The Resurrected Man (23 page)

“I thought the booth was powered-down,” she said to QUALIA.

“It was. He instructed the housekeeper to reactivate it.”

She felt a stirring in her stomach that might have been hope—or fear. “Could he escape that way?”

“No. The output lines are sealed.”

“Only the output?”

“Yes.”

Jonah edged one knee forward, crawling bit by bit to the booth. “I'll bet he doesn't know that,” she said.

QUALIA didn't respond.

“When I asked you to negotiate with the housekeeper on my behalf,” Marylin asked, “you did do that, didn't you? Just me. You haven't broadcast this feed through the MIU?”

“No, Marylin.”

“Good. Don't.” She switched the feed off, just in case someone was eavesdropping on her workspace. Then she searched through the restricted MIU database until she found the file on the inquest into Lindsay Carlaw's death.

“What are you doing, Marylin?” Fassini asked in alarm as she hurried out of the room.

“Getting results,” she said, heading for the security station d-mat booths.

Her workspace was clamouring for attention when the door opened on the interior of Jonah's unit. She ignored it. Acutely conscious of the fact that, just a couple of days ago, a dismembered body had lain where she was currently standing, she waited until her eyes had adjusted to the relative gloom—overlaid with winking red windows—before venturing outside.

Thirty-two minutes had passed. Longer than she'd hoped; the Pool must still have been congested. Jonah was nowhere to be seen. Mindful of the possibility that he might be lying in wait for her, she skirted around the lounge, then glanced in the dining area. That too was empty.

“Jonah?”

“Marylin?
” His voice came from the kitchen, but she didn't see him immediately. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Guess.”

She found him in the pantry, wedged awkwardly against a wall with a metal bar lying limp across his knees. His eyes were sunken and his hands shook with fatigue.

“Were you really going to use that?” she asked, pointing at the bar.

“Maybe. When the door of the booth shut, I didn't know what to expect. It seemed best to take no chances.”

“Or to go down with a fight.”

“Wouldn't you?”

“Yes.”

Her candour seemed to surprise him. He looked down at the bar, then back at her. It clattered to the ground. “I'd appreciate some help, Marylin. I don't think I can move on my own.”

She helped him upright. He was lighter than she had expected and barely able to keep his head up, let alone walk. With her arm around his back, gripping him under the opposite armpit, she managed to shuffle him to the wheelchair. He stank of exertion and urine. She tried not to think what might have happened had he been left alone for much longer.

“I tried to call you,” he said. “Now I know why you didn't answer.”

She straightened him as he collapsed awkwardly into the chair. “Shut up and give me your hand.”

He raised an arm and she locked their palms. Their overseers exchanged brief handshakes of their own, then a line opened between them. He looked up in surprise as data rushed through his modified ulnar nerve and into his inbuilt memory.

“What's this?” he asked.

She squatted next to him. “It's what you wanted: the file on Lindsay.”

He scowled and pulled his hand away, but not before the transfer had finished. “You had it the whole time.”

“Not me—but yes, the MIU did. Director Trevaskis wanted to exploit the leverage it gave us over you before handing it over.”

“And now?” He studied her for what felt like an hour. “You're not supposed to be here, are you?”

“Not exactly.”

He looked obscurely pleased by this confession. “So—
why?
”

She shrugged. “It's a power thing. I'm young, talented and fit—three things the boss doesn't have in his favour. He feels threatened by me. Every now and again I like to remind him that the feeling is justified.”

He shook his head. “You're lying.”

“Not entirely.” She checked the time. “In about twenty minutes a squad of heavies is going to knock down your door and take you out of here by force. I don't think that's the best way to get you to cooperate.”

“What
do
you think?”

“That you should walk out of here on your own two feet—or wheels, as the case may be—without causing any more problems.”

“You call that
cooperating?
” he protested. “I call it giving in.”

“That's up to you, Jonah. I'm not here to give you an ultimatum. I want to work this through with you, if you'll let me.” She waited until she was certain he was listening. “No matter what you do, you'll
be out of here within half an hour. Your only choice is what happens after that. If you leave voluntarily, you'll have the information you wanted, time to manoeuvre, and an ally—me. If you make them use force, you'll lose all that for certain, and maybe more.”

“Why should I trust you?” he asked. “What's in it for you?”

“My career, basically, and a chance to catch this sonofabitch. That's all I want, and you can help me get it.”

“Can I? Things are different now. Everything's changed.”

“Don't be ridiculous. You've only been out of it for three years.”

“That's not what I meant. I
feel
different.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Do you believe I'm innocent?” he asked. “Because I don't know if I'm entirely guilt-free. There's too much I don't remember for me to be certain. Too much I might have done.”

She didn't know what to say at first. He had sagged into the seat during the conversation, and she was reminded of how he had looked when he had first woken. Then, as now, he had seemed confused and powerless, very different to her memories of three years ago. Whatever InSight had done to him, its effect was most visible in times of stress. She didn't entirely disapprove; it made him seem more human, exposed the weaknesses he normally kept carefully hidden. The only question was whether it made him a better investigator or not.

That was the important thing. His innocence or guilt, by whatever definition, was irrelevant as long as he helped them.

“You're the key,” she said. “The focus. The Twinmaker and his actions connect to you in a variety of ways. It doesn't matter if you yourself committed the crimes; the main thing is that we have you nearby, so if anything happens again we'll be ready.”

“For what?”

“We won't know until it happens.”

He half-smiled. “I won't ask you how that answers the question. If that means you think I did it or not.”

“You shouldn't have to. I can't have changed that much.”

“No, you haven't. Apart from the hair. You always liked to keep your options open.”

He reached out with a hand to touch her skull-cap, and she turned away, self-conscious. His fingertips brushed her naked scalp at the fringes of her cap, and she was surprised at the sudden feeling the touch evoked.
Christ.
She tensed, and he withdrew the hand instantly.
Not now—

She pulled away, mentally correcting herself: not
ever.

“Okay,” he said softly.

She turned back to him, praying the flush in her cheeks wasn't as obvious as it felt. His expression was pained. “Okay what?”

“Call them and tell them I'm on your side. No more fucking around. We work as equals and exchange data as equals. I won't keep anything from you.”

Such as?
she wondered. “Are you sure about this?”

“Yes. There's not much point creating friction at this time.”

“That's very civilised of you.”

“Just let me piggyback when you make the call. That'll convince them we mean business.” His gaze flickered elsewhere for a moment, then returned. “And do me a favour. Ask Herold Verstegen to listen in.”

“Why?”

“I want to know what he'll think of this.”

“I can tell you that right now. He'll support it. It was he who put you through d-med—that's what made you better so quickly—and who encouraged Whitesmith to put us together on the case. He won't let Trevaskis get in the way if he can help it.”

Jonah blinked, then frowned. Then he blinked again and averted his eyes. “Whatever. Make the call. Let's get this over with.”

She, too, turned away to concentrate and scanned the flashing windows, unwilling to pick one at random. They needed someone at least marginally sympathetic to argue the case with Trevaskis for her.

One incoming call was indeed from the Director of the MIU, ranked higher in importance than those from Odi Whitesmith, QUALIA and Jason Fassini. There was also one listed from Herold Verstegen, but she wasn't going to take that first.

There was only one person she felt comfortable approaching—which was ironic because, in some people's eyes, e hardly qualified as a person at all.

“QUALIA?”

The reply was instantaneous and significantly less distorted than before: “Marylin? I'm relieved you've called. There's a very important—”

“I can imagine. It can wait. I need to talk to Odi Whitesmith on a private line. This is not for general viewing, and it is urgent. Can you arrange that?”

“Of course, Marylin—”

“Jonah McEwen will be a witness. And invite Directors Verstegen and Trevaskis to sit in on it too, if they have time. Passive, please.”

“They will make time.” QUALIA paused for a split-second. “I am opening connections now. Please proceed.”

“Marylin!” Whitesmith's face burst out of a window at her. “What the hell do you think you're doing in there?”

“Giving Jonah the file on Lindsay Carlaw, that's what.” She squared up to his image with all the defiance she could muster. “You have to call off the goon squad. If you don't, I'll—”

“Calm down, Marylin.” He raised a hand. “Calm down. The goons aren't there. It was all cancelled when Verstegen called to give us the news.”

“What
news?”

“KTI recorded another swing in the nett mass/energy budget. That's what I've been trying to tell you for the last ten minutes. We're putting out an alert as we speak.”

She rocked back on her heels.
“Already?
”

“It would seem so.”

“While Jonah was here.”

“Yes.”

“Hits on his UGI?”

“None.”

“What about ACHERON?”

“We missed it again. The site's inactive now.”

“
Shit
.” She breathed in once to collect her thoughts. “This is very strange.”

“You're telling me. But the pattern's broken. We're onto something.”

“Or something's onto
us.
” She caught Jonah's puzzled expression out of the corner of her eye. “There's been another Twinmaker murder,” she said aloud to him. “Fluctuations in KTI's mass/energy budget tell us when there's another body on the way.”

“How?”

“It's complicated.” She shushed him. Whitesmith was talking.

“We need you up here with the squad, ready to move when we get the word. Can you leave Jonah with Fassini?”

“I could, but—” She was reluctant to leave only seconds after finally making some progress. “You could send the armour and equipment to me and I'll suit up here. When the word comes, I'll join you at the site from this booth. How does that sound?”

“Fair enough.” Whitesmith nodded. “It could be a while yet before someone comes across the body. I'll have your gear sent down right away. By priority if the Pool's still slow. Don't go anywhere.”

“I won't. In fact, I
can't.
Trevaskis locked the door and the out feeds from the unit—”

“Taken care of. You're both free to come and go as you please, now. Fassini is outside, waiting for your word.”

“Keep him there. We'll need some privacy in here, for a while. Let's just maintain things as they are. Call me when the word comes, or I'll call you. Can you swing that for me?”

“Done. The armour will be there in record time. Suit up and be ready.”

“Yes, sir.”

Whitesmith's image disapeared, and moments later the lights indicating that Trevaskis and Verstegen were listening also died. Only Jonah's remained alive for a few seconds longer, then it too winked out.

That easy
, she thought in the sudden silence. She had what she'd wanted. No recriminations, no threats, no cost. In thirty minutes—it seemed like the blink of an eye to her—so much had changed that she felt like she'd stepped into an alternate reality.

Another murder, and so soon after the last one. The difference was barely days between disposals. Of course, the killer could have kidnapped this woman some time ago and kept her alive until now. But he had never behaved like this before. Marylin—like Whitesmith—knew that change had to be significant. Either the Twinmaker was trying to provoke a response, perhaps itself in response to the MIU's recent activities, or he was sinking even deeper into psychosis. If the latter was the case, soon he'd start making mistakes. Marylin didn't let herself hope that he may already have made one, but she didn't rule out the possibility, either.

In the blink of an eye…

Her overseer worked overtime to process the data Whitesmith was feeding her: KTI mass/energy reserve histories, distribution profiles, peak-use spikes, and more. She would look at it in a moment, after she explained to Jonah what had happened. He was watching her closely, respecting her need to think, maybe believing that she was making a private call. It was good that they would be able to work together. She kept that thought firmly in her mind. He wasn't the killer; she didn't have to be afraid of him. As soon as the case was solved, she could walk away and get on with her life without him, as she had tried to do three years before. It was downhill from here on. She had what she wanted. Things would be all right.