by Nick Jones
‘Miss Zitagi?’
She began throwing clothes and equipment into a bag. ‘Who else knows?’
‘No one,’ Carter assured her. ‘I did as you asked. I kept it quiet and called you first, but there’s no way,’ he coughed, ‘no way I can guarantee it will stay that way.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Just that everything is recorded, every –’
‘You said we.’
‘What?’
‘When you first picked up the signal you said we.’
Carter cleared his throat. ‘Yes, just the engineer. There would be no way of tracking the signal without an engineer.’
Zitagi processed. It made sense. ‘Send me the exact location. Do it now, and Carter?’
‘Yes, Ma’am?’
‘You did well.’
She hung up and considered her next move. Her heart was racing, sending shocks up to her temples like slaps.
She should call Reyland, tell him the Histeridae had been activated for the first time in years. He would assemble a strike team and take it back, probably select Phillips to lead this time. Reyland had plans for her, after all, wanted her to join him on the last boat.
The list of what she should do, what she was supposed to do continued to grow in her mind, but then Zitagi smiled.
She wasn’t going to do any of those things, and as that little bomb settled into her mind – like a grenade rolling around with a loose pin – she continued to pack. She reached into the back of her wardrobe and pulled out a case. It opened automatically at the touch of her thumbs. Inside were numerous weapons, clothing and equipment. She pulled out a silenced pistol and checked it over.
Knowing when the Histeridae was used – tuning into its unique frequencies – had been a small side project, but had paid off. Carter had described the activity as off the charts. Zido would bet her life it was George Mohanty. That slippery fucker had been a target for years.
It had to be him.
Only someone who knows what they’re doing could generate that kind of activity.
‘And what are you doing, Zido?’ she asked herself and then waited for the answer. She closed her eyes, and when they flicked open she was clear, perhaps clearer than ever. It was often described as a weakness to listen to one’s heart, to prioritise it over the mind. Zitagi understood that view, the mind was often considered superior, or ‘in charge’, because the heart made emotional decisions that were often irrational.
This choice was an emotional one, but it didn’t come from the heart, it came from deep within her gut and it was absolute.
‘I’m going to get it back,’ she whispered, the empty room swallowing her words. ‘And this time, no one is going to fuck it up for me. This time I’m going in alone.’
Chapter 54
The weight of waking was becoming increasingly difficult for Nathan to push against. Sometimes it felt as though the world would crush his lungs before he could even take a breath. Katherine’s murder had changed his life completely, of course it had. Their idyllic life – not that he had realised quite how perfect it had been at the time – had been shattered, and then losing Jen had left him feeling cursed, as though life was something to endure, rather than enjoy.
This sense of crushing loss was always worse at the point of waking. Nathan supposed it was simply because, for a second – and sometimes even an exquisite two or three – he forgot the world had taken the people he loved.
And now, because of the splintering, his grief was amplified and joined by taunting voices and confusing memories of a life that wasn’t his. He had wondered – as his own life shattered into pieces – whether the pain would drift away, out through the fractures in his brain, disappearing in a cloud of confused emotions.
Not so.
This was a curse after all. It seemed the deeper the emotion, the more the splintering attached itself to emotional pain. It was the opposite of a painkiller; it was a pain enhancer; an anti-happy pill that stirred up the deepest sediment until everything was black, and all that was left was anger and fear.
Nathan howled, stomach clenching as memories flashed through his mind like lightning rushing to ground, striking nerves already tender and raw. He realised he was gripping his hair so tightly that it was almost popping from its roots. A whimper escaped him and tears came.
Not now, not today. I need this day, just one more. Please!
He felt a hand on his back, lifting him and tilting his head forward. A pill was pushed into his mouth and a voice said, ‘Drink this.’ A plastic cup was against his lips and he drank. The water was cool and felt good as it travelled through him.
‘Thank you,’ he managed. ‘Thank you, George.’
‘Take another.’
Nathan opened his eyes and his friend came into focus slowly. ‘How many are left?’
‘Three.’
‘What time is it?’
George raised his eyebrows and shrugged. ‘Mid-morning, I suppose. You slept a long time.’
Nathan wished he felt refreshed; it was such a long time since he’d felt the wonderful satisfaction of enough sleep. He took another pill and they worked quickly, clarity returning in waves, feeling as good as a hot bath after a week in the rain.
‘Where’s Paul?’ Nathan asked.
‘He left this morning, said he would be back soon.’
‘Okay.’ Nathan grabbed Mohanty’s arm and pulled himself up, propping his body as best he could against the wall. ‘I’ll take another when we leave and then the last one tonight.’
‘Can’t we just get more?’
Nathan shook his head. ‘They have bought me some time but nothing is free in this world, George, you know that.’ He managed a smile, even though it was filled with sadness. ‘It feels like they’ve squeezed everything I had into the last couple of weeks. More pills wouldn’t make any difference, they wouldn’t have anything left to work with.’
It was like a cancer, he thought; once there were no good cells left, no more healthy tissue to bind the body together, it was over.
‘Jacob, Jen’s father was a strong man,’ George said. ‘He was tough and when he decided to do something, well, you needed to get out of the way, you know?’
‘Yes,’ Nathan whispered. ‘I think I do.’
George smiled, big and wide and impossible to ignore. ‘I can’t wait to see her again,’ he said, a simple phrase but filled with hope.
Nathan felt his chest tighten. He bit down on his bottom lip. ‘My God, seeing her again.’
‘Exactly!’ George exclaimed. ‘You need to focus on that and that alone. We’re going to bring her back, Nathan.’
* * *
An hour later, they met Paul outside the hotel. He was dressed in a grey shirt, black combat trousers and desert boots. A long scarf was doubled around his neck, his eyes covered by large sunglasses. Nathan was struck again by his chameleon-like abilities.
Paul checked his watch and tipped his head as they approached. ‘You set?’ he asked sternly.
‘Yes,’ Nathan replied. ‘How are we getting there?’
His question was answered by the low growl of an approaching aircraft. A small jet appeared in the distance, the silvery finish of metallic bodywork flashing for a moment in the morning sun. The aircraft’s twin jet engines rotated and blasted streams of cyan blue towards the ground as it descended. It slowed, undercarriage stretching from its belly and connecting with the battered tarmac of the car park. Once down it sank a little, like a tired old man into a favourite chair. Steam coughed out from its top. Its engines continued to whine as an opening curled from its innards like a long tongue.
Paul led the way and Nathan and George followed. Once inside, the entrance rolled up again, swallowing them, and the craft soared upward, heading south towards Oman.
Chapter 55
They sped high over the Dubai coastline, golden beaches licked by white surf. It was late afternoon and the aircraft’s cabin was thick with heat. Nathan rubbed his forehead against
his upper arm. Paul was standing, hand looped through a safety strap. Mohanty was seated, eyes closed.
They didn’t speak; it was too noisy to be understood, also there was nothing left to say. Nathan thought back to a time in his early teens when he had been persuaded – he still couldn’t figure out how – to do a charity parachute jump. The panic of the jump had built to a terrifying climax, but when it came to edging out of the aircraft he had found a sudden, unexpected calmness. Against all expectations he had enjoyed it, actually smiled as he jumped.
He glanced at Mohanty. The old man’s eyes were closed and he looked to be sleeping. Nathan closed his and hoped that when it came to it his fear would melt away again, be replaced with a feeling of certainty and peace. The craft banked gently to the right.
‘There it is,’ Paul shouted. ‘The de-sal plant.’
Nathan craned his neck. He couldn’t see much, just the expected steel outline of a huge factory in the distance. He nodded and minutes later the craft span and dropped, descending at speed. A loud blast from its engines was followed by a heavy groan of hydraulics as they banged to the ground. Nathan felt the impact shudder up through his bones. The door hissed open. Paul took Nathan’s hand. ‘I’m going to wait for you here.’
Nathan searched for the right words. He swallowed and opened his mouth but ended up just saying thank you.
‘Listen,’ Paul said. ‘Don’t mess with these guys. They will keep their word, but be careful.’
‘I will,’ Nathan said. ‘And thanks again.’
The exit ramp unfurled. Nathan and Mohanty stepped out.
Paul shouted, ‘Where do you think you’re going?’
‘He can’t do this alone,’ George replied without looking back.
‘I need George with me,’ Nathan explained. ‘He’s right, I can’t do it alone.’
Paul sighed, said something under his breath and waved them off.
Nathan continued to walk. George joined him. The air had a bitter, salty tang. ‘Fingers crossed they have her ready,’ George whispered.
‘She’ll be ready,’ he said, and then silently repeated the words, chanting them, willing it to be true.
The sun was a blistering ball of heat. Nathan was reminded of Brazil. Strange that it should start and end like this, he thought, the harsh air burning his lungs. As they approached the perimeter of the plant its scale became apparent. It was huge and emitting a throbbing vibration of energy that seemed to shake the desert below them. Surrounding it was a tall, red force field.
‘Company, straight ahead,’ Mohanty said. ‘There by the entrance.’
Nathan shaded his eyes against the brilliant whiteness of the afternoon sun. A man was approaching, walking with the kind of purpose reserved exclusively for those in charge. He met them by the force field, a flickering red sheet that easily maintained a ten-foot gap between them. The man was dark-skinned, wearing a cream shirt, blue tie and trousers. Atop his head was a white hard hat that made them both squint. He asked a question in Arabic. For a moment Nathan wasn’t sure what to do, but a few seconds later a synthesised voice translated his words. ‘Who are you here to see?’
Nathan had memorised the answer. ‘We’re here to see Mr Wallis for a tour of the new facility.’
The man nodded and then moved to a nearby scanner. A flash of green moved across his face and a gap appeared in the crackling red haze, wide enough for a large truck. Before Nathan could think about the fence cutting him in two, he walked through. George, looking nervous, closed his eyes and did the same. The man marched ahead and they followed, the fence closing up like an iris behind them.
To their left was a long row of blue hangars intersected by roads and adjoining white buildings. Protruding from the top of each was a chimney of some sort. Towering above them were lines of cooling towers. Again, Nathan felt the low, throbbing hum of power, could feel it travelling through him. Replicators – old technology that had been outlawed for decades – required a massive amount of energy. This was the perfect place to hide such a huge power spike, he supposed. Christ, this place was energy.
Ahead was a massive white hangar emblazoned with a large GE logo and a quote in Arabic. Nathan guessed by the typeface that it was a welcome, rather than a warning. They entered through a double door and he was glad to be inside, the air conditioning a welcome relief.
Inside the reception area, seated behind a long desk was a woman in her fifties. Her hair was raised up in a swirl reminiscent of solid confectionary. She watched them approach, expressionless. The man spoke to her and she glanced over his shoulder, scowling at them. A buzzer sounded and Nathan and Mohanty followed the man through a maze of clean, white corridors. They passed groups of people clearly used to international visitors and didn’t seem to attract any attention.
When the corridor became quiet, the man stopped. He looked around nervously and then nodded to a doorway. Either side of the door were warning signs in Arabic. Nathan didn’t need a translation to guess they were something to do with ‘Authorised Personnel Only.’
The man spoke, and after a short pause his robotic translator said, ‘Through this door, then walk to the very end, through another doorway and then wait.’ He swallowed hard and added, ‘Do you understand?’
Nathan assured him that they did. The man keyed a long string of numbers into a pad by the door, which opened with a loud click and then ushered them through. The door closed behind them and they found themselves alone in a narrow corridor. Ahead, around thirty feet away was another door. They stepped through it into a large, cold warehouse.
The smell of steel, rubber and oil – all somehow fresh and new – hit them. They were standing on a mezzanine floor above a complicated construction of long tubes, valves and pipes, a mixture of apple green, navy blue and brushed steel. Hundreds of domed lights dotted a panelled ceiling that appeared to stretch on forever. It was quieter here and the sound of their boots shook on the metal walkway, echoing around the huge space. This was a new section of the plant, not operational yet but obviously close.
‘Can’t see anyone,’ Mohanty whispered.
‘Let’s head down and in,’ Nathan suggested. ‘And then wait, like he said.’
‘I don’t like it,’ Mohanty said. ‘It’s too quiet.’
‘Me neither. Just keep moving.’
They climbed down a ladder and walked across a smooth grey floor towards the centre.
Nathan saw it first and initially mistook it to be part of the plant; a large power cell or something similar, waiting to be bolted into the veins of colourful metal. On closer inspection it clearly didn’t belong here.
He stopped and exhaled loudly, a million thoughts and emotions vying for attention.
There, partly covered by a large sheet, was the replicator and inside, visible through one of two glass-fronted chambers, was Jennifer Logan.
Chapter 56
Nathan was transfixed. All sense of his surroundings fell away as he moved closer to the replicator, each step bringing more, exquisite, detail. It was bigger than he had expected – at least fifteen feet high – and clearly the technology of a previous decade. It was battered and had various attachments, screens and tubes crossing between two pods; one for the donor and the other for the host. From the outside, the pods looked similar – slim and bullet-shaped with large clear hatches – but inside was a different story. The donor pod was sparse, with hard moulded plastic in the shape of a human. The host pod contained a DNA growth chamber. Using cell acceleration technology, a human body could be grown quickly, depending on the required age. For Jen it had taken just under two weeks.
The clear glass of the chamber was shaped in an oval and revealed Jen’s upper torso, almost as far as her thighs. Her clothing – some kind of cream-coloured bio-suit – ended at her neckline. Her hair was a natural, dark brown. Of course it was, Nathan thought; she’s genetically pure, unaltered. Her eyes were closed, as though she were sleeping. Nathan felt his heart skip a beat at the thought of those eyes
opening again, emerald green and sparkling with life.
‘Don’t move another inch,’ a gruff voice ordered from behind.
‘Nathan,’ Mohanty whispered firmly. ‘Stop.’
Nathan was lost; all he could think about was Jen, but the unnatural whine of a rifle being armed was enough to send a message to his far-away brain. He stopped. The sound of movement was all around them now. Nathan turned, still dazed by the intoxicating promise of Jen’s return, and saw men appearing from the shadows.
‘Turn around, hands up,’ a man hissed.
Nathan and George did as instructed.
The man was tall, with dark eyes and olive skin. He looked Italian but when he spoke he sounded distinctly American. The sleeves of his grey shirt were rolled back to reveal gang-style tattoos on his muscular forearms. His trousers hung perfectly over shoes as black and glossy as his hair. He cocked his head to the side and sniffed. ‘Which one of you is Shaw?’ he asked, folding his arms tightly.
‘I am,’ Nathan replied.
The man pointed at George, ‘Then who the fuck are you?’ His eyes flicked between Nathan and George. ‘And where’s the donor?’
‘I’m the donor,’ George replied.
A ripple of laughter went through the group. The American looked over at Jen and then back at Mohanty, a wide, catlike smile stretching over his face. ‘Fuck me,’ he laughed and then paused as if hearing something in the distance, eyes dancing with wicked excitement. ‘Wait… I got it!’ he exclaimed, focussing on Nathan. ‘You two are a couple of faggots – I mean, I’m okay with that, whatever floats your boat, man – and now you get to fuck him.’ He pointed at the replicator and Jen’s body. ‘But he’s going to look like her!’
The group laughed again.
Nathan felt a strange, unexplainable pulse of energy burst over him, like a warm wave crashing at his back. He realised that George was accessing the Histeridae. He looked at George and shook his head with a look that said, not yet. George nodded reluctantly and the feeling subsided. It was too risky; there were too many and Nathan was worried George would peak too soon.