Déjà Vu: A Technothriller (38 page)

David groaned. “Now I remember.”

He opened his left eye a fraction and looked at Jennifer. Her hair had fallen from its Alice Band. Her features had relaxed. She seemed younger. He felt an awkwardness inside and it was so familiar – and so destructive – that he threw it aside and said, “Jennifer, I love you. Very much.”

Jennifer let out a burst of laughter. “Well. Great. I love you too.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever said that before,” David said.

“Me either,” Jennifer replied.

The awkwardness returned, but it had a different character.

Saskia said, “Na prima, the English brain. Once delivered a stunning blow, it works fine.”

“Tell me what happened,” David said.

Saskia recounted the last moments of their dealings with Frank. David laughed when he heard that Bruce had cheated death once more. It was somehow unsurprising. “What happened to the bloke at the computer out there?”

“Mikey electrocuted himself,” Saskia said quietly. She gave Jennifer a sympathetic look.

David caught it. “Was he your boyfriend?”

“Not really,” Jennifer replied. “But I think he tried to save us.”

“Yes,” David said. “He did. I saw him. He was working hard. But how did manage to get electrocuted?”

“He tried to shut down the computer with a fire axe,” Saskia said.

“Oh. And what about Frank?”

“He’s on ice,” Jennifer said.

David, who had sat up to listen, looked over to Frank’s cubicle. Their assailant was encased in a fine yellowish film. It had to be made of microbots.

Saskia said, “I think we should keep him there until we leave.”

“Leave?” David asked. “I don’t think we’re in a position to leave yet. For one thing, you’re still here.”

Saskia sighed. “What do you mean, ‘still here’? Please do not tell me that you still subscribe to this time travel theory.”

Jennifer said, “It is a theory, but it works. We can send you back.”

Saskia slapped her forehead. “How many times do I have to say this? I do not wish to go back. There is no reason. Am I speaking English?”

“Very well,” David said evenly. “But I saw you. Bruce saw you. That means you’re going back, and I don’t think you have a choice.”

“I always have a choice. Everybody does.”

“Do they?” David asked playfully.

“This is not a tutorial, Professor,” Saskia said. “And it is time to leave.”

“Oh, I disagree. You should all stay a little longer,” said a voice. The tone was so similar to David’s own that he was forced to check that he had not uttered the words himself. And then he saw a figure in the doorway.

Jennifer said, “Mr Hartfield!”

And Saskia hissed, “Jobanique.”

“This is a gun. Keep still.”

Saskia felt her cheeks burn. Even as this newcomer had spoken, she had not been sure, but her suspicion was barely formed before she knew. This was Jobanique. His voice. She tried to wrestle from his power – the fascination she had with his true, ordinary face, his simple suit – but she could not.

He was three metres away. If she could get a metre closer, she could slap the gun aside. Her only tool was her shoulder bag, which she had retrieved from the floor.

Her breathing became tidal. She sank back and watched.

“Hartfield,” David said slowly. “Long time, no see.”

The man blinked but his eyes were dead; grinned but it was wrong, a bad copy. She understood, right then, that he was insane. “Hello again, David. And perhaps I should say hello to the two ladies. Hello and hello.”

“Hello, Mr Hartfield,” Jennifer said solemnly. His rictus turned at one corner, its single variation.

“Guten Tag, Jobanique,” Saskia said.

“Jobanique,” he repeated, as though the name had touched a cherished memory. “Saskia, I have a number of identities that allow me to –” he paused, but his expression did not change. She felt that he already had the next word. He merely wished to pause for effect. He continued, “They allow me to perform certain duties, or to solve certain problems. This face –” he pointed to his chin with the gun, and in that instant Saskia knew (or judged, or guessed) that he had never undertaken firearms training – “this face is rather too well known.” He looked at David. “Is it not?”

“Saskia,” David said weakly, “allow me to introduce John Hartfield, eighth richest man in the world. Owner of the West Lothian Centre and this place too, I shouldn’t wonder.”

“Seventh,” Hartfield corrected. “Rottstein died on Mars last Tuesday. More money than air.”

“Did you kill him?” Jennifer asked. She was distant, like Saskia. Watching.

“No, I did not.” He shifted his weight. Saskia noticed that his left leg was weak. “I am not normally a man who says ‘I told you so’, Miss Proctor, but you should have passed my warning to you father. You would have avoided this situation.”

“Exactly what situation are we in?” Jennifer asked.

She doesn’t know, Saskia thought. She doesn’t sense the danger.

Hartfield leaned forward to check on Frank, but not far enough for Saskia to disarm him safely. “I see that I have made two, not one, bad choices of agent. I wanted Frank to take care of you. I saw to it that things would be easy for him. He must be exceptionally incompetent.”

Saskia wanted to interrupt the smoothness of this man, wanted to say “We had help,” but Bruce was an ace in the hole. Instead she said, “I think you owe us an explanation. If not them, then me.”

Hartfield checked his watch. “Do you remember James Bond, Miss Brandt?”

“No.”

“Before your time, perhaps. James Bond was the secret agent star of rather formulaic but enjoyable action films. There was always a colourful villain –” he gestured towards himself – “a defeated sidekick” – he pointed to Frank – “a suave hero” – David

– “and, of course, the delightful Bond girls –” Saskia and Jennifer. “During the finale, certain in the knowledge of Bond’s imminent death, the villain would take time to explain, somewhat lengthily, the ins and outs of his plan. But in the real world, we villains have a schedule.”

He aimed the gun at Saskia’s chest. He pulled the trigger.

She closed her eyes, gritted her teeth and raised her hands.

Something wicked…

Stirred. She heard the grind of ancient machinery, as though the stage upon which the universe itself was built, firmament or dreams, rolled towards a new configuration.

She felt exposed.

The sound faded.

The sensation passed.

…this way comes.

Saskia opened her eyes.

She heard the diminuendo of Jennifer’s scream.

The smell of the gun.

It took her a moment for her mind to recover its balance. The bullet had come and gone. Nobody moved, but Hartfield’s eyes jumped. He looked at Saskia, though not at her eyes. Then he looked at the ceiling, for so long (though it was barely a tick of Saskia’s racing brain) that she followed his blank gaze. There was a small, black hole. Smoking.

He looked at her hand.

So did she.

She had been holding her shoulder bag. Now it was smoking too. Now.

Now grab him now, grab him.

She slipped forward. She watched her body perform. Her wrist struck Hartfield’s own. His hand drooped but retained the gun. Next she moved to his far right, beyond the angle of the weapon if it discharged, and barged him. He was forced onto his weak left leg. Saskia grabbed the gun barrel securely, twisted, and stepped behind him. She pushed him once more and he fell onto his belly, sliding over the tiles until he came to rest alongside David.

“Hello,” David said dryly.

Saskia pointed the gun at Hartfield’s centre mass. “Don’t move.”

His breathing was hard but his expression was sleepy, dead.

Jennifer, David and Saskia shared a moment of victory and fear. Saskia had reversed Hartfield’s threat. But she knew it would not be enough. They needed information. “It’s question time,” she announced.

“Agreed,” David said. “Who’s first?”

“Me,” Hartfield said. He exposed his canine teeth. “Will you let me go for free passage? I own this centre. I guarantee your safety.”

Saskia frowned. “You own it?”

“Yes, and four others. I used to own the West Lothian Centre. Until it was destroyed.”

“Hartfield was out for my blood back in 2003,” David said. “He’s quite the prosecutor when he gets going.”

“Fine,” Saskia said. “I have a deal for you. Answer our questions truthfully and I’ll let you go.”

“I don’t believe you,” he replied.

“Wait,” David said. He fished in his jacket pocket and retrieved his wallet. From that, he pulled out a bank card. Saskia craned closer. No, this was Ego, his personal computer. She had never seen a computer so small. It was as practical as a phone the size of a peanut. “Ego, switch to speaker mode. I want you to analyze my voice stress patterns to see if I am lying. Ready?”

“Ready,” came a tiny voice.

“Hartfield will be set free if he answers our questions truthfully.”

There was a pause. “You are lying.”

David coughed. Saskia said, “Ego, analyse me. I’m the person with the gun. Hartfield will be set free if he answers our concerns truthfully.”

Another pause. “Saskia, you are telling the truth.”

Hartfield began to ease himself upright. At the flick of Saskia’s wrist, he did so slowly. “I believe you,” he said. “And don’t worry, I have no concealed weapons.”

“Empty your pockets,” Jennifer said. She was too close to him and Saskia panicked silently, ready to strike his temple with the gun, but he merely emptied them. He had a set of keys, a wallet similar to David’s and a blue all-sites all-times pass card. Jennifer poked through the pile. “No weapons.”

“Answer my question first,” Saskia said. “You know what it is.”

Hartfield nodded. He paused. She hoped that he wasn’t preparing a story. “There are two sides to any successful business.

The legitimate, public façade, and the illegitimate underbelly. You are part of the latter. The FIB is a real institution, of course. I know because I own it. Your section is known by the codename Munin. In Norse mythology, Odin had two ravens, Munin and Hugin. They would fly out at the beginning of each day and return at dusk with news from the world of Man.” He checked her expression. “I recruited you specifically to deal with the Proctor problem.”

Ego said, “He is telling the truth.”

“Tell us only when he doesn’t,” snapped David. “What, pray, is the Proctor problem?”

“There were reports that the New World computer was back on-line. Further reports implicated Bruce Shimoda. As you know, David – but perhaps the ladies do not – Bruce’s achievement was extraordinary. That tomb was sealed for more than a quarter of a century and its infrastructure was decaying. I didn’t believe Bruce could do it without help. In my business I develop a nose for these things. I suspected your hand in this, David. Therefore I arranged to have you sent to him under the guise of a summons from Colonel McWhirter.”

David shook his head. “In doing so you set this whole thing in motion.”

“There is an ancient saying: keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Within the research centre I had good, invasive surveillance. I had hoped that Colonel McWhirter could handle you. He could not.”

“The roof collapsed. He was killed.”

Hartfield gave David a sideways look. “You don’t have to excuse your actions to me. I have no interest in McWhirter’s wellbeing.”

“Or the law,” Saskia said. “Go on.”

“Perhaps I could have a glass of water?”

Saskia fired the gun. The cubicle door behind Hartfield shattered. David and Jennifer exchanged a glance. Hartfield straightened his tie. “I understand perfectly, Miss Brandt. As I was saying, David, I was unprepared for your second terrorist attack.”

“Bloody hell, how many times? There was no first attack. Not by me.”

Hartfield shrugged. He glanced briefly at Ego. “Your computer seems to think you are telling the truth. I, however, do not.”

“Tell me how you found the glider,” David said. He was conscious that time might be short. If security did arrive, Hartfield would have a difficult job in explaining things, but his word would overrule theirs. “Did you know where it was heading? Did you have a tip-off? Who were those people, the riders, who attacked me?”

“Attack is a rather dramatic word. Those men were some local thugs under the supervision of a Scottish agent I sometimes use. Routine satellite data led them to your location. They had orders to engage you and let you escape –” Saskia saw David’s expression sour – “under surveillance. They only did half the job.”

“And why did you let me escape?”

“I underestimated you once, David. At the inquiry that followed the first bombing. That was a mistake. Nobody takes me on and wins. Nobody.” Hartfield smiled again. “I wanted to collect enough information to put you through a trial. Garrel’s interrogation was fruitless.”

David nodded. “You seem rather confident, considering there is a gun in your face. By the way, my personal assistant, Ego, is tireless with its observation, aren’t you, Ego?”

“Yes, David,” Ego replied. “Everything is being recorded.”

Hartfield let out a single, bark-like laugh. “Nothing matters now.”

“Now -” Saskia began.

“One last question,” David said, interrupting her with a finger. “Tell me about the soldier who was guarding the New World computer when I found Bruce. What was her role?”

“Nothing more than to collect information.”

David said nothing. He stared sadly at his shoes. Saskia wondered what he could see. She asked, “And now my part. You sent me after David as a back-up – to collect information.”

Hartfield said, “No. At that point, I merely wanted you to collect him. Then I realised how persuasive a man David could be, and how difficult it had been to fully control your behaviour. I decided to end the matter by sending Frank. If he found you here, then my suspicions would be confirmed because only David could lead you to his daughter. If he had not found you, then David would be in your custody and on the way back to England. And once David and I were reunited…well, I had resolved to interrogate him personally. I would do a better job than that idiot Garrel. Any man will talk if you know his weakness, his soft spot.”