Going Grey (31 page)

Knowing the care that Maggie had taken to keep that out of directories, there were very few ways that someone could acquire it. One occurred to Kinnery as he was heading for the cashier's desk, and it was terrifying. Someone had his phone records for the landline. If they had that, they might have his registered cell records too. He started to unpick the detail as he stood waiting to pay for his groceries.

If Leo knows they're calling the number, then he's got access to the phone. Which means he's got Ian. But who can get hold of phone records? How do reporters hack phones? Can any asshole track a phone's location, or is that just the cops? And they're not all saints – they leak and sell information. No, if anyone could track the location, they'd have Ian by now. And I wouldn't be walking around a supermarket.

It's got to be Shaun. He showed his hand on day one.

Kinnery found himself wondering if the woman buying beans was just a customer after all.
Situational awareness.
Even Leo had subtly warned him that he might be tailed in Toronto. Kinnery had lived in dread for nearly twenty years, a blunt-edged kind of anxiety that could be pushed into the background like a constant low-grade pain, but now things were acquiring a sharper, more threatening focus. He couldn't sit around waiting for the axe to fall.

I could call the cops to check the house and car for devices. It's not as if I haven't had threats from activists in the past. Perfect excuse. It'd be satisfying to see Shaun try to explain that. Well, officer, it's like this. I thought my former business partner had built a shape-shifter. Yes, that's correct, officer. No, not like a werewolf. A polymorph.

Kinnery realised the cashier was staring at him. Maybe he'd been talking to himself. He was mortified. He paid and hurried out, then diverted to a 7-Eleven to pay cash for two SIMs in case his existing burner was somehow already compromised, and topped up the credit at a gas station with cash. Damn: handsets had unique identifiers as well. He ended up searching for another store to buy a couple of cheap SIM-free handsets, again with cash. He was hazy about cell security, but right then he was prepared to take every precaution whether rooted in urban mythology or not.

When he got home, he left the car on the drive with the engine running and walked back to the gates to look up and down the road. He stopped short of raising a finger to the unseen. His neighbours wouldn't like that.

So where would a camera have to be mounted to see him go in and out? KWA had limits; budget, imagination, or the law, or any permutation thereof. His bet was a good old-fashioned guy in a car, time-consuming but legal, with none of the drawbacks of technology like placing cameras or retrieving data. If someone wanted to watch him around the clock, they'd need multiple vehicles and investigators.

That must be costing you a fortune, Shaun. Good.

Kinnery noted of a couple of places where he could put his own cameras to watch the road, then garaged the car. When he shut the door, his defiance gave way to a degree of acceptance that this was his comeuppance for doing the unforgivable. He sat at his desk with a glass of whisky, looking at the small, dead, black webcam eye set in the top of his monitor. He'd never used it. He hated teleconferencing and video calls and all the other intrusions into his sanctuary. He resented the idea of having to worry about what was visible behind him before accepting a call, or even if he looked tidy enough for his caller. Now he wasn't even sure the cam was ever truly switched off. His world and his sense of self had changed completely.

This is my home. This is defended space.

He opened the desk drawer, took out a small ball of Blu Tack, and pressed it over the lens.
Fuck you, whoever you are.
It was insane, but the urge to do it overwhelmed him. The things he'd taken for granted as part of the private fabric of his life – that he was genuinely alone when closed the front door, that his bedroom, bathroom, and the interior of his car were inviolable spaces in which he could do and say whatever he pleased – had vanished. An invisible observer was a threat, and it had nothing to do with having something to hide. It was the fundamental need of any animal to spot predators and find refuge from them. Now his phone, his computer, his own front door, and every basic utility that he needed had become a potential source of betrayal.

We're all two different people, the public face and the private one. That's what keeps us sane. That's what keeps society stable.

Kinnery finally understood why stars punched paparazzi. It was an animal's natural reaction to being dug out of its lair by men with dogs and bright lights. He went out to the garden a couple of times and walked around, hoping to catch some unlucky PI hiding in the bushes, but he drew a blank.

Damn, this was how paranoia took hold. Maggie had been prophetic about where widespread surveillance and data collation was heading. She could trust nothing; eventually she could trust nobody. He understood now.

Uncertainty and mistrust. That's how you keep people cowed down with minimal effort. But I'm not going to let it paralyze me.

He didn't leave the house the next day. If anyone was keeping watch, then they didn't have to be detectives to work out when he'd be leaving to catch his Toronto flight. He went through every room of the house, opening cupboards and drawers, not sure exactly what he was looking for other than reassurance that everything was where he'd left it and that there were no objects he didn't
recognise. How did people cope with having to be alert every waking minute? He wasn't like the Mike Braynes and Rob Rennies of this world. He wasn't used to constant lethal threats. He didn't think to vary his route or keep an eye on everything around him.

I will now, though.

And if I were Ian, I could simply change how I looked and melt into a crowd. I hope he uses that.

Kinnery didn't sleep well that night. He got up a few times to visit the bathroom, then admitted defeat and stayed up. He could nap on the flight. Over the years, he'd honed schedules to a fine art, arriving as late as possible to avoid socializing, then catching the first available flight back. He didn't want to network or reminisce. Secrets were hard work. They sucked him dry and chewed quiet, almost unnoticed holes in everything he did. Only the most superficial working relationships could survive the corrosion of never being able to have a conversation without the censor on duty in his head.

By the time he boarded his flight he was threadbare and irritable, head buzzing with fatigue. He read his notes before settling down to doze, and thought how much more riveting his talk on the social implications of gene therapy would have been if he could have referred to Ian.

Not that I understand why Ian's phenotype changed that much. New structures. He's a research goldmine. Right science. Wrong ethics. Without Maggie's intervention, how far would I have gone? I did it first, though. I got there first.

Knowing that was sometimes a comfort, but sometimes it tore him apart.

The flight landed late and Kinnery arrived at the conference with less preparation time than he'd planned. At a couple of points during his talk, he looked up from the lectern and squinted against the lights, half-expecting to see Ian storming down the centre aisle to denounce him and ask those present if they understood the law of unintended consequences. Somehow Kinnery even had a mental image of how Ian would look now, impossible as that was. But the talk was uneventful, and it was close to the end of the day's program. A large proportion of his audience was getting tired, losing concentration, and thinking about dinner plans. The Q and A session was short and weary.

One of the conference organizers cornered him as he left. "Are you coming for a beer, Charles?"

"Thanks, but I've got an early flight tomorrow." What if he ran into delegates at the Royal York who
recognised him, though?
Lie. Like I always do.
"I've got to hit on a sponsor, too. Next time, I promise."

The Royal York was a few blocks from the conference. Kinnery had never been inside before, not even for a drink, and he hoped that his tendency to look over his shoulder didn't make him look suspicious. Maybe KWA had skipped surveillance for this trip because it was public knowledge why he'd come to Toronto. When he gave his name to the reception desk – damn, he really should have arranged an alias
– he was escorted to the elevator and taken to an entirely separate part of the hotel with its own lobby.

Even on Kinnery's comfortable budget it was unaffordably luxurious, but it was probably just a make-do late booking for Leo. Kinnery tapped on the door of the suite. He was surprised when Leo opened it himself. He was sure the man had an entourage of vigilant men in suits, the Rob Rennie variety.

"Don't you have security?" Kinnery asked, looking around.

"Not always, and never for something like this. Take a seat." There was a jug of water on the table with a set of glasses. Leo didn't offer him anything stronger. "Let's get this over with."

He handed Kinnery a couple of sheets of paper, typed, unsigned, and double spaced. It took Kinnery a moment to work out what it is was: Maggie's whistle-blowing document for
The Slide
. She'd obviously taken careful notes of what he'd discussed with her over the years. She'd described Project Ringer pretty accurately, with terminology, a few dates, and some other specific details, sufficient to prove to anyone involved in the project that she'd had genuine information, but nowhere near enough detail to put in front of a committee or even convince a half-educated layman.

"I'd expected worse," Kinnery said. "So I assume you retrieved Ian. Is he okay?"

"Mike and Livvie are looking after him."

"You've seen him, then."

"Not yet."

"So do I get to see him?"

"He doesn't want visitors. Mike's given him his word that he'll protect him."

Protect him.
It was all very noble, but these people really didn't understand how different Ian was. Kinnery expected to be told to drop everything and be available to play physician. Okay, Ian was still upset. It was inevitable after all he'd been through. But he'd settle down in time, and then the Braynes would need expert help. Kinnery could wait.

"So what do you plan to do with him?"
Kinnery asked.

"Ensure his privacy, and give him every support to lead as normal a life as he can."

"I'll need biological samples, then." It was the first time that Kinnery would have a chance to test Ian since he'd started morphing. Maggie didn't trust him to go off and do it all again.
At last. Some answers
. He'd have to work out how to get tests analysed without inviting questions, though. "I'll think about what can be done without my being present."

Leo stood up and walked across to the window with his hands in his pockets. He didn't say anything for a few moments, but when he turned around he looked murderous and drained of blood.

"You irresponsible
bastard
." It was a primal growl, probably as near as he ever came to losing his temper. "You actually
did
it. What standards can we possibly have in common for you to begin to understand what I mean by
wrong
?"

Kinnery reeled for a moment. At first he thought that Leo was just on a slow burn, or that he'd been equally incensed in the restaurant but couldn't bawl him out with waiters around. But he could see that it was actually the shock of discovery; Leo hadn't believed him, He did now.

"But I told you everything," Kinnery said. "I thought you believed me."

Leo covered the distance from the window in three strides and loomed over him. "I didn't believe it was possible, but I suspect it was more that I didn't want to believe anyone with your standing would piss over human decency like that." This wasn't Leo the senator, who had less power than the electorate supposed. This was Leo the billionaire businessman, who could do pretty much as he pleased. "Ian can't control his changes. He'll never have even a semblance of a normal life. He'll never have a wife and children. The only thing that's stopping me from tossing you to the CIA to play with right now is that there's nothing I can do to you that won't cause blowback for that poor goddamn kid."

Kinnery's existence now hung on Leo's whim. All he could do was take the onslaught.

"That's why I'm offering whatever help I can give." Kinnery attempted humility. "I assure you that I put Ian's welfare first. Otherwise I would have profited from this years ago."

"You didn't because you
couldn't
. You couldn't reveal what you'd done. And now neither can I. You get off scot free because you've blighted your victim."

"I realise it's feeble to point out that Ian represents huge potential for relieving human suffering."

"You're right. It's so goddamn feeble that I don't even care how true it is."

"If you had to choose between one person and a cure for diseases that kill millions, I don't think you'd find it easy."

"No, I don't have to choose. And
neither did you
. Spare me the disingenuous claptrap. The choice is between one man's welfare and some pretty nebulous potential discoveries that might or might not be a boon for mankind one day if there's a profit in it."