Dead Man Running (2 page)

King drove past the warehouses without slowing down, leaving Six to imagine how much worse things could get.

Kyntak would be twenty by now, Six realised suddenly. My twin brother has become my older brother. And Ace – she'll be
twenty-three
. What if she doesn't like me any more? What if when she looks at me, all she sees is a sixteen-year-old kid? Nearly seventeen, he told himself, and then was horrified at how childish the words sounded, even in his head. What would happen when –

King swerved abruptly, sending the scooter careening towards the wall of a three-storey building.

‘Watch out!' Six yelled.

‘Relax,' King said.

If anyone else had been driving the scooter, Six would have thrown himself clear. But he trusted King, so he just tightened his arms around King's waist and braced for impact.

There was none.

Six's clothes crackled with static electricity as the scooter plunged through the wall as though it wasn't even there. Looking back, Six saw that it wasn't. There was a truck-sized hole in it, surrounded by a starscape of laser diodes. The beams crisscrossed over the gap like a rainbow spider web.

‘Holograms,' King said. ‘Means we can see out without anybody seeing in. Not as realistic as a glass-based hologram, of course, but it does the job. The best-concealed door is the one that isn't there. And there's a blast door we can close in the event of a total lockdown.'

The scooter roared down a narrow passageway, long enough to reveal that this building was much bigger than it looked from the outside. Eventually it opened out into a car park, filled with more trucks and motorbikes and hulking APCs than the Deck had been able to afford in Six's time. Whatever had happened since he'd been gone, it hadn't hurt their bank account.

‘Nice gear,' he said.

‘We needed it,' King replied, as though Six had accused him of misusing the Deck's money. He pulled the scooter into an empty slot and shut off the engine.

Six dismounted, tugged off his helmet, handed it over. ‘Which way to the foyer?'

‘That was it.'

Six looked around at the chilly, deserted car park. The old Deck's entrance had been grand and cavernous, with the organisation's moral code engraved on the wall. Agents had often lingered there before and after their shifts, and there had been a receptionist, Grysat, who greeted and farewelled everybody. Grysat was now dead, and Six couldn't imagine anyone ever replacing him. But he hadn't thought the welcoming atmosphere of the Deck would disappear completely.

King had pushed the call button for the lift. A voice, female, neutral, said, ‘Confirm identity.'

A square of dark plastic was built into the wall, about the size of a plectrum. King pressed his thumb against it. There was a click and a hum, like the sound of a disposable camera, and the voice said, ‘Access granted.'

‘New biometric security,' King said. ‘No-one gets in unless they're on the database.'

He typed in some commands on a keypad.

‘Ready for new login,' the voice said.

‘I have administrative privileges,' King continued, ‘so I can put you on the safe list from here. Put your thumb on the pad.'

Six did. The fingerprint scanner looked surprisingly primitive – most were designed for a finger to be swiped across, which smudged the prints so intruders couldn't lift them from the scanner later. But –

‘Ow!' Six felt a sting as a needle punctured his thumb. He snatched his hand away.

‘Login added,' the voice said.

‘It's a blood test,' King explained. ‘Impossible to fake. Now your DNA is on the database.'

Six looked at the droplet of blood swelling up on his thumb like a ravenous tick. ‘Wouldn't a fingerprint scanner be just as hard to fake? Or a retinal scan?'

King shook his head. ‘Someone could cut off your thumb to use the print. They could cut out your eyes to pass a retinal scan. The blood test checks your haemoglobin levels to make sure you were alive when the sample was taken.'

The lift doors opened, and there was a man Six didn't recognise leaning against the wall inside. He was wearing a T-shirt whose stitches were unravelling and jeans that had blackened patches across the knees, as though they had been set on fire and immediately extinguished.

The man nodded to King, and then saw Six.

‘Huh,' he said.

Six said nothing.

The man scratched a freckled cheek. ‘Thought you'd be taller.'

Six frowned. This seemed strange, coming from a man who was approximately his height.

‘Six, this is Agent Ten of Hearts,' King said, stepping into the lift and pressing a button. Six followed him in.

A woman had held that title when Six had worked at the Deck. Looking the man in the eye, he said, ‘What happened to the old Ten of Hearts?'

‘Same thing you let happen to you,' the new Ten said. Then he winced, as if he'd offended himself.

The lift hummed downwards, towards the centre of the earth.

‘Sorry to hear about that, by the way,' Ten said.

‘Yeah,' Six said. ‘Me too.' How many of my other friends have been killed and replaced? he wondered.

The lift doors opened and King walked out. Six followed him.

Ten said, ‘I'll see you later, I guess.' He didn't sound happy about it.

Six had once been the least friendly person in the Deck. Perhaps this was how the others had felt after talking with him – cold and unwanted.

‘Morgue's this way,' King said, already walking away.

For a surreal moment, Six thought he was being led to the morgue because he was officially dead, and therefore he belonged there. But then he remembered – it was where Ace would be. She was a forensic pathologist as well as a surgeon and diagnostician, and she performed all her duties in the one room. Having examined Six dozens of times, she was the one most likely to notice if the time machine had changed anything.

His heart twitched. He wanted to follow King, but part of him was afraid to. Yesterday, he'd hugged Ace, kissed her, told her he'd call her when his mission was over. But for her, it wasn't yesterday. It was four years, five weeks and one day ago. Who was really waiting for him in the morgue?

‘You coming or what?' King asked.

‘I'm coming,' Six said, and jogged after him.

‘Hi, King. When are you bringing –'

Six saw Ace see him, and for a moment it was as if she'd forgotten she was speaking. She made eye contact with him for a split second and then turned away. Her hair was darker than when he had last seen it. He watched the back of her head as she spoke.

‘You could've warned me,' she said.

Six was about to reply, but as King spoke, he realised she'd been talking to him.

‘Sorry,' King said. ‘I thought –'

‘It doesn't matter.' Ace turned back around. She looked different; older, but Six couldn't work out how. She was no taller, no thinner or heavier. No paler.

Her smile struck him as forced. ‘Six. It's good to see you.'

‘You too,' Six replied, meaning it.

‘Come on in.'

‘I'll be in my office if you need me,' King said.

‘Thanks.'

King backed out of the doorway, and Six stepped in. The morgue was almost an exact replica of the one at the old Deck – an operating bench, an MRI machine and rows and rows of morgue drawers, each sealed by a steel door. Six could almost convince himself that no time had passed.

He and Ace stared at one another for a moment.

‘Sorry,' she said. ‘It's just . . . weird.'

‘For me too.'

Six could see what was different about her now. The skin around her eyes was scored by lines of sadness. When he had known her, she had been idealistic, kind and full of energy. Now she just looked tired.

He wanted to hug her. But he could tell that wasn't what she wanted. Her arms were crossed, her feet turned away from him. Defensive body language. She's not happy to see me, he thought.

‘If you're too busy to do this now,' he said, ‘I can come back later.'

Ace shook her head. ‘We need to check for glitches right away. Otherwise you could die. Again.'

Each of them waited for the other one to laugh. When neither did, Ace said, ‘Let's start with the brain.'

She asked Six all the usual questions, testing his long-term memory –
What's your name?
– short-term memory –
Who brought you here?
– and other cognitive functions. She asked him to do some sums and spell some things backwards. Then she asked him to stand up. Her hands squeezing his wrists, Ace moved him into a variety of different poses. ‘Tell me if you feel any pain, or tension – anything unusual,' she said.

Six could smell her perfume. She'd changed it to something soft and flowery. He'd never liked flowers until this moment.

‘I missed you,' he said.

Ace laughed. A short, joyless sound. ‘But only for a day, right?'

Six nodded. ‘Just the same.'

Her gaze softened. ‘I missed you too. But after three years –'

‘Four,' Six said.

Ace looked away. Her voice was quiet. ‘I stopped counting.' After a few more minutes of stretches, she said, ‘I think you're fine, but we'll do an MRI just to be sure.'

‘Okay,' Six said. He walked over to the MRI machine and sat down on the plastic bench. He was about to lie down when he saw the ring on Ace's finger. It was just a plain, white-gold band, but Six couldn't take his eyes off it. Ace followed his gaze.

‘Oh,' she said.

She's married? Six thought. Ace got married?

‘Sorry,' Ace said. ‘I didn't know how to tell you. I forgot I was wearing it.'

Six felt like his throat was being crushed by an enormous hand.

‘Congratulations,' he said, trying to sound genuine and failing.

Ace half smiled. ‘Thanks.' Fiddling with the ring, she said, ‘You'd like him. Look, I know you've got lots of questions –'

‘It's all right,' Six said. He lay down on the bench. There was a remote control in a slot on the side. He picked it up. When he pushed a green button, the bench started to slide into the scanner, like a slab into one of the morgue drawers. Soon his whole body was concealed inside.

‘Are you going to be okay?' he heard Ace ask.

‘I'm fine, really,' he said, keeping his voice even. ‘Don't worry about me.'

The giant electromagnet inside the machine began to spin, filling the morgue with an accelerating
thumpety-thumpety-thump
.

‘I'll give you some privacy,' Ace muttered. Six heard her shoes click away and the door swing closed.

A tear trickled into his ear, and Six resisted the urge to tilt his head. If he moved, the images of his insides would be too blurry to be useful. It would take about twenty minutes for the MRI to finish. He had that long to compose himself.

Okay, he thought. King's become a sad old man, the Deck has moved somewhere cold and unfamiliar, someone out there has murdered a different Agent Six, and Ace is in love. With someone who isn't me. But things could be a lot worse. Apparently the other Agent Six stopped the nuclear bomb from hurting anybody – that's good. And I don't know how Kyntak is doing, but King said he's alive. And I should be glad that Ace hasn't spent the last four years alone. I should be glad she was able to let me go.

The tears were flowing freely now, burning his eyes, soaking the pillow behind his head. After the death of Ace's father, Six had held her hand as she cried on
his
pillow. The memory made him weep harder. Every breath was a battle.

Pull yourself together! he thought. You've got work to do. Whoever did this, they have to pay.

Thud.

Six blinked the tears away. The rhythm of the magnet had changed for a moment. That wasn't supposed to happen.

Thud-thud.
There it was again. Six wondered if Ace had left some tools made of magnetic materials near the scanner. Maybe they were being sucked towards it and hitting the outside. But surely Ace wouldn't be so careless?

Thud-thud. Thud. Clank.

‘Hello?' Six called. ‘Ace?'

No answer.

He still had the remote control. There was a red button which would abort the scan and eject the bench. Six didn't want to have to use it – MRI scans were costly in both time and energy – but he also didn't want to get stabbed with a flying bone saw. If there were loose magnetic tools in the room, he needed to get as far away from the machine as possible. He pushed the button.

The machine whined as the magnet started to slow down. Theoretically there was no power flowing to it any more, and therefore no magnetism to propel objects, but Six covered his head with his arms anyway as the bench slid out of the scanner.

He'd expected to hear a jingling sound as the magnetic objects fell to the floor. But there was none. He looked back at the scanner – nothing was stuck to it. Then what had made the thudding sounds? He sat up on the bench and looked around the room. Nothing seemed to have changed . . .