The Reviver (50 page)

The thing that had condemned Daniel Harker to die had been the toss of a coin, and she didn’t need to know that.

‘So,’ Jonah said. ‘You’re heading back to England.’

She sighed and nodded. ‘Yeah. Friday.’ Two days. It hit Jonah harder than the pain.

‘That soon?’

‘I’ll be back here in a few weeks. Things to sort out. I have dual nationality, makes it easier. And I have a home here now. But I think I might spend some time hiding. Dad used to joke he only spent a few weeks hiding because of depression – the rest of the time he hid because he liked it. I always thought he was just saying it to make me feel better, but now … I think I know what he meant.’

Jonah smiled, stopping himself from making any kind of comment. If he knew Annabel, she’d quickly tire of hiding. It was the greatest difference between them. He thought of his apartment, of getting home and locking the door. And of how much he looked forward to it.

‘Did they tell you when you’d be able to leave the hospital?’ she asked.

‘Another week. Then I’ll be at home for a month.’

‘And back to work after that?’

‘Back to work?’ Back to the FRS, after all this? He hadn’t given it any thought. But then, he didn’t need to think.

‘What else would I do?’ he said, smiling.

*   *   *

When his apartment doorbell rang and Jonah heard who it was, he was overjoyed and horrified at once. He knew exactly what state his apartment was in. He buzzed Annabel up and spent the forty seconds’ grace failing to make a dent.

‘You could have given me fair warning!’ he said as he opened the door, smiling. They hugged.

‘Got in this morning. Thought I’d surprise you.’

‘You did.’ He waved her through. ‘Just toss some of the junk off the sofa. I would’ve tidied up if I’d known.’

‘I figured you’d put yourself out. That’s why I didn’t call.’ She set down a package she was carrying and pondered the room with a wry smile. ‘It’s a mess, huh? You’ve been home, what, two weeks?’

‘Takes skill to make mess this complete in so short a time.’

Annabel started to move a bathrobe piled on one end of the sofa. A shrill complaint stopped her, and Marmite’s head appeared from within. Annabel laughed. ‘Hello, you.’ Marmite watched her warily. She tickled the sleepy cat’s chin and won him over.

‘He’s a bit playful at the moment, he might—’

‘Ow!’ Annabel tried to pull her hand away, Marmite holding tight, claws out and gnawing her knuckles. When he let go, she couldn’t resist tickling his belly until he attacked again.

‘Yeah, he might do that. Can I get you a coffee?’

‘I’m only here for a few minutes. I just wanted to see how you were doing. Didn’t want to intrude, I know you like to hibernate.’

Jonah smiled, but he was a little red-faced. ‘I admit I’m not great company. Too many painkillers, too tired. So how was home? London home, that is.’

‘Busy. Loved it. Here-home is good too, though. Still weird to think I own it.’ Marmite pawed at her hand again but got no response. Dejected, he hopped down from the sofa and padded off to the kitchen.

‘Are you giving up work? Travelling the world?’ Jonah looked at her with eyebrows raised and a playful smile. She grinned.

‘You know damn well I’m not. Got a story to write. I’ll be travelling, yeah, but work travel.’ She handed over the package she’d brought. ‘Look, I don’t know if you want it, but I thought you might, after what you said. And I know Dad would want you to have it.’

He unwrapped it: Daniel’s framed
Time
cover. Jonah smiled, remembering the excitement he’d felt the first time he’d seen it. Sharing that feeling with his mom. ‘Yes. Thanks. Thank you.’ He reached out, his fingers touching hers as he took it. For a long moment, they shared a look.

And then Annabel stood and strode over to the front door. ‘I really have to get going.’

‘Already?’ he said, standing, trying to sound aloof rather than desperate for her company.

‘Busy girl. Anyway, I’ll be back soon.’ She leaned in close, Jonah flinching back as her head came towards his.

‘You need to work on that.’ She smiled. Then she kissed his cheek. The touch was bliss.

‘Long-time habit. Hard to break.’

‘Maybe I can help. Another kiss, say? Have to have dinner or something first, mind.’ She smiled at him, but there was something in her manner that took Jonah a moment to identify because it was so unlike her: she seemed nervous. ‘How about it?’

Jonah was lost for words, finding Annabel’s nerves infectious. A smile tried to break out on his face, even so.

Annabel continued, ‘So what do you say?’

He shook his head. ‘I’m not really up for a night out yet…’

‘Oh, come on, a meal? Just a meal? This week? Before I go back?’

‘I don’t know, Annabel. I’m just not—’

She raised her hand. ‘At least say you’ll think about it, huh?’

He looked at her for a moment. ‘Maybe,’ he said.

Annabel smiled. She moved close again, Jonah concentrating so hard on not flinching that she managed to take him by surprise. She kissed him full on the mouth, sending his mind into enough of a spin that he kissed back.

‘I guess you
really
owe me dinner now,’ she said. ‘I’ll call you tomorrow.’

Jonah closed the door behind her as she left. Marmite appeared again, pleading for food. ‘I’m coming,’ he told the cat, but he let the palm of his hand rest on the door for a moment, thinking about Annabel, still feeling the touch of her lips on his. Wondering if he had the courage to really let someone get close at last.

Maybe,
he’d said.

It was a start.

EPILOGUE

‘Do we have it?’ Kendrick asked. He knew they did. He could tell by the sourness in their eyes. His bosses were getting old, he thought. Old and tired, and fully aware of it. Priestly’s face was dry and lined, her grey hair thinning; Wellman’s paunch robbed him of the hard edge he’d once had. They’d been watching with contempt for years as Kendrick’s star rose.

Wellman and Priestly shared a look. Priestly nodded her head, and Wellman reached into his jacket pocket.

‘Here,’ said Wellman. He handed over a white envelope. Kendrick opened it without hesitation, and Wellman’s eyes widened.

‘Hang on!’ he said, but beside him Priestley shook her head.

‘Don’t, Howard. He can open it.’

The three sat in what was known as the ‘conference suite’, a drab, cramped little box of a room. Wellman and Priestley hated being there, Kendrick knew. They felt it was a tainted place. They liked to keep their distance from the dirty work. It let them maintain their little pretence that as part of keeping their country safe, what they did was entirely just, and none of it left a stain.

Kendrick found such hypocrisy intolerable. You could believe it was necessary, yes. But not that it was
just.
Not if you were using that word with any degree of honour.

And it always left a stain.

That was exactly why he’d insisted that they met him there in person.

Kendrick read the letter. It was, word for word, as he’d requested: two one-sided pages, signature near the top of the second page. The signature made him smile. It showed they meant business.

Wellman raised an eyebrow, amused by Kendrick’s open delight. Kendrick’s eyes narrowed at once, but he allowed himself to marvel at the signature again. ‘How much did they tell him?’

‘Enough,’ said Priestly.

‘Waste of time anyway,’ said Wellman. Kendrick watched him until the old man’s face reddened and his failing eyes looked down. These people, these dinosaurs, had been in charge of his career for so long. They’d dismissed his proposals so often. What leeway they’d allowed him in this matter had, he thought, been under the expectation of failure and ridicule.

He would relish this victory.

‘Let’s see, shall we?’ Kendrick said. He stood quickly enough to make Priestly start.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Let’s.’ There was unguarded scepticism in her voice, Kendrick noted. No doubt they resented him going above their heads.

There were four guards waiting. They escorted them down the corridor through three sets of externally controlled gates, until they reached the door numbered 438. One guard unlocked the door and remained outside while the rest of the group entered.

Kendrick smiled at the number on the door as he passed. The facility cells were numbered at random, giving a false impression of size to any detainees. In reality, there were only five.

Through the door was an observation window and another door where the guards took up position. Wellman and Priestly stood away from the window, uncomfortable. They looked anxious to avoid seeing the prisoner. Kendrick walked to the glass and looked inside. Unlike the rest of the building, it was pristine. Harsh, white and bare. A mat on the floor for sleeping, a steel toilet. A white table, a white chair, both bolted to the ground. And a man in the chair, dressed in orange coveralls, long thick chains around his ankles and wrists. Three additional chairs at the other side of the table.

Kendrick watched the prisoner. Everything about his treatment was blatant intimidation, crass but usually effective. The man was looking back at him, Kendrick thought, then he reminded himself that the glass was one-way. But still. The man was looking at him. Kendrick felt his inner calm twitch a little.

‘When you’re ready, ma’am,’ said a guard to Priestly. ‘One guard will go in with you all.’

Priestly opened her mouth to reply. Kendrick replied instead: ‘It’ll just be me, thank you. And no guards.’ Priestly glared at him but restrained herself.

‘One of us must go in with you, sir,’ said the guard. ‘That’s how we do things.’

‘You’ll be doing things differently today.’ Kendrick met the guard’s stony eyes with his own. He was used to out-staring.

The guard looked to Priestly, who gave the smallest of nods.

Kendrick entered and made a point of taking the two spare chairs over to the wall, glancing at the mirrored glass when done. He sat, and only then did he look at the man.

The gaze was intimidating. Kendrick was impressed, and returned his own.

The man hadn’t spoken a word since being brought here. He’d asked for nothing and had made no complaints. He had eaten what he’d been given and had exercised in any way he could. Kendrick had been assured the man was in great pain, but there was no indication of it. The burns were extensive, raw and seeping, but healing well. ‘With unusual scope and rapidity,’ was the phrase used in the latest report, but they all knew it was far more than unusual. It was
impossible.
He had kept himself alive and strong, and done nothing more for the seven weeks he had been there.

Kendrick’s team had intercepted the man. Unnoticed in the chaos, they had taken their prize away in their own bogus ambulance. And in the days that had followed, they had covered their tracks well, done everything that had needed to be done, ensured the right errors were made. They still had people well positioned.

Kendrick looked away from the prisoner’s gaze, judging the time was right. Better now to make the man feel confident than to intimidate him. If, indeed, intimidation would have been possible.

He knew little of what had happened before the fire, but he was sure of one thing: Andreas had achieved his goal and had been preparing to retreat. Whatever information they would then learn from the beings they had been courting, it would have been beyond the reach of Kendrick. That was something he found unacceptable.

Getting his hands on any of the key members of Andreas’s group had been the sanctioned plan. Kendrick suspected Wellman and Priestly had given the go-head only because they believed such testimony would show just how
wrong
Kendrick was.

In the event, he had improvised, his bosses horrified by the action he’d taken, but the damage was done now.

Of course, they had known what kind of man Andreas was – principled, benevolent. They had managed to gather a few scraps of information on what Andreas intended, information that had been key in the scepticism Kendrick had encountered: laughter at the ludicrous optimism of a new age for humanity.

But after all the years when they had thought Kendrick deluded as to what Andreas had been attempting, they had changed their minds when they saw how well their prisoner was recovering from evidently fatal injuries.

They had gone from dismissing it all as lunacy to regarding it as a huge risk to national security – a risk they knew they couldn’t understand. Kendrick’s bosses didn’t like things they couldn’t understand. And if they didn’t like something, they buried it. Kendrick wondered how long they would permit the man to be kept like this before having him disposed of. Years, perhaps, but he doubted it. Not long, he thought. Not long before word spread and loose ends would be cut off, perhaps including Kendrick himself.

Yet they still wanted information. Lots of it. But intimidation had failed, and what good is torture when your subject feels no pain? Kill him and find what you can in the revival, that was what Wellman and Priestly were thinking, though they’d not said as much. Even if they learned nothing in the process, at least it would be over. Then forget the whole sorry event and grind Kendrick into the
dirt
 …

The only other way was to get the prisoner to cooperate.

‘Good morning,’ said Kendrick. The man glared back. Kendrick could sense his superiors watching with pleasure, knowing that Kendrick would fail, knowing that nothing and no one had yet coaxed this man to speak even a single word. ‘I hope you’re being treated well. I apologize if anything’s been … unsatisfactory.’

The man said nothing, but Kendrick detected a hint of amusement just around the eyes. He held the envelope up. ‘I have this. You may be interested.’ He removed the paper from within, the two one-sided sheets. The signature on the last, with a space for the man’s own. He placed the sheets on the table, a pen beside them.

The man’s gaze didn’t leave Kendrick’s eyes, and for a moment Kendrick wondered if he’d misjudged things. For a moment, he sensed his victory slip. Perhaps the man would rather die than tell them anything.