Resonance (34 page)

"Someone in government," continued Gary. "Or the intelligence community. Maybe they were bugging his office."

"Why do you keep defending Sylvestrus?" asked Graham. "You said yourself it had to be someone with power, someone who could close you down without questions being asked. Who better than Sylvestrus?"

Gary sighed and shook his head. "This is getting us nowhere. It can't be Sylvestrus."

"Why not?" asked Graham. "I've met him. He's creepy—the way he looks at you. And I saw him on TV during the middle of the London riots. He wasn't trying to stop weapons proliferation, he was defending it."

Gary still wouldn't have it. "Trust me, it won't be Adam Sylvestrus."

"Then explain it to us," said Annalise.

Gary activated his monitor and called up a search. He clicked through several pages until he came to the one he wanted.

"Because of this," he said.

The front page of the
New York Times
appeared on the screen. It was dated several months earlier.
Sylvestrus Assassinated.
Stark headlines besides an even starker picture. A man lay slumped on the pavement, a coat thrown over his head, a dark pool of liquid seeped out from under the coat.

"It's the same on every world," said Gary. "Within six months of the trade talks collapsing, the Americans move against ParaDim. Sylvestrus is the first to go. The Americans throw their hands up and deny everything, no one believes them, one of the Asian countries retaliates and suddenly everyone's mobilizing and pressing buttons."

"We call it 'the Chaos,'" said Howard.

"Now you see why Sylvestrus has to be the last person who'd want the resonance wave to proceed unchecked. It brings about his death."

Graham was unconvinced. He'd met the man. The others hadn't.

"Besides," continued Gary. "He's the one who initiated the Resonance projects. Why start something you want to close down?"

"Maybe it took a path he wasn't expecting?" said Graham.

"You?" said Annalise, looking worried.

Graham didn't reply. Sylvestrus
had
been strangely interested in him that time they'd met. And why
had
they met? What was the CEO of a huge company like ParaDim doing trying to persuade lowly Graham Smith to take a medical. Why hadn't he left that to his Resonance team?

"Someone has to benefit from all this," said Gary. "There has to be a motive. Who gains from the resonance wave?"

"I'll set up a series of scans this afternoon on all the Chaos worlds," said Howard. "Off the top of my head, I'd say everyone loses. No one stays in power long enough to benefit. But we might have missed something."

Graham and Shikha left at one-thirty. He felt strange walking through the revolving doors of the Cavendish Clinic. He half expected the receptionist to leap up and shout "Stop!" the moment he saw him. But he didn't. Everyone smiled and nodded and couldn't be more polite.

The medical took the rest of the afternoon. He was scanned from all angles, poked and prodded. But he didn't try to escape. He didn't even complain when they asked him to remove his clothes. For some reason he felt he deserved the indignity. It was his small sacrifice in the war against resonance.

And besides, Adam Sylvestrus didn't exist on this world.

It was three o'clock. Annalise Fifteen picked up the phone and tapped in the numbers.

A male voice answered. "Tracey Minton Information Line, how can I help?"

"I called earlier," said Annalise. "I gave you three names. Have the police come back to you?"

"You're the American girl?"

"That's me. Do we have a deal?"

"I'm switching you through to Jenny Wilson. She wants to talk to you urgently."

Annalise waited, tapping her feet impatiently. Were they stalling? Trying to trace the call?

A woman's voice broke the silence. "Hi, my name's Jenny Wilson. I'm the senior reporter on the Tracey Minton story. Can we meet?"

"You got the money?"

"Possibly. The hundred grand's dependent on a conviction but I can authorize money for a story. Do you have a story?"

"How much money are you talking about?"

"Depends on the story. Do you know the gang? Did they talk about what happened?"

"What if I give you an even bigger story?"

"The bigger the better. Look, where are you now? I can send a car."

Annalise hesitated. She hadn't said anything to remotely interest ParaDim but did they voice-match calls?

"If I leave here I'm gonna need protection. Somewhere safe to stay for two people. Can you arrange that?"

"I can arrange that for tonight. Longer depends on the story."

Annalise closed her eyes. Once she gave their location away that was it. No going back.

"I'm in Brighton," she said. "When can you get here?"

The line went silent. Annalise held her breath. She could hear a muted conversation on the other end of the line.

"We can get a car to you in ten minutes. Where are you?"

Annalise glanced at the line of hotels across the road and picked the name of the nearest. "The Esplanade Hotel. We'll be waiting outside. The name's . . ." she paused, plucking a name out of her subconscious. "Phoenix," she said. "Tell the driver my name's Phoenix."

Annalise Fifteen rushed back to her hotel. She had five minutes to persuade Graham to accompany her back to London.

She needed less than one. She watched—amazed—as he gathered his playing cards together. He hadn't asked a single question. Never even raised an eyebrow.

The taxi was waiting for them outside the Esplanade Hotel.

"Phoenix?" said the driver. "Party of two for London?"

"That's right," said Annalise, smiling with relief. She called Graham over and they climbed in.

The journey dragged. Sixty miles of Graham staring out of the window and Annalise trying to convince herself that she hadn't made a terrible mistake.

She had a plan—of sorts—but it was more framework than fleshed out. She was going to light a fire and pray the wind was blowing in the right direction.

Jenny Wilson sat on her desk, legs crossed and cigarette in hand. Mid-thirties, thought Annalise, mid-thirties, too much makeup and eyes that said, "try to bullshit me and you're out the door."

Annalise glanced sideways at Graham. He was looking down at the floor—probably tracing patterns in the carpet. Jenny hadn't asked who he was. Not yet anyway. And Annalise hadn't ventured anything other than his name. Hopefully, that would be enough until she could think of something plausible.

Annalise passed a slip of paper to Jenny. She'd written everything down. The names of the gang, the fence, the guy who'd planned it all, a list of addresses they'd used in the past. Everything.

Jenny read it as she shuffled off the front of her desk and walked round to her chair. She stubbed out her cigarette, picked up the phone and waited as it rang.

"Dave, Jenny here. I have more info on the Tracey murder." She looked at Annalise. "That's right, two more names and," she paused while she checked the list, "five addresses."

She passed on the information, stopping every now and again to nod and smile and twine the phone cord around her fingers.

"I don't think she's ready to see you yet." She looked towards Annalise and raised an eyebrow. Annalise shook her head. "No, she's not ready." She laughed. "And you," she said and then replaced the receiver.

"You'll have to see them sometime. We can delay them for a while but not indefinitely. Now," she paused, "you said you had a story."

Annalise took a deep breath. "Have you heard of a company called ParaDim?"

"Of course," said Jenny, narrowing her eyes.

"You've heard about that AI engine of theirs that can take all kinds of unrelated data and put them together to solve all manner of problems?"

"Ye-es."

"Well, you can use it to solve crime as well."

"Is this a joke?" Jenny leaned forward, hands on desk.

"Ask Dave if he thinks it a joke," snapped Annalise. She could tell Jenny was on the verge of asking them to leave. "I'm giving you the biggest story you've ever had and I can give you proof."

"How?"

"Give me two unsolved crimes and I'll solve them for you. Any case you like as long as they're at least a month old."

Jenny shuffled in her chair. She looked uncomfortable. She shook her head. "This is ridiculous," she said.

"Look at ParaDim's results. They create patents out of nothing. How come that's not ridiculous? It's all to do with analyzing data and finding patterns. Ask your science guys. ParaDim's making incredible breakthroughs every day."

"Why would they have data on crimes?"

"Because they have data on everything. You've heard of the Census project. It's packed with data about people."

"Do the police know about this?" She still sounded incredulous but at least she was listening.

"No one knows about it," said Annalise. "The police, the politicians, nobody. I kinda hacked in and stumbled across it. I couldn't believe they were keeping the information secret."

"Wait, let me get this straight. ParaDim has a mechanism for analyzing and solving crime but they're keeping it quiet?" She still sounded incredulous.

"Right."

"But why? They could generate fantastic publicity for the company. It would be a tremendous boon to society."

Annalise shook her head. "Not enough profit in it. ParaDim's only interested in the big bucks.
And
," she stressed the word, "there are certain crimes ParaDim doesn't want solved."

"Like what?"

"I'm coming to that. First you've gotta know the reason. ParaDim's researching weapons that make chemical and biological weapons look like children's toys. They call them New Tech weapons and they're gonna sell them to the highest bidder. Mass-produced mass terror. They don't care who they sell to as long as they can pay."

Jenny was silent and looking far from convinced. Annalise had hoped the smell of a story would have been enough but she was losing her. She could tell.

"And anyone who speaks up against what's going on disappears," Annalise continued. "Three people yesterday. I was with them in May Street when all hell broke loose. People with guns everywhere. Me and Graham got away by climbing over a roof. The other three weren't so lucky. You can check it out. Kevin Alexander, Howard Sarkissian and Tamisha Kent. I'll write the names down for you."

Annalise searched for a slip of paper. Jenny handed her a note pad and Annalise scribbled the names down.

"There," she said, handing over the paper. "Check them out. They're all well-known scientists and they'll all appear as ParaDim employees but you won't be able to find them anywhere. They've disappeared."

"I won't be long." Jenny took the list and walked outside. Annalise tried to listen. The door to the main office was open but she couldn't isolate Jenny's voice from the surrounding buzz.

A minute later Jenny returned and closed the door. "I have someone checking those names right now." She paused and looked hard into Annalise's eyes. "If you're spinning me a line . . ."

She left the rest of the sentence unsaid.

"Have you any proof at all? Documents?" asked Jenny, lighting up another cigarette.

"No, that's why I was meeting Kevin yesterday. He had papers, disks, the lot. But ParaDim must have been on to him and had him followed."

Annalise prayed she wasn't going to have to repeat this story word for word later on. It was all she could do to keep her story afloat. She had to convince Jenny to open an investigation. The dirt was there. All it needed was someone to point the press in the right direction. Once that was done, Annalise could disappear.

That was the plan—discredit ParaDim, mire them in investigations before they became too powerful to stop. If she could delay the development of New Tech weapons maybe there'd be hope.

"How did you meet this," Jenny looked down and read the name from the paper, "Kevin Alexander? I can't see how you progressed from hacker to . . . to whatever you are now."

Annalise opened her mouth with no idea how the next sentence would end. If needs be, it wouldn't. She'd keep talking until she found something to say.

"His name was with the New Tech weapon files. He'd written a whole bunch of letters warning against their development. I contacted him and he introduced me to the others."

"Why? You say he's a respected scientist. Why should he put his trust in you?"

"Because he needed to trust someone and I was there. He knew what ParaDim would do to him if he went public so he was looking for a third party. Someone who could front his story to the press without his name getting back to ParaDim."

Jenny shook her head. "Why a third party? He'd have to know that reporters go to jail rather than reveal their sources—"

"Because," interrupted Annalise, "ParaDim scans all calls. They've been doing it for months. That's one of the first things he told me. They have these search algorithms scanning all communications looking for certain keywords. The technology they have is generations ahead of everything else. He couldn't risk his name being dropped in an unguarded phone call or email. That's why I used the Tracey Minton story over the phone. To get an intro to you so I could tell you in person what was really happening."

Jenny looked worried. "The information you gave me on Tracey . . ."

"Totally legit," interrupted Annalise. "Don't worry. Test me again. Like I said. Give me another two murders and I'll prove it to you."

Annalise looked Jenny in the eye—half pleading, half challenging. Jenny returned the look, her face impassive. Annalise couldn't tell which way she was going to decide.

The reporter smiled. "What have I got to lose?" she said. "I'll find you two murders."

Jenny returned with two files which she handed to Annalise. Two murder investigations that were going nowhere.

Annalise memorized the information she'd need—names, dates, addresses—then turned to Jenny and asked, "Do you have a washroom? I need to freshen up."