“Don’t tell me you don’t know, administrator.”
She let that pass without comment. “Kindly don’t deactivate your nostrum again. I need to see you urgently.”
“Ditto,” I said. “But I don’t want anyone else present.” I noticed her eyes open a touch wider than usual. “How about inviting me round to your private quarters?”
Raphael thought about it. “If you insist. I want you there as soon as possible.”
“You want me where?” I said, looking at the mini-camera’s eye on my nostrum.
“Queen, staircase one.”
The picture flickered and died.
I laughed.
“What?” Davie asked. “Where is that?”
“Where do you think?” I replied. “What used to be called the Queen’s College.”
The way that people in power lose all sense of irony never fails to amuse me.
Davie had me down the High Street in well under a minute – he’d managed to work out the high-speed commands. I hadn’t been able to tell where Raphael was on the nostrum screen, but I assumed she was in the Council building and wouldn’t be down here for a while. I tried Katharine again while I waited. She still wasn’t answering. I tried to call her up on the nostrum. The words “Transmission Failure” came up in red on the screen.
“Do you know the address of the place Katharine went, Davie?” I asked.
He pulled out his notebook. “Aye,” he said, “465 Banbury Road.”
“Get up there while I’m in with her majesty, will you? I don’t know why Katharine isn’t answering.”
He looked at his watch. “It’s not that long since she set off. Maybe she stopped for a walk in the park.”
“The park’s some kind of concentration camp, remember?”
“Oh aye,” he said, his face grim. “I’ll look after it.”
I got out. “And Davie? Call me on the mobile in exactly one hour, okay? I don’t want to lose touch with both of you.”
“Don’t worry,” he said, grinning. “You don’t get shot of me that easily.”
I waved him away and walked slowly towards the college entrance. I had a bad feeling about Katharine, but I forced myself to ignore it.
My imminent meeting with the chief administrator was more than enough to worry about.
I walked past the sensor post and through an elegant gateway surmounted by what looked like a miniature ancient temple. At least the female statue in it wasn’t of Raphael. Apart from a couple of shy students, the spacious front quad was deserted. I was about to ask my way from the porter when there was a loud buzz. A line of red dashes appeared on the flagstones in front of me and a mechanical voice said, “Citizen Dalrymple, follow the line.” I glanced around and nodded at whoever was manning the surveillance system. For a change they were being open about watching me.
The arrows led round to the left. In front of me was a long colonnaded block with pediments and statues on the upper part. Looking round, I realised the front façade of the college was nothing more than a retaining wall, the accommodation forming only three sides of the quad. It was all too regular for my liking, too ordered. That was probably why Raphael had chosen to live here.
I was directed upstairs to the first floor. A door on the uncarpeted landing swung open.
“Come in, citizen,” said an impatient voice when I didn’t. “You aren’t here to be diverted by the view.”
I entered the chief administrator’s pad and took it in. “Nice place,” I said. “You don’t think a carpet might improve the ambience? Maybe some curtains? Even the odd bookcase or escritoire?” Apart from a pair of distinctly aged armchairs and a low coffee table, the austere room contained no furniture. There was a bank of screens on the wall above a carved marble fireplace, none of them currently active.
Raphael was standing in the centre of the bare floor, nostrum in hand. “Sit down and refrain from making extraneous comments,” she said, letting the device fall between her breasts. “It’s time we talked.”
“Okay,” I said, giving her a bland smile. “But before we do that, answer me this: were you here when we spoke on the nostrum?”
She stared at me then shook her head. “If you must know, I was in the north Noxad building – what used to be the New Bodleian Library.”
“So how did you get here so quickly? I didn’t see you come in the main entrance.”
“Really, citizen, what are you trying to prove?” she said testily. “The college has more than one entrance.”
I took the guidebook from my pocket and looked at the street atlas. The New Bodleian was an ugly rubble-walled heap on the north side of Broad Street. How the hell had she got here so quickly? Supersonic public-use bike?
“May we proceed now?” Raphael asked.
“Be my guest.”
The chief administrator sat down and waited for me to follow suit. “Very well, Citizen Dalrymple—”
“Call me Quint,” I put in. “Even if you won’t tell me your first name.”
She glared at me. “Kindly do not interrupt,” she said. “Citizen.”
I turned up my palms. If that was the way she wanted it, fair enough. I was still going to run the conversation my way. “I had an interesting encounter today,” I said, pausing to get her full attention. “With a Grendel.”
“What?” Raphael’s voice was suddenly animated. “Where?”
“Don’t you want to know about when, why and how as well?” I asked.
Her eyes locked on to mine. “Remember that you and your friends are guests in this city.” Her tone was caustic. “And remember that there are numerous incarceration facilities here.”
I breathed in hard, wondering where Katharine had got to. I could have asked Raphael to put her people on to it. Or maybe she already knew exactly where Katharine was. This game was getting very complicated.
“All right,” I said. “Here’s the story.” I told her about the tunnel and the Grendel, omitting Pete Pym’s involvement.
“What on earth were you doing down there in the first place, citizen?” she demanded when I’d finished.
I shrugged. I wasn’t going to tell her about the House of Dust angle yet. “Just following my nose.” I fixed her in my gaze. “Are you going to come clean about the Grendels now or do I have to spell it out? It was one of them who fired the shot in Edinburgh, wasn’t it?”
She looked away and I suddenly got the impression that we had company.
“You don’t mind, do you?” I asked, standing up and moving quickly to the door behind her. I didn’t wait for an answer, flinging it open and looking the place over. It was her bedroom and it was as drab as the main room: a steel-framed single bed with dark blue covers, a narrow wardrobe and a basin, that was all. The mirror above the basin was round and small. The chief administrator wasn’t a great one for make-up. I closed the door and went over to the one on the other side of the fireplace. An identical bedroom, this one without a toothbrush between the taps.
“Guest room?” I asked.
She looked at me coolly. “These rooms were originally for two students.” She pursed her lips. “I never have anyone to stay.”
I sat down again. At least the likes of Connington and Dawkley weren’t listening at the keyhole, even if they were watching us on a screen somewhere.
“Satisfied, citizen?” she asked.
I shook my head. “Several country miles from that condition. It’s time you opened up to me.” I used the double entendre deliberately to shake her up. “Why have you got a Grendel on your tail?”
Raphael leaned forward and smoothed her hands over the dark fabric on her thighs. I couldn’t be sure if that was her way of showing that she’d registered my lewd implication. “You seem to have found out quite a lot without my help, citizen,” she said in a dry voice. “Which, of course, is what I wanted you to do. It had become apparent that a fresh approach was necessary.”
I wasn’t convinced that she was being straight with me, but what she said
squared with the way I’d been allowed to check all my leads – whether I was being watched or not.
“The Grendels,” she continued, looking past me through the tall window at the block across the quad. “They belong to ExFor – the External Force. It is an élite cadre of paramilitary police. It was formed in 2012 and its primary functions were, and are, to patrol and to maintain the state’s land borders. Drugs gangs and other criminal elements have been trying to infiltrate for years.”
“Despite the existence of the so-called Poison Fields?” I said.
She looked at me and shrugged. “Yes. More fool them. Unfortunately it gradually became apparent that the contamination levels were increasing drastically. Many ExFor personnel succumbed to viruses that had never been identified before. So . . .” She paused and took a deep breath. “So the Hebdomadal Council was forced to take a major decision.”
The atmosphere in the room was suddenly oppressive. I could feel sweat breaking out all over my body. Was Raphael finally about to tell me what I needed to crack the case?
“And what was it that you decided?” I asked in a low voice.
The chief administrator dropped her gaze. “We decided to implement research that several of the science departments had proposed.” She licked her lips and looked straight into my eyes. “We decided to create an enhanced human being.”
Outside the birds were twittering in the spring warmth, but all I felt was icy steel running up my spine like an executioner’s blade.
It took me some time to find my voice. “A what?”
“You heard me, citizen.”
“An enhanced human being?” I repeated, my heart pounding. “What the hell does that mean?”
Raphael was back in control of herself now. “It means a human being with an advanced immune system, one so sophisticated that none of the toxins and viruses in the Poison Fields can affect it.” She glanced past me again. “We also applied certain other characteristics to improve the performance of ExFor personnel.”
“Oh aye?” I said. What she’d said tied up with the code red file that I’d seen in the morning. I was also thinking of the Grendel recruitment session I’d witnessed. “What characteristics?”
“Massively increased physical strength, for a start.” A shadow of what might have been doubt passed over her face. “We used psychological and chemical means to produce the ideal patrol operative.”
“You mean you brainwashed them?”
Raphael gave me a disapproving look. “That term has no scientific validity, citizen.”
I shrugged. “Neither does Grendel.” Then I remembered the other code names I’d seen: Miranda, Plowman, Volpone and so on. The pattern suddenly fell into place. “Oh, now I get it. Reverse chronology. Beowulf is the earliest work, so the Grendels must be the most sophisticated ExFor personnel yet.” I caught her eye. “What happened? Did one of them take exception to the process?”
Her face was pale and she didn’t favour that question with a spoken answer, which told me that I was right.
I rubbed my forehead. “Surely you have some kind of monitoring system on these monsters. Why don’t you just pick the miscreant up? Or is there more than one of them on the loose?”
Now she was shaking her head, her face sombre. “It’s not that easy, I’m afraid. There are two classes of Grendels. Mark Ones, those who operate in the outer Poison Fields, are programmed to remain in designated ExFor areas; that is, no closer than fifteen kilometres from the city. All of those are accounted for.”
I felt a sinking feeling. “Don’t tell me,” I said. “Mark Twos are like me. They have free access.”
The chief administrator pursed her lips. “In principle, no. Mark Two Grendels were designed to be completely self-sufficient so that they can operate outside the borders of New Oxford. But the scientists discovered that the only way to achieve flexibility and independence of thought and action was to remove the monitoring facilities.”
“You mean you haven’t got a clue where any of these highly trained operatives is. How many are there?”
“Seven,” she replied. “All male. The last was released from the borders in February. One of the few control mechanisms that we have over them is that their initial programming prevents them from re-entering the state of New Oxford.”
“And you think one or more of them has managed to override that?”
She nodded. “The problem is . . . the Mark Twos are fully trained in anti-surveillance tactics, including the assumption of false identities and disguising their appearance. They are also issued with certain equipment which enables them to counteract cameras and other tracking units.”
“That could explain what happened to the cameras on the High Street before the killings of Ted Pym and Raskolnikov.”
“It could, yes.”
Now I was having flashes of the crime scenes in Edinburgh: the stinking tenement where we found Dead Dod and the former burial ground where Lewis Hamilton had fallen. I leaned forward. “What is the Mark Two Grendels’ function outside New Oxford?”
“They—” Raphael broke off, her reluctance to answer very obvious. “They carry out certain sensitive duties.”
I remembered the ASAR rifle and its sophisticated ammunition. “Jesus Christ. They’re assassins, aren’t they? You use them to take out people you don’t like.”
“Um . . . that isn’t really germane to this investigation,” she said.
“Like fuck it isn’t,” I yelled, getting up and bending over her. “One of your fucking Mark Two Grendels put an Eagle One in the Edinburgh public order guardian.”
The chief administrator raised her hand. “You’re too close, citizen.”
I leaned closer. “You’re bloody right I am, Raphael. And getting closer to your septic secrets by the minute.”
“No,” she said, her straightened fingers jabbing hard into my chest. “I mean you’re too close to me. I don’t like physical intimacy.”
I stepped back, aware that by doing so I was giving her back the initiative.
“That’s something else you should know,” Raphael continued.
“Don’t tell me. You like to pull the wings off flies.”
She twitched her head. “Not about me. About the Eagle One that hit Lewis Hamilton.”
I moved towards her again. “What about it?”
She raised a hand to fend me off. “You’ve seen the specifications. You know what it can do. In this case, the shooter deactivated the detonation unit.”
“That’s right,” I said, recalling what Verzeni had said about the software when he demonstrated the ASAR to us. “He stopped the bullet blowing Lewis to pieces.”
Raphael nodded. “Not only that. Remember the low buzz that the projectile made before impact?”
I nodded, my mind flashing back to the scene in the prison yard and the sound I’d picked up.
“The shooter attempted to minimise the bullet’s impact by initiating the velocity reduction facility.”
“Maybe that was because he realised that it wasn’t going to hit you.”
“Maybe,” she said. “The sighting system does allow for rapid response, despite the fact that the projectile’s vector cannot be altered; during the trials there were cases of imperfect Grendels trying to fire round corners for their own amusement. However, there is another possibility.”
I couldn’t see where she was heading. “What?” I demanded.
Raphael opened her eyes wide at me. “Why would the shooter make such efforts to neutralise the Eagle One’s effect?”
I ran my hand across my chin. “Why would he indeed? Grendels are trained to kill, aren’t they?”
“Precisely. Their programming takes no account of misfires or wrongly identified targets.” The administrator went on looking at me intently. “Perhaps this particular shooter had some reason of his own for trying to save Lewis Hamilton from serious injury.”
I tried to imagine who in New Oxford would give a shit about an Edinburgh guardian. I didn’t
have long to get anywhere with that. My mobile went off, making me jump.
“Quint?” said a familiar voice. “It’s Katharine. Davie told me you were worried about me. How sweet.”
“Not now,” I said.
“You’re not worried now?”
“No. Yes. Oh, for Christ’s sake. Meet me outside Queen. Out.”
The chief administrator was sitting motionless. “News?”
I shook my head, keeping the relief I was feeling over Katharine to myself. “Right, about the errant Mark Two Grendel.” I gave Raphael the eye. “What you say is very interesting, but it isn’t much more than speculation. There’s a more immediate question. Why would a Grendel want to kill you? Surely the first command that’s drummed into your highly efficient killing machines is that administrators are untouchable.”
She left my question unanswered for a time. “Yes, well, I presume that aspect of the programming has also been overridden.” She stood up in a rapid movement. “You’re the investigator, citizen. I leave the question of the killer’s motivation to you. My colleagues and I do have an idea how to catch him though.”
“Do you?” I wasn’t sure if I wanted the administrators’ help – I reckoned at least some of them were up to their elbows in the mire – but I was beginning to flail around. “And it is?”
“Tomorrow we are holding one of the bimonthly Encaenia.”
“Translation?”
“Encaenia? Ceremony commemorating the university’s benefactors,” she said. “It used to be an annual event, but these days our sponsors like a more frequent recognition of their generosity. There is a public procession of administrators and senior academics.”
“And you think the Grendel will take another pot shot at you there?”
She nodded slowly. “I do.”
Take out the university-state’s leading light in front of the people who fund the place? I couldn’t fault her thinking.
Chapter Nineteen
Preparing for the procession took up the rest of the day and most of the evening. We spent several hours in the Hebdomadal Council building. The proctor wasn’t impressed by Raphael’s insistence that she would lead the parade as usual, but he was given no choice. On the other hand, Dawkley had trouble concealing his excitement; he seemed to be positive both that the assassin created by his scientists would make an appearance and that he would be caught, without suggesting how. The fact that he and Raphael were so sure of their strategy, as well as the carefully ordered dispositions of bulldogs and other security staff, prompted me to wonder why I was being made privy to the planning. Eventually I found out.
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