Infiltrators

by Alison Ingleby

  A minute later, the pod slows and begins to descend. It settles on a rooftop, six floors up.

  “We’re here?” I ask, standing up.

  “Yes. Most pod points in the city are on rooftops. There’s not enough space at street level.”

  The door opens, and he steps out. I follow and grab at my headscarf as a light breeze catches it, blowing it back off my face.

  We’re at the end of a line of pods. It’s a busy station, with people milling around, and no sooner have we stepped away from the pod than someone moves to take our place. A hand on my shoulder pushes me toward a large lift at one corner of the rooftop.

  I keep my head down as people crowd in around me, trying to make myself as small and inconspicuous as possible. I look out as we descend. The Wall rises up, just a few streets away. I could leave him here. Walk away without another word. He would know what that meant. I could go back to Abby’s and find Trey and tell him …

  Tell him what?

  The lift stops, and people begin to spill out. And instead of walking away, I wait for Andrew Goldsmith and instruct him to go through the East Gate, to take the first right and wait for me outside an old boarded-up electronics shop.

  And only then do I turn and walk away.

  Once through the Wall, I tug off the bright scarf and bind it around my waist, under my jacket. Insider to Outsider. Just like that.

  If only things were that easy.

  I’m not kept waiting long. He hurries down the street, conspicuous in his unease and blue government suit. I realize I haven’t thought this through properly. He’ll get mobbed before I can take him anywhere wearing that thing.

  I could do it here.

  No, it has to be in Four. He has to see.

  “Aleesha,” he says, hurrying up to me. His face is drawn but alert. “How far do we have to go?”

  “Not too far.”

  I pick the quietest route I can through the back streets, but we still get some odd looks. I make him take off his tie and swap his jacket for a hobie’s long cape. The hobie is delighted. Andrew Goldsmith not so much, but I silence his protests with a look.

  The street that separates Five and Four is busy and I pull him across it, hoping his knowledge of the areas Outside the Wall is a flimsy as Trey’s.

  “Wait, I thought Abby lived in Area Five?”

  As if reading my mind, Andrew pulls his arm from my grasp and stops, looking around at the dirty grey apartment blocks and the boarded-up windows of the shops below. Further down the street, a fight breaks out between two hobbies and a crowd gathers to watch.

  “We’re nearly there,” I say in a low voice. “Just, let’s keep moving, okay?”

  Already eyes are starting to turn to us. A street kid loitering up ahead seems to be watching us, but as I catch his eye, he turns and runs off. I feel eyes bore into the back of my head, but when I whirl around, I just catch the vacant glances of hobies.

  You’re being paranoid.

  Or perhaps not. The first tendrils of doubt curl in my stomach. My uncertainty is mirrored in Andrew Goldsmith’s eyes.

  Now is not the time to get cold feet.

  I grab his arm and steer him into a side alley. “It’s not far.”

  We walk past a body of a man staring sightlessly up at the grey sky and I have to use all my weight to pull Andrew Goldsmith on. We pass another two before we emerge onto the street, but these look as if they’ve been dead a while and dumped here out of the way.

  “Why haven’t they been moved?” Andrew whispers to me as we emerge onto a busy street. He casts a panicked eye around. “Where are the Metz?”

  I snort. “I was hoping you could tell me that. They’ve all but disappeared from the streets. Rumour has it they’re planning something big. Know anything?”

  He shakes his head. “I’m not involved in any of the big decisions anymore,” he says sadly. “Though even in my previous position I didn’t have much to do with the Metz or security.”

  “But you worked in the Secretary of State’s department once?”

  He gives me an appraising look. “Yes, a long time ago. I was a junior minister there. But a lot of what was going on … it didn’t sit right with me. So I asked for a transfer.”

  I almost laugh out loud. Didn’t sit right with you? Murdering innocent people? I bite my lip and turn sharply left at a crossroads. The mixture of anger and adrenaline is a toxic cocktail that surges through my veins. I quicken my step. Nearly there.

  “Aleesha. I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

  My head jerks up at the familiar voice.

  “Hi, Jay.” I glance to his companion. “Jonas.”

  “Who’s this?” Jay eyes Andrew Goldsmith, who’s hovering nervously behind me. “Looks like an Insider.” He frowns as if trying to place him.

  “Jay, remember I said I had something to do?” I lower my voice. “This is that something. You need to focus on getting ready for the raid.”

  His eyes narrow. “Yeah, and mebbe you just said that to get me out of your way. To protect your Insider friends.” He raises his knife so the tip hovers in front of his mouth.

  Oh, if only he knew …

  “Jay, we don’t have time for this.” I give Jonas a pleading glance. His eyes narrow and he opens his mouth to speak but before he can say anything, a voice comes from over my shoulder.

  “She’s right. The Metz are coming.”

  I curse inwardly.

  Jay flashes a wicked smile. “And what would you know?”

  “I came to warn you.” There’s a slight – a very slight – tremor in Andrew Goldsmith’s voice, but Jay doesn’t seem to notice it. “They’re massing at the East Gate.”

  Jay glances from him to me and I can sense his uncertainty. He doesn’t want to believe him, but he still trusts me.

  “Fine,” he says reluctantly, lowering the knife. “But if I see you again, we’re going to talk.”

  He steps to one side and we hurry past.

  “Who was that?” Andrew mutters to me as I direct him left up Pearson’s Passageway.

  “One of the gang leaders.”

  Ahead of me is open space and grey clouds. Rose Square. My heartbeat quickens, and I have to fight to keep my breathing calm. I stop abruptly at the end of the passageway and brace myself as Andrew Goldsmith barrels into my back.

  The market holders are packing up their stalls. People walk across the square, some stopping to look up at the news screens, but most have their heads down, focused on their own business.

  “Do you know this place?”

  “I-I’m not sure …” His voice trails off.

  “It’s Rose Square.” I glance sideways, looking for a reaction, for a sign that he knows why he is here, but there is nothing. His face is pinched as if he’s trying to figure out what I want to hear.

  “There was a massacre here a few days ago,” I continue, conversationally. “The Metz stormed in, lots of people got killed.”

  My left hand stretches down my leg and fondles the handle of my knife. The good one that Bryn gave me.

  His face clears. “Ah yes, I saw that on the news … a tragedy.” His hands twitch. “Look, can you just take me to Trey, please?”

  I force a smile onto my face. “Of course, this way.” I motion for him to go back down the passageway. “Take this right, it’s a shortcut back to the main road.”

  He stops. “Look, what’s going on? I’m starting to b—”

  The point of my blade presses into the small of his back. “Just go right,” I whisper.

  His body stiffens. “Go on,” I prompt, turning him gently around to face the entrance to the narrow alley, barely a metre across, that leads back behind the buildings. “I’m right behind you. But don’t run. I’m fast. And I’m pretty good at throwing this too.” I let the blade scratch his skin.

  He stumbles forward. Energy courses through me. I feel strong. Powerful. It’s intoxicating.

  After ten paces, the alleyway opens up into a smal
l courtyard. There’s a small lean-to structure in one corner that by the smell is a compost toilet. Litter covers the ground, and in the far corner another narrow passageway leads back to the main street.

  I push Andrew Goldsmith forward until his nose is pressed against a brick wall. Then I bend down and stretch out with my free hand to rummage in the pile of trash that’s piled up next to us.

  Please still be there.

  My hand closes around the cold handle of Jonas’s gun and my knees feel suddenly weak. I take a step back and my breath catches in my throat as tension rushes from my body.

  You could have done it with the knife.

  But I couldn’t. A knife is too personal. Besides, I want to be able to look him in the eye when he tells me why he ordered my mother’s death. It’s easier to control the situation with a gun.

  Of course. That’s the reason.

  I take a deep breath and shove the knife roughly back into my pocket. Closing both hands around the handle of the gun, I lift it in front of me.

  “Turn around.” At least my voice sounds more confident than I feel.

  Sweat beads on the back of Andrew Goldsmith’s neck. His whole body trembles. He raises his hands and turns slowly, his eyes widening as he catches sight of the gun.

  “Kneel down.”

  He obeys, still holding his hands high.

  “Trey … please, where is he?” His eyes flick about the courtyard as if his son could jump out at any moment.

  “He’s fine. I don’t know where he is.”

  My hands shake. I take a deep breath, pushing Trey out of my thoughts.

  “Thank god,” he whispers, closing his eyes for a moment.

  He’s being held at gunpoint and looks relieved?

  But the look passes.

  “You lied. To get me to come out here.”

  “Yes. Do you know why?”

  Andrew Goldsmith doesn’t ever look surprised. “Your mother,” he says flatly. “Operation Nightshade. Trey said you were her daughter. I d—”

  “Shut up!”

  He clamps his lips together.

  “Rose Square was where it happened.” My aim is steadier now. I have control of my body again. “Where they shot her down. On the day she disappeared.”

  I hold the gun in front of his face, just out of his reach in case he tries anything stupid. But he won’t. Andrew Goldsmith is not stupid.

  “I was six. She was my world. Everything!”

  Anger and grief battle to escape from my cage of emotions but I force them back down.

  Stay calm. Stay in control.

  “Do you know what it’s like, being alone out here? No mother, no father, no one to look out for you? Not even a chip to get food with. No chance to go to school. No medicine when you’re sick. Do you know what it’s like?”

  “No,” he says quietly. “I don’t know.”

  His gaze is unnerving me. Even though I know he’s not Trey’s real father, I can’t help but see part of him in Andrew Goldsmith’s eyes.

  “Why did you authorize the operation?”

  “It was my job.”

  “Did you never question whether it was right?”

  He considers this for a moment, his eyes never leaving mine. “Of course. I question everything. The operation was intended to capture a known criminal. A criminal who was considered a danger to society. So yes, on balance, I did think it was right.”

  “On balance. For Insiders.”

  “For Insiders and Outsiders. No one benefits from conflicts like this. People just get killed. He was a troublemaker.”

  “Because he stood up for people? For what he thought was right?” My hand begins to tremble again.

  Control. Control.

  “Why was he meeting her?”

  “I don’t know. The only reason he would have been in London was so he could stir up rebellion. We presumed she was one of his contacts here – part of a plot against the government.”

  His voice is so calm and reasonable. It makes me want to punch him. I flick the safety catch off.

  “You presumed,” I say flatly. “You didn’t know?”

  He goes to shake his head, then stops. “No. You rarely know anything with intelligence. It’s a balance of probability. Of judgement.”

  “And you judged her guilty,” I whisper.

  “No, that’s not what I meant.” He looks up at me, but I don’t want to listen to his excuses anymore. I put a fraction more pressure on the trigger.

  “My mother did nothing wrong. She deserves justice.”

  Fear flashes in his eyes. “And is killing me justice? It won’t bring your mother back. Or help save anyone else.”

  The sound of shots rings in my head. Her scream. Suddenly it’s her in front of me, her who I’m pointing the gun at. Her eyes pleading for mercy. My aim falters and I lower the gun, my whole body quaking.

  Andrew Goldsmith doesn’t move.

  It’s not her. You’re just seeing things.

  I blink, and the memory is gone. Though her scream still echoes at the back of my mind.

  “I will give her justice. Avenge her death.” My voice cracks and hot tears prick my eyes. I take a deep breath. I can do this.

  “Is that what she would want, Aleesha?” His voice is soft and quiet. “Is revenge all you want?”

  “Shut up!”

  His poisoned words. He’s trying to manipulate me. That’s it. I take a deep breath and raise the gun again. “Any final requests?” My tone is deliberately ironic. She didn’t get any.

  Andrew Goldsmith’s face pales. “How about mercy? Mercy can be more powerful …”

  His voice trails off and he stares at my finger tightening on the trigger.

  No more talking. No more hesitation.

  “They didn’t show my mother any mercy.”

  22

  Trey

  The wide road that separates Areas Five and Six is crammed with people queuing to get through the East Gate and looters carrying their spoils back to whichever area they came from. Occasionally a fight breaks out when someone sees their belongings being carried away, but it’s usually over quickly; the owner of the items either backing down or being silenced.

  In the distance, the Metz frame the East Gate, visible over the heads of the crowd. I count six of them. They ignore the violence erupting at intervals down the street and part of me wonders if they’ve just given up on us. Perhaps there’s no pull-back, no big raid planned. They’ve just decided to abandon the areas Outside the Wall and let people fend for themselves.

  We cross the street and plunge into Six. The normally clean and tidy streets are littered with broken furniture and the remains of smashed food parcels. Decorative window shutters hang half off their hinges. Acrid smoke hits my nostrils, carried on the wind from a shop further up the street.

  “Makes you wonder if we really should be trying to help them, doesn’t it?” Bryn mutters. “Look out!” He yanks me toward him as something comes whizzing through the air. A chair crashes to the ground. I glance up and see a guy with a shaved head and dragon tattoo down his arm leaning out of an apartment window. He gives an unrepentant shrug.

  “This is what happens when the Metz disappear?” I whisper.

  “This is what happens when there’s no discipline,” Bryn corrects. We turn down the narrow alley that leads to the Chain headquarters. “Those guys back there were part of the Dragons. An Area Five gang. Their leader should be reining them in, not sending them looting.” He shakes his head. “So much for the Brotherhood uniting the gangs.”

  The old building looks even more dilapidated than usual. The lower windows are boarded up and purple graffiti is scrawled on the brick walls.

  I stop at the foot of the stairs. “You’ve been attacked?”

  “Na,” a man with tight braids pulled back from his face grins. “It’s just for show. Make it look like the place has already been raided.” He twirls a knife between his fingers.

  The guard on the other side of
the steps leading up to the entrance snorts. “Any excuse for you to get out the spray paint, Zane!”

  “Too right,” Zane replies. His teeth flash white against his caramel skin. “Go on up, you’re expected.” He jerks his head toward the front door.

  Once inside, we head to the conference room on the first floor. Angry voices spill from the open doorway.

  “I know the consequences, but I can’t do any more than I’m doing!”

  Bryn pushes open the door and we walk in. The expression on Jameson’s face turns to one of relief. “Trey! Come over here. I wanted to ask you about a text command link.”

  I walk over to him, eying Katya warily. She’s pacing the room like a caged animal, her body tight with anger. The black controller box is set out on the table next to a small robot. Scattered tools, wires and electronic chips are spread out across the wooden surface. Matthews sits on the opposite side of the table. She gives me a sympathetic look as I sit down.

  “I’ve managed to get the text command function working when it’s directly linked to the Metz chip. But tapping into the chip remotely is problematic. That’s what we struggled with last time.” He brings up a text display and types in a basic command. The robot turns to the left and walks five steps across the table.

  “You’ve got a Metz chip in that?”

  Jameson nods. “We managed to get one out of an officer who went down during that incident in Rose Square. It makes testing much easier.” He blows out a breath. “I’m missing something … I just need to work out what.”

  Behind us, Katya and Bryn are arguing in low voices. Matthews goes across to join them.

  “I’m just saying we should get further clarification before doing anything rash,” Bryn says more loudly.

  “We’ve had clarification. Just because you don’t agree—”

  There’s a slight pause then Katya continues, but her voice is too low for me to make out what she’s saying.

  “Any ideas?”

  “Huh? Oh, sorry, what did you say?” I flush guiltily.

  Jameson looks crestfallen. “I was wondering if you had any thoughts on how to intercept and replace the communications between the captains and the officers.”