by Craig Boldy
I nodded. The words she used and her overall tone didn’t seem to be very hostile, but I got the feeling there was a threat hiding under the little speech.
The Director stood up, obviously pleased and turned to face me. She placed her hand on my shoulder once more and said, "You look tired, you've got some time before your next mission. Get some rest."
I sat there for a few moments as she walked out of the room, pondering the words. I knew enough about the hierarchy of the agency not to ask too many questions, not to mention asking them of the Director, the person at the top of the ladder. The one thing I was stuck with, however, was whether it had been a friendly warning about the temporary nature of these types of off-book government projects or whether it had been one of those ‘never existed’ conversations authorising me to get results regardless of consequences.
My stomachs growling brought me out of my thoughts. I realised Hanson would not have eaten since the previous day. The medical staff seemed happy to let me take care of his body’s needs as I controlled him.
Deciding to walk up to the cafeteria, I fantasised about what would be on today’s menu. I hoped it was something good. My mouth started to salivate as I walked into the room. It was empty. The only other person there was the woman on the till; I assumed there would be chefs in the kitchen somewhere but beyond that just us. I looked at the clock on the wall - 11:04; too early for the lunch rush and too late for the breakfast crowd.
By now, the cafeteria staff had been told to let me have whatever I wanted and not to ask for payment. I took a chance on some sort of herbal tea and the last of the bacon from breakfast. I didn’t recognise the woman on the till but she offered to go into the kitchen to find me a bread roll to make a sandwich and left me alone in the room for a few minutes.
I sipped my tea carefully and waited. She came back after a few moments holding a plate with my bacon sandwich in one hand and a few napkins in the other. I took the sandwich and declined the napkins.
"You really need the napkins, honey." She said. I was about to refuse, but there was an edge to her voice that made me take them; like she really needed me to take them from her. I evaluated her as a neat freak and took them to one of the tables facing the window.
I looked out over the grounds of the building and watched the rain patter on the surface of the pond; it was running down the window and obscuring my view slightly. There were patterns every now and again as the wind blew harder and softer, forcing the rain in different directions.
I unconsciously bit into the sandwich, and a massive splodge of sauce squeezed out the other side over my fingers. I put it down with a groan and picked up the napkins to wipe it off. One of them fell to the floor as I picked them up. I ignored it for a second while I finished cleaning myself off and then bent to pick it up. My hand stopped about an inch from it as I realised I could see it had already been used. I repulsed slightly but leaned back when I realised that what I thought was food residue was actually writing. I picked it up carefully and turned it over. There was a message on the other side, written in a deep red lipstick; the same shade as the woman at the till had been wearing.
It was a series of numbers, each pair separated by a dot. I looked at it for a moment, trying to figure out what it could mean and realised it was a date and time. I guessed she was trying for a date. Maybe co-workers were not allowed to socialise with each other. I turned and looked back at the till; a different woman stood there now. I shrugged and folded the napkin; there must have been a shift change while I wasn’t looking.
I placed the napkin carefully in my pocket and started to think of how to get them to authorise a trip out on my own. I was so engrossed I bit into the sandwich again and got another deluge of sauce. I glanced hopelessly at the new woman and showed her my sauce-covered fingers. She glanced at the small pile of screwed up napkins, tutted to herself and then took pity on me and brought me a stack of napkins an inch thick; no secret messages this time though. I must not have been her type.
I opened the sandwich, used the top half of the bread to scrape some of the sauce off, and gratefully devoured the remainder.
"Hi there," I turned at the friendly greeting to find Filch stood behind me with a tray of food in her hands, "Mind if I join you?"
I kicked a chair out from under the table with my foot, and she took the invitation to sit down. "How's everything going with the amplifier?" I asked.
"There's something not quite right with one of the components. It's causing a power feedback that I'm not happy with."
"Is it dangerous?"
"Not in its current form. It's only a slight feedback and its nothing the system wasn’t designed to handle, but it's annoying me that we can't find whatever component is causing the issue. I designed the whole thing, and even I can't find it!"
"So I've got you to thank for my new lease of life?"
"I only designed the apparatus. There have been hundreds of people working on the theory and the engineering."
"Don’t be modest. Take the thanks." She smiled at me, and I changed the topic. "How do you think they would feel about me taking some time out of the building with Hanson's body?" She gave me a look of shock and was quiet for a few moments.
"That’s a terrible idea." I asked why and she continued, "Think about it. Imagine you were walking along the street or reading a newspaper or watching TV and suddenly you saw your son, who you had been told had died in a car accident - funeral and everything, walking around and talking to people like nothing ever happened. Can you imagine how that might make you feel?"
"I hadn’t thought of that. I keep forgetting this face isn’t my own."
She smiled at me sadly, as we sat in silence for a few moments while I built up some courage.
“Listen, about the pool before.”
“Relax, its fine. It’s not like I didn’t get a good look at you while you floated there” she winked, and I almost spat out the sip of tea I had taken. I struggled to find any words which wouldn’t make me sound like a moron as she half stood out of her chair and waved across the room.
"I thought this is where you might be," I turned at the voice and saw Wilson stood in the doorway, "We're ready to go, are you coming?" he said jauntily.
I nodded and piled both the used and unused napkins onto the plate and passed them over to the woman behind the counter. She thanked me, and I reciprocated before turning to say goodbye to Filch. She tucked into her meal as I followed behind Wilson.
We chatted about the mission as we walked back to the amplifier room, I kept trying to think of a way to bring up the napkin but thought better of it after a while.
The team was really starting to come together. As soon as we arrived back in the room, I walked over to where Hanson would be looked after while I was on the mission and Wilson stepped up to the amplifier platform. The nurse in charge got his staff ready; they were always prepared to reinsert Hanson's breathing tube as soon as I left his body.
I pressed the recall switch and opened my own eyes. "How did we get this one?" I asked
"We almost didn’t. Good news and bad news; good news is we got to the takeaway delivery service they used last night, bad news is we have no way of knowing which of the gang you are ghosting."
"One is all I need," I said confidently.
"Remember, you need to stop these guys before there are any casualties."
I nodded and began my usual meditation routine. There was Hanson's door; it was becoming as familiar as the back of my hand once was. In fact, I almost jumped back into his body on instinct. I had to be careful with that.
I moved to the new door and waited for a few moments until the handle materialised. I opened the door and crossed the threshold into the mind of my next target.
∆∆∆
Chapter Eight
I opened my eyes to darkness, not the darkness of the void but of a room without light. I strained my other senses to hear the growl and thump of a big diesel engine and the general hubbub of stree
t noise in the near vicinity.
We were in motion; I could feel the slight G-force as we turned and changed speed. I must be in the back of some sort of vehicle. I concentrated on the sounds closer to me. Just at the edge of hearing were the slight sounds of other people breathing.
I started to wish I had paid a little more attention to the briefing and began to search my host’s memories. We were on our way to a job, the whole gang including Ralph, the leader.
Suddenly a shaft of light pierced the darkness from about halfway up a wall to my right. A shutter separating us from the passenger compartment opened and a voice shouted through - "Five minutes out" before the slot slid closed and darkness enveloped us once more.
In the short time the light had been available, I looked around. I had just been able to make out the darker silhouettes of other people sat around me; three sat opposite and two to my right. Six people in the back with Ralph and the driver up front, which matched with what the memories were providing.
It came easier than last time with Grigory. I couldn’t decide whether this was from adjustments made to the amplifier or if it had more to do with the host being sober this time.
Guessing from my distance to the source of light, I was closest to the passenger compartment. I leaned towards the wall, careful not to hit my head as the vehicle accelerated and braked. There was no sound coming from the driver’s compartment; no radio and certainly not the sound of talking. I listened carefully for a few more minutes, trying to drown out the sounds of the engine and just concentrate on the cab until I overheard the driver swearing at another vehicle. It wasn’t the same voice I had heard saying 'Five minutes out' so at least I would be able to recognise the leader's voice next time I heard it
I sat and took stock of my host in the dark. I was wearing tactical body armour, including a helmet. It felt like the type a SWAT team would wear, the slightly weighty bulletproof chest protector dug under my armpits a little as I sat. I remembered my old instructor telling me it was made to be hung from the shoulders rather than pushed up by my lap. At least my host did. This worried me a little; apparently at least some of the group had formal tactical training.
There was a weight on the front of my vest. Clipped to the front was a weapon. I raised my arms from my sides and felt at it; a short muzzle with sights on top and close to the front. I formed a picture of it in my head, guessing at the two or three types it could be; maybe an MP7?
I felt underneath. There was no magazine slot. I changed hands and could feel the unmistakable cartridge slotted into the top. There wasn’t enough light to see it, but from the feel and weight, I was sure it was a P-90.
There was also a familiar weight on my hip; some sort of pistol, possibly a Beretta, maybe a Glock. I shuddered as I realised each person in the vehicle would be similarly dressed and armed.
It was then that I noticed something was wrong. The memories I had been accessing easily before were gone. I got nothing; no functional memories of the plan, no day-to-day memories, not even any childhood memories, just what seemed like a wall of white noise when I tried to access them.
I didn’t know whether there was a problem with the connection or the nanotech in the host's body, or even if this was the 'strong mind' fighting back as Sutton had referred to previously.
Now I knew I should have paid better attention to the briefing. I searched my own memories for scraps of information I could use otherwise I was flying blind. My training kicked in before I really started to panic and I began to assess the situation.
From the deep recesses of my own mind, I pulled together the pieces I remembered from the briefing; armed bank robbers, between six and eight people per hit. They generally held the people in the bank as hostages until they escaped. They go for the easy cash in the teller drawers while one of them hits the main safe. That was all I could remember.
I kept myself calm by knowing I could rely on my training and instincts, and if they didn’t work then I was safe in the knowledge that I wasn’t the leader and expected to run the heist, I should be fine. I could take my cues from the rest of them.
I felt the van veer sharply to the left and pull to a stop inciting the horn honks of a few disgruntled drivers in the process. Suddenly there was a grinding sound as the driver shunted the vehicle into reverse, over-revved the engine and we shot backwards. I felt the crash before my ears heard the breaking of glass. It hadn’t been too much of a blow, but I was not expecting it, and it took me by surprise. The slot slid back, and the driver shouted, "Go! Go! Go!"
I heard whoever was closest the door unlatch it and shoulder it open into the space beyond. Bright light flooded in and it took a few moments for my eyes to adjust. I caught sight of the rest of the group and realised I had been right; each person carried a P-90 and a Beretta, a couple even had large knives strapped to their belts. We all scrambled out, two at a time, weapons at the ready.
Now that we were out, I took a few moments to assess the situation. The van itself was one of those armoured money transport vans, fitting for the situation. It had reversed directly through the main doors of the bank, shattering the glass frontage and shredding the metal of what was once the revolving door. It had the double effect of getting everyone into the building with as much shock and awe as possible while also blocking anyone from getting into or out of the bank in the process.
The interior of the bank was clearly designed to give the impression of wealth and security, up until the armoured car had crashed through the door. It was mostly a sandstone coloured marble covering the floors and walls as far as I could see, even covering the base and counter of the teller's stations. The ceiling was double height with the windows making up the entire outside wall. A large glass chandelier was glinting in the light. It hung centrally to the carved plaster decoration covering the rest of the ceiling. Various potted plants lay strewn about the lobby in various states of destruction. They must have stood, decorating the entrance, up until they were unceremoniously swept aside by the assault.
The first two people out of the doors had taken up station pointing their weapons at the cashiers and shouting for them to back away from the counters, presumably to keep nimble fingers away from alarm points.
The customers who had been going about their daily activities before the intrusion were now spread out all across the lobby and crouching or sitting in varying stages of panic. I turned as one of the other men shot a few rounds into the air to ensure their hostages' compliance. I looked up at the moulded ceiling to see holes dotted here and there. A few sad waterfalls of plaster dust fell from the ceiling, almost as if it were bleeding
Once the noise of the shots had died away, we grouped all of the hostages into one corner, making them lay on the cold marble flooring with their hands behind their heads. All except for one pregnant woman who, contrary to the aggressive actions of the group, was made to sit in one of the comfortable looking customer chairs and then promptly had her hands taped to its arms rather than being made to lie on the floor.
The person who sat opposite me in the van tapped me on the shoulder and pointed to the door behind the main counter. He said "Safe, Go!" in a strangely distorted voice; too deep for a real person and somewhat electronic. I realised they must have been using voice modulators to remove the possibility of anyone being able to identify them by their voices.
I passed the terrified hostages, one woman had begun to sob uncontrollably, and one of the men had passed out. The door, which the other person had pointed to, was over behind the teller counter. I walked slowly and confidently through the access hatch, all the time noting the location of each of the robbers. The door, which led further into the bank, had a red ‘Employees Only’ sign on it and a push button mechanical number lock. It was slightly open, possibly due to the people behind it coming out to look at what had caused the crash of breaking glass. I pushed it the rest of the way open and stepped inside.
There was a short corridor with glass-fronted offices either side, all of
them empty of people but strewn with the paperwork and files the employees had been working with. At the end, I could see the bars of the door leading to the main safe access room. It was closed and most likely would be locked.
I walked further up the corridor and quietly slid into the bathroom; I'd had a thought looking at the bars of the door, I didn’t think it could be the connection which was letting me down. In the middle of a bank in a city, there would be plenty of signals for the network to transmit on. Similarly, I wouldn’t have been able to take control at all if the nanotech was not working in some way; there were safeguards in place to prevent it.
I wanted to get a look at the face of the person I was ghosting. Hopefully, that would jog the memories I was still missing and give me the information I so sorely needed. The first thing I needed to do was take off the plastic goggles. I set them on the side of the sink, and dark green eyes stared back at me. The scarf covering my face came off next; I unwrapped it, letting it drop to the floor and stared at the reflection in the mirror, shocked.
The face looking back at me was slim and delicate with full lips and large eyes. I pulled the gloves from my hands and rushed to undo the clip on the strap under my chin. I pulled off the helmet and let it clatter into the sink; the hair, which had been held in place by the helmet, now flowed down the back of my shoulders. I turned my face from side to side for a moment to take it in; I was ghosting a woman, and quite a beautiful one at that.
I thought for a moment that this might be the reason why the memories were not forthcoming, although it should not make any difference; every brain is basically the same. I smiled when I realised I had gone to the men's room without a second thought and the odd sensation was creeping over me of being out of place.
Suddenly I noticed movement behind me. I only had a fraction of a second before I was forced forward by a strong blow, hitting my head on the mirror and creating a spider’s web pattern in the process. Hundreds of tiny reflections stared back at me as I turned just in time to see a small man stood behind me, a heavy box file on the floor between us.