The Glimpse (5 page)

Notes of a single oboe floated through the darkness.

The plaintive reed instrument reached through the old car-park speakers, spilt around the wal dividing the level, and wrenched Jasper’s insides. He faltered.

His mother deserved better than the mysterious vanishing of another son. Ana deserved better than this. He’d messed up.

The oboe glided and the piano motif started to climb, violins echoing the ascent.

Quickly puling up a 3D map of the arts centre, he searched for a way out. Built in the 1970s, the Barbican was a sprawling maze of concrete stairwels, grey towers, and interlinking walkways. Jasper found what he was after and 32

adjusted his interface projection so that it glowed dimly.

He crept away from the stairwel, the only place where the fluorescent strip lights stil worked, towards a tunnel.

The tunnel led to a shaft of steps that emerged by a walkway linked to Moorgate station. His best chance of diving under the radar was going underground. The Wardens didn’t have the surveilance power to cover the sprawling London Tube lines.

Jasper passed a row of derelict cars, which had been stripped beyond recognition. Twenty-three years ago, when petrol sources began to dry up and the Petrol Wars started, cars in their milions had been abandoned al across the country – in front of houses, in garages, in car parks just like this one. Limited electric train resources had been unable to support the hundreds of thousands who’d commuted daily by car and people had flocked to the cities, leaving the rural towns to slowly die.

Beneath the haunting melody, a battery engine hummed to life. Jasper blocked the light from his interface and crouched down next to a wide pilar to listen. The vibration seemed to be coming from somewhere behind.

His heart began to thump. Hardly anyone used this lower level car park – there was no need; there was plenty of room for al the Pure chauffeurs to park on Level One.

Jasper narrowed the field of ilumination from his interface into a sharp ray of light. Rather than groping his way along the exposed wal that led up to Level Two, he would use the beam to find the tunnel door first, then make a beeline for it in the dark.

He scanned the brick wal until he saw a metal door.

He scanned the brick wal until he saw a metal door.

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He mentaly marked his route: eight paces forward at a quarter to two, side-step around a wide pilar, then four paces at three o’clock. He cut the projection and listened.

Blood rushed in his ears. He could no longer hear the smooth hybrid engine. He breathed in sharply, stood up, and stepped out into the open.

Headlights snapped on, catching him in their beams.

The vehicle accelerated forwards. Jasper burst into a run, crossing the twelve-foot gap in seconds. The saloon halted beside the pilar. Blinded by the headlights, Jasper pushed against the exit door.

It didn’t budge.

With everything he had, he thrust his shoulder into the cold metal. Pain exploded in his arm. The door held. For a moment, the shock of what this meant paralysed him.

The headlights dimmed. In a spurt of defiance, Jasper bolted left towards the ramp that led up to the next level.

A pinprick of light danced ahead of him in the darkness –

the approaching projection of someone’s interface.

Jasper swung back the way he’d come. The saloon jerked forward to cut him off, trapping him between it and the spinning shaft of interface colour.

The slap-slap of shoes echoed down the tunnel.

‘Leaving early, Jasper?’ a voice asked. Jasper’s stomach plummeted. His panicky thoughts took a moment to place the smooth baritone. But then it came to him. He’d been such an idiot! So naïve!

‘You’ve put me in a very awkward situation,’ the man said. ‘I’d been hoping we might avoid this.’

Jasper squinted through the darkness. The figure carried 34

a metal rod in one of his hands. A tingling sensation zinged up Jasper’s spine, intensifying as it entered his head and burst inside the back of his skul. He tried to lift his hand to the pain, but his arm hung by his side. He grappled to think; his thoughts were flying threads he couldn’t catch hold of.

Al that reached him was the music, reminding him of Ana, as it played out the concerto’s final bars.

35

4

Abduction

An overcast dawn bled through the high basement windows. Ana sat cross-legged at the bottom of the swimming pool holding her breath, a brick weight between her knees.

Eyes closed, she concentrated on the slow, steady beat of her heart. Her lungs burnt. She relaxed her arm muscles, her facial muscles, her chest. She counted. As the burn faded, thoughts of last night crowded in on her.

She pushed them away, determined not to remember She pushed them away, determined not to remember how Jasper had puled off the binding ribbon as though it was meaningless, how she’d searched for him until the concert hal and the bar were empty, then been forced to admit that he’d left without saying goodnight.

A line of bubbles drifted from her. She tried counting as a distraction, but it was no good. She couldn’t shut Jasper out. Even asleep he’d haunted her. She’d woken from a nightmare in the early hours of the morning. In her dream, she’d found herself standing over their matrimonial bed holding a knife. Blood had dripped from the serrated edge.

Confused, she’d looked down and seen the covers folded over Jasper’s form slick with liquid crimson.

She’d woken trembling and sweaty and hadn’t slept since.

Beneath the water, the air expired from Ana’s lungs. She 36

swam to the surface and hauled herself up the side of the pool. She dried off. Then, gripping the towel around her shoulders, she climbed the basement steps. The cold stone sent shivers through her feet. She headed for the main block of the house, halting at the end of the corridor.

Voices vibrated behind the thin kitchen wal. Male voices. A mixture of curiosity and anxiety ran through her. Her father never woke before seven-thirty, and he never had guests to stay, not even female ones.

Something important was going on.

A kettle whistled. Ana peered into the sunken living room. The flatscreen above the low sideboard flickered, room. The flatscreen above the low sideboard flickered, which meant her father had switched on his interface and would be coming back to watch. Seizing her chance, she hurried over the wooden floor and Turkish carpets, past the glass coffee table and her father’s photographs of strung-out rock stars. She reached the raised platform where her baby grand stood and stopped. Someone had opened the key cover. No one touched her piano, not even the cleaner.

Suddenly, she heard her father’s voice.

‘I don’t see,’ he said, growing louder and closer, ‘why they can’t ban reporters from the Communities altogether.’

Ana bounded up the open wood-slatted staircase. She didn’t want her father’s guest to see her in a bathing cos-tume and towel. And she was far more likely to find out what was going on if they didn’t know she was there.

Halfway up the stairs and out of sight, she paused to listen.

‘We’re going to have to put a couple of extra security guys out there,’ her father went on. ‘I don’t want them climbing ladders to see over the garden fence.’

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Pressing her hand to her chest, Ana tried to steady the rapid rise and fal of her breathing.

‘Perhaps if you authorised a couple of ’em to wait out the front . . .’

‘Out of the question,’ Ashby said.

‘Out of the question,’ Ashby said.

‘Wel, maybe you should give ’em somethin’,’ the other man suggested. His lilting accent sounded familiar. ‘A photo,’ he continued, ‘or a quote to capture her shock when she finds out what happened. Then the reporters might let up.’

Her shock.
The words rebounded in Ana’s head. She felt her knees weaken.

‘Here, it’s on,’ her father said.

The flatscreen volume went up. Both men stopped speaking.

‘. . . Jasper Taurel,’ the newsreader announced, ‘son of David Taurel, CEO of the giant pharmaceutics company, Novastra, was abducted last night . . .’

The words jumbled, and then Ana couldn’t hear them at al. She shuddered. Somewhere far away, much further it seemed than the living room surround-speak, the reporter continued. ‘. . . There is growing concern that his abduction is politicaly motivated. Novastra, patent-holders of the miracle drug Benzidox, are currently negotiating a bilion-pound deal with the government’s Mental Health Services – negotiations that have been the centre of great controversy over the last few weeks.’

Water dripped down Ana’s back and thighs, pooling on the step. Her swimming cap pressed against her temples.

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Her legs were barely holding. Any moment now she would colapse on the stairs in her swimsuit.

One hand grasping her towel, she scrambled up. Her free palm slapped the smooth grey wal, steadying herself as she climbed.

‘Ariana?’ her father caled.

At the top of the stairs she barreled down the corridor.

The black and white photos of her playing the piano lit up as she ran into her bedroom. She locked herself inside the bathroom and huddled in the shower. The water came on automaticaly, spraying her from al directions.

Thick steam choked the air. She began to sob, anger and fear twisting inside her. How could the Wardens have let this happen? They were supposed to protect the Pures from the Crazies. And why did Jasper walk out of the concert early if he knew Crazies were trying to kidnap him?

He’d said he was in trouble. Why hadn’t he told his father or the Wardens?

Furious, she struck her foot against the shower wal. The thick glass shuddered in its frame. She should have forced Jasper to tel her what was going on in the car after the binding ceremony. She should have got up and folowed him out of the concert, instead of hesitating for a minute and losing him.

‘Ariana?’ The sharp timbre of her father’s voice carried through the bathroom door. She growled in frustration.

Her father was worse than the Board. He constantly analysed her for signs of instability.

‘Ariana, open the door.’ Warning laced his clipped tone.

She pressed her sobbing gasps down inside her, sniffed 39

and clambered to her feet, yanking off her swimming cap.

Her swimsuit squelched as she peeled it away and kicked it into a corner.

‘I’m coming,’ she said. She stepped out of the shower and put on her dressing gown. Her face itched with salty tears and chlorine. She washed it with cold water, then patted her skin dry. Besides her uneven breathing, the only sounds came from beyond the high bathroom window, birdsong and the wind whistling over the golf course at the back of the house. Finaly, once she’d regained some self-control, she unlocked the door.

Her father was perched on her beauty table by the win-dowsil. His square shoulders and shadowed face cut a dark silhouette against the fuzzy light. She forced herself to meet his gaze.

‘This is a setback,’ he said slowly, as though she might be hard of hearing. ‘Not a calamity.’

She snorted in disbelief.

‘The Wardens,’ he went on, ‘wil find Jasper. This wil al be fixed in time for the joining.’

Ana’s hands trembled with indignation. She wrung them together behind her back. His self-assurance when he had no control over the situation was unbearable.

‘You think al that concerns me is the joining? Jasper

‘You think al that concerns me is the joining? Jasper could be injured or dead.’

‘He’s been abducted, probably for money, or to put pressure on his father about this Benzidox deal with the government. I’m not worried about Jasper and you shouldn’t be either. The only thing that concerns me about this,’ he said, 40

his voice growing softer, ‘the only thing that could turn it from a setback into a calamity . . .’ He paused. ‘Is
you.
’

His look felt like an arrow of ice hitting her between the eyes. Ana shivered and hugged her dressing gown tighter around her body. Trust her father to make this al about her falibility.

‘I’m fine.’

‘It didn’t sound like it.’

‘Realy? What did it sound like?’ Her hand slipped around the iron sculpture on the table next to the bathroom door, tightly encircling the miniature partridge’s neck.

‘Like I might be a tiny bit upset?’

Her father straightened.

‘The Board wil be here in less than an hour. I suggest you aim for “deeply concerned, but staying positive for Jasper’s sake”.’

‘And how do I think staying positive wil help him?’ she asked.

Her father shot her a dangerous look. ‘Hold it together, Ariana. With something this big, the Board wil be keeping a close eye on you.’

Inwardly, she shuddered. But she didn’t alow the fear to register on her face. Ever since the Board declared her a Big3 Sleeper, they’d rigorously and unrelentingly examined her. She hated them. She hated how they’d managed to get inside her, residing in the part of herself that cooly observed everything she did and felt.

Her father stepped towards her.

‘Ariana,’ he said with uncharacteristic gentleness. ‘I didn’t say this would be easy. But you’re prepared. And you’ve 41

been through worse. The last thing Jasper would want is to come home and find the Board has declared you Active.’

Ana stared ahead, not giving him the satisfaction of meeting his look.

‘Wel,’ he said, pushing his hands into his blue dressing-gown pockets. ‘When you’re ready you can come down.

We need to go over what you are going to say to the Board.’

‘Great.’

Ashby retreated around the bed to the door. ‘Why don’t you wear your white blouse with the grey skirt?’

‘Fine.’

‘Fine.’

He paused on the threshold of her room and scrutinised her for a moment. Looking for cracks no doubt.

‘Good girl,’ he said finaly. Then he closed the bedroom door behind him.

Ana stood there glowering as his footsteps receded down the hal, furious with both of them. Slowly the anger dissolved and she sank to the floor. Sprawled out across the wooden boards, she felt as though her heart was splitting.