by Thomas Locke
“Don’t you understand? There isn’t anything left!”
Lena waited him out, then persisted, “Sir, I need you to tell us how much you want in order to fully commit. How much for you to resume your work?”
Brett added, “How much will satisfy you, not today, but in five years’ time? So that you will remain our ally and partner for the long haul.”
When Bishop remained unable to respond, Lena offered the figure she had decided upon. “I would like to suggest that we settle on a million dollars. Half now. Tonight. Half in six months’ time, once certain parameters are met regarding your progress.”
The strain of hoping again left him hoarse. “This is real? You’re not . . .”
“Real enough for Ms. Fennan to commit a million dollars of her own money,” Brett replied. “Do you accept?”
He looked from one to the other, back and forth several times, the doctor dealing with the impossible. Life drawn from the ashes. Breath returning to the cadaver. Right before his eyes.
Bishop asked, “Who would do such a thing? Murder five innocents?”
Lena replied, “We’re working on that.”
After the legal documents were prepared by the bank’s New York attorneys and sent down and printed, Lena split her team in two. She walked Bernard Bishop through the contracts, with Brett at her side to answer any specifically scientific questions and to ask a few of his own.
Robin and Chester prepped. They hunted down a midsized truck for sale and arranged to meet the seller the next day. Lena insisted on an outright purchase of the vehicle, rather than going for a rental, because she did not want a record of where they took Bishop and his work.
Robin then booked Lena and Brett on the evening flight back to New York. Chester located a branch of Bernard Bishop’s bank that remained open late. He confirmed that the branch manager was also a notary public and would be on hand to witness documents they were bringing with them. They ordered two taxis, which were hard to find this far from Savannah’s tourist districts and richer commercial areas. They booked three rooms in a lovely boutique hotel located on the city’s most beautiful square. They wrote out a series of terse letters, whereby Bernard Bishop resigned from his duties at the clinic and ended his apartment lease. Bishop watched them with the unblinking intensity of a man unable to digest what he was experiencing, yet determined to remember every single tiny fragment.
The five of them took the taxis to the bank, where Lena introduced herself to the branch manager. The bank was modest and clean and intended to suit their mostly lower-middle-class customers. The manager was clearly not accustomed to dealing with a dark-suited New York executive who wrote out a half-million-dollar check on the countertop.
Brett stood back, as though isolating himself by intention. Lena had the distinct impression that he wanted to say something. She saw him study his watch, not just look at the time and glance away, but rather peer intently, measuring how much time they had before they left for the airport. She started to ask what it was, but decided this was not the place.
The waiting taxis drove them to a local self-storage. Lena used her phone during the drive to order a third cab to meet them. She shared her taxi with Robin and Bishop. The former surgeon directed them down a faceless line of metal-doored units. When he rose from the taxi, Bishop moved like an old man. He unlocked the door, then allowed Chester and Brett to lift the portal. He stood staring at the boxes, then said, “I haven’t been here since I moved everything in.”
The crates and cases formed a neat floor-to-ceiling U with a tight walking space down the center. Even in ruination and woe, the doctor had maintained his precision.
“Do you know where everything is?” she asked.
“I do. Yes.”
“Point out the items that are irreplaceable. We’ll take those with us. As many as we can.”
Robin asked, “Is that really necessary?”
“I hope not,” Lena replied. “Hurry.”
Brett said, “We also need several fully functioning neural nets we can take with us back to New York.”
“Each headset has to be calibrated to the individual user,” Bishop replied. “I keep wondering if this was what caused the casualties, some mistake in my algorithms . . .”
“To repeat,” Brett said, “neither your equipment nor the process killed those patients.”
Bishop clearly wanted to believe, but couldn’t. He indicated two boxes. “Six fully tested neural nets and a laptop with the software to calibrate. A notebook outlines the step-by-step calibration process. Perhaps I should mark it with a skull and crossbones.”
They all pitched in, carrying cases and files and monitors and laptops and hard drives and neural nets from the unit to the taxis. They filled the three trunks and the rear seat of the third taxi. Finally Bishop said, “Those are the most critical components.”
“Let’s go,” Lena said.
“Just a minute,” Brett said. He stepped into the unit and motioned for the others to join him. When they were all inside, he told Chester, “Shut the door.”
Lena asked, “What’s going on?”
“This won’t take long.” When they were sealed in, the dusty air felt much tighter. The overhead fluorescents cast them in stark lines, creating dark crevices where they had pried away various boxes.
Brett looked at Bishop and said, “There’s something you haven’t been telling us.”
Robin showed round eyes. “Now you’re asking?”
“This isn’t about danger,” Brett replied. “Well, not directly. This is about data. The intel that isn’t in your records. Is it, Dr. Bishop.”
The man’s gaze clarified for the first time since their arrival. He backed up until he touched the side crates.
Brett remained stationed by the opposite wall. There was nothing accusatory about his tone or his stance. Nothing to suggest why Bishop looked so terrified.
“Tell me about the subjects who were expunged,” Brett said.
Bishop’s mouth worked a few times before he managed, “How did you know?”
34
Reese walked down the conference area’s long, broad corridor. She wore Ferragamo lace-ups, soft as sneakers. With each step, Reese punched the floor with her heel, thrusting her body from her foot all the way to her opposite shoulder. She knew it caused her hips to swing suggestively. She knew most of the guys were fascinated with her walk. She took it slow, a measured pace. Prison had taught her a whole cluster of new tricks. This was one nugget that had always served her well when working through a dangerous rage.
By the time she arrived at the reception desk, Reese was able to smile at the young man now on duty. He must have seen something in her gaze, because he started to rise and back away, but she said, “You’re cool. I just need to have a word with security.”
She stood where the camera could see her. When the guards made her wait, Reese resisted the urge to pound on the door. She knew it was the subtle message of security everywhere to the newbie. They weren’t impressed, and they weren’t going to jump to do her bidding.
When the buzzer finally sounded, Reese entered the security station and demanded, “Who’s the senior duty officer?”
The guy who had showed her the baton raised a languid hand. “That would be me.”
“Call Kevin. Ask him to clarify what he meant when he said my words and his carried the same weight.”
The guy shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Uh, that isn’t necessary.”
“What happens the next time I show up?”
He glanced at the woman seated next to him. “I buzz you in.”
“Without delay.”
“Right.”
“Fun and games are . . .”
“Over.”
“Just so we’re clear.”
The guy and the woman both nodded. In sync now. “Crystal.”
“Good.” Reese knew her smile carried a special menace. One powerful enough to make even a professional guard wince. “Sign me
out a set of weapons.”
Reese’s return to the monitoring station played like a tune from the Pied Piper’s flute. Even more team members shifted forward. Reese did not give any sign that she noticed them. She asked Karla, “Another coffee?”
“Please.”
As Reese slipped back through the crowd, a waifish woman said, “We’re supposed to shift teams after each voyage.”
Reese waited until she had prepared two mugs to reply. “New game, new rules. We’re still doing a preliminary recce. It will speed things up for the same crew to go again.” Like nothing had happened. Like nothing was going to change. Just another day at the office.
She set the coffee on the panel in front of Karla and asked, “Everyone in place?”
“Except Heather. She says she needs to rest.” Karla pointed to one of the wall monitors. “Esteban is her replacement.”
Esteban observed the camera with a dark intensity, like he knew Reese was watching and he intended to crawl through the lens and devour her. Reese was not concerned that Heather had traded places with this guy. What was important was that one of the midnight crew was present. She asked, “Are we still using the same com links?”
Karla nodded. “One for the voyage team, two for your pair.”
The communications lever was a narrow plastic tab set on a swivel. Etched into the surrounding metal was a ring of numbers: 1, 2, 3, 1&2, 1&3, and so forth. Reese keyed in the second link and said to Ridley and Carl, “It’s the same as the last run. I’ll count you down after the others. Once you’re out there, stand back and observe.”
Like most of the voyagers, Ridley and Carl wore high-end earbuds with the mike imbedded in the cord. A few wore over-ear headsets, Reese assumed because they wanted to be as cut off from the others as possible, even while still anchored.
Ridley said, “We got this.”
“I know you do.” Reese switched to com link one and went on, “Your objective is the same as last time. The target is Kray Armor, its owners and board of directors and senior executives. You are to make a general sweep of the terrain. You have ten minutes. You will stay safe at all times.”
From the monitoring station’s back wall, the small woman said, “Staying safe out there isn’t the issue.”
Karla started to turn around and snap at her, but Reese cut the com link and whispered, “Stay cool.” When she was certain Karla was under control, Reese tabbed back to com link one and said, “I’m starting the count now.”
The very instant Reese completed her return count, she was up and moving. She did not wait to hear from Karla that the voyagers were all safely back. Just then she had more important things on her mind.
As she passed the voyagers clustered along the back wall, Reese gripped the two closest by their shirts and swung them about. “Everybody come with me. Quick march.”
She entered the departures lounge just as the first voyagers were opening their eyes. Reese positioned herself by the front wall, directly before Esteban’s station. She lifted her sweatshirt and pulled the baton from where it had been digging into her back. She palmed the weapon, keeping it out of sight. And she waited.
Esteban’s eyes shot open.
This was a very different beast from the one that had returned with Heather. Reese was confronted by two distinct images. One was of a body that unwound from the seat like a feral cat coming out of slumber. She watched the snarl, the delicious breath, the raised nostrils drawing in the scent of fresh prey. And still she waited.
The voyagers’ collective fear was palpable. The beast emanated a putrid menace, strong as the stench of a fresh kill. Reese watched Esteban crouch and study her, the head swiveling slightly, side to side, taking her in with each eye. The sense of facing a reptile was even stronger than with Heather, as if the creature was unaccustomed to a head where both eyes faced directly forward.
The second image was unseen but just as clear as the physical. Reese was so amped she had time to examine herself as well as the fiend. She felt no fear this time. She was the hunter. The unexpected foe. And she was going to take this brute down.
The unseen beast was huge. She could sense the air shift as it hunched one shoulder and then the other, a carnivore limbering up before the strike. Esteban’s body mimicked the greater force, a caricature of what Reese witnessed. The beast was so large it touched the ceiling.
Reese stepped forward and snapped the baton out to full length.
Esteban snarled a feral welcome.
Reese jammed the baton’s tip into his chest and hit the button.
The zap was wicked, loud as a silenced pistol. The air was filled with the stench of burned clothes and skin.
Esteban spasmed so hard he flung himself into a backflip. Still the spasm clutched him, a puppet jerked by uneven strings. His head did a snare-drum rattle against the tiled floor.
Reese stepped up close and leaned over, getting down so close she was the only thing Esteban could see when his vision cleared. He blinked once, twice, and groaned. Esteban was fully back now, and seriously rocked by the electrocution.
Reese stabbed him again and hit the button. Right in the solar plexus. Hard enough to punch the wind from his body.
Esteban came back much more slowly. She was closer now, so tight she could dine upon the terror in his gaze. Reese settled the baton on his left cheek. Rubbed it up and down slowly. “You want more?”
Esteban whimpered and tried to push her hand away.
Reese used her free hand to slap his away. Then she positioned the baton’s tip directly between his eyes. “I asked you a question.”
“No, no, don’t, I’m begging . . .” Esteban choked on fear and went still.
Reese used her free hand to slip the pistol from beneath her sweatshirt. The guard had given her a Steyr, a sweet little 90 mil. The grip was small enough to fit her hand like it was made for her. The gun was not cocked, but Reese doubted Esteban was in any position to notice such minor details. She held the gun a few inches away from his face so he could inspect the gaping barrel. “Pay careful attention. I have a message I want you to pass on to all your little friends. Tell me you’re listening.”
“Yes, yes, don’t—”
“If you or any of your buddies ever let one of those beasts into my departures lounge again, I will fry you until your heart stops. Then I’m going to hunt down the others. And I’m going to shoot them all dead. The same goes if any of my team don’t make it back.” Reese straightened slowly. She kept the gun aimed at Esteban, letting him drown in the black circle pointed at his face. “You breathe only so long as they stay safe. Tell me you understand.”
The eyes were liquid with terror. Reese wondered if he had ever known fear before. It left him unable to rise an inch off the floor. “Sí . . . yes.”
Gun in one hand, baton in the other, Reese walked over to where the others clustered by the exit. Then she turned back and said, “These are my voyagers. This is my team.”
35
Reese left the departures lounge while Esteban was still prostrate and groaning on the floor. She assembled the team that had just gone out in the departures lounge. She took their report, thanked them, and said she had to deliver their findings. She left her weapons at the guards’ station, then crossed the parking lot and entered the glass cube.
Kevin needed exactly two seconds to recognize the change. “What’s wrong?”
Her response carried a confrontational edge, but she couldn’t do anything about it. Reese expected Kevin to protest over how she had attacked one of the midnight crew. She hoped she could hold back and not blast him with the rage she struggled to keep suppressed. But within the space of five sentences, she realized that Kevin was neither sorry nor surprised.
When she was done, they sat there listening to the traffic rumble below his window. Finally Reese said, “You knew.”
“Everybody knew. But we finally started getting the intel demanded by Vera. Plus there were no more coma victims among the voyagers. And the one
s who had been lost were all brought back. So the answer is, sure we knew, and we made do because we didn’t have any choice.” The old worry crimped the edges of his mouth and eyes. “I debated telling you. But I didn’t want you to be confined by my own sense of helplessness.”
Reese felt her emotions slowly drain down to a smoldering residue. “Nothing could have prepared me for what just happened.”
His chair squeaked as he rocked back and forth, like he was sharing her own aftershocks. “We have to report in.”
“You do it.”
“No problem. Just tell me what you’ve uncovered.”
She passed over the file with her handwritten notes, then gave him a summary. Kevin’s chair continued to squeak as he listened and read. The conference table between them was dominated by a bulky speakerphone. The phone had a central mound the size and shape of an inverted snow cone. Seven lights blinked in frantic disarray. The device scrambled the outgoing signal and scanned constantly for listening devices. Their signal could only be interpreted by a matching phone on the other side. According to Kevin, a set of two calibrated phones retailed for eleven thousand dollars. The phone bore a corporate logo from the company they had been ordered to investigate.
When she completed her report, Kevin reached across the table, then hesitated, his hand upon the phone. “You did good, Reese.”
“We’re still faced with how to shield our voyagers.”
He hit speed dial and replied, “You’ll find a way. I’m certain of that now.”
Kevin said to the speakerphone situated between them, “The board of Kray Armor, your target company, is squeaky clean. The same goes for their senior executives.”
Vera’s voice was crystal clear. There was none of the electronic distortion caused by most scrambling devices. “I’m waiting to hear what we use for an in. That is the only satisfactory answer here.”
Kray Armor had been supplying Kevlar-style vests to police forces for two decades. Then four years back, they had designed a new product that was woven, reducing weight by ninety percent. Equally important, the vests became flexible. It could be shaped into true body armor, covering the upper arms, lower torso, and thighs, with an optional helmet shaped like a hoodie. Kray’s turnover increased by eleven hundred percent. They were cash-rich and cautious. Four months back, they had acquired the nation’s leading manufacturer of night scopes and laser sights.