Metal Fatigue (15 page)

Suddenly, a familiar voice whispered in his ear via a tiny earplug, startling him from his reverie:

"Howdy, boss."

"Hi, Barney." He glanced by reflex at his watch; it still said 10.35. "You're late."

"I was busy elsewhere. And, besides, my shift doesn't officially start for an hour yet."

"What happened to the fanatical devotion to duty?"

"Out the window, I'm afraid. When a handsome young captain asks you out, nothing gets in the way."

"Oh, so that's where you've been." He winced, hoping the camera in the toilet wouldn't pick up his expression. "And did you have a good night?"

"Simply ... fabulous." Barney's imitation of her colleague, Shelley, was precise. No doubt there would be an interesting conversation between the two women the following day. Roads was positive he didn't want to overhear it.

"Some people will do almost anything to make me jealous," he said, hoping he had inserted the correct amount of humour in his voice.

"What's there to be jealous of? He's a married man, and I'm so much older than him."

"From the tone of your voice, I'd say that neither would be much of an obstacle, given the chance."

"What's the matter, Phil?" She chuckled. "You're not
really
jealous, are you?"

"Not at all. But this is hardly the time or place to discuss your sex life. Think of your reputation, for God's sake."

"
What
sex life? Besides, this is a private line."

"Lucky."

"By the way, DeKurzak asked me to remind you to use subvocals from now on."

"Is he still there?"

"Yes. So are David and Martin ... Roger couldn't make it, unfortunately, so he misses out on all the perks we have up here, courtesy of the KCU staff room."

"Thanks." The makeshift command centre was in the heart of the building adjacent to the library, on the first floor. Roads glanced disparagingly at the gloomy confines of the ladies' toilets, and belatedly remembered the throat-mike. "Thanks a lot," he subvocalised.

"Oooh, you've gone all husky." She panted a throaty farewell. "I'll be watching you, remember."

"How could I forget? Call me when you can."

"Will do."

He settled back into the chair and closed his eyes. He wondered why he was so bothered by the thought of Barney having dinner with O'Dell. She and Roads were close, yes, and anyone intruding upon that closeness could be considered a threat — but he had no right to expect her not to see other men. He was her superior officer, for Christ's sake, not her lover, and there was the age difference to take into account as well.

But more than rank kept them apart; he was honest enough with himself to admit that. It was history — both his and the city's. A history they had never discussed completely.

If only her father had lived ...

Casting the thought aside, he got to his feet and paced the length of the cubicles.

What had Packard said? "Let's show those bastards we know how to defend our city." Or something to that effect. An interesting choice of words, Roads thought. "Defence" usually referred to something from the outside; "bastards" implied plurality. If the Mayor had meant the Mole, as was suggested by the context, then he would have said "bastard", singular. But it would have been just as strange to refer to the assassin and possible accomplices instead, because the killer was doing exactly what Packard suggested: defending Kennedy from a perceived invasion.

Or was Mayor Packard suggesting that the Mole was an agent for another body altogether? It could have been nothing more than a slip of the tongue, but it was worth pursuing. The only external body that Roads knew of was the RUSA itself.

He cast his mind back six weeks, to the beginning of the Mole's campaign. Kennedy Polis had been in turmoil after the arrival of the RUSAMC envoy at the city walls. There had been an air of uncertainty in the Council, with the very real possibility that the envoy was going to be sent away, by force if necessary, and the offer of Reassimilation rejected. It had taken three weeks of solid debate to arrive at the decision to open negotiations with the RUSA, and the final vote had been close. Without Senior Councillor Norris' final summation, the Reassimilation Bill might have been repealed at the last moment. Roads could understand the RUSAMC sending a covert agent into the city back then, to ascertain the exact nature of the threat Kennedy represented. And yet...

Why had the Mole not been recalled? If the Reassimilation went ahead, the Reunited States would have unlimited access to Kennedy's datapool within a few days. Did they believe that the exchange would be incomplete — or that the Council, daunted by the assassin, would change its mind at the last minute?

And was that, then, why they had sent O'Dell to aid investigations — not to help catch the Mole, but to neutralise the killer?

Roads went back to the desk and checked the information he had been studying the previous night. The Kennedy mortuary records had been stolen two weeks prior to Blindeye. Either O'Dell had brought them up in conversation to deceive Roads, or the captain was unaware of his own government's covert activities. Or had the remark simply been a means of putting Roads off-guard, as he had first thought?

No matter which way he looked at it, it wouldn't fall into place.

He sighed. He was getting as paranoid as DeKurzak, substituting RUSAMC secret agents for a hypothetical Old Guard in a situation where there couldn't possibly be either. The Mole had to be biomodified. The Reunited States, therefore, would hardly tolerate his existence, let alone employ him to further their ends.

He went back to the chair and put his feet up on the desk. The screens were mesmerising. After a while, he stopped counting the numbers of times they changed every minute and resigned himself to wait the whole night if he had to.

The Mole would appear when he was ready. There was nothing Roads could do to make him come sooner than that.

A voice jolted him to full alertness shortly after midnight. His left leg was stiff from maintaining one posture for so long, and he rubbed it absently while listening to the information Barney relayed.

"Boss? We've just had word from DP. There's been some sort of interference down at Emergency Services."

"The Mole?"

"An unauthorised request for data came through ten minutes ago. As no-one else is supposed to be using the system tonight, we feel safe assuming it to be our man."

"Fair enough," Roads said. "Although it's pretty stupid of him to let us know he tried like that."

"Unless he did it deliberately. It wouldn't be the first time."

Roads nodded, calculating times in his head. "Ten minutes. That gives him just enough time to get out of the building and across town. He could be here any moment."

"You got it." Her voice was breathless. "The show's about to begin."

"About fucking time." He stood, checked the microphone taped to his throat and his earplug, and stretched his legs. "Excuse me for a second while I take a piss."

"I promise not to listen."

When he returned, the silence of the library had thickened; he was more conscious of the lack of sound than he had been before. He found himself straining to listen for footsteps which didn't exist. If there was anyone in the building, the surveillance systems would have been triggered already.

Again, an image of the Mole flashed into his mind's eye. It was a sequence from the footage Morrow had given him: of the Mole walking through the laser beams undetected, of the Mole appearing to be invisible to infra-red cameras. He studied the endlessly changing screens, half expecting to see his dark half already inside the building.

"We've got something," said Goss.

The voice made Roads jump. "Where?"

"Outside, but ... Hang on a second. It might be a false alarm."

One of the screens flickered and changed to an external view of the grounds. The image was predominantly grey and blue as a result of a light-intensification program. Something ran through a copse of trees — a shadow keeping low to the ground. The camera tracked it, zoomed in close.

It was the timber wolf.

"One of the lookouts spotted it," Goss said. "Sorry to give you all a start."

"How'd it get in?" Barney asked.

"Over the fence?" Roads suggested.

"Unlikely," said Goss. "The fence is two metres high."

"Not impossible," put in O'Dell, his drawl as lazily confident as ever. "Timber wolves have been known to jump higher. I've seen one leap over a man myself."

"Really? Where was that?"

"Back home. They bred like crazy after the War. You don't have them here?"

"Only one that I know of," said Goss. "And you're looking at it."

The wolf slid across the open expanse of a lawn like a streak of smoke-blackened silver. Their perspective shifted to that of another camera, allowing them to watch it in profile. Its muscles rippled beneath an evanescent coat; its eyes glinted emotionlessly in the pale moonlight.

"David, I thought you'd booby-trapped the fences?"

"We have, Phil. Maybe it dug a tunnel."

Roads shook his head, taking the suggestion seriously. The wolf's coat was clean and unmarked by dirt. "However it got in, it must've really wanted to."

"And it's headed right for us." He could hear the anticipation in Barney's voice.

"Forget it. It's a diversion." Roads glanced at the other screens. "David, tell your people to keep an eye out."

"Will do."

"A diversion?" asked Barney.

"To keep us distracted while he sneaks in somewhere else."

"So the Mole has a pet wolf?" asked DeKurzak.

"They
can
be trained," said O'Dell. "But you have to hand-rear them from birth."

"Really?" Roads found that interesting. It suggested that the Mole came from the northern regions of the continent — perhaps near Philadelphia, the RUSA capital.

"Here it comes." Goss tracked the wolf as it crossed the last open space before reaching the library. The animal circled the building once, then vanished into a clump of trees nearby. It did not reappear from the other side. "And there it goes. We've either lost it, or it's gone to ground. Sorry folks, but show-time's over."

The screen changed, became a map of the university grounds. Green dots marked untripped alarms surrounding the library. Roads studied it intently, waiting for a sign that the Mole had made his move. A minute dragged by, painfully slow; his heartbeat seemed loud enough to echo in the confines of the toilets.

"David? You got anything in the building?"

"No, just a couple of small movements."

"Where?"

"Basement and ground floor. Not worth worrying about. You know what these old buildings are like, settling after sunset."

"Are you sure?" The timing bothered him. "It could be — "

"Wait," breathed Barney. "I think we might have something."

Roads could hear Goss talking on another line in the background, but couldn't make out the words. The screens changed, and Goss came back.

"We've lost contact with two of the lookouts on the roof of the admin building. No alarms have been triggered on the library, though."

"That doesn't mean anything, judging from past experience."

"True. But let's hang on a moment longer. Don't want to jump the gun."

Roads fidgeted nervously as the screens surveyed the roof of the building. The view contained plenty of detail — ventilation outlets, antennae, even an old satellite dish — but was shrouded with shadow. Light-intensification could only improve the picture a little; without an infrared scanner, there was no way to be certain exactly what he was seeing.

"Come on, you son of a bitch."

"What was that, Phil?"

"Nothing. Just talking to — "

On one of the screens, a shadow moved.

"Camera twenty-three, David — that's him!"

"Where, Phil? I can't see — "

"Zoom in on that duct, or whatever it is, by the grill — he's behind it. Watch carefully."

The picture slid in close, showing nothing for a second but moonlit metal. Then an arm appeared, little more than a blur with a suggestion of muscle. An instant later, it moved back out of view.

"Shit." Goss wound back the zoom, swung the camera to follow the motion. The shadow danced in and out of sight, leaping from darkness to darkness, visible only in a series of strobe-like glimpses. Its gait was awkward — sometimes crab-like, sometimes leaping, as though clearing invisible obstacles in its path.

Roads mentally pictured the security plan of the roof. "Jesus — he's stepping over the trip-wires!"

"How? They're invisible."

"I don't know, unless ..." His stomach lurched. "Oh my God. He followed me here, watched you show me where they were. He's been here all the time!"

"But..." Goss' voice was incredulous. "What about the I-R sensors? Why isn't he setting them off?"

"Check them, David. I'll bet they're picking up heat outside the target bandwidth. If he's severely biomodified, his body temperature could be — "

"Fuck. We should've thought of that." There was a rattle of keys as Goss fiddled with the security master-terminal, then a satisfied grunt.

"You've got him?"

"Yes."

"Where's he headed?"

"For the skylight, more or less."

"Right." Roads stood and unholstered his pistol. "I'm going in."

"Be careful, Phil." Barney's voice was sharp.

"Always. And you be ready if I need you."

"We will."

He carefully swung the door of the toilets inward, thankful that someone had thought to oil the hinges. Holding his breath tight in his chest, he craned his head around the jamb and peered along the hallway.

No-one. The corridor was pitch-black. Without switching on the torch, he padded slowly to the T-junction at the end of the corridor and stopped with his back up against the wall and the gun raised across his chest.

"Barney? You tracking me?"

"Sure am, boss."

"I want you to scan the way ahead. Make sure there's nothing waiting around the corner."

"Will do." There was a pause, then: "All clear."