Die Twice

by Andrew Grant

  Everybody had died except for the three to the left of the central point, and the four to the right. And while I knew they were alive—I could see their rib cages move as they breathed—I couldn’t say they were unaffected. As the people nearer the edges were in the midst of their final agonies, I’d noticed the ones in the middle were starting to sag. Their legs had grown limp, their eyes had closed, and their chins had rolled down onto their chests. I expected that someone would come to release them, or treat them, or at least find out what state they were in. But nothing happened. The scene was static for another two minutes. Then I noticed the LEDs on the cylinders were no longer glowing red. The fans slowly wound back down until their blades were stationary again. And just as the last one stopped spinning, the screen faded softly to black. It was inert for ten seconds, this time. Then another caption appeared. It looked for all the world like the next installment in a series:

  Live subject exposure test #4

  Variant A

  Spektra V (inc BMU8)

  The information bar at the bottom showed that a day had passed since the video sequence I’d just watched. The clock said we were back to six o’clock in the morning. The elapsed time had reset to one second. I kept an eye on it, and once again it sprang forward to the ten-minute mark. The black background dissolved. And I saw that another group had been brought into the tent. The mix of age and gender and condition was similar to the first sample. The range of reactions was equally broad. And the people were strapped to the chairs in exactly the same way.

  The fans began to turn. The LEDs on top of the cylinders flashed red, then stayed lit up. And the people began to drop. They jolted back, convulsed, and collapsed like they were in some kind of macabre ballet. I watched them suffer through the same cycle of agony as the victims from the first group. Only this time, there was a difference. Every single person died. It took less than four minutes, and there wasn’t a single man, woman, or child in that tent with a breath left in their body. Not one out of the twenty there’d been to start with.

  I closed the computer and waited for my stomach to untie itself. I knew there’d been no way to stop any of what I’d seen. In fact, there wasn’t really anything to have stopped. It was only a recording. The actual events had occurred eighteen months ago. They’d unfolded in some unknown location. It may not have been on the same continent as me, let alone a place I could have reached in time. And I had no idea who was responsible for it.

  All of that was true. But none of it was any consolation. So I reached for my phone and called Lucinda.

  “Have you watched it?” she said.

  I didn’t answer.

  “I thought so,” she said. “Pretty sick-making stuff, wasn’t it?”

  “Where did it come from?” I said.

  “The Spektra gas? You know where. You saw the emblem on the cylinder. And you know I can’t name the place over the phone. Just in case.”

  “No. I mean the video. Who made it? Who did those—what did they call them—exposure tests?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “How did they get the gas? Was it sanctioned?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Is this some kind of arm’s-length bullshit? Did the government want the data without getting its hands dirty?”

  “David, I just don’t know. But I can’t believe they’d do that.”

  “No. They just happened to be hiding a secret video of someone else doing it. That’s bound to be a coincidence.”

  Lucinda didn’t answer.

  “So either the government colluded with the experiments, or they lost the asset,” I said. “Either way, it stinks.”

  “To high heaven,” said Lucinda. “Put like that.”

  “So what else do we know? Where was the video made? Can we identify the location?”

  “I don’t think so. There’s no audio, so we can’t do a language or dialect analysis. And I doubt you can gather enough detail through the windows for a database match. Or even a manual comparison.”

  “What else can we do? What about the background files from the Web site? Is there anything in those we can work with?”

  “No. Everything’s been stripped out. They’re content only. But I have found out a couple of other things since we spoke.”

  “You’re an angel. Tell me.”

  “OK. Well, first, did you notice that the video said the difference between the two clips was something called BMU8? The first time the gas had it, the second time it didn’t?”

  “It was the other way around. That seemed to be the difference between Spektra IV and V. Whether it had this BM stuff.”

  “Oh. Right. The other way around. But do you know what BMU8 is?”

  “No. Never heard of it.”

  “Nor had I. So I checked. Turns out it’s something quite simple. A stimulant. It aids breathing.”

  “So why’s it added to the Spektra gas?”

  “I’ve just been reading about it. Turns out it’s a technique they borrowed from the knockout gases that SWAT teams use. When they first tried them, it nearly always went wrong. If they pumped in enough gas to take down any hostage takers, for example, who were usually young and fit, it would kill any hostages who were old or ill or vulnerable. So, they added the stimulant to cut down on collateral damage.”

  “But with a poison gas, you want as many fatalities as possible, surely?”

  “You do. But with poisons, you’ve got the opposite problem. If a person doesn’t breathe in enough gas to kill them straight away, they might just go unconscious or end up restricting their airway or something. That reduces the volume of poison they ingest, and increases their chance of being resuscitated. Adding the stimulant increases the chance of instant death, and makes a higher yield achievable from a lower initial concentration.”

  “So you’re saying it makes the gas more lethal?”

  “Yes. Paradoxical, isn’t it?”

  I didn’t have an answer to that.

  “Oh, wait,” Lucinda said. “Actually, no. I’m not saying it’s more lethal. Something’s either lethal, or it’s not. You can’t have degrees of lethal, obviously. What I’m saying is, it’s more practical. It can be deployed more easily. Either by inexpert personnel, or against targets with more diverse levels of fitness.”

  “Such as civilians?” I said. “By them, and against them?”

  “Exactly. Which brings me to my next point. That country you asked about. The Republic of Equatorial Myene. I put the word out on the grapevine for information. And something interesting has come back already. Word is, a coup is on the cards.”

  “It’s in Africa, Lucinda. Of course a coup’s on the cards. There’ve been two hundred since 1960, alone. Attempts, anyway. It’s a standard political tool, in some places I’ve been to.”

  “I understand that. But this is a serious one, apparently. I’m hearing that the rebels have some major-league backing. Money. Weapons. Mercenaries, ready to help them fight.”

  “Are you sure? Most coup attempts turn out to be all talk and no trousers.”

  “I’m hearing that it is, David. And it would explain the government being so keen on acquiring Spektra gas. Imagine whole villages being wiped out by one guy in a jeep. It would take a single cylinder. That would be quite an incentive to stay loyal to the regime.”

  “One cylinder? Wouldn’t most of the gas just blow away?”

  “No. Not if they have the right kind. On the videos, did you see the captions saying ‘Variant A’? That signifies the indoor version. It’s a fraction of the concentration. And the external type will be loaded with additives to make it more dense. Keep it close to the ground.”

  I didn’t reply.

  “I know what I’m talking about, David,” she said. “I was in the Balkans before New York, and we were all trained on this stuff.”

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “I believe you. I was just thinking, coup attempt or not, we need to keep the Myenese and the gas apart. On separate sides of the oce
an, preferably. And on that, there’s something else I need to check. Call me if anything else breaks?”

  “I will. But I might have to increase my price to two lunches.”

  The more I thought about the video, the less I liked the idea of the Myenese getting their hands on the cylinders of Spektra gas. Or of McIntyre continuing to be on the loose. The only link we had to either was the consulate’s IT guys, but I couldn’t put in a direct call to them. Hassling them would only slow things down. But at the same time, I was impatient for news. That just left me with Fothergill. I guessed he was busy, since he hadn’t returned my call from earlier. I was a little annoyed about that. I was still mulling it over, and wondering if he was worth another try, when his number appeared on my phone.

  “Richard,” I said. “I was just thinking about you. Any sign of a rabbit?”

  “Perhaps,” he said. “A bunny, maybe. A chink of light at the mouth of the burrow, at least. The Tefal-heads have found something. We think we know how Tony was communicating with his contacts.”

  “Have you got a number? Let me have it. I’ll try to get hold of them right away.”

  “No. It’s more sophisticated than that. It seems they were swapping messages via an Internet dating service.”

  “Online dating? Are you sure he wasn’t just lonely?”

  “Positive. This came from the other guys’ computer, remember. It was hard to spot. The messages were coded, but they’d kept enough of them for our boys to break their system.”

  “Are they sure? Can we use it?”

  “They think so. We’ve just planted our first seed. We’re waiting for a response, now.”

  “I’ll keep my fingers crossed, then.”

  “I’m keeping everything crossed. And I’ll keep you posted. I just wanted you know where we were up to. Things could break in a hurry, so keep your boots on and stay by the phone. I’ll be in touch.”

  SEVENTEEN

  Scratch the surface of a corporation, and you might be surprised what lies beneath.

  Even organizations that appear similar on the outside can have dramatically different cultures. That makes infiltrating them all the more interesting. But also more difficult. The last thing you want to do is stand out, and it’s the little behavioral quirks that can so easily trip you up. Birds of a feather flock together, so you have to gauge very quickly how competitive your new colleagues are likely to be. Or how secretive. How helpful. Or in one place I went—a semiconductor manufacturer—how nice.

  It’s not quite true to say that everyone at that company was nice, actually. The majority was. But one person definitely was not. One of the secretaries. She wasn’t to me, anyway. She went out of her way to make my life miserable. So when it was revealed that she had some horrible disease, I had mixed feelings. I wouldn’t have wished it on her. If there was anything I could have done to make her better, I would have. But I wasn’t about to shed any tears, either. So I had to be careful about that. It could have driven a wedge between me and the others in the office. And I found that annoying.

  A horrible person who’s sick is still a horrible person.

  Just like an evil person who’s no longer inconvenient is still evil.

  Having a computer that wasn’t bursting with navy spyware was a novelty for me. It had the potential to be a real luxury, especially with all this time to kill. I could use it to watch movies. Play games. Contact people I’d fallen out of touch with. Do all the things on the Internet that civilians take for granted. There were endless possibilities, but the memory of watching the Spektra gas tests had killed my appetite for all of them. Stone dead. I was tempted to just close the machine down and wait for the phone to ring, but I forced myself to check another couple of Web sites instead. I looked for more information about the Myenese, but nothing new or significant came to light. Then I moved on to dysprosium. The miracle mineral. It may have been rare, and it may have generated untold wealth, but it didn’t make for interesting reading. It didn’t fill me with enthusiasm. And that meant I was only half way through the first article I’d found when Fothergill called me back.

  “Good news,” he said. “Time to move. Got a pen and paper?”

  “I don’t need one,” I said. “Go ahead.”

  “OK. They took the bait. The meeting is on. Two o’clock at a hotel called the Drake. It’s a little farther up Michigan than the Ritz-Carlton, where we were the other day. They have several bars, but you need to find one called the Coq d’Or. It’ll appear closed when you get there, but the left-hand door will be unlocked. You should have no trouble getting in. You won’t even have to break anything.”

  “McIntyre’s contacts will meet me there?”

  “They will.”

  “Good. How many will there be?”

  “I don’t know. They didn’t say. And I couldn’t really push them. It would look too hokey.”

  “Agreed. And it’s not a problem. Just a nice-to-know.”

  “I understand. The IT guys are still digging, so if they come up with anything that could throw any light, I’ll get straight back to you.”

  “Thanks. So that just leaves our unwelcome guests. Where are we up to with them?”

  “All done. They’re lined up and waiting. I just need to call them with the green light as soon as we’re finished. I’m really happy, actually. I managed to get the best two under-the-counter operators in Chicago. They’re going to do an excellent job. I know it.”

  “They better. There’s a lot hanging on this. What’s the setup?”

  “Nothing fancy. I believe in keeping it simple with deals like this. Both guys will be wearing White Sox gear. They’ll stagger into the bar, pretending to be drunk and belligerent. Then they’ll act like they recognize the Myenese as opposing fans from some recent game and come over all nasty. And that’s where you step in.”

  “Do you think that will work? Do they have baseball hooliganism here? This isn’t England, you know.”

  “I’m sure they do. Sports are sports. And anyway, who cares? The Myenese aren’t going to know the difference. And they only have to buy it for about ten seconds before you ride in and save the day.”

  I still wasn’t convinced.

  “It’ll work,” he said. “Trust me. And besides, have you got a better idea?”

  I didn’t reply.

  “OK. I’ll text you when I’ve spoken to them. In the meantime, any questions, call me.”

  The conversation with Fothergill had blunted my interest in research, so I closed the computer and put on my coat. The rendezvous point was within walking distance if I left in enough time. The need to set off wasn’t urgent yet, but it never hurts to get to a place first. Especially when the people you’re meeting have a habit of carrying knives and guns.

  Fothergill’s text arrived when I was halfway across the hotel lobby. It confirmed we were all set for two o’clock. That was all I needed to know, so I didn’t expect to hear from him again until after the setup had either succeeded or failed. But in the event, he did call me. Just as I was passing the Wrigley Building.

  “Got any sandwiches up there?” I said.

  “Why would I have sandwiches?” he said. “Up where? What are you talking about?”

  “I’m right outside the office. I thought you’d maybe seen me out of the window and were going to invite me upstairs for a snack. Save me having to stop and buy something on the way to this Drake place.”

  “Oh. I see. No. No food. And I’m not in my office. I’m with the IT boys. We’ve got some news. It’s hot off the press. We haven’t even had the chance to think through what it means, yet. But I thought you should hear about it straightaway. Before you reach the Drake.”

  “OK. That sounds serious. What’s up?”

  “Well, remember how we figured that Tony was communicating through a dating service?”

  “Right. That’s how you set up the meeting I’m heading for right now.”

  “Exactly. So, we found that out via historical information
on the Myenese guys’ computer. Now what we’ve done is work back the other way. We’ve managed to track down Tony’s live dating account. And we’ve found it’s become active again.”

  “I guess it would have. How else would he have set up his own rendezvous with them, later? The one I’m supposed to crash?”

  “That’s logical. But it’s only part of the story.”

  “So can we find out when McIntyre’s meeting them? And where? ’Cause then we could cut out this whole charade at the Drake. Avoid the chance it all blows up in our face. Sidestep that, and go straight for the throat.”

  “I don’t think so. And this is where things get a little strange. What we’ve found out is, Tony’s been using a new set of addresses. And his messages seem to be using a completely new version of the code.”

  “So he’s suspicious? He’s picked up that his meeting tonight’s been blown?”

  “No. I don’t think that’s it at all. The code changed before we even started looking. We think it means that he’s in touch with someone new. He’s ditched the Myenese, and he’s selling to someone else.”

  “OK. That could be. Remember how he texted me something about meeting friends? On the pretense of hooking back up with Young? When he was setting up to ambush you? We took that to mean the Myenese. That must have been a red herring.”

  “Right. And it nearly worked. But the question is, what next? How do you think we should play this? Your meeting with the Myenese is probably irrelevant in the circumstances.”