The Reviver (32 page)

‘Well, would you look at that,’ said Eldridge, dazed. ‘A reviver getting chill from a reviver. I guess I’ve lost the skill. Maybe because I’m close to death now.’

‘Tell me more about the whispering, Victor,’ said Jonah.

‘I had to stop it. It’s hard to kill yourself in places where they’re used to people trying. I’m dying anyway, but I had to stop it before I
heard.
So I took the pencil. I thought if I went deep it might stop. I hoped it would kill me. It didn’t.’

‘But it put an end to the whispers.’

Eldridge nodded.

‘Do you know why it happened to you, Victor?’ Jonah asked. ‘Have you heard of others?’

Eldridge’s eyes widened. ‘Only me. Maybe there were others, but none I knew of.’

‘I know a few things about you, Victor,’ he said. ‘There’s something I don’t understand.’ Annabel caught his eye and gave him a questioning look. He hadn’t said anything to her, but he’d spotted something in Eldridge’s notes, something that had nagged at him. Details of his original revival registration in Canada, and then his later registration in the US.

‘You were at the top of your game, Victor. Private work, forensics. You were a great loss to both. But it doesn’t add up.’

Eldridge looked nervous. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Your rating was too low. I saw how you did revivals. You were good at it. Nobody with such a low rating is that good. Nobody with such a low rating gets forensic work.’

‘I was re-rated. Better training. It happens.’

It did happen, Jonah knew. Revivers improved with practice. But the timing and location were too close to be just coincidental. ‘You came out of nowhere. Making a living in revival, sure, but you were low rated. Bottom of the heap. Suddenly your ability rockets. Later, you start to suffer from remnants, worse than any reviver before you.’

Eldridge said nothing.

‘Have you ever heard of MLA Research?’ said Jonah, looking Eldridge in the eye. After a moment, Eldridge looked down.

Annabel looked at Jonah, then Eldridge. She leaned forward. ‘You were part of their trial?’

Eldridge still refused to look up. Annabel put her hand on his. ‘Victor, please.’

Eldridge shook his head, but he looked up at last. ‘I was a poor excuse for a reviver, low rated. Doing insurance jobs in Toronto, not much money. Getting back one in three subjects, weak and brief. I was a joke. But there was a drug they were testing, and for a few it made us
better.
And I stole some. I was one of the few who could take it. Maybe the
only
one who could stand it for long. I stole some and used it. For two
years
I used it. Put the improvement down to better training. It wasn’t unheard of. Got myself higher rated, got a job in forensics. Less money than I could’ve got, but I knew I was a fraud, you see? I wanted to make up for that. I wanted to make a difference. But the drug had a cost. Of everyone I’d had the least problems, and I thought I’d gotten used to it, built up a tolerance. Wishful thinking. It all caught up. The remnants you know about, but I think there was more. It made me able to reach further. What if I reached too far? Because there
is
something out there, out in the dark. And I think I know what it must be. I could hear it. And it’s getting
stronger.
’

Eldridge stopped himself for a moment, overwhelmed. ‘I’m glad to be dying. I’m close, now.
Close.
But sometimes the thought terrifies me. Lost in the dark, alone with the shadows … I think of Ruby Fleming. I think of when the Devil came to take her.’

24

They left Eldridge soon after; the dying man was badly shaken, but feigned a smile when Greg the orderly jogged over to the doorway to check on him.

‘Well?’ Annabel asked as they got into her mother’s car. ‘Did you get what you came here for?’

Jonah shook his head. ‘I don’t know. He’s damaged, in ways that fit the pattern of burnout. Overworked. Repeated breakdowns. He was taking a drug that magnified all the downsides of revival for years. I had the same result from pushing myself too hard. Maybe that
is
all that links us.’

Annabel glanced over at him. ‘But you don’t believe that.’

‘He thought he reached too far. What I
want
to believe is that we both caused the same kind of panic in revival subjects, but maybe we were
both
reaching too far. Getting too close.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t know.’

Annabel took out her phone and switched it back on. Jonah left his off, wondering how long he could avoid talking to Never. Not much longer.

‘Well, well,’ said Annabel.

‘What?’

She showed him. An email from the office of Michael Andreas.

*   *   *

Andreas had agreed to be interviewed for the article Annabel was pretending to write, the meeting to take place the next day in Sankley OptiSen, a facility west of Philadelphia.

Jonah stayed over at Annabel’s, getting to sleep after a quick meal, ready for the early start the next morning. He took the couch. The idea of sleeping in Daniel’s bed wasn’t raised by either of them.

The Sankley OptiSen building was exactly how Jonah, twelve years before, had expected Baseline to be. Every surface seemed honed; even the greenery looked crafted rather than grown.

At precisely 2 p.m. they were taken up to the top floor.

Michael Andreas opened the door to his office. He was a handsome man. Stunningly so. He exuded comfort, reassurance, capability. ‘Miss Harker,’ he said, taking her hand. ‘There’s little I can say. The loss of your father was a terrible thing.’ A genuine sorrow, considerable sincerity.

Jonah was suddenly finding him easy to dislike.

Andreas invited them through. Jonah found himself gawping at the sheer scale of the room.

‘Sit, please,’ said Andreas. He took up position behind a vast oak desk. Annabel and Jonah took their seats.

‘I’m glad you contacted me,’ Andreas said. ‘You father deserves far more respect than he’s been granted. It would be an honour to help redress that.’

‘Thank you. Can you remember first meeting my father?’

‘Sam Deering introduced us. The man who launched forensic revival.’ He looked at Jonah for a moment, leaving him uneasy. ‘I understand he retired recently. This was before any of that had begun. Back then Sam was the FBI representative within Baseline. In the early days, they had representatives from so many religious denominations that it sometimes seemed like the scientists were in the minority. Daniel, though, was a scientifically minded man. I liked him at once.’ Andreas took a drink from a small glass of water on the desk in front of him. ‘He interviewed me twice, both brief occasions that focused on the research, not the person. He was certainly well respected. Would you like me to elaborate?’

Annabel gave a slow nod. ‘Maybe later. First, I was wondering if you knew anything about the work MLA Research did on dangerous BPV variants eight years ago.’

Andreas looked at her as if she’d gone crazy.

Jonah did the same.

Andreas folded his hands together and watched her in silence. He sighed. ‘Why are you here, Annabel?’

‘The men who kidnapped and murdered my father believed that something terrible was about to happen. They believed it involved a drug your company created. I’d like to hear what you know about it. Did you mean what you said, about redressing the respect my father deserves? Because right now, nobody seems to give a damn about what really motivated the people who killed him.’

Andreas stood and walked to a window. ‘I did mean it.’ After a few moments he returned to his seat, and his expression softened into a wary smile. ‘It seems you’ve been busy since your father died, Annabel. I admit, I was expecting something unusual in your visit, if you bring along the man who revived your father.’

‘Thought it might intrigue you,’ she said.

‘It did indeed.’

Jonah looked from Andreas to Annabel, feeling out of his depth. Of
course
Andreas would check out the background of those coming to see him. He’d been used as bait.

‘So, do you tell us?’ she said to Andreas.

Andreas gave it a moment of thought, then nodded. ‘Yes. They did work on a BPV variant that happened to increase remnants. They refined it.’

‘Under your orders?’ said Annabel.

‘I was aware of it. We had a range of phenomena that were poorly understood, and it was a promising line of research. But the more powerful drugs were discontinued. The side effects made them too dangerous to be useful.’

Jonah took over. ‘Were you aware that some of it was stolen?’

‘No.’

‘Were you aware of rumours that the drug was used to contact something long dead? Something not human?’

‘Jonah, what you’re telling me is a ghost story.’

‘A story that Daniel Harker’s killers had believed. A story others had heard.’

‘Oh, I didn’t say I haven’t heard it. But it is a ghost story. A tale told to chill the blood. An invention. A distraction.’

‘So you
have
heard of it?’

‘Sometimes there’s something you want to hide but it’s already out there. People know some of it. All you can do is muddy the water, put out some distractions. It’s an old tactic. It put the aliens into Area 51. With revival, they told ghost stories.’

‘What do you mean?’

Andreas shook his head. ‘I’m not prepared to say.’

‘They killed my father,’ said Annabel. ‘All I want to know is what they thought was going on, and why.’

‘I’m sorry, but…’

‘They killed all the family I had
left,
and you don’t give a damn. You don’t give a damn because you don’t know what it’s like.’

Jonah saw the anger in Andreas’s eyes. Annabel was provoking him, hoping to make him careless, but they could just as easily end up back out on the street.

Andreas closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, he looked calm again. ‘I almost had a family, Annabel. I fell in love at twenty, still at Harvard. At twenty-four I developed a novel technique for DNA insertion that I managed to patent. Based on that, I got the funding to set up Andreas Biotech. Huge money was floating around, and I managed to get a share of it. We were financially secure, doing what we both loved. When we were close to hitting our thirties, we decided to have kids. She was eight months pregnant when she died. Eclampsia. Our son died too. We hadn’t married.’ Andreas looked down and paused. ‘The irony haunts me, that I was at the forefront of the most advanced medical knowledge in human history, and my
family
had died in one of the oldest ways there is.

‘When revival came along, I wanted to know what it meant. The government wanted research partners, but there was so much hesitancy, they were having trouble. Everyone wanted the answers, but no companies wanted to be so clearly associated with something everybody felt so uneasy about. They’d give a little here, a little there. But I went for it. I committed. The press liked me at first, pushed me out there as a hero of sorts, but they were always just as uneasy about revival. Then Baseline started to falter. They started to question my motivation. They stopped calling me an altruist, starting calling me a profiteer.

‘There was a time when I cared about profit, Annabel. But only to keep my companies strong, not to boost the wealth of shareholders or fill my own pockets. I’m a rich man. All the rich people I’ve met have fallen into two categories. Some get addicted to collecting wealth, and it consumes them. Some understand what that money could really achieve, and it changes them in an entirely different way.

‘I could stand the press’s cynicism, but then they brought her death into it. One story suggested I’d invested in cryogenics to preserve her, and then in revival so I could…’ Andreas looked up to the ceiling and paused. ‘One called me the “Modern Orpheus”. Hell, it made me angry. But maybe I was angry because they weren’t far from the truth. I bought the cryogenics firm two years after she died, but it wasn’t about closing the stable door. I wanted it to stop, I wanted the
pain
to stop. It hurts to lose people so close to you. You know that as well as anyone. I wanted to put an end to grief itself.

‘Baseline was already crumbling, with no clear direction. I was planning to move more of the work out into my own companies. Then there was something that would’ve been a scandal if they hadn’t managed to keep it internal. Sam Deering told me all about it. He knew I would have found out soon enough, and that I’d pull out immediately if there had been any attempt to keep it from me. You know what I’m referring to, Jonah. I know you were there. You remember Lyssa Underwood.’

Jonah nodded. ‘The body sourcing problems,’ he said. He turned to Annabel. ‘There were questionable revivals done; the subjects hadn’t gone through the system properly.’

‘It was more than body sourcing,’ said Andreas. ‘The question was
why
would they source outside the system? What were they doing? But I know they kept going when they left Baseline.’

‘And
did
you know what they were doing?’ Annabel said.

‘I knew very little, but they managed to keep a lid on it. It’s not up to me to let it loose now. But I told you your ghost story was something I’d heard. I also heard, Jonah, that the same people you did Underwood for put that story out. It was their cover. It sounded crazy enough that even the parts that were true got dismissed.’

‘Please, Michael,’ said Annabel. ‘I need to know.’

‘I sympathize, but I have my own concerns. I trust you not to say a word of this before it’s announced, but things have happened to make me reassess my priorities. I’m pulling out of the company. I’ll be having surgery in the next few days, and things won’t ever be the same again.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

‘Thank you. But please, our time is over.’ Andreas stood and walked them to the door.

As the door was closing on her, Annabel put out her hand and stopped it. ‘Won’t you reconsider? It’s not much to ask, is it? To know why my father died?’

Andreas bowed his head. When at last he looked up, his eyes looked wet. ‘Then ask Sam Deering,’ he said. ‘Ask him about Kendrick.’