Jack was still smirking but he at least seemed more energised. “When we started, you remember what it was like. When OsMiTech announced the remnant keeper programme. The unrest, the riots.”
“It took people by surprise.”
Jack laughed. “It certainly did that. What happened to your murder cases? The murder rates?”
“They went down, not as much as the public were led to believe, but they went down. Until, killers worked out that remnants were convicting.”
“The dead were punishing their own killers with their own memories. Right. But then the criminals got wise. They damaged eyes, reduced the chance of remnants remaining.”
“Yes.”
“But, we don’t necessarily need a complete intact eye.”
Edward’s heart skipped a beat. “Say again?”
Jack looked at Edward, “It’s not always necessary to have a complete eye. It’s harder, but still possible to retrieve remnants from damaged eyes. And besides, some of these saboteurs are so clumsy.” Jack smiled. “You’re wondering why you’ve not been told this.”
“If we let the killers know, they’re just going to try harder.”
“Exactly.”
Edward sipped his coffee. For the fake stuff, it wasn’t bad. “Are you saying this wasn’t a saboteur?”
“I’ve no idea. Just putting it out there that there are different levels of saboteur. If you can’t find the eyes at all, that would suggest someone pretty clued up. They didn’t resort to just damaging the eyes—they removed them from the scene. That doesn’t suggest some raged unthinking killer. That suggests someone who knew what they were doing. They’d thought it through.”
“There’s more though. We think the victim was forced to remove his own eyes.”
“Forced. How?”
“We don’t know for sure. Do you think it’s something Anna could have done?”
The cup in Jack’s hand wobbled and a glug of hot liquid slopped over the edge. “Damn,” Jack said, placing the cup hurriedly on the floor between his feet, wiping the hot coffee from the back of his hand. “You got any evidence to that effect?”
“We’re exploring all possibilities.”
“Have you told the rest of your team about Anna?”
“No. She’s still officially code twenty-six—redacted.”
Edward had some coffee and regretted not cooling it first. “You think you can help then?”
“I don’t see that I have any choice.” Jack’s tone sharpened. “But, there’s one thing I want in return.”
“OK,” Edward replied cautiously, “What do you want?”
“Access to Frazier Growden’s files.”
Edward set his cup on the ground beside his feet. Growden was a dangerous individual. “No,” Edward replied. “You can’t have them.”
“Right.”
“He’s a dangerous man.”
“I know. I’ve still got the bruises to show for it.”
In the days after Keeley’s death, Jack had taken it upon himself to investigate her death. He’d first met him at an Anti-telepath League meeting, an organisation that Growden ran, where Jack had almost died at the hands of a brutal attack of Growden’s.
“Perhaps jumping on stage in the middle of Growden’s speech wasn’t such a smart thing to do.”
Jack nodded. “Point taken, but I didn’t have the same information as you about him. I still don’t.”
“I can see this is hard, but I can’t just give you access to our case files. We’ve lost experienced officers who took it upon themselves to dig into that man’s history.”
“Lost? You mean killed? By Growden?”
Edward shrugged. “He doesn’t work alone. You’ve already attracted his attention. I’d suggest you keep a low profile as far as he’s concerned. Let us handle him. I promise you, Frazier Growden is the least of our worries.”
10:04 PM
The rain hadn’t stopped for the last six hours and Frazier had just about had enough of it. Hitting the top of the roof like a thousand hungry pigeons, it was bringing on one of his headaches. But, like the tough man he knew he was, he refused to take any pills or show his discomfort to the man sitting in the passenger seat. That man was Paul, Wesley Growden’s boyfriend. It had taken Frazier months to come to terms with his brother’s sexuality and it was never made any easier by seeing Wesley elevate Paul to the higher ranks of the organisation so quickly. But, despite his initial doubts about his brother’s choices, Paul had proved that he had what it took to help run the organisation, and now with Wesley gone, having a right-hand man like Paul was a blessing.
The streets were quiet. A nice side-effect of the weather they’d been having. No one wanted to be out in this. The air was cool and Frazier had worn his heavy jacket not just to hide his weapons, but also to keep warm.
Paul had wanted the radio on but Frazier preferred to sit in the quiet, listening to the weather and contemplating what they were about to do. If he could pull off tonight, it would mean there was precious little that could stop his plan.
“You know what we’re looking for?” Frazier said.
Paul pulled out a sheet of paper from his jacket, crumpled, but he unfolded it, then flicked the van light on to check. “Room 4a. I’ve got the package numbers here. If our contact is right, we’ll be in and out of there before anyone will find out.”
Frazier nodded then flicked off the light. Although they hadn’t seen a drone pass in the last five minutes, they were about. He checked his scanner, an illegal bit of kit, but it showed that the closest drone was three streets away. It made a good guess as to its flight plan and he reckoned they had another ten minutes before it would find its way down this end of the street.
“Do you have a date?” Paul asked.
“Need to know only.”
Frazier put his hand under the seat and pulled out a small handgun. He passed it to Paul who, although looking uneasy, pocketed it all the same.
“Don’t be worried. No one will get hurt. These are just in case we need to scare people.”
“But we’re not going in till the place is empty though are we?”
“No.”
But Frazier had learnt that it always paid to be prepared. Go in hard, demonstrate you mean business. Timing was everything in this operation if he wanted to have the biggest impact possible, it had to be done in the next couple of weeks. It had been three years since Wesley had died and this would be a fitting tribute to his memory.
He’d wondered what Wesley would have made of the plan. The brothers’ business had been the narcotics' industry for the last ten years. It had made them rich, made them untouchable; given them the opportunity to get their mother out of the habitat block. But money wasn’t everything. In a world where telepaths could scan you as quickly as look at you, money couldn’t buy you all the protection needed. The Registration Act had been a mistake. A huge waste of time and would go down in history as the biggest fuck up this country had ever made. Telepaths can’t be contained. They can’t be controlled.
The lights on the first floor of the building opposite went out. Frazier held his breath and felt his heart tremble in anticipation. Paul had seen it too and shifted in his chair, ready to make a move.
Frazier checked the scanner again. “It reckons we’ve five more minutes until the security drone passes.”
“Do we do it now or wait?”
If his man at the garage in Bootle had done his job, the van would be untraceable—for a time at least. But, he didn’t much like the idea of the drone scanning him. The police were still after him for the incident in the habitat block with Jack Winston. His solicitors would make sure they couldn’t touch him, but even so, it would interfere with his plans if he was seen in around this break-in.
“We go now, and we do it quickly.”
“We’ll need time for them to clear the building. It could be a few minutes until they get out of there.”
Frazier checked the scanner and thought about driv
ing off and returning, but he didn’t want to wait any longer. If anyone was still lingering, he’d just have to deal with them. It wouldn’t be a problem.
They stepped into the rain. Cold air scratched Frazier’s cheek, and he shivered. Hurrying to the back of the van, he pulled out a small holdall and slammed the door shut, wincing at the noise it made. Damn. Careless. It wouldn’t attract the drones but it might attract attention from anyone on the street. Luckily though, the streets seemed devoid of people. A few cars sped past, but they were unlikely to pay any attention to two guys with a van. He hoped.
“Hurry,” Frazier said as he ran across the street to the side entrance of the building. He shone his light onto the chrome sign by the entrance.
Blue Jacob’s MediTech.
“No one’s come out yet,” Paul said, rubbing his chin. “I think we should wait.”
“We don’t have time. That drone will be back in two minutes and will scan us if we’re still on the street. Get it open.”
Paul unzipped the holdall, holding it by one strap whilst he dug in with his other. He pulled out a small finger-length tube and squirted some blue putty onto the lock. He pressed a button on the tube and then applied smaller amounts of a red material on top of the blue. The metal sizzled and corroded like ice under a hot tap. He tried the door again a few seconds later; it swung open.
“Don’t get it on your hands,” Paul warned.
As soon as they stepped inside the foyer, the lights came on and a voice spoke from the building’s AI. “These offices are closed. Please remain where you are until security can escort you from the premises.”
Frazier slipped his right-hand into a ring of plastic and formed a fist so one edge faced out like a knuckleduster—his preferred means of upping his odds in a fight. He sprinted to the closest access point, a small black pane of glass at chest height, an interface to the AI, and slammed his fist through the glass and into the circuitry beyond. The circuity fitzed and a smell of burnt-out components smoked from the damage. It would be enough to disable the AI temporarily throughout the building but security AIs were smart and a higher security service would detect the anomaly and restart the system remotely. They had little time.
The building went dark and Frazier turned on the HALO on his left-hand, casting a beam of light through the shadows. His heart beat furiously in his chest, so hard he felt sure Paul must have heard it.
“This way,” Paul whispered, using his own HALO to light up the crudely drawn map he’d had back in the van, “Upstairs.”
Frazier hurried him up the first flight of stairs they came to, his ears sensitive to the slightest noise. Besides his own heart beating, Paul’s excited breathing and the low rumbling of air conditioning units powering down, he couldn’t hear signs of anyone else in the building.
He hadn’t discussed with Paul yet what they might do if they came across someone. He hoped the person who’d turned the lights out had left the building via another entrance and weren’t waiting around in a part they couldn’t see from ground level. Paul had had others stake out this place in the last couple of weeks. At this time of night, only a security guard should be on site, but after he did his rounds, he would go back to his office for a kip, before his relief showed up at seven o’clock. If that procedure had changed, then they were in the shit.
“Along this corridor,” Paul whispered.
“We’ve got about two minutes before the AI comes back online.”
As they ran past rooms, Frazier turned his light onto the doors. Sealed, with no windows, whatever lay beyond each door would remain a mystery. Paul stopped in front of one and shone his light onto the identification badge. “We’re here,” Paul whispered unnecessarily.
“Well don’t just stand there, get it open.”
Paul tried the door handle, but it was locked. Of course it was bloody locked. It was a highly secure medical components unit. The doors weren’t going to be left unlocked. What did Wesley ever see in this goon?
Paul took out the tube of putty again and pressed it against the lock. This time only a tiny stream of the blue stuff emerged.
“What’s up?” Frazier said in a serious tone.
Paul turned warily to his boss. “I’m sorry. I used too much on the main entrance. I don’t have any more.”
Frazier considered that maybe Paul would soon be getting to choose which of his fingers were his favourite. But right now he had a room to get in. Paul shoulder-charged the door, but it was solid and he rebounded off with a disappointed scowl.
“I’ll handle it,” Frazier said.
“Sure, OK.” Paul sounded unsettled.
Frazier checked the hinges and knew where to kick. He struck and felt the wood shift under his leg. A second and something cracked. He aimed his last kick to the right of the door lock and drove home his frustration into one final strike. The door slammed open.
The room beyond was cool and dark. Paul shone his HALO around the space, picking out the shelving and desk in the far corner. Frazier followed him inside and pulled out a box from the first shelf he passed. Inside, were small plastic tubes, sealed individually inside sterile packages. Frazier pulled out one of the packages and tossed it to Paul. He caught it and then looked at the next set of shelving. In a drawer, Paul found packets with small black discs wrapped in clear plastic bags. “Bingo,” he said. “I told you my intel was right.”
“Good. I’d have hated for this to be for nothing,” Frazier said, and then as an afterthought, “and so would you.”
Frazier pulled the rucksack from his back and unzipped it before grabbing a handful of the packages and shoving them inside. Paul went to the next drawer and pulled it open. “Look at this. We could turn a good profit on this Nanosalve.” Paul grabbed a jar and placed it in his bag. He reached to take more but Frazier gripped his wrist. “One’s enough. Save the rest for someone who needs it.”
Paul nodded, wincing at the intensity of Frazier’s grip and dropped the packages back in the drawer.
“We’ve got what we came for. Let’s go.”
Back out in the corridor, Frazier zipped up his rucksack and slung it over his shoulder. Tonight had gone easier than he’d expected. And he thought he’d restrained himself well with Paul, not letting the idiot annoy him too much.
Then it all went wrong.
A man’s voice cut through the space. “What the hell?”
A man in a security outfit appeared at the bottom of the stairs—the security guard that was supposed to be back in his office having his kip. Paul hesitated. Frazier barged past him, forcing Paul to grab onto the handrail to stop himself being thrown all the way to the bottom. The guard’s eyes widened at the sight of the man in black hurtling towards him and he turned and ran.
“Fuck,” Frazier said. If the guard got the chance to sound the alarm, they’d have minutes to get out of the area before the drones converged and made their escape impossible. At the bottom of the stairs, a door slammed on his right and Frazier followed the noise. Instincts on fire, he charged through, seeing the security guard running along the corridor, his footsteps clumsy, uncoordinated. A couple of stone overweight and unsuited for a chase of this nature, Frazier felt that familiar jolt of excitement as he bore down upon him. His senses heightened, he heard everything. The man’s heavy breathing ahead, the door opening behind him, Paul’s hurried footsteps behind, his own heartbeat thudding away.
The guard was about to reach another door, perhaps his security office, but he never made it; Frazier smashed into his back and sent both of them crashing to the floor in a heap.
To his credit, he fought hard. He tried to twist, limbs flapping, nothing connecting, but Frazier kept him pinned, his bulk more than enough to keep the man down. Paul got there just in time to watch as Frazier lifted the man’s head and smashed it against the floor. Something crunched. The guard yelled in pain and fear and his arms stopped trying to hit out and instead pushed against the floor, trying to protect his head from another smash.
/> But, Frazier didn’t hold back. A second grab and smash and the yells became a whimper. A third and the limbs ceased resisting.
Frazier stopped.
Then sat back as the man jerked impulsively on the floor. A small sigh that could have been a plea for mercy escaped his lips. The knuckleduster was back around Frazier’s knuckles before he really had a chance to think about it.
Paul hadn’t said a word until now. “You’ll kill him.”
Frazier ignored the warning. No one told him what to do. “No witnesses.”
He triggered the volts, and sparks flew from the stun ring. He smashed his fist into the man’s eye socket. The smell of burnt flesh hit Frazier’s nostrils, but he didn’t hesitate to punch the man’s other eye. The guard couldn’t scream. A final convulsion, then he stopped moving.
“Can’t risk a recall,” Frazier said, as he staggered to his feet and headed for the exit.
Sunday, 26 May 2115
8:00 AM
Jack introduced himself at the reception desk. The officious woman behind the counter, smiled thinly, took his hand and retinal print for his security clearance, asked him to fill in a six page questionnaire, reminded him to abide by the teep code, then directed him to a waiting area.
He’d been in the police station several times over the last couple of years. The remnant keepers were sometimes asked to do a recall in a suite here, somewhere away from their home and secure; some cases were more sensitive than others.
Within the large open space atrium, it was easy to feel insignificant.
Eventually, after a half-hour wait, Burnfield descended the escalators. He was smiling, and when he shook hands, it felt genuine, but still Jack was uneasy.
“Wasn’t sure whether you’d turn up,” said Burnfield.
“And if I’d didn’t, I’d have you chasing after me.”
“Hah, possibly.” He patted Jack gently on the arm before leading them to the escalators. “I’ll take you to meet the rest of the team.”
Together they walked through the lobby in silence. Jack’s throat had suddenly gone dry, and he desperately wanted a drink of water. It was hard to guess what Burnfield must be thinking. The temptation to read minds in these situations was very strong, and when their hands had touched, albeit briefly, it had taken all of his training to shut himself down. Burnfield wasn’t stupid though; all police knew to use blocking patterns and there was the faintest trace of a song running over the surface of the detective’s mind. There would have been no chance of getting a reading without being detected.
The Remnant Vault (Tombs Rising Book 2) Page 8