by Sean Black
Very few of the scientists had bothered to name their subjects anyway. They sneered at any anthropomorphic tendencies among their colleagues, regarding the prescribing of human traits to animals as childish. However, Richard suspected that their attitude stemmed from a desire to close down their own feelings. At best the animals suffered discomfort, at worst an agonizing death.
Richard had looked at it differently. If two dozen primates had to go through hell to develop a treatment that could save thousands of lives, then the end justified the means. When his wife died from cancer it had only strengthened his belief. Now, standing in this room, it occurred to him that the means had just increased exponentially. And for him, so had the end. Refusal risked the termination of the thing he cared about more than anything in the world: Josh. Acceptance required him to cross into moral territory from which there was no return.
‘OK, I’ll put her down as subject zero one,’ Richard said, swivelling his neck round to look up at Brand.
‘Catchy,’ Brand replied.
Richard turned back to Mareta, just as she puffed out her cheeks and launched a gob of spit straight at his face. It caught him just above the left eye and started to dribble down his cheek towards his mouth.
Trying not to look at her, he wiped it away with the sleeve of his lab coat. When he took bloods he’d ask the lab to run a check for hepatitis.
It was time to get to work.
Forty-eight
When people imagined New York, they thought first of the skyline and then of the press of bodies. But on the right block, at the right time, you could be all alone, with not a soul around. That’s where Carrie was now. Ten blocks from home. And the silence meant she could hear the scuff of footsteps behind her as clear as crystal.
The footsteps quickened. She glanced back but didn’t see anyone. She could feel the presence of the person following her now. A man, almost definitely a man.
Her hand went into her pocket and she felt for the small canister of mace. It was a gift from Lock, accompanied by a lengthy explanation. A knife can be taken off you. Ditto a gun. A taser, the latest must-have for ladies who lunch, too tricky to deploy. Miss with the stinger and you have to get in close. A rape alarm? Someone had to make a decision to get involved, and this was New York. So he’d given her pepper spray and taught her a few moves: elbow strike, double-handed fend-off. All designed with only one end in mind: to give her enough time to get away. As he told it, that’s all bodyguarding was anyway. Organized running away.
She felt for the red cap at the top of the canister and flicked it forward. Felt for the trigger just beneath that. Used her index finger to move round the cold metal and locate the nozzle. The last thing she wanted to do was spray herself.
She could feel the guy almost on her shoulder. She was sure it was a man by the sound of his steps.
Three more steps, and she turned and pulled out the mace at the same time.
‘Whoa! Carrie, sorry, I wasn’t sure it was you. I didn’t want to go shouting after some stranger in the street and freak her out.’
‘You asshole, Ryan.’
‘I get that a lot.’
‘I thought you were a mugger.’
‘You might wish I was in a second.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘I need one final favour.’
Her day had started at six with a trip to the gym and an hour of punishment on a Stair Master. Thousands of people in the city who lived in walk-ups dreamed of moving out so they could escape having to climb flights of stairs. Yet here she was, surrounded by women of her age and younger, paying for the privilege.
Men could get away with going to seed in front of camera. A few extra pounds and a face like a bloodhound lent them gravitas. For a woman it was a career-finisher. That was the reality of her business.
Now it was nine in the evening and she was standing in front of a camera outside Meditech headquarters. Three hours after she’d left work. Two of those had been spent persuading Gail Reindl to agree to the story.
Through her earpiece, she could hear the voice of the anchor back in the studio: ‘For another dramatic development in the abduction case of Josh Hulme, we cross to our correspondent who’s live outside the head offices of Meditech Corporation for an exclusive update. Carrie, what’s this new information that’s come to light?’
Like a golfer, Carrie had a routine every time she went live. She took a deep breath that lasted to the count of three. This time it lasted to the count of five.
‘Thanks, Mike. As those of us who have been following this story already know, an arrest has been made, and the FBI have informed news sources that they are not looking for anyone else in connection with this crime. However, earlier today I spoke off record to a source close to Meditech Corporation who is claiming that Josh’s au pair at the time, a young Russian woman who was found dead shortly after the abduction, was having a relationship with a member of the company’s security personnel.’
The anchor came back in. ‘And why is that a particularly significant development, Carrie?’
‘Well, Rob, if you recall, Josh Hulme was last seen with the au pair getting into a town car outside an Upper East Side apartment block, leading many to conclude that this young woman was in some way involved in the kidnapping.’
‘And what are the FBI saying about this?’
‘So far not very much, although it is believed that this new information has been brought to their attention before now.’
As she finished up, Lock led the applause. Angel joined in, barking her approval as she rubbed against his leg.
‘You want to get something to eat?’ Carrie asked him.
‘What about Paul?’
She was quiet for a moment, then sighed. ‘We broke up.’
Lock did his best not to show his delight. ‘That was sudden.’
‘Yes, it was.’
‘Who had the change of heart?’
‘Does it matter?’
Lock hesitated. ‘If it’s the person who’s asking me out to dinner then maybe it does.’
Behind them, the camera guy took time out from eavesdropping to clear his throat loudly.
Lock turned to him. ‘You got something you want to say?’
‘Only that if it was me, I wouldn’t need asking twice.’
They dropped Angel back at the apartment and headed downstairs to Carrie’s neighbourhood Italian. Red and white chequered table cloths, vampire-dark lighting — the place had stayed unchanged for so long it was now considered retro. They both ordered pasta and split a bottle of red wine.
‘More ripples in the pond?’ Carrie asked Lock as a single candle flickered between them. ‘Is that why you asked me to do that piece?’
‘No, insurance.’
‘Against?’
‘Life insurance.’
‘For who?’
‘Me.’
‘And how does that work?’
‘Well, assuming it’s the same people, someone who’s prepared to kidnap a minor and assassinate someone in the middle of the day in Midtown isn’t going to think twice about snuffing me.’
‘But if you’re the accuser. .’
‘Starts to look bad if I have an accident. Doesn’t make me safe, but sure as hell gives them something to think about.’
‘And where does that leave me?’
‘They won’t touch you.’
‘Glad you’re so confident.’
‘If journalists were fair game you’d be an endangered species by now. Anyway, there are better ways to manipulate a story than killing the messenger. They’re counting on the fact that given enough time all this will go away.’
‘And will it?’
‘Everything does in time.’
‘So why keep pressing?’
Lock smiled, reached over and refilled both their glasses. ‘Because I’m an asshole like that.’
She reached down into her bag and pulled out a bulging manila envelope. ‘I know. Which is why I’ve brou
ght you everything I’ve managed to gather on Meditech. And the retired Colonel Brand.’
He took the envelope. ‘You mind me reading at the table?’
‘If you can in this light.’
He flipped to the stuff on Brand, and two words caught his eye. Abu Ghraib.
‘He was there when Lindy King and her boyfriend were keeping prisoners on a short leash,’ Carrie said.
‘So how come no one ever heard of him?’ Lock asked as he read on.
As soon as the photographs from Abu Ghraib came to light, Brand had been offered, and accepted, an honourable discharge. If he had known what was going on there he’d been savvy enough to keep his face out of the frame.
‘Meditech did a full service check when they took me on. Spoke to a bunch of people. They must have done the same for Brand.’
‘Maybe that’s why they took him on,’ said Carrie.
Later that evening, they made love at Carrie’s apartment. It wasn’t like it had been before. It was slower, with more of a connection. Before it had been recreational. This felt like the prelude to something that went deeper.
Afterwards, Carrie snuggled up next to him, her head on his chest. She drifted off to sleep, still cradled in Lock’s arms. No Harry Met Sally quandary for Lock. It felt good. They lay like that for a long time.
When she woke, it was still dark and he wasn’t there any more. Angel must have snuck in and was asleep at the foot of the bed. Carrie got up and put on her robe. She walked through into the living room.
Lock was standing by the window, putting on his jacket while staring down at the empty street below. ‘It’s early, go back to bed.’
She yawned, stretching her arms above her head. ‘I get up early.’
‘Not this early.’
‘Why? What time is it?’
‘Four.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘Brooklyn.’
‘At four in the morning?’
He walked over to her and kissed her softly on the lips. ‘Best time to see Brooklyn. When it’s pitch-black.’
Forty-nine
Sunrise was still a distant threat as Lock and Ty, dressed in full black-out gear, made a dash for the secondary perimeter fence of the Meditech complex.
Lock wet his finger and jabbed it at the fence to see if it was electrified.
‘I bet you shoved forks into power sockets when you were a kid just to see what would happen, didn’t you?’ Ty asked.
‘A blue flash and you get thrown halfway across the room.’
‘And you know not to do it again,’ Ty said.
‘Nope, did it again a year later. Wanted to make sure it hadn’t been a one-off.’
Lock stopped, took the entire inner area of the compound in with one sweeping look. His eyes settled on the accommodation block.
‘OK,’ Ty said, ‘so we’ve looked. Now let’s get the hell out of here.’
‘What’s that over there?’
‘I don’t know, man. This is as far as I’ve been.’
‘Then what does it look like?’
Ty scanned the same fence as Lock had, picked out the same razor wire, noted the way it curved back in on itself. The curve of the top of a fence could tell you a lot. Most crucially, was it there to keep someone out or keep someone in?
‘Looks like a brig,’ Ty said.
‘So what’s a scale model of Guantanamo Bay doing in the middle of a research complex?’
Ty looked skywards. ‘How should I know?’
‘You go back. I’m going to take more of a look around.’
‘OK, I’ll meet you out front,’ said Ty reluctantly.
Lock tossed him his keys and watched him disappear into the gloom. Then, putting down the black knapsack, he took out a pair of wire cutters and set to work in an area where the surveillance camera was directed across a broad sweep of open ground beyond the fence.
In less than two minutes there were two slits in the fence, far enough apart that he could slip through. Safely on the other side, he rolled the fence back down so that, at least from a distance, it looked intact. Then he quickly paced out the distance from the nearest metal fence pole to his ready-made escape hatch.
As Lock put the wire cutters back in his knapsack, he felt the barrel of an M-16 press into the small of his back.
‘You know, Lock, if you wanted the grand tour, you only had to ask.’
Fifty
Lock lay face down on the ground while they searched him, taking his wallet, cell phone and Gerber. His 226, thankfully, was back in his car.
Brand scrolled down the names on Lock’s cell. He stopped at Ty, held up the display so Lock could see it. ‘He’s still outside waiting for you. Better tell him you’ll find your own way back, that you didn’t find what you were looking for and that you’re going out of town for a while.’
‘And why would I want to do that?’
‘I thought he was your buddy. You wouldn’t want to drag him into this any further than you already have, would you?’
Brand hit the green call button and handed the cell back to Lock. He then took an M-16 from one of the two men with him, tucked the stock into his shoulder and pressed the business end into the centre of Lock’s forehead.
‘Ty? Yeah, listen, no need to hang around. . No, I found a different exit. Listen, I have a few things to do. I’ll catch up with you in a few days.’ He paused. ‘No, man, I’m fine.’
He ended the call and Brand snatched the cell back from him, powered it down and jammed it into his pocket.
‘Now, you want that tour or not?’
‘Do I have a choice?’
‘Nope. It’s like the old Chink curse. Be careful what you wish for, because you might just get it.’
They reached what Lock guessed was the main entrance to what Ty thought had looked like a brig. There was no handle or external lock. It simply clicked open.
‘No expense spared, huh?’ he asked Brand.
‘Not when you see what we have inside.’
‘Oh, I’m as giddy as a kid at Christmas,’ Lock shot back.
Inside there was a hallway. It was about six feet wide, and extended about thirty feet, ending in a door of a similar type to the one they’d just come through. The walls were bare whitewashed concrete.
‘This where you kept the kid?’ Lock asked Brand.
‘Just keep walking.’
They reached the next door and stopped. Brand pushed past Lock and went ahead. ‘I’m going to prepare your room.’
The door clicked open and Brand walked through it, leaving Lock with the two guards. On the other side, Brand called for another two-man team to join him at the door into one of the cells. They were instructed to bring his riot gear down with them.
Five minutes passed. Then ten.
Finally, Lock could hear heavy boots and a door being opened followed by the sound of a brief but violent struggle. Then the door facing him opened again and Brand stepped through, removing his helmet. He had deep scratch marks running down one side of his face, but he was smiling. ‘Wanna meet your new roomie?’
Lock was led through. They stopped outside Mareta’s cell. There was a smear of blood on the wall next to the door. Lock counted off six doors on each side. Banging noises and shouts were coming from behind all but one of them. The one they were standing in front of.
Brand produced Lock’s cell phone again. Flipped it open. ‘Anyone you want to say goodbye to?’
Lock stood where he was and said nothing.
Brand started to scroll down through the numbers. ‘Here’s one. How about Carrie?’ Then he stopped and slapped his head with the palm of his hand in a mock show of embarrassment. ‘Silly me. Should have told you earlier. There wouldn’t be any point calling her.’ Brand held the phone up so Lock could see him deleting her number. ‘Hit-and-run accident. Driver didn’t even stop. Some asshole in a Hummer.’
Lock lunged at him. The open palm of his right hand came up at an angle into Brand’s chin, s
napping his neck back and sending him stumbling backwards. The shouting from the other cells intensified.
A baton smacked into the back of Lock’s knees, and his legs folded underneath him. Black shapes swam in front of him as he took a second blow to the back of the head. Then he heard the door being opened and he was hauled to his feet and thrown inside.
He landed a couple of feet clear of the door, and heard it slam shut. Then came the sound of something metal skittering across the floor. He blinked a few times to try to clear his vision.
His Gerber lay on the floor of the cell, the blade extended. A woman’s hand reached down and picked it up. He lifted his head. She stood over him. The fingers of her right hand formed a tight fist around the handle in a hammer grip.
Lock stared into her eyes and braced himself for the blow.
Fifty-one
Carrie slept late. Her late unscheduled appearance the previous evening meant she wasn’t due in to work until lunch. Usually she jumped straight into the shower but this morning she could smell Lock on her skin and she didn’t want to lose that. In the kitchen, she made breakfast for herself and Angel. They both cleared their plates in record time.
She wandered through into the living room and flicked on the TV. A few of the other networks had picked up the Meditech story. They were following in her wake, and had been since Gray Stokes’ assassination. The next month would be a good time to ask for a move into the studio. She liked the buzz of chasing stories, but she also knew that people doing her job were likened to sharks for a reason: you kept moving forward or you died.