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  "You're good," she said. "But I don't have time for games tonight." She ducked then thrust herself directly at him. No attempt to evade, no hesitation, despite him holding a blade. Her hand swung, as if to hit him in the chest, but then it twisted sharply and cracked his right hand: the one holding the knife.

  Her open palm felt like hardened steel. With a shriek, he watched the weapon fly away to one side, vanishing into the undergrowth. Smiling, she coiled to lunge again. He was in trouble.

  He activated the suit.

  Its panels shifted, matching the dark of the terrain around him.

  She stopped, looking quickly about her.

  Sharp stepped cautiously backwards, the camouflage-suit hiding him in the low light. She was impossibly quick. But he had regained the advantage. He positioned himself for a strike. Still she was blind to him. Just one step closer...

  "I can see him," said Faraday. Sharp looked up and saw him close his eyes. Then he felt the jolt. The suit he was wearing, the gift from Leskov, had caught fire.

  At least that was how it felt. He wheezed and groaned at shocks of pain, scalding white heat. He looked up in anger and saw Faraday spasm and collapse. The fire in the suit seemed to go out. His momentary relief was dashed as he saw the woman closing on him. The suit must have stopped working. His advantage was gone. She smiled a smile that put ice in his veins: for the first time in a very long time, Sharp saw an opponent he was not sure he could defeat.

  At least not if he fought fairly.

  His fingers flickered to his belt. Plucking out one of the two rounded cubes, he threw it at her. There was a hiss of gas and an ear-slamming percussive crack. In the confusion, he turned and ran. As he put distance between them, Sharp shook his head. He needed to re-evaluate. There was no shame in that. There was only success or a lack of it. And he was old and battle-worn enough to know you truly could not win them all. He would simply switch targets again.

  And he knew just the one to set him back on the path to success.

  Fifty-Two

  TOM AWOKE WITH A START and found himself looking into two pairs of concerned eyes. Of those, one pair was also casting nervous glances at the other.

  "Welcome back, Tom," Alex said. "No time to sleep on the job, you know."

  "Indeed," Lentz said, turning to a cluster of medical equipment that he seemed to be connected to. "You had us worried."

  Tom looked around. He was in a room filled with computers and screens. It was completely devoid of windows. "How did I get here?"

  "I carried you inside," Alex said. "You blacked out."

  "What did he do to me?" Tom asked, his head throbbing.

  "If by he," replied Lentz, "you mean the man with the knife, then not very much. We think you did that to yourself."

  Alex folded her arms. "Did you try and do something to him?"

  "He had this... camouflage suit on. Hi-tech. I was trying to help. I tried to interface with it, then everything went..." Tom reached up to rub the bridge of his nose and found his arm weighed down by tubes. "Who did all this to me?"

  "I had the equipment," Lentz said, "but she," Lentz nodded at Alex, "hooked you up to it. Incidentally, what is she doing here? How is she even alive?" Her expression turned to a glare. "And is she going to kill us both?"

  "I don't think so," Tom said. "It's complicated."

  "Uncomplicate it for me."

  "She found me in Peru. She saved me."

  "What were you doing in Peru?" Lentz shook her head. "After everything, how can you possibly trust her? She killed your best friend."

  "She is standing right here," said Alex, looking at the fingernails on one hand. "And actually that was my colleague."

  "Who was that man outside?" Tom asked.

  "Hired assassin," Lentz replied. "His name is Sharp. Sent by Leskov's son Andrei to clean house."

  Alex nodded. "Sharp. My father spoke with him in the past."

  "Yes, well, Marron always moved in dark circles."

  "He was here to kill you?" Tom asked.

  "Eventually. It was fortunate you got here when you did." She hesitated. "Did you know what was going on?"

  Tom frowned. "Kind of. I tapped briefly into your security system and saw the footage of him arriving. But we're here because we needed your help. Plus you're one of the few people I know with a field large enough to land a helicopter in."

  "Who did you steal one from this time?"

  "The US government. Actually, it was a military transport plane I stole. We refuelled twice at mercenary bases Alex knew about. Then we traded the plane for a helicopter."

  "It was lucky we turned up," said Alex, "to save your sorry hide." She, rather too casually, walked over to Lentz, then drew a long knife. Lentz's eyes widened as it glinted in the artificial light. "Now we need your help. And I'm guessing you don't want to give it."

  Tom started to step forward but Alex pointed the knife at Lentz and raised her eyebrows. "Stay where you are."

  "Alex, there's no need for this," he said.

  "She's always been a problem. If she hadn't come back, if she'd stayed dead, everything would have been fine."

  "If Dominique hadn't come back," Tom said, "I would never have got the Interface working. Which would have rather frustrated your plans. And let's not forget, your father sent a killer after her."

  "He didn't succeed, so that doesn't count. Besides, it's no thanks to her that you got the Interface. She tried to stop Project Tantalus."

  Lentz folded her arms. "You think I shouldn't have? Most of your subjects died."

  "I didn't," Alex said. "Tom didn't." The tip of the blade weaved an intricate pattern in the air. But she stepped back, re-sheathing her knife. "Let's put a pin in this discussion for now."

  Lentz took a long step away from Alex. "So, Tom, not that I'm not pleased to see you, but why are you here?"

  "To discuss Bern." Tom replied. "How could they let him escape?"

  "He is very resourceful. He had clearly laid plans long ago. We think it may be linked to the rumours of a beta site. We think he may be there." Lentz hesitated. "We just have no idea where there is. We've pored over the CERUS records and there isn't a single reference anywhere. Maybe it's a complete work of fiction and he's just messing with us."

  "It is real," Alex said. "We were headed there last year when boy wonder here got in our way."

  Lentz turned to her expectantly. "So you know where it is?"

  "No. But I know a man who does."

  Fifty-Three

  "YOU'D BETTER NOT MEAN WHAT I think you mean," Lentz said.

  Alex shrugged. "My father knows the location of the beta site, which makes it clear what we have to do."

  "I tell you what we do: we leave him to rot," Lentz said.

  "Dominique," Tom said, "we have to consider the bigger picture."

  "Marron is a murdering psychopath." She looked at Alex. "Not that you aren't, of course."

  "Don't waste your flattery on me."

  Lentz turned to Tom. "Forgetting the supreme idiocy of the whole idea for a moment, I presume you know where Marron is so you also know it's impossible. Northwell A is one of the most secure prisons ever built. You'll never get inside without being detected."

  "It's not like either of us is a regular Joe," Alex said. "We'll find a way."

  "Either of you?" Lentz stared at her and her face went white. "She's got nanites? Tantalus nanites?" She pointed at Tom. "Your nanites? How is that possible?"

  "She had the sample that they took from me back at the Tower."

  "And they haven't killed her?"

  "It would seem not."

  "Well, that's a pity." Lentz gave a frown. "So can she do what you can do?"

  "My abilities," Alex said, "seem to be different from Tom's. We're still comparing notes."

  "Mine, however," Tom said, "are proving problematic. Someone got to me and injected me with some dark liquid that's causing... difficulties."

  "The CIA?"

  Alex shook her hea
d. "I'm pretty sure they were Bern's men. The CIA encounter came later."

  "The CIA wanted to talk to you about Tantalus?"

  Tom shook his head. "Not really. Truman was there. He thinks I stole something from them. Some sort of experimental power source."

  "So that was why he was in London," Lentz muttered. "Why do they think you took it?"

  "They have CCTV footage of me at the site, which is interesting, because I was never there."

  Lentz narrowed her eyes. "So it was tampered with?"

  "They say not."

  "A disguise?"

  "If so, an impossibly good one." He grimaced again as he felt the edge of ice in his veins.

  "Actually, I think I know the answer. I think someone could have been wearing the same type of suit that Sharp was wearing. But that can wait. Right now we should be checking out what has happened to you." She walked over to a metal cabinet and opened it. "Let's see if we can run some diagnostics."

  It took just over an hour. Tom saw Lentz reviewing her computer with a worried face.

  "What?" he asked. "Is it a narcotic? Or some sort of virus?"

  "It's not a drug, or anything biological." She paused. "It's nanites."

  Tom peered at the screen, trying to make sense of the data streaming across it. "Like mine?"

  "Not like yours. I mean, based on the same CERUS technology, but programmed to interfere with and counter the nanites you already have."

  "Bad nanites?" Alex asked. "Dark nano?"

  "If you like. That will, rather obviously, explain the pain and discomfort he is feeling."

  Tom frowned. "Will they deactivate or assimilate or something?"

  "I don't think so. This could be serious. From my initial analysis they have been designed specifically to attack you. They're spreading through your system, fighting you from within."

  "So if they win I'll just be back to normal?"

  "I'm not sure that these... dark nanites are actually deactivating yours or whether they're modifying them – evolving them into something else."

  "So stop them," Alex said. "We need Tom to have his abilities."

  "I don't know if I can."

  "But you're a scientist. You're in charge of CERUS. You have massive resources."

  Lentz put her hands on her hips. "Yeah, I'll just divert CERUS money and staff to working on illegal nano projects again. Nobody will raise an eyebrow." She paused. "Even if I could, I have no idea how long it might take. Or if it can even be done. Not without the original specifications."

  "What original specifications?"

  "Someone engineered this dark nano. With the source code I might be able to reverse things. Without it, it's near impossible."

  Tom turned away. "For now I can cope."

  "Oh sure," Alex said. "You may just faint whenever you do anything."

  "What choice do I have? I'll just have to deal with it. I need to find the scientists who did this, which means I need to find Bern and the beta site. Our only lead is Marron, so there is no option." He placed a hand on her shoulder. "Will you help us?"

  Lentz sighed. "What do you need? Tech? Weapons?"

  Alex smiled. "You know, I'm starting to think we can be friends after all."

  Fifty-Four

  AFTER AN HOUR OF FURIOUS computer work, Kate leant back in her chair and smiled, her cup of tea cold and forgotten. Following a number of internet searches, and a couple of well-placed calls, she had built an extensive file. She had been looking at everyone who had visited with Bern. He had no living relatives, no apparent friends outside business. His late wife's family had taken sides against him. As a result, his only visitors were from his legal team. One lawyer, who looked like she was probably in her late twenties, seemed to have visited once or twice a week. Her name was Fiona Farrow.

  Kate had found a nicely professional profile and picture on the law firm's website. Something about her looked familiar, but she couldn't place it. A law firm surely couldn't be party to Bern's escape, but perhaps off-the-record Farrow would be prepared to share a few clues picked up in her dealings with Bern.

  Kate needed to speak to her face-to-face. She quickly made a note of the law firm's address, then started gathering her things.

  Three hours later, having travelled by bike, train and the Tube, Kate strolled through the door of Kravats, Solicitors, located just near Liverpool Street in the City.

  The perfectly preened receptionist looked up, with a mixture of warmth and condescension. "Can I help you?"

  "I hope so," Kate said, trying to sound important. "I'd like to speak with Ms Farrow." Kate was ready with a complicated ruse, but the receptionist's reply was unexpected.

  "I'm sorry, we have nobody of that name here."

  Kate frowned. "Of course you do."

  The woman's smile stiffened. "We only have thirty staff. I know them all."

  Kate shook her head. "She's on your website."

  The receptionist raised an eyebrow and turned to her computer. She quickly called up Kravats' website and typed in the name Farrow. The profile came up.

  "Well I don't understand it," said the receptionist, peering closer with a frown. "Clearly there's an error."

  "This woman has been visiting one of your clients in prison."

  "I don't see how that would be possible. Who exactly are you?"

  Kate drew herself up to her full height. "I was hoping to speak with her."

  "Yes, but what about? Let me call one of the partners."

  Kate rolled her eyes. "Never mind. I'll show myself out."

  As she hurried away, she discounted the possibility that the receptionist knew what was going on. Perhaps someone in the firm did, but whatever the case, Farrow had gone to a great deal of trouble to fake her identity in order to speak with William Bern. Whatever the reason, whatever the truth of the firm's involvement, she didn't just have a name. She had a face.

  Fifty-Five

  AT NORTHWELL A, SOMETHING WAS very wrong. A delivery van, with all the right credentials, had negotiated the nest of gates and drawn up in front of the guard house. Then suddenly the site's limited connections to the net were shut down, its automated systems deactivated. The guards hastily grabbed their radios to call for support, but they were much too slow. Thus, with minimal fuss and bother, the United Kingdom's most secure detention facility was compromised.

  Peter Marron was unaware of any of this until he heard the sound of a brief scuffle in the corridor outside his prison cell. He looked up from his book at a sharp groan followed by a thud. Then there was silence.

  "Come in," he said in a tired voice. "You'll forgive me if I don't offer you refreshments. I wasn't expecting guests."

  The door to his cell slid back. A man dressed in black appeared, pulling up a face mask. "You don't seem surprised to see me. Do you know why I'm here?"

  "Of course I do," Marron said, staring at the table in front of him, then he turned and gave a weary smile. "I also know who you are."

  "I sincerely doubt--"

  "You go by the name Sharp." He smiled. "I once had you on the shortlist for a job I was setting up."

  Sharp raised an eyebrow. "Why didn't I get the call?"

  "Your CV spoke for itself, but I ended up recruiting internally."

  "Ah yes, your daughter."

  Marron's expression fell. "Anyway," he waved his hand around the room, "I'm tired of all this. It's never going to change and I really don't care anymore. Why don't you just do what you've come here for?"

  Sharp stepped into the room, looking around cautiously. "Are you attempting to play me? Because I'm on a deadline here."

  "I have no intention of doing anything of the sort. I'd appreciate it if you do this quick and clean."

  "Mr Leskov has instructed me to follow certain guidelines."

  "Ah. Of course. Andrei, I presume. I suppose that's to be expected. I don't really care anymore."

  Sharp gave a snort. "Your daughter was nowhere near so cooperative. Quite a handful, in fact."
>
  Marron narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"

  "Your daughter, Alex." Sharp tipped his head. "You didn't know she was alive?"

  Marron's jaw grew hard, his eyes suddenly alive. "Where is she?"

  The assassin moved behind Marron. "It doesn't matter. You won't be seeing her again. And when I do, I'll do the job properly. No more surprises."

  "Actually, one more," Marron said, bending low over the table.

  "It doesn't matter. Now do you have any last--?"

  Sharp didn't finish the sentence. He had seen many things. He had fought many opponents. But he had not dealt with anyone with the primal purpose that Peter Marron had at that moment, driven by the realisation that his daughter was both alive and in danger. In a single motion, Marron was rising out of his chair, throwing his head back into Sharp's jaw. The assassin staggered back as Marron twisted, driving his palm up into Sharp's chin. There was a splintering of bone, a sputtering of blood, and Sharp collapsed back, inert.

  Marron paused, breathing hard. He listened carefully. Nobody came running. He wasn't sure how many of the guards his would-be murderer had taken out. He hoped it was a lot. If he was to escape, he would never have a better opportunity than now.

  His eyes flickered down to Sharp's body. The man was wearing a close-fitting black fabric outfit. Something about it looked familiar. Marron felt behind the collar and read the tag. A formatted code. He didn't know exactly what it meant, but it was clearly an experimental CERUS issue product - one that seemed familiar, now he thought about it: Project Resurface. Why would Sharp be wearing it? Did Leskov's reach extend further than he expected? Or was something else going on?

  It didn't matter. The suit was his now.

  Fifty-Six

  REEMS COULD STILL SEE THE explosion like it had just happened, the flash burned into her mind. Debris had continued falling onto the ocean for more than a minute. There was no trace of survivors, nor anything much larger than an egg box. The subcutaneous transmitter had ceased to send a signal. Reems stared out at where the boat had been. After everything they had gone through with CERUS and Bern, had their last best lead just blown up before them? Had Bern just flipped at the thought of being recaptured?