Third Transmission (15 page)

Many of the drivers had heard on their radios that there'd been some sort of crash or collapse in a tunnel on the South Coast. Maybe, they reasoned, this truck was supposed to pick up some of the wreckage. Best stay out of its way.

But this truck wasn't going to the tunnel, or anywhere else on the South Coast. This truck had a different destination altogether.

In the back of the truck, eight men were sitting with their backs against the walls, four on the left, four on the right. Each had an Eagle automatic assault rifle resting on his lap. They all wore dark goggles, making their faces inscrutably alien. Each man wore body armour, but in different places. One man had a standard Kevlar vest, but another had only a thick metal helmet. One
had a bulletproof shell around his right forearm, but nowhere else – another had a similar shell around his right thigh. It was like they'd all shared the one suit of body armour.

A ninth man sat in the corner. He had a bulletproof vest, but no gun and no goggles. He was staring at the floor.

The nine men didn't speak, or even look at each other. They still had a long way to go.

Crouching in the darkness, surrounded by old brown coats, Nai stared through the gap between the closet door and the wall.

The corridor was empty. It had been empty the whole three hours she'd been watching it, except for twenty-three minutes ago, when the old man had left his study and gone downstairs to the bathroom. Nai had slipped out of the closet, crept across the corridor to the study, and squirted a syringe of alcohol into his crystal water glass. Then she ran back to the closet, where she sat and watched the old man climb the stairs, walk through the study door, and close it behind him.

The old man was one of her father's competitors. He was working on a project that examined how the molecules in the human brain interacted with each other, a process called ‘protein folding'. His research might lead
to a cure for Parkinson's disease, or ALS or Alzheimer's. But if he sold it to ChaoSonic, then the company would never buy Retuni Lerke's brain-chemistry study – too many crossovers for it to be considered a good investment.

Of course, her father's research had the advantage of real-world human testing. But he wanted to have a definite lock on the sale. He'd sent Nai to secure it for him.

So Nai waited in the old man's closet. She was good at waiting. She could sit still and silent and alert for as long as it took.

She heard a noise from the study; a chair creaking, perhaps. She rested her gloved hand on the closet door, ready to push it open if the old man emerged. But the door didn't open – the old man had probably just shifted his weight in his chair. And now there was a faint slurping sound as he sipped his alcoholic water.

She couldn't stop thinking about Six of Hearts. He had a lot of nerve, following her to that party. When would he grow up? He belonged with her and their father, not with a bunch of deluded militia men.

She had saved his life several times. Once, Vanish's troops had been about to restrain him, and she had shot them all. Well, eight of them – enough to let him escape. As always, she hadn't missed a single shot – and he has never thanked her. Another time, Six had been in a plane after the pilot ejected, and he had no idea how to fly it, the idiot, and she had landed it for him. And
this was how he repaid her? By insulting her intelligence, and mocking their father's reputation –

Another creak. And footsteps.

The old man emerged from the study.

Nai exploded out of the cupboard, racing down the corridor towards him at a superhuman speed. The old man didn't stand a chance. He barely had time to whirl around, shock written on his face, before she slammed her elbow into his back and jammed her leg in front of his feet, tripping him up, sending him tumbling down the stairs. He threw his arms out in front of himself, but failed to catch the banister or protect his head. His knees and his shoulder and his face all bounced against the stairs with muffled thumps, and by the time he hit the bottom he was dead.

Nai watched him for a moment. If he had looked like he was still breathing, she would have gone down the stairs and bashed his head against the floor, or bent it sideways until his vertebrae cracked – no coroner would find those injuries inconsistent with a fall down the stairs. But he wasn't moving. He wore the kind of stillness that only comes with death.

She didn't feel bad. If the old man had lived, ChaoSonic might not buy Lerke's research, which would prevent him from doing more. And Lerke could save more lives with his experiments than anyone else could with theirs – he was a genius. He'd told her so.

After the first assassination she had performed for her father, she had felt sick. Her breaths were short, and her
hands wouldn't stop shaking. But Lerke had explained – gently, tenderly – that he would never order Nai to kill someone unless it was for the greater good. She didn't need to worry.

Her hands never shook anymore.

Nai removed a brush from her pocket and smoothed down the coats in the closet, making sure she hadn't left behind any hair or fibres. Then she swept the carpet in the corridor, to remove any tracks. She took the water glass from the study, walked downstairs, and washed it.

She found some bottles of beer in the kitchen fridge. She took one, unscrewed the top, and poured the beer down the sink. Then she returned to the old man's body, and pressed the bottle into his hand.

This was just to get his fingerprints onto it. In her experience, ChaoSonic Security operatives liked to feel smart, so they went looking for clues and built a theory around them. If the clues were too obvious, they got suspicious, or made up something more complicated. And Nai didn't want complicated. She wanted this to look like a simple case of a drunken old man falling down the stairs.

So she didn't leave the bottle in his hand, or on the floor next to him, or even on the table in the kitchen. She threw it in the bin under his sink, careful not to smudge his prints. The police would find it when they searched his garbage. Then they would test the prints, check his blood alcohol level, and conclude that this death was just an unfortunate accident. With no sign of anything
missing, no evidence of forced entry and no witnesses to the incident, why should they suspect otherwise?

She waited until she was on the subway, halfway home, before she switched her phone back on. That way, the phone company wouldn't register that she was near the old man's home at the time of his death, not that there was any particular reason they should check.

The phone beeped:
1 missed call
. Lerke. She keyed in a number.

‘Nai.'

‘Father,' she said. She waited for him to explain the reason for his call. She was good at waiting.

Lerke didn't ask how the assignment went. She never failed, and if she had, she wouldn't be calling him – she'd be fixing the problem. Instead, he said, ‘I want you to go to the Deck. I have a contact there who has a disk she needs to give to me, but I can't risk going there myself.'

‘I can be there in thirty minutes,' Nai said. ‘Who's your contact?'

‘The Queen of Spades.'

Six and Ace walked into the foyer of the Deck. The agent who'd picked them up from the tunnel was parking the car in the basement – they were checking in alone.

The electric stars glistened high above, a reminder of what the night sky should look like – how it would look if not for the smog that humans had been creating for centuries. Agents stood in clusters, talking quietly out of reverence for their surroundings rather than a need for secrecy.

Grysat was standing behind the reception desk. ‘How'd it go, guys?'

‘We're not dead,' Ace said as they approached. ‘So good enough.'

‘Buzz us in,' Six said.

Grysat's grey eyes twinkled, but his expression remained polite, inquisitive. ‘Mission accomplished, then?' he persisted.

‘Buzz us in,' Six repeated.

Until about a year ago, Six had refused to respond to any of Grysat's questions. He thought it was ridiculous that he should have to answer to a receptionist as he arrived every single day. Even after discovering that Grysat was one of the Jokers, the agents who supplied intelligence for Deck operations, Six refused to engage in pleasantries with him on principle.

These days he understood human customs better, and had enjoyed many long and interesting discussions with Grysat. But sometimes, after missions, they reverted to their old ways. It was a game – Grysat would try not to run out of questions to ask, and Six would try not to smile.

‘What were you trying to do again?' Grysat asked.

‘Buzz us in.'

‘I mean, what was the mission? Find the ark of the covenant or something?'

Six kept a straight face. ‘Buzz us in.'

‘Do you need to go to medical?'

‘Buzz us in.'

‘You sure? There's broken glass in your hair.'

Ace snickered. Six said, ‘Buzz us in.'

‘How's the weather on the South Coast?'

‘Buzz us in.'

Grysat hit the button. ‘Well played, sir,' he said. ‘Some day I'll beat you.'

‘I doubt it,' Six said. ‘I need you to find out who was logged in as the occupants of some ChaoSonic cars an hour ago – licence plates CSV01788B and CSV09252A.'

‘Were they the ones chasing you?' Grysat asked.

‘Yes,' Six said. ‘They killed at least one civilian, possibly three.'

Grysat's smile faded. ‘I'll get right on it. You want them found, locked up?'

Six nodded. ‘If ChaoSonic hasn't done it already. See you later.'

‘Bye, Grysat,' Ace said.

Grysat waved as they walked into the lift.

The doors slid shut. Six pushed a button. ‘Do you want me at the debriefing?' Ace asked.

‘I'll do it,' Six said.

They were silent for a moment.

‘Thanks for coming,' he said.

‘Anytime.'

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Do you mean that?'

She laughed. ‘Heck no. I'm never doing field work again.'

‘Well, you were great,' he said. ‘Let me know if you change your mind.'

‘Maybe we ...' Ace looked hesitant for a moment. ‘We could get together some other time. Like, not for a mission, just for a meal or something.'

Did she just ask me out? Six wondered. On a date?

Ping
. The doors opened.

‘Well, I'll see you later,' he said, unsure whether that sounded like acceptance or dismissal.

‘Yeah, okay,' Ace replied. She smiled awkwardly. ‘See you next time you get shot, or burned, or whatever.'

‘Can't wait.' Six walked out, and the doors slid shut behind him.

Can't wait? he thought. That was so dumb. Why did I say that?

Six had come a long way over the past year or so when it came to his social life. He was more skilled at conversation, he understood people's feelings better, he was comfortable with the notion of friendship. But dating, along with all its intricate rituals and customs, felt way beyond his reach. And the thought of having that kind of relationship with Ace scared him – although it wasn't the kind of fear he was used to.

But if he hadn't misunderstood and she'd really asked him out, then their relationship had already changed. Six
now had a choice between moving forwards or stepping back – he suspected that keeping things exactly the same wasn't an option.

It was a quiet and lonely walk to his office. I wonder what Nai's doing now, he thought. Picking up Retuni Lerke's dry-cleaning, probably.

Rather than lightening his mood, the unspoken joke made him feel sick. There had to be some way to save her from Lerke. Perhaps he could abduct her. She was at least as strong as he was, but if Kyntak agreed to help, they might have a shot. Then they could ...

Could what? Tie her to a chair, shout ‘Lerke is evil' at her over and over again? Hold her eyelids open and make her watch videos of him euthanising his past subjects? Brainwash her back to normal?