock the Casbah?”
The guy smiles, and it’s a good smile, warm and wide. “Seriously? You’re a fan?”
“I’ve got the full set—everything they ever did. Hell, I’ve even got the T-shirt.” They share a laugh, and for the first time since his dad started talking about the Trust, a weight lifts from Hank’s shoulders. He gives the guy a smile. “I’m Hank, by the way.”
“Oh, yeah. Sorry. I’m Seb. Seb Wainwright. From Iowa.”
Hank nods toward the headphones around Seb’s neck. “Iowa, huh? I guess that explains the cans you got there. Have ear-buds not made it to Iowa yet?”
Seb gives him a wry grin. “Very funny. Yeah, we’ve pretty much got all the latest crap in Iowa these days. But—” He breaks off and pulls the headphones from his neck then holds them out to Hank. “Here. Try them for yourself. I’m telling you, you’ll never go back.”
“OK.” Hank takes the headphones and slips them over his ears. “Hey, these are pretty comfy,” he says, and his own voice sounds muffled. The headphones cut out every scrap of background noise: the murmur of conversation, even the whisper of the cabin’s air conditioning.
“Ready?” Seb asks.
Hank gives him a thumbs up and Seb taps his phone. Instantly, the sharp, staccato rhythm of an electric guitar cuts in, joined moments later by the rich, deep, booming thrum of a bass. It’s London Calling, and as the drums kick in, Hank smiles. If he closes his eyes, he could be sitting right in front of the band. He moves his head to the music, and when Seb taps his phone and the volume decreases, Hank’s grin fades. I was just getting into that, he thinks, but he takes the headphones off and hands them back. “Man, that’s something else. Very cool indeed.”
Seb smiles modestly. “They’re my second-best set. I have an old pair of Sennheiser’s at home and they’re even better, but I didn’t want to risk them on the flight.”
“Expensive?” Hank asks.
Seb hesitates. “Yeah. Pretty much. But I don’t…I mean…I had to save up. You know—I worked every summer. And weekends. It took a long time.”
“Sure. I was pouring coffee and wiping the counter until I got caught up in all this…” He waves his hand around the cabin. “Whatever the hell you call all this.”
“Yeah. I just started college this year, but I was working my way through, washing dishes mostly, so this is pretty awesome. I never thought I’d get to see inside a private jet, never mind fly over to England.”
“It’s crazy isn’t it?” Hank looks Seb in the eye. “You ever been to England before?”
Seb makes a show of shaking his head. “I know this sounds dumb but I’ve hardly been out of Iowa. Except to go to college.”
“That’s not dumb at all,” Hank says. “I haven’t exactly been around myself. But you must have gone to that day in Austin, yeah?”
“No. The Trust got a hold of me through college. I had this tutor, and he was pretty cool. He went through the Trust program himself. He went to Northridge back in the day, so I think he put in a good word for me.”
Hank frowns. “Your tutor was at Northridge? Where’d you go to college—Harvard?”
Seb nods seriously. “How did you guess?”
Nearby, someone erupts into a fit of coughing, and Seb and Hank turn sharply in their seats.
Across the aisle, a young man is spluttering and thumping himself on the chest, but he holds up his hand and shakes his head when he sees Hank and Seb staring at him. “I’m all right,” he croaks, and gives them an embarrassed smile. “Sorry about that.”
“Are you sure?” Hank asks. “Do you want me to get someone?”
“God no!” the guy says. “My drink just went the wrong way is all. Sorry.” His eyes flick toward Seb. “Excuse me, but did you just say you got into Harvard?”
Seb colors. “Why does everybody have to act so surprised? We do have schools in Iowa, you know. And libraries. And…and…”
“No, no,” the young man says. “It wasn’t anything like that, I’m just kind of in awe. I mean, Harvard. Wow. It was always my dream to go somewhere like that. I got good grades and everything. I just never…you know. I didn’t make it.”
Hank gives the guy a smile. “Tell me about it. I didn’t get anywhere.” He nods toward Seb. “We can’t all be geniuses, right?”
“Right,” the guy says. “But you’re here, so you must’ve got something.”
“Yeah, you too.” Hank lets out a chuckle. “We showed them, all right. Who needs Harvard anyway?”
“Can we just drop it with the Harvard thing,” Seb says. “I wish I’d never mentioned it.”
Hank holds up his hands. “OK. Whatever you say, professor.”
Seb shakes his head and leans forward to look across Hank as if to make a point of changing the subject. “I’m Seb by the way, and this is Hank.”
“Hi. I’m Noah. From Baltimore.”
“Nice to meet you, Noah,” Seb says. “And you know what? Hank is kind of right, though he’s got a funny way of saying it. We’re all here on our own merits, and we’re headed to one of the best places to learn in the world. So I guess those good grades of yours paid off in the end, right?”
Noah smiles. “I never thought of it like that, but somehow, we’re all in the same boat.” He hesitates. “I hate to ask, but didn’t you like it at Harvard?”
“It wasn’t that I didn’t like it,” Seb says. “I was on a scholarship, and it was all going pretty well, but, you know, the money didn’t cover everything. I was working in a hotel kitchen and trying to keep up with my studies and all, so when this offer came through, it wasn’t as hard a choice as you might think.”
Hank sits back in his chair and looks at Seb with fresh eyes. “Even so, you turned down a place at Harvard to go to England, to this place you never heard of before. And your parents are cool with that?”
“I guess so.” Seb shrugs. “My dad’s always been pretty cool about it, but my mom wasn’t too happy. Not
at first anyway. But she came around.” He smiles. “Especially when she met the colonel. She always was a sucker for a British accent.”
“The colonel?” Noah asks. “You mean Stewart?”
Seb shuffles in his seat. “Yeah, I think that was his first name. We always call him the colonel in my house. My dad works for a bank, but he always had this thing about the military. He loves all that stuff, you know?”
Hank lets out an ironic chuckle. “Not really. My dad was in the army, and it didn’t exactly work out. So with us, it’s the other way around—if I came home with a job at the bank, he’d be very happy.”
Seb looks him up and down. “No offense or anything, but I can’t see you in a suit and tie.”
“Me neither. Not anytime soon anyway.”
“So what are you into then?” Seb asks. “How come you’re headed off to Northridge?”
“That’s a very long story.” Hank hesitates. “I don’t know if it’s worth going through the whole thing. Let’s just say I met Stewart in the game and things kind of went from there.”
Seb raises an eyebrow. “What game is that?”
“You know. The game. VR. Agrippine. My flavor was Unlimited Combat. How about you?”
“Yeah, I played it,” Seb says. “I was OK. Nothing special.”
“Not me,” Noah chips in. “I’m not into that stuff. Tried it once—didn’t buy it.”
“What do you mean? You don’t play at all? Or just the combat you don’t like?” Hank leans back. “Wait a minute. You’re not one of those fantasy guys are you—dungeons and wizards and all that?”
Noah doesn’t say anything, and the light goes from his eyes as if a dark cloud is flitting across his mind’s eye, robbing him of his good mood.
“Oh,” Hank says. “I didn’t mean anything. I just—”
“It’s all right,” Noah interrupts. “It’s not what you said. It’s just that my taste in games is kind of different, and I thought maybe you might…it doesn’t matter.”
“To tell you the truth,” Hank says, “I don’t play anymore. Not these days. I gave it all up. So go ahead, Noah—if it’s not combat and it’s not fantasy, what do you play?”
The Trust (The Downlode Heroes Book 2) Page 18