Provenance I - Flee The Bonds

by V J Kavanagh

  His fingers found the tender bruise. ‘Lost a fight with a Prefect. Anyway, what are you doing here?’

  Her soft brown eyes captured his, ‘Francois’s concerned about you.’

  Steve folded his arms, ‘Me? Why?’

  ‘Don’t be defensive, we care. We know you weren’t to blame for Bo, and we don’t want you destroying yourself finding out who was.’

  ‘And what does we think I should do?’

  She sighed. ‘This isn’t the playground Steve.’

  ‘Sorry. Did Francois tell you about Jannae?’

  ‘Who’s she?’

  ‘A level twelve Profiler who says SIS have plans to take control of Provenance.’ The fact that Francois hadn’t mentioned it reinforced Steve’s conviction. He knows it’s true.

  Kacee shifted in her seat. ‘It could be an SIS analysis. You do have a watch order on you.’

  ‘I don’t think so. She knew her brother was alive.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Meaning she can’t be SIS.’

  A lustrous pink-lipped smile formed. ‘Fine. Just don’t do anything foolish.’ Kacee’s attentiveness left him and wandered around, ‘These rooms are all pretty impressive.’

  ‘You not in the Orangery with Dee then?’

  Her smile broadened. ‘No. I haven’t been a naughty girl.’

  Steve remained reticent; at least he thought he had.

  Kacee’s gaze locked with his. ‘Relax, Steve. I’m not interested in Dee’s sister. I hope she finds happiness, I really do.’

  He slapped the armrests. ‘So, what’s your room like.’

  ‘Pink, definitely pink.’ Her head tilted. ‘I can show you if you like?’

  ‘That’s okay; I’ll take your word for it.’

  ‘Oh Steve, lighten up.’ She took her MCD from her clutch bag, tapped the screen, and handed it across. ‘Here. Francois said I could shoot the whole place, except his precious garage. What is it with boys and their cars?’

  Steve stared and remained absolutely still. ‘Who’s the woman?’

  ‘Pretty little thing ain’t she? That’s Colette, she had to leave soon after I arrived, her mom’s sick. I’ve got Martine now, she’s okay, but her nose is a bit of a distraction.’

  Steve noted the date time stamp and swiped through the other photographs.

  Kacee’s hand shot out. ‘Stop. That’s Martine. See what I mean.’

  Steve stared at the woman with frizzy blonde hair and proud Gallic nose, ‘And now she’s gone as well.’

  ‘Yes, she’s visiting relatives for a few days . . . How did you know?’

  ‘Francois told me.’

  ‘Look at me, Steve.’

  He acquiesced and raised his head.

  ‘That isn’t true is it? What do you know?’

  ‘Nothing I can prove, but you need to be careful.’ As I do. Steve knew Kacee was an Evaluator, he suspected she was also SIS.

  She reached across and touched his knee. ‘It’s nice that you care about me.’

  Steve quickly swiped through the remaining photographs before handing the MCD back. ‘They’re very good, you missed your vocation.’

  ‘I missed a lotta things.’

  19:11 WED 01:11:2119

  Intra Zone, Seine-et-Marne, France, Sector 2

  Steve thanked the portier and walked into the dining room. Its gold damask walls blazed with crystal sconces, reflecting in the glossy patina of a dining table that would have covered a small swimming pool. In the distance, over the tops of the monarchical table candelabra stood Francois and Dee. Like him, they were dressed in black jackets and open-neck white shirts — unlike him they hadn’t had to borrow a jacket from the majordome.

  He stepped onto the pale blue Mina-Khani patterned rug and headed for the radiant hearth. Its monumental royal blue and gold surround could have been excavated from a Pharaoh’s tomb. Dee and Francois stood to one side; light glinting off their champagne flutes.

  Francois’s bright eyes flicked up and down. ‘Formidable.’

  ‘Thanks, and for the jacket.’

  ‘Keep it, please. I hope we have many more opportunities for you to wear it.’

  ‘That’s very kind, so do I.’

  Dee slapped Steve on the shoulder. ‘Yeah, lots of opportunities.’

  Francois beckoned to a stony-faced man balancing a silver tray of flutes. Dee reached out and replaced his with a full one. Steve watched with interest, not at Dee’s lack of etiquette, but at Francois’s glare.

  Francois proffered a flute and raised his. ‘Santé.’

  Steve copied, ‘Santé.’

  As did Dee, ‘Yeah, that as well.’

  Steve took a sip. Not for the first time he noticed a look pass between them. ‘What is it, Dee?’

  ‘Francois’s gonna get you reinstated.’

  ‘Is he?’

  Francois placed his glass on the mantelpiece. ‘I wanted—’ He whipped a glance at Dee. ‘—to wait until after dinner.’ Francois’s chest rose. ‘I have persuaded Command to reinstate you.’

  ‘What about Choo?’

  ‘He has agreed also.’

  Steve’s mind ticked. Admiral Choo would never accept such a loss of face, unless his life depended on it. ‘That’s good news. Thanks.’

  Francois broke eye contact, ‘There are two conditions.’

  ‘Which are?’ I stop the investigation.

  ‘You must stop your investigation.’

  Dee drained his glass. ‘Makes sense, Stevie. You could dump a whole heap of trouble on us all.’

  ‘And the second?’ I agree to live here so SIS can keep an eye on me.

  Francois wasn’t listening, neither was Dee.

  Kacee glided towards them. Two areas of sheer sensuality divided her gold edged black evening dress, one emphasised her smooth shoulders and toned arms, the other her flat stomach. Her right hand held a gold clutch bag and as she walked, the toes of gold shoes peeked out from below the swirling hem.

  Francois knocked Steve’s arm in passing, ‘Bonsoir ma Cherie. You have l’air fantastique.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Kacee’s French braided hair revealed a satiny neck and Steve found himself staring at the gold drop earring lying against her skin. A serpent coiled around an apple. A moment later, their eyes met. He blinked and fluffed a smile. ‘Beautiful dress.’

  Francois’s chest expanded again. ‘Thank you, it is from Paris, a dress for an Empress.’

  * * * *

  Fine crystal chinked, ‘Amitié.’

  ‘Friendship.’

  ‘Friendship.’

  ‘Yeah, that as well.’

  The toasts continued throughout the four-course dinner. A 2113 Domaine Leroy ‘Santenots’ accompanied the poached eggs in red wine sauce and Francois’s sommelier ensured everyone saw the 2112 Romanee-Saint-Vivant label before serving it with the beef bourguignon and dauphinoise potatoes. A tartouillat and a large glass of the 2102 Château d’Yquem followed a platter of ripe smelling cheeses.

  Francois gestured to one of his ever-attentive staff. ‘Café en la salle rouge.’

  ‘Oui Monsieur.’

  They retired to the red room and took their places around a gilt wood figural table, its salmon-pink marble top polished to glass. All but Dee lounged in crimson and gold armchairs. His unreliable legs rested on a chaise lounge, although he still had the presence of mind to keep his shoes off the gold brocade.

  The ornamental stone fireplace crackled, its orange radiance blending into the subdued ambiance of the table lamps.

  Francois leant back with his espresso and looked at Steve, ‘Did you enjoy dinner?’

  ‘Very much, the food and wine were excellent.’

  ‘I am happy that you enjoyed it.’

  Francois turned his head. ‘And you, ma Cherie, did you enjoy it also?’

  Kacee crossed her legs, and in Steve’s periphery, black chiffon parted to reve
al toned muscle coated with a bronze sheen. ‘It was heavenly.’

  Francois’s eyes found Steve, ‘Have you decided?’

  ‘You haven’t told me the second condition yet.’

  ‘Condition? Non. It is a bonus. I want you to live here. You will have your own room, and an office.’

  Francois’s lips compressed at the sound of a resurgent Dee, ‘Great idea, man, one big happy family.’

  Steve smiled. ‘I thought you’d passed out.’

  Dee pushed himself up and lurched for a shard of amber cane, his arm clattering the three-legged silver coffee pot onto two.

  Francois caught it. ‘Attention!’

  Dee winked at Steve. ‘Sorry, master.’

  Francois’s congeniality returned. ‘So? Would you prefer to live on your little boat?’

  Kacee’s voice floated in. ‘Why do you live on a boat?’

  ‘It’s peaceful, and it’s not that little.’

  Francois continued, ‘It is peaceful here, we have four hundred hectares. You have no reason to live on a boat — do you?’

  Steve sensed Dee’s stare. ‘No.’ He had no choice. His failure to comply would have raised suspicions.

  Francois clapped. ‘Excellent.’

  * * * *

  Steve stared up at the ceiling, its baroque squares obscured by darkness. His body tensed, the door creaked through the silence. He rolled onto his side, his eyes straining into impervious black. A click preceded soft footfalls.

  The footfalls ceased and a silhouette appeared next to the bed. ‘Shh.’

  Something soft fell to the floor, a moment later the mattress compressed; sweet vanilla permeated the satin sheets.

  A warm hand rested on his chest, pushing him gently onto his back.

  Her firmness flattened against his chest. Silky lips tingled down his neck and onto his right shoulder; a finger traced the curved scar. Impossible. It’s pitch black!

  Somewhere in the distant night, a dog barked. Steve blinked into the aphotic abyss. ‘No.’

  An assertive hand pressed down. ‘Relax.’

  Steve found her shoulders and pushed hard. As the weight left his body, he rolled and swung his legs off the bed. ‘I’m sorry, Kacee. Please go.’

  08:21 THU 02:11:2119

  Intra Zone, Seine-et-Marne, France, Sector 2

  Steve squinted. The oblong windowpane framed the manicured lawn awakening under the morning sun. Movement in his periphery shifted his gaze. A spider crawled out to tend its web.

  ‘It is a shame that you will not be here for the hunting on Friday. You will remember our agreement yes?’

  Francois reclined opposite, his burgundy shirt and tan trousers absorbing the pale rays diffused through the breakfast room’s French windows. Between them, a low cloth-covered table held two gold-rimmed cups of coffee.

  ‘I just need a few days to tie up loose ends.’ Behind Steve, heels clicked on the cream tiles.

  Francois’s gaze flicked away. ‘Ah, here is our new Advocate.’

  Steve turned towards the approaching footsteps. His heart stopped.

  Captain Lacusta chuckled. ‘What is wrong, Steve, have you seen a ghost?’

  Francois crossed the breakfast room floor, and returned with another gilded armchair. ‘Please.’

  Lacusta sat on Steve’s right, his dark eyes searching Steve’s face. ‘I do not think you are happy to see me.’

  Steve fought to control his pounding chest, ‘Don’t you remember; you tried to kill me.’

  Lacusta placed his hands over his face and slid them up. The tanned jaw paled, rounded, the Roman nose narrowed and black stubble appeared.

  Steve raised his eyebrows. ‘Hello, Morton.’

  Morton smoothed his coarse black hair down over his forehead. ‘Sorry, it was not my intention to frighten you.’

  Steve’s heartbeat slowed. SIS know about Lacusta. ‘So you’re in the Quad?’

  Francois directed his smile at Morton. ‘Every Quad is to have an artificial. We are the first.’ He reached for his coffee, ‘I thought that artificials could not use the identity of someone who is active.’

  ‘You are correct. Lacusta has gone offline. He has, as we English say, sunk without a trace.’ Morton’s black eyes slid to Steve and a smile formed in the stubbled polymer.

  Steve held the derisive gaze and stood, ‘I’m going to see Dee.’

  * * * *

  The Orangery apartment’s solid oak door opened, sunlight entered, reflecting off a lemon dress and beaming smile.

  ‘Steve!’ Michelle threw her arms around his neck.

  He responded with a gentle hug, ‘How are you?’

  She stepped back and placed her hands over her bump. ‘We’re fine. Thanks to you.’

  ‘How are mum and dad?’

  ‘Aw, they’re fine. It gets a bit stuffy sometimes, but there’re lots of windows.’

  ‘And Dee?’

  She shook her head. ‘Not so good.’

  ‘I’m fine.’ Dee’s sagging face and bloodshot eyes contradicted his self-diagnosis.

  Steve placed his hand on Michelle’s shoulder. ‘I need to have a chat with Dee.’

  ‘Sure.’ She twirled and poked her tongue at her brother. ‘Prune face.’

  Dee rubbed his eyes, ‘She’s only being polite cos you’re here.’

  Steve nodded towards the garden. ‘Can we have a talk?’

  ‘Don’t you wanna come in?’

  ‘No. Let’s walk.’

  He led Dee down the steps and onto the dewy lawn; he didn’t speak until they were twenty metres from the house. ‘Francois’s SIS.’

  ‘Yeah I know. I accidently interrupted one of his calls.’

  ‘If he discovers you can speak French, he’ll kill you.’

  ‘Don’t worry, we know he’s listening. As long as he doesn’t see me as a threat, we’ll be okay. At least until I figure out who in Command I can trust. Besides, Francois’s AC, he ain’t going anywhere I don’t.’

  Steve looked up into the cloudless sky. He had no proof Colossus wasn’t going to impact, but he did have proof Francois was Resistance. He took out his MCD and handed it to Dee. ‘Francois’s not only SIS, he’s Resistance. Go to the Quad bin and open Jason’s last log.’

  ‘What am I looking for?’

  ‘A photograph of a young woman, brunette, bob haircut, tanned.’

  Dee turned the MCD to Steve, ‘That her?’

  ‘Her name’s Collette. She’s probably dead now. Kacee photographed her in the chateau ten minutes before Jason took that. So it had to be an AH.’

  Dee handed back the MCD. ‘That’s why he’s got shielding.’

  ‘Exactly. Somewhere around here, he must have a lab where he’s cloning his staff. Another one’s been following me. I thought it was SIS, but now I think Francois used them to target the Merlins.’

  ‘So he’s Resistance and SIS?’

  ‘Yep.’

  Dee scratched his buzz cut with both hands. ‘This is crazy.’

  ‘Not really. SIS don’t have the numbers, they’ll use Francois’s army to take control of Provenance and then betray him.’

  ‘So what you gonna do?’

  ‘Play along until I find out what SIS want with me.’

  ‘This ain’t a game, Steve.’

  Steve grasped Dee’s shoulder. ‘No it’s not. Millions of lives are at stake, including your family’s.’

  Dee flicked his shoulder free, ‘Yeah, and Command thinks you’re SIS, so the further away you are the safer they’ll be. Why don’t you ask Kacee, she’s sure to help.’

  ‘Kacee has her own problems.’

  ‘She find out you gotta Drone girlfriend?’

  Steve compressed his lips into a smile. ‘Let’s hope not. For everyone’s sake.’

  11:54 THU 02:11:2119

  Black Zone, London, England, Sector 2

  Steve leant against the park railings and looked up at the
corner of Highcliffe Mansions. Its eight-storey stone facades ran left and right, each serviced by two large colonnade porches.

  Jannae lived on the second floor.

  He’d asked Francois to drop him off in London, the pretext being that living at the chateau would require some new, more formal clothes. Kacee had accompanied them, their one-sided assignation apparently forgotten. She’d even offered to help him choose his new wardrobe.

  He turned up his collar, adjusted the brim on his charcoal wool cap, and strode out from beneath the branches.

  * * * *

  Steve stopped outside apartment five and glanced at his MPS, 11:57. He was three minutes early. He pressed the silver call button and waited.

  After a further two minutes, he inserted a clone-key and opened the door. The lights were on. He stuffed the cap into his jacket, unclipped the Cogent, and closed the door behind him.

  With his back to the hall cupboard, he pushed open the hallway door and swung into a verdant lounge. Mint walls and botanical prints enclosed two sage settees sitting on a fawn carpet. The settees’ colour had been coordinated in the closed window blinds.

  Steve’s readiness darted right, adrenalin pumped. Limp vegetables and packaging littered the wooden worktop of the cream galley kitchen.

  Three doorways perforated the right wall, but only the farthest held a closed door. He edged across the carpet, kicked out, and crouched. A ginger blur accompanied the guttural shriek. Steve ignored the cat and jerked the tip of the Cogent into each corner. Reflected light encircled the table lamps on either side of the bed; Jannae lay in the shadow at the foot of it.

  A large pine wardrobe covered half the left-hand wall. One door open, one inner drawer pulled out. Steve pressed his back against the wall and slid towards the wardrobe. Clear.

  After checking the rest of the apartment, he returned to Jannae. Hair straggled her purple-tinged face and a dark stain spread out from the side of her swollen neck. According to her MPS, Captain Jannae Kalckburg had been dead for sixteen hours and nineteen minutes. Why hasn’t anyone come to investigate?

  Steve glanced around the bedroom. Last night someone had interrupted dinner preparations. They’d come for the white cube. She’d retrieved it from the wardrobe drawer, handed it over and received a neck-splintering blow in return.