by Nick Jones
Chapter 28
Nathan’s temporary safe house was situated in one of the many housing complexes east of the Thames. It was small and comprised of a lounge with adjoining kitchen, a single bedroom and a shower with sink and toilet. Paul had been right, it was nothing special, but over the last few days, Nathan had begun to feel it was something akin to home.
On arrival he had found a neatly folded set of clothes in his bedroom and then, each day after, received a delivery of supplies consisting of food and drinks for the day, a clean set of towels and a laundry bag. It had been a while since he had experienced such domesticity. He reminded himself not to get used to it.
The food was pretty good – simple protein, carbohydrates and vegetables that actually tasted like they were supposed to – but the drinks were even better. There were fresh juices, the like of which Nathan had never tasted before. He drank two each day and was convinced he could feel his body drawing in the goodness. He felt like soil that had been starved of sunlight and essential nutrients and was now soaking up all he could.
The deliveryman was friendly enough, but they hardly talked and Nathan knew not to ask questions. Paul had called twice to check progress and each time insisted Nathan should rest. It was becoming a familiar routine, this pattern of recuperation and receiving help. Nathan didn’t like it one bit. He could feel his body thanking him, but there were echoes of India, of a process of regenerating strength that was proportionately equal to lost time. He wondered how often you could break a body down and build it back up. Could it do damage, permanent damage?
Nathan closed his eyes and took a long, deep breath. There was something else; another reason that wasted time was no longer an option.
The voices were getting stronger, no question of that, and there were more of them now. They seemed to have personalities, characters who would taunt and bite at him, and although it wasn’t that difficult to get rid of them – not yet, anyway – they were still an annoying distraction.
Maybe that’s what madness is, Nathan considered, multiple distractions that fill up your mind until there’s no room for you anymore, no space for concentration, just a billion random requests firing you into hell.
Visions would come, too, snapshots of a stranger’s life, memories that weren’t his own. They were the fragmented memories of his host, a man who wanted his mind back.
‘Stop,’ he whispered, finally taking control. ‘It won’t do you any good. Just stop.’
He suspected the apartment was bugged, suspected he was probably being watched like a lab rat – the priest wasn’t to be underestimated – and this kind of thinking probably fed his paranoia, which in turn increased the side effects of whatever was happening to him.
He twisted the cap from a bottle of deep red juice – BEETS and GINGER – and swallowed the thin, bitter liquid in two gulps. He was managing mild exercise in the mornings and then another brief workout in the evenings. It helped to suppress the voices and the visions.
He completed his evening workout and collapsed on the sofa, his hand instinctively reaching for his torn-up rucksack, which had seen better days as well as the worst of his life. Inside was the box containing the Histeridae and the drive from the vault, objects that felt heavier by the day in his possession. Jen would be disappointed in him, he was sure of that. Christ, he was disappointed in himself. She had died getting those files and he hadn’t done a thing with them, hadn’t been able to use them in a big enough way. His eyes felt like heavy shutters. Sleep would be a relief, a break from the nagging sense of missed opportunities. He slipped away easily, hand clutching those symbols of failure.
* * *
He snapped awake, heart banging. There had been a knock at the door. He waited. The delivery guy had already been and gone.
The knock came again, louder this time. Four hard bangs on the door.
Nathan approached. ‘Who is it?’
There was no reply.
He opened the door carefully, expecting someone to kick as he twisted the handle. There was no one.
Nathan called out again, his voice echoing away down the long, dark corridor. He glanced left and right, but there was no one, just sounds drifting from the other homes, music and voices. Perhaps it was one of them, kids playing a joke.
As he stepped back into the apartment the overhead lights flickered and went out. The room became a solid sheet of deathly black, like a coffin sealed tight.
‘Hello?’ Nathan called out in the darkness. His chest was pounding and he felt nauseous. Gingerly he reached for the light switch, but before he found it the room reappeared, brighter somehow, the lights popping back into action with a fresh vigour. The whiteness of the bare walls banged blood-red in time with his heartbeat.
He staggered a little, regaining his balance, and realised there was a figure standing in the shadows. The shape stepped forward.
It was Jen.
Chapter 29
The limo descended through clouds and Jameson finally looked at her. It was a brief glance, eyes darting away as quickly as they met, but in that fleeting moment Zitagi sensed a great deal. Was it pity? Regret? Either way, it wasn’t anger or hatred. Jameson appeared to be sorry this was happening.
She watched through rushing vapour, as the ground appeared, revealing rich green woodland as far as she could see. The engines howled and popped during their descent. The short trip had been spent in total silence.
‘Where are we?’ Zitagi asked.
Jameson turned and looked at her again, eyes cold. He was holding a small pistol. She recognised the brand, an expensive model, small and deadly. A close range shot would burn a fist-sized hole in her without even damaging the car’s upholstery. Being this vulnerable bought frustration; she could easily grab his hand, take the gun, take his life.
But now wasn’t the time.
The situation was constantly evolving but the important thing now was to remain calm. Zitagi looked nonchalantly at the gun and then back out of the window.
The limo bumped to the ground, lifted slightly, then settled. The doors hissed open and rose upward. Zitagi was hit with the strange, potent scent of fresh pine mixed with biofuel. A man appeared at the doorway. He was tall and sinewy, eyes masked by round sunglasses. ‘Follow me,’ he said, a smile pulling across his leathery face.
Zitagi stepped from the limo and surveyed the area. They had flown over miles of woodland and were now deep into it, thick trees all around. The ground was dry. Birds sang in whistles and beeps. The late evening sun flickered from above through dancing leaves in the breeze. It was calm.
Zitagi recognised the men from the park. They were waiting by the limo. Ahead was a large log cabin, split over three levels with huge windows. Attached to its side was a veranda and hot tub, an expensive retreat for wealthy men like Jameson and probably hidden away in a thousand acres of private land. No one was going to stumble upon them.
A single light came from the cabin’s hallway. The front door opened and two more men appeared, younger and heavyset. They were clearly the muscle. As Zitagi was led inside, their beady eyes remained fixed on her. She looked back. Jameson followed, glancing around nervously.
There were, in her experience, fixed types of people in the world. It was as if there were only a few moulds and everyone got fired in the same kiln. After that, the only difference was the paint job. She knew these men, understood them, knew their type.
They had brought her here to interrogate her. The tall man, the wiry one with the glasses, would lead the interrogation. He had done plenty of these, was obviously Jameson’s right-hand man. The other two would hit her when required. It wouldn’t be the first time they had beaten a woman, and when they were done, they would kill her.
Inside, Zitagi took in more details. It was as expected: a large open room, tasteful. Pierce – one of the men had just called him by name, which was another confirmation they were planning to kill her – pointed to his right and barked orders. The heavies led her down a narrow stai
rwell into a basement; again, all exactly as expected.
In the distance she heard the roar of the limo’s engines, which faded as it flew away, leaving them alone.
The basement was small, no more than a storeroom, really, and stocked with cleaning products neatly organised along racking units. A single light shone down on a table and chairs. One of the men told her to sit. She did so, facing the door. Pierce walked slowly down the stairs, followed by Jameson, who was now pale and sweating.
The heavies took their positions in the corner of the room. They would wait until called upon. Jameson pressed his back against the wall, face half in shadow.
Pierce closed the door, pulled out a chair, sat and faced her. ‘So’, he said, sucking in a long, dramatic breath, ‘let’s start at the beginning. You work for Victor Reyland and this little story of defection is bullshit.’ He moved closer, until his face was almost touching hers. ‘We ain’t stupid, darling.’
Zitagi stared at the floor.
Pierce smiled and then struck her face with the back of his hand. Pain arrived, white and buzzing like an electric shock. Blood trickled from her nose.
Zitagi looked at him now, the cold look of someone used to controlling pain.
‘You want to know the sad part?’ Pierce sneered. ‘I think Reyland wanted you gone. I think he’s set you up.’ The light shone down onto his pale skin, lips pulled back in a comical grin. ‘You’ve been fed to the sharks, Ms Zitagi.’ He nodded to the line of red, running slowly over her top lip. ‘And there’s blood in the water.’
Chapter 30
Nathan stood in the doorway, mouth agape. The room was spinning and he felt as though he was going to pass out or vomit - or both.
‘Hello, Nathan,’ Jen said.
‘But, you’re dead,’ Nathan said, and then a whisper: ‘You’re dead.’
‘Yes. I am.’
Nathan stumbled forward, expecting her to evaporate like the ghosts that had begun to haunt his fragile mind. He wanted to run to her, grab her and hold her, but he understood, in that moment, what was happening.
‘You aren’t real,’ he said, his voice seeming to come from another place, sounding like a delusional madman about to be devoured by a beast but having none of it. ‘You’re in my head.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Am I dreaming?’
‘Something like that.’
Nathan studied her, breath coming in short bursts.
‘Not sure you can trust me?’ Jen suggested.
‘Something like that,’ he replied, echoing her own words. ‘For all I know you could have been sent to extract things from me, like you did with that Baden guy, what was his name?’
‘Owen Powell,’ she said. Then she asked, ‘Are you forgetting things like that often?’
Nathan nodded.
She was wearing the same clothes she had died in but looked warm and healthy – in other words, not dead. There was no blood, no wound. She was how he imagined she might have looked if they had escaped from Russia together.
She glanced around the room and then asked if he had settled in okay. Her tone was jovial, but with a definite hint of sarcasm. Nathan stared back at her. Firstly, it wasn’t the kind of place you settled into, it was somewhere you might frequent after a stretch in prison, back in the days when prison was a waking experience rather than a hibernating one. Secondly, he was talking to a ghost, one that was smiling at him now. Against all expectations Nathan found himself smiling back, his fractured mind enjoying her company.
‘How can you be so normal?’ he asked, voice shaking.
Jen smiled. ‘I’m in your head, Nathan. I’m how you remember me.’
She looked solid. There was nothing ghostly about her.
‘I think I’m splintering, Jen.’ His voice cracked a little. ‘I feel like I’m losing my mind.’
‘I know.’ She stepped closer. ‘I know everything, and that’s why we need to talk.’
Nathan stared back at her, gazing dreamily at the woman he hadn’t stopped thinking about for the past three years. Questions burned away at him. ‘Can I trust Paul?’ he asked. ‘I feel like a prisoner here.’
‘Except you are free to go, whenever you want.’ Jen shrugged. ‘Seems to me Paul has helped you. You’re not a prisoner, but he does want something from you.’
Nathan nodded. ‘I miss you.’
Jen smiled but her eyes became dark and serious. ‘Nathan, listen to me, we don’t have much time. I want you to write this down.’
‘Write it down, what, with a pen and paper?’
‘Yes. Exactly. Do it now.’
Nathan scrabbled around and eventually found a note pad and pen in a kitchen drawer stuffed full of useless items. When he returned he half expected her to be gone, and when she wasn’t his relief was palpable. But the moment had taken on a strange sensation, as if held together by thin threads and the first had just snapped.
‘Don’t go,’ he said simply, the thickening sensation of a dream closing in.
‘You are splintering,’ Jen said, ignoring him. ‘Without help, you won’t last much longer.’
‘But what do I do? I had so many ideas, so many ways I might bring you back, but I fucked it all up.’ He shook his head and sighed. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘Don’t be,’ she said tenderly. ‘You are closer than you think.’
‘But there’s so much I need to do.’ He was crying now, he couldn’t help it. He let the tears come. He told her what had happened, how a stream of obstacles had beaten him. ‘I needed your DNA.’ He was mumbling now. ‘I tried everything, hacked every place I could, but they’ve written you out of history, Mohanty wouldn’t help me either, and that’s before you even think about replication.’
Jen placed her hand on his shoulder. Nathan almost recoiled, worried it might be ice-cold like the night she died, but it was warm, alive.
‘You have everything we need,’ Jen said. ‘You just need to focus and remember.’
‘Remember what?’
‘Paul wants something in return for helping you.’
‘What?’
Jen continued to stare, smiling and waiting.
‘The files from the vault,’ he suggested.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Good.’
‘But I know that already, I know he wants those.’
‘The question you should be asking isn’t what people can do for you, it’s what you can do for them.’
Jen was suddenly gone for a moment, but she didn’t fade; it happened quickly, instantly. One second she was there, the next she was gone. It was as if he had blinked her out of existence. She came back again, as solid as before, but it scared him.
‘Don’t go,’ Nathan sobbed. ‘Don’t leave me, I don’t understand.’
Jen looked back at him. She wasn’t smiling anymore, and when she spoke there was a fresh urgency in her voice. ‘Think back to the very first day we met.’
Nathan shook his head. ‘What, at your apartment?’
‘Yes. What happened after that?’
‘We ran. You took out a bunch of people. We jumped a building.’
Jen rolled her hand, speeding him up. ‘Then what?’
‘You gave me the Histeridae, we split up and then we met back at Thomas’s house.’
Jen shook her head and seemed to rise up and grow in size, eyes getting darker and bigger. ‘It’s like hacking, like one of your gap analysis routines,’ she shouted. ‘Fill in the missing pieces!’
He remembered the day, clearer now. She had turned up like a hurricane and everything in her path had been spun around and flattened in her wake. Including him.
Gap analysis.
He still didn’t understand. DNA didn’t work like that.
Jen was kneeling in front of him now, her red hair spiralling in curls over her dark skin, emerald eyes glistening with the promise of victory.
‘You can do this,’ she said. ‘I believe in you.’
Nathan swallowed. ‘I’m trying, but �
�’
Jen hugged him, her soft cheek pressing against his. As Nathan pulled her closer, a huge wave of relief soared up from his gut and washed over him. It eradicated all of the grief and loss in a singular swell of emotion. Jen pulled back a little and he kissed her for the second time in his life.
She held his lips for a while and then pulled away gently. She was smiling fully now, the kind of knowing smile that begged an answer.
‘What?’ Nathan asked.
‘You kiss pretty well for a hacker.’
‘I’m a geek on the inside,’ Nathan replied.
The words were an echo from the past, and as they drifted away so too did Nathan’s grip on the dream. His last conscious thought was one of pure happiness and contentment.
* * *
When he woke, it was morning. He rubbed his face and stared at the spot where Jen had been. The dream had seemed so real; her skin, her voice, everything so real. The memory of the kiss and a sense of her life force lingered.
Hanging in his hand was a piece of paper.
It was blank.
‘Shit,’ he rasped, throat dry. ‘What the hell was I supposed to have written down?’
Jen had talked about gaps, compared it to the way he hacked, filling in blanks. His search for her DNA had been scuppered at every turn; just like her father, they had erased Jennifer Logan from history. There was no way they were allowing her back, and they had gone to great lengths to make sure of it.
Then his own words came back to him, words spoken to Jennifer Logan’s ghost, deep within his mind.
You gave me the Histeridae, we split up and then we met at Thomas’s house.
‘Wait!’ He leapt up so fast it made his head swim. ‘We didn’t meet straight away.’ He was shouting and pacing. ‘They caught you!’
There was a gap after all, a small detail easily overlooked, and Nathan would bet his life the bastards had missed it. After Jen’s escape she had told him how a droid used a DNA trap to capture her, had described it as one of the most painful experiences of her life. That kind of trap would be pre-configured with her DNA prior to the takedown and its data would be stored locally by the police district. Jen would be reduced to a subject number and a time stamp, but she would be there – a double helix of raw information – he was sure if it.