The Last Book. A Thriller

by Michael Collins

  ‘Tom,’ the boy said, cheerfully, ‘I was just thinking of you.’

  His supervisor’s eyes narrowed. He was a survivor and wasn’t about to be taken in.

  ‘Were you?’ he said, allowing only a trace of suspicion to accompany his words, and then laughed. ‘Is that a way of telling me to mind my own business?’

  ‘Can we talk?’ the boy asked, glancing at Tom’s office.

  As they made their way to the only enclosed space in the expansive office, the boy was aware of the stares directed at his back. There were thirty desks in the room and each occupant had been a contender for the space his occupied.

  ‘Can we come to an arrangement, Tom?’ the boy asked, sitting down.

  His supervisor looked at him without surprise. He knew the boy was ambitious, but so early?

  ‘Alliances are forged and broken daily in this place,’ he said. ‘What have you got that I can’t survive without?’

  ‘I’ve got information that will make you a star,’ the boy said, smiling. ‘I can help you into your next office chair—a very comfortable one at that.’

  Tom laughed out loud.

  ‘You’ve been here well under a year and look where you are. You must know that, in all other departments, people have waited three to four years to be promoted to team leader. If I do well and keep my nose clean I may be looking at being manager in another two years. In the meantime, I’ve got to watch my back, haven’t I?’ he added pointedly.

  The boy nodded and looked at the man behind the desk. His tough manner belied the fact that he tried to exercise some compassion in a dog-eat-dog environment. He would be stunned to know that details of his efforts to keep a member of staff in her job following the trauma of an ugly domestic assault were well known to the boy.

  ‘I’m not after your job. I’m aiming far higher than that and you know it. But I need to get there making friends, not enemies. I can help you make manager in two months. My plan is to then get myself promoted from your present position into management, but in a different sector.’

  ‘I’ve got to be dreaming,’ Tom said. ‘You’re mapping out something that’s totally outrageous, and yet somehow I believe it.’

  ‘As you said, alliances are forged and broken,’ the boy said. ‘Can you and I forge one that will last, do you think?’

  Tom leaned forward.

  ‘I’d rather do that than be shafted.’

  ‘If we think like that, it won’t work,’ the boy said. ‘The reason alliances founder around here is because they’re based on fear and ambition. We need look at this as both long-term and on-going. And we must be able to trust each other implicitly.’

  Tom looked at the photo of his wife and young son on his desk. The stress of his job had put their relationship in jeopardy more than enough times.

  The boy followed his gaze.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, reading his thoughts, ‘management will be a lot easier on family life.’

  Tom sighed and stuck out his hand.

  ‘I feel better already,’ he said, ‘I knew you were on your way up and, to be honest, I thought it was only a matter of time before I was down the tube and you were sitting here.’

  ‘And you didn’t try to get rid of me. You easily could have and most people here would. Not to say that I wasn’t going to pop back up somewhere and bite your ass.’

  For a moment, Tom looked grim.

  ‘I just can’t work like that anymore,’ he said, ‘that’s what keeps me awake, so I’m interested to hear what you’ve got in mind?’

  ‘Hold on a second,’ the boy said, keying a number into his smartcom. He spoke for a few seconds and then hung up. As the screen lit up and then faded he handed the instrument to Tom. ‘Here,’ he said, ‘this is yours. It’s just been completely reformatted and I’ll show you how to use it over lunch. While we eat I’ll tell you what I have in mind.’

  18.

  Flying high

  At the same time a radar-cloaked, unmarked, supersonic jet slipped out of Andrews Air Force Base, the scheduled non-stop, daily flight from New York to Australia was an hour from landing in Sydney.

  ‘Not bad, not bad at all,’ the woman muttered to herself as she packed away her flexi-pad and fished her shoes out from under her bed-seat.

  Flying first class had been a refreshing experience compared to the cramped seating she was accustomed to in economy. Apart from the bad vibe back there, competition had made conditions worse over the years, comfort being sacrificed for more seats and cabin crew cut-backs reducing service to the bare bones. It made people constantly shitty.

  Their arrival in Sydney was eleven hours late. Three times the aircraft had to return to the terminal as fights broke out among passengers and crew during taxiing. And it hadn’t stopped when they managed to get in the air. The air marshals were constantly busy snapping handcuffs onto wrists as arguments escalated over inconsiderately reclined seats, grubby toilets, crying babies, and slow service.

  The first class attendant had been happy to fill her in.

  ‘It’s not as bad as we’ve had,’ she informed her. ‘Last week there was a full-on mutiny led by a staff member. The bar was demolished and all the duty free stolen before the pilots could land and have the lot of them arrested.’

  ‘Do you ever get trouble here in first class?’ the woman asked.

  ‘Sometimes, although it’s much easier to anticipate and calm down here before it goes ballistic—like him,’ she added, giving the man in the booth opposite a quick sideways glance. She lifted her eyebrows, clearly wanting to say more.

  ‘He was fine for the first few hours, happy to read and snooze. And then he changed—got agitated and finicky. You know, food was no good, it’s too bright, too dim, that sort of thing. He probably came off his meds,’ she said, unpleasantly.

  ‘Did he calm down? He seems to be asleep now.’

  ‘No, he threw a bit of a tantrum in the loo, and started shouting something about running out of paper. That was bullshit because I’d just checked. I was busy serving meals but one of the passengers, a lovely lady traveling with her spunky partner in the private cabin, sorted him out. Probably blew him in there.’

  It was Sarah’s turn to raise her eyebrows.

  ‘Sorry, about that,’ the girl said, blushing, ‘I don’t know where that came from. It’s not me at all. Sometimes these non-stoppers wear you down a tad. Anyway, I’d better get his flexi-reader back to him. I’ve been reading one of Zachary Corsfield’s on it for the last few hours. It’s pretty good.’

  Sarah Marsden watched as the attendant slid the reader into the sleeping passenger’s media slot and bustle off. Everyone at the airport seemed to have been engrossed with their flexi-readers and she’d wondered how many of them were reading Corsfield. Probably most as his sales just kept climbing insanely. Ethan had been quite insistent that she wasn’t to read the first two books just yet—just another thing that mystified her about him. Sarah looked at her reflection in the cabin window and couldn’t help grinning to herself.

  Only a matter of hours ago, back in the States, Luke and Jacob screamed an unearthly mix of fear and excitement that would have brought the cops running if the children weren’t a hundred feet above the earth and securely strapped into a tiny helicopter. The machine swooped through a narrow sandstone gorge, powering on almost recklessly towards a solid rock wall looming up ahead. At the last second, or so it seemed, Ethan Cross eased back the controls, allowing the powerful engine to lift them effortlessly into the sky. His three passengers whooped with a mixture of relief and exhilaration.

  ‘Everyone feeling OK?’ he asked, checking that nobody was green.

  ‘Awesome,’ Jacob said, ‘can we do that again?’

  Ethan laughed as Sarah and Luke groaned.

  ‘Maybe next time,’ he said, ‘I don’t want to put you off your picnic.’

  ‘Where are we going for it?’ Luke asked.

  ‘Right here young man,’ Ethan said, banking the craft steeply and ai
ming it at a towering pillar of rock that lunged hundreds of feet skyward.

  ‘Where?’ Jacob said, searching the terrain beneath them. They were surrounded by deep canyons and massive granite outcrops. ‘There’s nowhere to land … oh, this is unbelievably cool,’ he sighed, as the chopper flared for landing.

  His passengers held their breaths while Ethan gently settled the helicopter onto a wide, flat surface atop the massive pillar.

  After admiring the stunning view, Sarah helped him unpack a spread of smoked salmon, cream cheese, avocado, rocket and capers to go with the fresh bagels she’d picked up on their way to the rooftop helipad. As the boys eyed the meal suspiciously, he produced lightly smoked bacon, boiled eggs and sausages and their eyes lit up. He’d done his homework—right down to the drinks—a glass of perfectly chilled, vintage Bordeaux Blanc Sec for her and fresh blueberry juice for the boys. Ethan took a small sip from her glass, rolling his eyes with pleasure.

  Watching him engage with her children, he appeared genuinely captivated by their exploits at school, giving their gabbled stories maximum attention. When she began to wonder if he was even aware she was there, he lifted his eyes from their faces and enveloped her with an all-embracing, deep, brown-eyed stare that had her fizzing inside.

  ‘Thank you,’ she told him, hours later, when the car stopped outside her Sunnyside apartment. The boys were fast asleep in the back. Ethan had squeezed them into the front of the cockpit on the way back, allowing them each to handle the controls. Both children were completely taken with Ethan, vindicating her decision to include him on her first access rights since handing the boys over to her ex-husband.

  ‘No. Thank you,’ Ethan replied. ‘I’d forgotten how great kids can be and yours are exceptional.’

  ‘Thanks, a mom always knows her kids are the best, but it’s good to see someone else enjoy them. And you really did, I think.’

  ‘Ha,’ Ethan said, grinning, ‘more than you know. I had a mixed-up childhood and I think I missed out on the fun, carefree years. Did you enjoy yourself?’

  Sarah was about to say more than he knew too, but thought better of it.

  ‘It was terrific,’ she said, deciding to plunge on. ‘I was a little concerned that you were going to pressure me about Corsfield’s book but you never mentioned a word.’

  Ethan laughed.

  ‘Remember, I did promise that whatever your decision, I’d like the opportunity to spend some time with you—a deal’s a deal, and I’m still up for it if you are.’

  Sarah looked at him. He seemed more relaxed, the little stress lines around his mouth had almost disappeared.

  ‘I’m going to do it,’ she said, suddenly, surprising herself.

  ‘Why?’ Ethan asked.

  Sarah felt her eyes prickle and felt mild irritation at the intensity of her emotions. This was meant to be business.

  ‘Two reasons,’ she said. ‘One is that seeing my boys so happy today made me realise how much I need to have them back. They tell me they’re not overjoyed living with their father. There’s no laughter in their lives—no spontaneity. Apparently his new wife is so much of a control freak that their ringtone for her number is Chopin’s funeral march.’

  Ethan chuckled and then apologized.

  ‘No, it is funny really,’ Sarah told him with a smile, ‘but to get them back, I’m going to need the best lawyers that money can buy …’

  ‘And the other reason?’

  ‘Ethan, there’s something you don’t know about me. I was at the funeral for a good reason. I come from Brownsville and fought my way out. It was the pits back then, and it’s the sort of place someone like you can’t possibly imagine. Now it’s worse—it’s hell. I can’t get the comments you made at Bambi’s funeral out of my head and think you’re right. Your company’s money could well make a difference down there.’

  Sarah watched Ethan’s face. He appeared to be struggling to say something. Eventually he turned, took her hand and looked at her, remaining silent. His eyes seemed incredibly sad.

  ‘You don’t look happy. Have I upset you?’ she asked.

  Ethan laughed, but there was a peculiar ring to it.

  ‘I’m delighted, totally,’ he assured her. I’m just disappointed that you’ll be gone for a while. I had plans to take you for dinner next week.’

  ‘Even if I’d said no to the book?’

  ‘Even then,’ he said, suddenly kissing her.

  Five minutes later they pulled apart.

  ‘Phew,’ Sarah said, ‘I’m almost ready to change my mind so we can fit that dinner in. Where and when am I going?’

  ‘Sydney, tomorrow morning. Is that OK?’

  ‘Only if you come and help me pack,’ she replied.

  *

  Jacob and Luke had remained asleep as Ethan carried them one by one to their beds.

  As he closed their bedroom door and turned toward the lounge room, they met. Sarah was standing perfectly still. She couldn’t stop looking at him and the small suitcase she was carrying hung limply in her right hand.

  In the warm glow of the hall light, he looked so casual and at ease. He was different now. Relaxed. Dependable.

  Sarah felt her pulse quicken as he smiled at her. He took one step, closing the gap between them. Unexpectedly, a delicious warmth began to spread through her lower abdomen and down her inner thighs.

  She felt her knees and thighs begin to quiver. Incredible—she hadn’t felt like this since her first serious teenage kiss.

  He moved closer, leaning into her body.

  ‘I …have …I need,’ she murmured, meaning to say something about packing.

  ‘I know,’ he said, his warm breath stirring the tiny hairs on her neck as he moved even closer.

  She turned her face towards his, the suitcase falling from her fingers.

  Holding his gaze, she circled her arms around his waist and gently ran her hands across his back. His taut muscles twitched beneath her fingers and he sighed deeply.

  Their lips met, tentative and exploring as their tongues flickered back and forth in intoxicating surprise.

  She felt his erection, stiff against her groin, and ground herself against him.

  Ethan groaned.

  Abruptly, she pulled him backward, almost shoving him through her bedroom door.

  Moments later, they were both naked, their clothing scattered wildly around the floor. Inch by inch, Ethan’s tongue worked her body, slowly and tantalizingly encircling and nibbling at her rigid nipples before moving down, gently grazing her flesh with his teeth until he reached her lower belly.

  She allowed her legs to be parted, surrendering to tidal waves of delirious pleasure.

  19.

  The ring

  Mark Payne opened his office safe and stared at its only contents, a simple yet elegantly designed man’s ring. A plain white gold band, flat at the top and inlaid with a tiny band of yellow gold, displayed a single half-carat diamond. It had cost millions, was irreplaceable and he loathed taking it out of its secure home.

  The ring was a twin and its sibling had since been used and then destroyed. Payne still cursed his decision to do that, worrying constantly if burning his bridges would prove his undoing. He briefly remembered the man, their creator, and shuddered. Not for his looks, he was short, plainly featured and unremarkable in almost every way. No, it was how the man screamed that had discomforted him a month ago, and why.

  ‘What the fuck is happening in there?’ Payne had asked, still puffing from his gallop along the corridor leading from secure parking to the lab.

  ‘We’ve had to lock the door, sir,’ the security guard told him. ‘He’s gone berserk in there.’

  ‘Step down the corridor a minute,’ Payne ordered.

  The guard stared back at him. By the expression on the man’s face, Payne had a strange feeling he was upset and about to argue. He’d specifically hand-picked these men for their lack of compassion and wasn’t about to tolerate any unexpected emotional outbursts.
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  ‘Now, you dimwit,’ he snapped.

  Payne allowed the guard to move out of range before tapping a keypad on the wall. The window in the door instantly changed from a milky opacity to clear, allowing him an unrestricted view into the workspace. What he saw chilled him.

  Mark Payne couldn’t give two monkeys about anybody. It was purely their usefulness that he put value on. What he saw through the window was an asset in jeopardy, a plan foundering at its very dawn of success. This was the end of his world.

  His chief programmer was standing on a bench littered with smashed computer components, a sturdy electrical cord around his neck. Payne keyed the pad, his desperate shout bringing the guard back at a run. As the door clicked open, allowing both men to shoulder their way into the shattered remains of the lab, Payne stumbled over a monitor on the floor, crashing to his knees. The guard, fitter and more agile, hurdled over the mess, reaching the technician just as he leapt screaming from the bench. Payne watched with fascinated horror. What has he done?

  He’d never hear the answer. As the guard’s feet skidded out from under him, he reached out in desperation, wrapping his arms around the technician’s legs. For a moment, they swung together like a macabre circus act before Payne heard the technician’s neck break with an audible snap.

  He saw a dark stain bloom on the technician’s pants as the guard slid wide-eyed to the floor. Hauling himself upright, he carefully dusted shards of broken glass from his clothes. He badly needed time to assess the damage.

  ‘Get out, and stop anyone coming in. And give me that,’ Payne ordered, holding out his hand for the guard’s smartcom. The man was shaking as he handed it over. Be damned he was actually crying.

  ‘Fucking idiot,’ he muttered, shoving him into the corridor and re-activating the privacy setting on the window. ‘Don’t try to call anyone until I tell you,’ he added, slamming the door shut and locking it.