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  "If I do this, I want you to show me what you can do as well."

  "So now you want to learn?" She reached forward and kissed him on the cheek.

  Tom felt his skin prickle where her lips had touched, unnerving in a way he couldn't quite define. He shivered and powered up the laptop. "Where did you find this thing? It's ancient."

  "It works, doesn't it? Just do your thing."

  He closed his eyes and concentrated, but the ice was still there, making him shudder.

  "What's the matter?"

  "Something they did to me. I can still use my abilities, but it... hurts... a great deal."

  "Try to calm your thoughts. Slow your breathing. That always helps with any pain."

  "Oh sure. I'll just do..." But she was right. The icy cold was there, but not as overwhelming and he immediately felt the computer's system. His nanites, refuelled by the food, made the connection. He quickly launched some applications on screen.

  Alex whistled. "Excellent. Now run some searches on the following—"

  "We're not online here."

  "Then connect us." She gripped his shoulder so sharply it made him flinch. "I know you can."

  He concentrated, finding an accessible network. It was some distance away, but with effort he made the connection and re-routed the data path. In seconds the laptop was on the net.

  "There you go," Alex said. "Now run a web search for me. For anything. I just need to see it working."

  He blinked rapidly and a search-engine page filled the screen.

  Assassin.

  "Very funny," she said, looking hard at the screen. "Wait, that lists me? How can that be?"

  Tom smiled. "I shaped the search. Added my own parameters."

  "And how do you do that?"

  "I just... kind of reach out to the computer. In my mind. If I think hard enough I can almost feel it."

  She closed her eyes. "I'm not feeling anything."

  "It isn't something you can master in a moment. I didn't find it at all straightforward."

  She opened her eyes. "Then what solved it?"

  "I guess there came a moment when I had a need."

  "Well I have a need."

  "Perhaps your brain doesn't believe it. As I said, I can't promise I can help you."

  She ground her teeth. "You're going to have to do better than--"

  "Look! This is from a confidential Scotland Yard briefing." He flicked a collection of headlines up on screen: 'Bern Escapes House Arrest', 'Serious Crime Squad Baffled by Billionaire Disappearance', 'William Bern Vanishes Again'. His jaw grew hard. "Did you know?"

  "Why do you think I'm here?" She glared at Tom. "Did you help him?"

  "You are kidding? Why would I be involved? How could I be involved?"

  "He's your father."

  "After what his company did to me? After what he did to me?"

  "OK, fair point. Bern's release was the trigger for why I came to find you - and since then he actually escaped. He needs to be brought to justice. And for that I'm going to need your help with a special project." She gave a smile. "Rescuing my father."

  He glared at her. "Let me make this really clear for you: if there's one person in this world I have reason to hate more than my father, it's your father. Why would I do anything that might assist in getting him out of prison?"

  "Because your father needs to be stopped."

  "Isn't Marron in some specially designed, super-security prison?"

  "That's why I need your help."

  Tom closed his eyes and reached out to the net. Within seconds images were streaming across the screen of the laptop. "This is Northwell A, where you father is being held. If Fort Knox were a prison, Northwell A would be laughing at it." He looked at her. "Breaking into CERUS Tower last year was a piece of cake compared to this."

  "Don't underestimate what I can do. What you can do." She placed a hand on his cheek.

  Tom's skin prickled again, but something stopped him from pulling away.

  She smiled. "And don't underestimate what your father will do if someone doesn't stop him. Did you really think that Tantalus was the only dangerous project Bern was involved with? There is more. So much more."

  Forty

  GERALDINE SAT AT HER DINING room table in her Wapping apartment, her laptop open in front of her, feeling the buzz of her third glass of red wine. She glanced at the bottle, considering whether to have a fourth. Right now she wasn't clear if she wanted more or fewer of her wits about her.

  It had not been a good week. Four days ago the Business Week News Board had informed her that she was going to get replaced: 'a new strategic direction,' they'd said. According to them, stories were found by working connections and relationships, not by forensic analysis of reports, so BWN needed somebody more in-tune with the way business was changing: more plugged into the digital world. 'So you'll be hiring Tom Faraday,' she'd wanted to say. But they would have missed the irony.

  Tom's story should have changed her world, but that ship had sailed, and nobody had been on board. Without an inside track in the form of Kate's unique knowledge, she had only been able to come up with the same angles as a hundred other journalists. If you weren't exclusive, you weren't anything. And if you didn't have proof, you were just spouting speculation.

  Of course she couldn't blame Kate for the path she had chosen. Geraldine was sure she would have done the same - it was such a unique opportunity. And she knew how the world worked - Kate had new masters, and new confidentialities to respect. So Geraldine simply hadn't asked. But then she had received the news of her replacement at BWN. Then she'd been prepared to try anything.

  And, inevitably, the meeting in Kate's office had been a total failure. She had received a string of messages from Kate since. They suggested Kate wanted to apologise, which was perhaps a little gratifying. But an apology wasn't what Geraldine needed. She needed a miracle.

  There was a knock at the door. She glanced at her watch. It was past 11pm and she wasn't expecting anyone. She shrugged and went to pick up her wine glass. Another knock. Muttering, she got up and padded to the front door of her apartment.

  A third knock.

  "Who is it?"

  "Federal Express. Courier package."

  "Bit late for a delivery?"

  "Problems with the system. We're running behind."

  She looked through the spy hole and saw a short, uniformed man. Muttering again, she opened the door on the latch. "Can I see some ID?"

  He held up a photo card. She blinked and opened the door. The man nodded and held out a brown card envelope with a printed label. "Sorry about this."

  He was very short, she noticed, as she took it from him. He held himself with poise. Too much poise. Suddenly she felt alone and vulnerable. Exposed. "Thanks." She stepped back and began to close the door.

  He moved forward, his foot inside the frame. "I need you to sign," he said, producing a clipboard. Like when he had showed the ID card, the movement was fluid. Too fluid.

  Her breath caught in her throat. "Take your foot out of my door."

  "I think we know," he said, "that I'm not going to do that." The voice was calm and polite, the eyes intense.

  Geraldine put her weight on the door, trying to force it closed, but he moved forwards, catching her arm, twisting and forcing her off balance. She stumbled back, screaming as he entered the apartment, closing the door behind him. Then he struck her in the stomach and she collapsed, gasping for breath.

  "That's better," he said.

  "I don't have any money," she groaned, folding over in pain.

  He pressed a button on his belt. The Federal Express uniform shimmered and became a black jumpsuit. His features blurred and changed.

  Geraldine gasped. "What the hell--"

  The man reached into his pocket and produced a silenced pistol. "I'm not here to rob you."

  Geraldine shrank back, the air rushing from her lungs. "Why are you here?"

  "Because you are on my list. I work for And
rei Leskov, in relation to the death of his father."

  "What does that have to do with me?"

  "You were linked to the plot against Viktor. Mr Leskov is casting the net wide."

  "This is ridiculous. I want to speak to him."

  "I have no way to arrange that and it's not part of my instructions. This is simply about broadcasting a message, which I'm sure you understand. You do it for a living." He raised the gun. "Any last words?"

  She thought quickly. "A last drink." In the next room was her mobile phone and the panic button for the burglar alarm. If she could keep him talking, maybe she could find a way to use one or even both.

  He tipped his head to one side. "That would seem fair, but it wasn't in my brief."

  She saw his finger clenching on the trigger. "There's information I can share. About my investigations into Bern. Mr Leskov would find it very valuable."

  "My instructions tell me you know very little: that it's my next target who warrants detailed interrogation before termination." He paused. "I believe you know Kate Turner."

  "No!" cried Geraldine. And she did the only thing she could do: she lunged at Sharp, hoping to distract his aim, hoping he would miss and she could grab the gun.

  Sharp pulled the trigger. He did not miss.

  Forty-One

  TOM LOOKED AT ALEX SUSPICIOUSLY. "What do you mean 'there was so much more'?"

  She stood up and walked over to one of the windows, glancing down at the street below. "Bern had another location where CERUS experiments were conducted."

  "An off-books laboratory?"

  "Something more significant than just a lab: a fully-equipped and serviced beta site. Somewhere with a full research capability, where they could carry out experiments too sensitive to conduct within the jurisdiction of an observant government."

  Tom frowned. "There was nothing in any of the company records. Believe me: I reviewed all of them."

  "No records were ever kept. Bern was smarter than that. He might not have anticipated what you could do, but he certainly feared hackers. And you know Bern was siphoning off funds. He wasn't doing that for no reason. He never did anything for no reason."

  "Wasn't the money reason enough?"

  "Bern has always been driven by proving himself. My father wouldn't have stayed with him all these years if it was just about the money."

  "So your father's been to this beta site?"

  "It was where we were headed on the motor launch when you caught up to us and spoiled everything. I'm sure it's where Bern will have gone. Why would he go anywhere else?"

  Tom took a deep breath. "Why do we care? How does that help your father?"

  "Don't you want to make Bern pay for what he did? Don't you want revenge?"

  "Can I make him atone? No. Can I make him pay for what he did? Can I make him suffer? Perhaps, but I'm no sadist. Doing that won't help me." He shook his head. "To be honest, I just never want to see him again."

  "Unfortunately for you I don't think he's going to let things lie. My father said that Bern always had a backup plan. In fact his backup plan always had a backup plan. So if he's gone to the trouble of escaping, you can bet your life that he won't have done that just to sit on a desert island and drink cocktails. Plus he's the one who sent that team after you."

  Tom raised an eyebrow. "How could you know that?"

  "I've been here a few days. I captured one of them." She inclined her head. "We had a conversation."

  Tom felt his flesh creep.

  "The important thing is that Bern is on your trail. He wants to acquire you and he's not going to stop until he gets you. And it gets better: Leskov is mobilising too."

  "He died. Or did you miss that?"

  "Not Viktor. His son, Andrei. He will likely already have sent someone to wreak revenge. And get what he paid for." She looked at Tom pointedly. "I'm suggesting it would be better to take the fight to them, rather than sit and wait for someone to find you."

  "So what's your plan?"

  "We rescue my father. We find where Bern is, assault the beta site and kill him. Then everyone's happy." She gave a smile. "Well, except Bern."

  "And forgetting the hundred problems with that, you don't think that Bern will be ready and waiting for us?"

  "It won't make a difference. Not against the two of us combined."

  "You really think that will be enough...?" He trailed off, frowning. "Something changed in my connection."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Something is using up bandwidth. A lot of bandwidth." He hesitated. "Broad-frequency comms. Video streaming."

  Alex walked over to the window, then swore. "A team is deploying around us."

  "Your people?" asked Tom.

  "Of course not," she replied tersely. "I don't have any people. You?"

  He shook his head. "Did you sweep this place for bugs?"

  "I did the best I could with the equipment I had. And most people think I'm dead."

  "Well, if it's me they're tracking, how have they managed it?"

  She looked around sharply. "I found you because of our link. They cannot do the same. I don't like this."

  "A minute ago you were talking about taking on Bern and his personal army. Now you look nervous about a bunch of men."

  "If we approach Bern on our terms, with the benefit of careful planning and the element of surprise, that's one thing. Currently we have none of those advantages. We have a poor environment to fight in - which will swing any fight - and rest assured, if they're good, they will use it against us. Plus I'm carrying dead weight."

  "Me? Thanks a lot."

  "Then prove me wrong. Come up with a plan."

  "They'll be using a closed comms loop. If I could get one of their earpieces, it's possible I could overload them. It might take them all out, but there are so many, I can't guarantee it. And obviously they're unlikely to just hand one over."

  "A lot of 'ifs' and 'maybe's'."

  Tom grimaced, feeling the cold in his veins again. He needed an idea, any idea: something to keep them alive, something that would move them forward. "Give me the gun."

  "What?"

  "You heard me. In fact, I'm sure you have several. Give me all your guns."

  "Do you even know how to fire one?"

  "Can we shoot our way out of here?"

  "Extremely unlikely."

  "Then it doesn't matter whether I know how. Just do as I say." He stared at her.

  She hesitated, narrowing her eyes, then she passed across a pistol and a submachine gun. "The sniper rifle is under the bed. I dropped it off before meeting you at the cafe."

  Tom nodded. "How long before they're here?"

  "Any moment now. Are you going to do something with your... powers?"

  "There's too many of them for it to be reliable. No, I'm going to try something counter-intuitive. So just play along. All you need to remember is that I'm the 'bad guy'--"

  There was a bang and the door exploded inwards.

  Forty-Two

  IT WAS THE KIND OF street you only got to live on with serious money, or serious connections. Possibly both. Dominique Lentz had only been there once before and she'd disliked it almost as much that time. But she needed to hold the kind of conversation that could only work face to face, so she had no choice.

  Lentz knocked lightly on the apartment door. It was opened immediately by Reems, who waved her inside. "Sorry to keep you up," Lentz said.

  "I was working," Reems replied, leading them to her study, an oak and leather-trimmed room with a huge slab of a desk. "I usually am. Now I assume we'll be needing a drink, because if it was something less serious it could wait until business hours."

  "I won't say no."

  Reems poured two large glasses of cognac from a chipped decanter, then they eased into leather armchairs either side of an antique coffee table. "Aren't we a pair," Reems said. "Wedded to our jobs these days. I'm not sure if I ever pictured life this way."

  "I certainly didn't picture myself as a
suit," Lentz said. "Wish I'd stayed in the lab."

  "Or the field?"

  Lentz shook her head. "The intelligence game was always too disingenuous for my tastes."

  "You never married." Reems paused. "I mean when you were younger."

  "Never thought of it as a real option. I couldn't face the thought of lying to a husband every day about who I was – given that I expected most days I would be pretending to be someone else."

  Reems tapped her nose. "Most marriages are built on carefully economical truth. I had to lie to my husband every day about what I did. Some lies are necessary."

  "I was sorry to hear about Gavin's passing."

  Reems looked at her drink. "Yes, well, ironically he was lying to me. He managed to hide his condition until almost the end."

  "It must be hard."

  "Everyone has their time. Gavin's was too soon by many a measure, but he never really got over our son; when they found the cancer, I think he just let it take him." Her eyes moistened. "You know, Bern once said that CERUS might have some nano-related treatment options to explore but, thanks to government rules, he couldn't go any further with the research. I expect he just said it to hurt me." She lifted her glass and took a slow sip. "So, what did you want to discuss?"

  "Actually it's about Bern." Lentz sat up straighter. "Some information came into my possession. It suggested you were behind Bern's release on bail."

  Reems sucked in her top lip. "Who told you this?"

  "I'd rather not say. I also heard there was a murder at Bern's mansion – his assistant, Eli Quinn. Is that connected?"

  "Are you expecting me to comment?"

  "In the privacy of this room? Yes, I am." Lentz folded her arms.

  Reems put her glass on the table. "I don't report to you, Dominique. Aside from our friendship, our relationship is not one of equals."

  "I don't report to you either, despite what you think," Lentz said, her voice quiet. "Dammit, if this is nonsense, just say so."

  Reems drummed her fingers on the arm of her chair. "As much nonsense as the fact that you have uncovered a secret cache of research at CERUS," she said eventually.